Glass Houses by Terri Nolan Page B

surprised. George had been fidgety and unfocused throughout breakfast. “The IA is really upsetting you.” He shook the pack.
    George plucked one and fired it up with the tip of Thom’s.
    â€œThe IA was to be expected,” said George, blowing out smoke. “What bothers me more is the FBI surveillance.”
    â€œ Alleged .”
    â€œWhatever. Think I’m at risk?”
    â€œYou have something to hide?”
    George looked away.
    â€œI’m sure the feds don’t care if the person you’re sleeping with has a dick.”
    â€œWhat the hell?” groused George.
    â€œWhoa. Gallows humor, man. Why are you so sensitive all of a sudden?”
    â€œIt’s your crude delivery.”
    â€œIt wasn’t crude yesterday when we gave Spenser a hardon.”
    George got much worse from some guys in the squad. The most popular prank was a photo of two dudes having sex. George’s head would be taped over one of them. Sometimes the top, sometimes the bottom. Occasionally, his face would be with a woman. The ac/dc hazing usually didn’t bother him. He played it up like he did with Spenser. As the newest guy, it was George’s role to be pizza boy until someone replaced him. So for now, he took it. What mattered was that people actually cared because no one knew for sure. Damn that stint in Vice.
    â€œHell, I know you’re not a catcher,” said Thom.
    â€œWhat if I am?” All serious.
    Thom loved George like family. He could care less. One way or the other or both. “Then you stop wearing pink, man.”
    George hit Thom in the arm. “Gotcha.”
    â€œHell with you,” said Thom.
    They enjoyed the smoke in silence. After a few minutes Thom said, “Let’s go over the game plan.”
    â€œGet a signature for Lawrence’s office. Briefcase and laptop is priority.” A warrant wasn’t technically required, but they wouldn’t give any future judge a reason to bounce a search in a high-profile homicide. Especially one involving a city attorney with a potential suspect tucked away in a file. Privacy rights and all.
    â€œThe judge that signs will probably appoint a Special Master to supervise us.”
    â€œLike we need a babysitter,” said George.
    â€œWhat then?”
    â€œI’ll interview the roommates. See if any of the girls can substantiate Lena’s alibi.”
    â€œDon’t call the person of interest by her nickname. Too personal and informal. Any misstep can be a disaster.”
    â€œI hate when you correct me.”
    â€œI’ve been doing this longer. Hit the bar, too. Hank’s. On Grand. Track down the bartender. See what he has to say. What he remembers.”
    â€œWhat’s his name?”
    â€œWhy should I know?”
    â€œHold on,” said George. “Jelena told me you knew the bartender. She said she could contact you through him.”
    â€œI chatted him up. But I’ve never been to that bar before. Never met him before. I remember he was a young guy. Looked barely legal.”
    â€œLie number one.”
    â€œGood enough reason to haul her ass in,” said Thom. “Think she’ll go anywhere?”
    â€œDon’t think so.”
    â€œOkay, let it sit for today. Bring her in tomorrow. We’ve got the cut at one. I expect you there.”
    Autopsies made George squeamish. They were hard business. The stench of disinfectant, the fluid on the floor, the medieval-like tools, and the general ickyness. As the lead detective, Thom’s presence was non-negotiable. He let George off the hook when he could. But not this time. The high-profile situation made his presence necessary.
    â€œGeorge, keep in touch and be careful.”
    â€œAs always.” George flicked the butt and ground it into the pavement until it turned to dust.

nineteen
    Birdie leaned into the file box on the floor and grabbed the last clipping. She glanced at the headline and