Trust Me by Peter Leonard Page B

Snickers. He's saying hello. Aren't you, boy?" Megan bent over when she talked to the cat, getting closer to it. "He's a short-haired Exotic, and about the nicest little guy in the whole world. Yes, him is." Megan straightened up, her gaze still on the cat. "This is Detective… what'd you say your name was?"
        "Conlin," O'Clair said, picturing the square jaw and flattop haircut of his first sergeant. He flashed a silver badge at her, a real one he'd taken from a detective he didn't like before he was kicked out of the department, figuring it might come in handy and it had. The little blonde surprised him by asking what it was made out of.
        O'Clair said, "What?"
        She said, "You know, is it metal or plastic?"
        "Metal." What kind of question was that?
        He'd gotten a list of incoming calls to Bobby's apartment from a cop he'd had a fling with, who was now a detective on the Violent Crimes Task Force. Her name was Pam Bond. Six out of his last ten calls were from Megan Freels, the cashier who worked at the MGM and lived at the Lafayette Apartments downtown. The other calls were from a phone number in Montreal. O'Clair tried it and a voice answered speaking French and he hung up.
        "The detective's here to ask us some questions," Megan said. And then to O'Clair, "Come on in and sit down."
        She led him into a good-size living room with a hardwood floor and a great view of downtown Detroit, and the city of Windsor, Ontario, across the river. Megan went to the stereo turned the music down. She was a hot little number.
        O'Clair said, "Who's that?"
        "Guided by Voices," Megan said.
        O'Clair said, "Where're they from?" He'd never heard of them.
        "I think, Ohio," Megan said. "The lead singer was a schoolteacher. He drinks like twenty beers during a show. Best live band I've ever seen, but they broke up."
        He rubbed his right eye. He could feel it swelling up and itching like crazy.
        "Do you have something in your eye? I've got drops if you need them."
        "It's all right," O'Clair said, but it wasn't. He didn't have much time.
        "I hope you're not allergic to Snickers." Megan sat in a worn leather chair with her back to the wall.
        O'Clair took the couch. "Nice view," he said. "Detroit doesn't look so bad from this angle. How long have you lived here?"
        "I moved in when I got the casino job. So I guess about a year and a half."
        Snickers walked across the floor in front of O'Clair and jumped into Megan's lap. Her eyes lit up. "Well, look who wants some attention." Megan stroked the cat and hugged it.
        O'Clair noticed it had a strange pug face like somebody had squished it. He wasn't going to ask any questions about why the cat's face was that way, and hoped he didn't have to hear any cat stories. "I'm looking for a suspect named Robert Gal, goes by Bobby."
        "What's it have to do with me?"
        "He's a regular at the MGM. I'm hoping you can ID him." O'Clair got up and handed the photograph of Bobby to Megan. She stared at it without any kind of reaction. Why was she pretending she didn't know him?
        "I'll say this, he does look familiar. I've probably seen him. Maybe even cashed him out."
        O'Clair knew Bobby wasn't in the apartment at that particular time. His car wasn't in the parking lot. He wanted to scare her, give her something to think about. But if she was afraid, she didn't show it. She was cool as could be.
        Megan took another look at the photograph. "Can I keep this? I'll ask the girls at work, see if anybody knows him." She stared at the photograph one more time. "He's kind of cute."
        A white cat with black spots on its head wandered into the room. Megan said, "Look who just woke up from her nap."
        The cat yawned.
        "Is her still tired? Is my girl teepee house?" Megan said in a singsong voice.
        The cat jumped up on the