Nemesis by Bill Pronzini Page B

Runyon again, bunching the muscles in his neck and across his back. “The woman is a compulsive liar—”
    Dragovich gripped his arm warningly, then rose to his feet. “All right, gentlemen, we’re done here. You have Mr. Runyon’s statement in detail and further investigation will bear out its veracity. Unless you have a valid reason for continuing to hold him, I’ll proceed with the arrangements for his bail.”
    Sutton shrugged and Rodriguez scowled but didn’t voice an objection. Whitehead lifted himself ponderously out of his chair, stifled a yawn before he delivered the usual “keep yourself available, don’t leave town” warning to Runyon. And that was the end of it for now. Runyon had been through enough interrogations to know that this one had pretty much gone in his favor, like round one of a boxing match. The inspectors and the DA’s man weren’t hostile, despite Sutton’s prodding manner, and they’d follow up in a neutral fashion or maybe even one leaning slightly in his favor.
    But that didn’t make him feel any better. He had no doubt that he’d be exonerated eventually, as Dragovich had predicted, but the assault charge and arrest would still leave a smudge on his record. And there was still the looming specter of a license suspension.
    An hour later he walked out of the Hall of Justice, free again but not free and clear, facing a preliminary court date in six weeks, owing Abe Melikian $2,500 for his bail and Thomas Dragovich a comparable amount in legal fees. And all because a bored, conscienceless rich woman stupidly decided to have some nasty fun at his expense.

 
    Part Two
    TAMARA

 
    10
    She knew something was wrong as soon as Jake Runyon walked into her office.
    Man always had the look of a business exec when he was working, neat, clean, freshly shaved. Not today. His suit and shirt were wrinkled, collar undone and tie crooked, beard stubble darkening his cheeks and chin. There was some kind of iodine-treated gash on his neck, too, angling up out of the open shirt collar. And his expression … grim. Real grim.
    â€œSorry about how I look,” he said. “I spent most of the night in jail.”
    â€œJail? Why? What happened?”
    He told her. And the more she heard, the madder she got. Thoroughly pissed by the time he was through, but not at him. None of it was his fault, no matter that he tried to shoulder some of the blame. She let him know it, too. Told him he had enough to deal with without guilt-tripping himself.
    â€œA hoax,” Tamara said. “A damn stupid game . Where did she come up with such a wacked idea?”
    â€œShe’s a TV junkie, maybe that’s where.”
    â€œWell, she won’t get away with it, the hoax or the phony rape charge. Case’ll never get to trial. Dragovich said so, right? He’s not the kind of lawyer who makes promises like that unless he’s looking at a sure thing.”
    â€œIt’ll be on my record just the same.”
    â€œNobody who matters will care.”
    â€œExcept maybe the State Board of Licenses.”
    â€œDon’t worry about that. Not likely one of their investigators will come sucking around.”
    â€œUnless Daniels goes to the media.”
    â€œLet her. It wouldn’t make any difference.”
    â€œSo Dragovich tells me.”
    â€œMan knows what he’s talking about, right? He’s got your back, so do Bill and I—all the way. You know that.”
    â€œI know it. Thanks.”
    â€œMeanwhile, business as usual.”
    â€œSure. Business as usual.”
    Flat voice, flat-eyed stare—not at her, at whatever was running around inside his head. Still dumping on himself, probably. She felt sorry for him, an almost maternal kind of sympathy. Yeah, right, maternal. Earth Mother Tamara, who’d never even come close to having or wanting kids. Besides, the man was almost as old as