He's all she has—had." We had three cups of coffee. She said, "How'd you get involved with all this?"
I told her about Tandy and the show.
"Oh ." Her disappointment was easy to see.
"She's not a fake." I sketched out the two cases I'd worked on. "I just don't believe in that kind of thing, I guess."
"Then how did she locate the bodies?"
"That's the funny thing. I know stuff like that happens. But I can't believe it. My husband buys it, though. He's a psychologist. He thinks that someday we'll all be in touch with our full mental powers ." Then, "He's white, by the way."
I smiled. "Good for him."
"I just meant it's a novelty. You still don't see a lot of black women with white guys. I think that's why people here are so nice to us. If it was the other way around—if it was a black man with a white woman—I think we'd get a lot more grief."
"You're probably right."
We finished up our pitas and started on our last cups of coffee. "So you going to see him?"
"Who?" I said.
"Sandy's dad."
"I'll try."
"If you learn anything, will you tell me about it?"
"Sure."
"He really is innocent."
"Between you and Dr. Williams, I'm beginning to believe it ."
"Really?"
"Well, maybe a little bit, anyway."
A police cruiser swung into the parking lot. I could see Susan in the windshield. She looked serious, serious but beautiful. You couldn't see the scar from this distance.
She got out of the cruiser and strode inside. She came directly to our table.
She nodded to Iris Rutledge. "Hi, Iris. Don't buy anything from this guy."
"Don't worry, Susan. I already had him checked out with the Better Business Bureau. They said buyer beware."
"Everything going all right?" I said.
"I just had a few follow-up questions."
"Well, that works out fine," Iris said. "I need to get back home, anyway."
She stood up. Extended her hand. Then reached in the back of her jeans and took out a thin leather wallet. "Here's my card."
"Thanks."
"Call me."
"I will."
"'Bye, Susan."
"'Bye, Iris."
"You want some coffee?" I said to Susan.
"She's a sweetie."
"She sure seems to be."
"Just black'll do. I've got a long night ahead of me."
I got a refill and a cup for her. The place was starting to fill up. The novelty had worn off the crime scene. Yellow crime scene tape is bedazzling for only so long.
When I got back, she was gone. She reappeared a few minutes later. "Pit stop."
"I could use one of those myself."
The two urinals were busy. Two teenage boys peed and talked about the murder.
"Drug deal," one of them said.
"That what the cops said?"
"No. But I'll bet your ass that's what it was."
"They said he was old. Maybe he was a Mob guy or something."
"If he was, somebody else is gonna die."
"How come?"
"They don't let you run around and kill Mob guys like that."
"Who doesn't?"
"The Mob, you dumb ass. The Mob don't let you."
"He was a mobster," I said, when I got back to my table.
"Who was?"
"The dead guy in my motel room."
"Mafia, you mean?"
I laughed and told her what I'd heard in the john.
"Oh, that'll go on for weeks. Everybody in town'll have his own theory about who did it, and why ." Then, "He was a little more interesting than just your run-of-the-mill private eye."
"Oh?"
"I've got a few friends in Chicago, too. I had them run his name through the crime computer."
"Anything interesting?"
"He was arrested for letting his gun permit expire and he was arrested for drunk driving. Found guilty on both counts and both were enough to get his license lifted both times. He had to reapply to get reinstated. Technically, he was out of work for twelve months following each arrest."
"He doesn't exactly sound like a death row kind of guy."
She sipped her coffee. "It's actually cold in here. I've got goose bumps. Look."
"You're wearing short sleeves."
She held her arms out. "Feel them."
She wasn't kidding. Her slender arms were covered with coarse little bumps.
I sat there feeling my groin stir. Now I
I told her about Tandy and the show.
"Oh ." Her disappointment was easy to see.
"She's not a fake." I sketched out the two cases I'd worked on. "I just don't believe in that kind of thing, I guess."
"Then how did she locate the bodies?"
"That's the funny thing. I know stuff like that happens. But I can't believe it. My husband buys it, though. He's a psychologist. He thinks that someday we'll all be in touch with our full mental powers ." Then, "He's white, by the way."
I smiled. "Good for him."
"I just meant it's a novelty. You still don't see a lot of black women with white guys. I think that's why people here are so nice to us. If it was the other way around—if it was a black man with a white woman—I think we'd get a lot more grief."
"You're probably right."
We finished up our pitas and started on our last cups of coffee. "So you going to see him?"
"Who?" I said.
"Sandy's dad."
"I'll try."
"If you learn anything, will you tell me about it?"
"Sure."
"He really is innocent."
"Between you and Dr. Williams, I'm beginning to believe it ."
"Really?"
"Well, maybe a little bit, anyway."
A police cruiser swung into the parking lot. I could see Susan in the windshield. She looked serious, serious but beautiful. You couldn't see the scar from this distance.
She got out of the cruiser and strode inside. She came directly to our table.
She nodded to Iris Rutledge. "Hi, Iris. Don't buy anything from this guy."
"Don't worry, Susan. I already had him checked out with the Better Business Bureau. They said buyer beware."
"Everything going all right?" I said.
"I just had a few follow-up questions."
"Well, that works out fine," Iris said. "I need to get back home, anyway."
She stood up. Extended her hand. Then reached in the back of her jeans and took out a thin leather wallet. "Here's my card."
"Thanks."
"Call me."
"I will."
"'Bye, Susan."
"'Bye, Iris."
"You want some coffee?" I said to Susan.
"She's a sweetie."
"She sure seems to be."
"Just black'll do. I've got a long night ahead of me."
I got a refill and a cup for her. The place was starting to fill up. The novelty had worn off the crime scene. Yellow crime scene tape is bedazzling for only so long.
When I got back, she was gone. She reappeared a few minutes later. "Pit stop."
"I could use one of those myself."
The two urinals were busy. Two teenage boys peed and talked about the murder.
"Drug deal," one of them said.
"That what the cops said?"
"No. But I'll bet your ass that's what it was."
"They said he was old. Maybe he was a Mob guy or something."
"If he was, somebody else is gonna die."
"How come?"
"They don't let you run around and kill Mob guys like that."
"Who doesn't?"
"The Mob, you dumb ass. The Mob don't let you."
"He was a mobster," I said, when I got back to my table.
"Who was?"
"The dead guy in my motel room."
"Mafia, you mean?"
I laughed and told her what I'd heard in the john.
"Oh, that'll go on for weeks. Everybody in town'll have his own theory about who did it, and why ." Then, "He was a little more interesting than just your run-of-the-mill private eye."
"Oh?"
"I've got a few friends in Chicago, too. I had them run his name through the crime computer."
"Anything interesting?"
"He was arrested for letting his gun permit expire and he was arrested for drunk driving. Found guilty on both counts and both were enough to get his license lifted both times. He had to reapply to get reinstated. Technically, he was out of work for twelve months following each arrest."
"He doesn't exactly sound like a death row kind of guy."
She sipped her coffee. "It's actually cold in here. I've got goose bumps. Look."
"You're wearing short sleeves."
She held her arms out. "Feel them."
She wasn't kidding. Her slender arms were covered with coarse little bumps.
I sat there feeling my groin stir. Now I
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