On most Saturday mornings, I slept until noon. But today, I rolled out of bed at nine, feeling alive and alert and altogether brimming with hope. Despite the events of the past week, the curtain of depression had parted again, and I vowed to make the best of whatever time I had in the light. Last night’s show went great—Otapi was even better than he was on Thursday—and Artie’s mood seemed to have stabilized, although I still had Skip tailing him just to be sure.

I inhaled four toaster waffles and a Granny Smith apple for breakfast before gathering my notebooks. I was heading down to the park again to write some new material, hoping my creativity would be enhanced by fresh air and sunshine, two substances usually avoided by comics. I made sure I had a trusty Penn with me, too.

Before I made it out the door, Freeman called. So much for my good mood. “Got an ID on the body from the fire,” he said, skipping the pleasantries. “LaTasha James. Working name: Honey Pot. Was a call girl with a pretty high-priced outfit working the downtown hotels. Her prints were among those we found at the scene of J.J.’s death. You got any idea why she’d go back after cleaning him out?”

“How would I know?” I said. “Maybe she didn’t know J.J. died.” I explained what J.J. said about wanting to see her again, regardless of the theft. “Maybe she was after an encore performance.”

Freeman grunted. “Uh-huh. Thanks for your input. We’ve processed most of the prints we took from the townhouse. In addition to James’s, we found J.J.’s , of course. And yours, Artie’s, and everyone else’s from the club.”

“No surprise there. Artie held staff meetings at the condo from time to time. Thought it fostered bonding. I think it was an excuse for him to feel like a gracious host.”

“Uh-huh. He gracious enough to invite Gerry Reed to those staff meetings? We found his prints there, too.”

My breath caught. “I don’t know what Reed was doing there. I’m pretty sure he and Artie weren’t reminiscing.”

Freeman said, “What I figured. So I talked to Reed.”

“How did he explain his prints?”

“Simple. Said J.J. asked him to come over for a drink, and he did.”

J.J. invited him over to talk turkey, in Artie’s own townhouse? J.J. had balls, all right. “When was that?” I asked.

“Wednesday. Couple nights before your handcuff rescue. He’s got an alibi for the night of J.J.’s death. Was working late at his club, got a few witnesses. You can pass that along to Artie when you see him, maybe that’ll help convince him Reed’s not involved in some nefarious scheme,” Freeman said.

“I’ll tell him.” It would take more than that to get Artie off his Reed jag, but I’d pass it along anyway. “What about the night of the fire?”

“Things are less locked-down that night. Said he was working late, alone. Then drove home. Wife was asleep when he got home. So…”

“So he could have set the fire,” I said.

“I try not to speculate. I prefer to rely on facts.” Freeman cleared his throat. “And here’s a fact you might find interesting. We’ve identified one other set of prints from the condo that might be important. Heather Dempsey’s.” He paused, waiting for some comment from me. When I didn’t respond, he asked, “You got anything you want to tell me?”

As much as I hated keeping something like this from Freeman, I still wasn’t ready to tie Heather to J.J., not yet, not without talking to her to get her side of the story. I’d kept her out of this so far, what was a little longer? I owed her that much for wrecking her life one night five months ago. “Nothing to worry about. I took her there a couple of times. When I was doing errands for Artie or making sure one of the comics hadn’t trashed the place. You can cross her off your list of suspects.”

“Those errands involve Heather touching the bed frame in the master bedroom? And the bedside lamp and the bathroom vanity and…I could go on.” Freeman’s voice had hardened. “You know how I feel about bullshit games, Channing.”

“Look, Freeman. I don’t remember what the errands involved. Maybe she made the bed or something. When I find Heather, I’ll ask her.”

“Maybe I’ll ask her first. Heather Dempsey has now officially become a ‘person of interest’ to the Fairfax County Police Department. So if you find her, you best let her know I’m looking for her.” I heard Freeman draw in a sharp breath and I pictured the scowl on his face. The scowl that had cracked many a scumbag in the interrogation room. “We clear?”

“Crystal,” I said. “Crystal.”

_____

After Freeman’s call, I hadn’t felt like going to the park to do some work. Tough to think of funny stuff after that conversation. And my gut ached from not being able to tell him the truth about J.J. sleeping with Heather. How could people lie, day in and day out? I’d be riddled with ulcers.

Instead of working, I downed a handful of Tums and fired up the DVD player to watch a couple of flicks I’d bought off Blockbuster’s 2-for-1 table. Twenty minutes into the first one, I ditched it and tried the second, only lasting ten minutes before giving it the heave-ho. I guess there was a reason they’d been in the bargain bin. I turned the TV off and reclined on the couch.

Do my laundry or go grocery shopping? My funk had returned and both chores seemed insurmountable. So I sat in the dark and thought about the Dempsey girls, one dead, one missing.

An hour later, Kathleen Dempsey called. She needed to see me, right away, could I come over? It was very, very important. Although she wasn’t my mother-in-law, I knew a command when I heard it, so I told her I’d be there in twenty-five minutes. I made most of the lights, weaving through traffic and negotiating the hilly, winding back roads, past country estates and horse farms with alacrity. I made it to the Dempseys’ with three minutes to spare.

Kathleen greeted me at the door and ushered me into the living room, where we’d sat the last time, where William Dempsey had destroyed cherished family keepsakes with his pipe wrench. I wasn’t afraid for my well-being; she had assured me over the phone Dempsey wouldn’t be around.

Today she looked haggard, as if she’d been digging a garden with her bare hands for the last fifteen hours. No makeup, uncombed hair, wrinkled clothes. It was the first time I could recall that Kathleen Dempsey hadn’t seemed 100 percent put together. It disturbed me.

Like last time, I sat on the couch while she perched on the edge of the chair across from me. This time, though, a somber mood hung in the air from the get-go. “Thanks for coming, Channing. I…I appreciate it.” She forced a wan smile, but it seemed engulfed by the overarching sense of loss her body exuded.

“Sure. Kathleen.” I glanced around. All the photographs seemed in place and there were no signs of busted glass or broken picture frames, as if Dempsey’s outburst had never happened. Maybe in her mind it never had.

“Well. I asked you to come over because…” She bowed her head and wrung her hands in her lap. “I didn’t feel like I could have this conversation over the phone, so…thanks for coming.” She lifted her head and stared at me with glossy eyes.

Had something happened to Heather? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I couldn’t not know. “What’s wrong? Have you heard from Heather?”

“No. You?”

I shook my head. “No. But I’m still looking. I’ll find her.”

Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine. Had she given up hope? Or was she embarrassed about her daughter’s penchant for putting others through the wringer with her disappearances?

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” I asked.

“No. It’s not that. It’s…” She broke off and tried a smile to lighten the mood, but the only thing she accomplished was dragging it further into the mire. “Oh, why is this so hard?” She got up and turned her back on me. I waited for her to get the courage to tell me what she so desperately wanted to, feeling my insides contracting into a tightly wound ball.

Kathleen whirled around and drew herself up, crossing her arms in front of her. Took a breath. “William and I have separated.” She held her chin high for a few seconds, then exhaled and her body shrank before me. She dropped into her seat and stared at me, waiting for my reaction.

“Separated? I’m so sorry to hear that.” Of course, if Dempsey’s recent behavior at home had been anything like the last couple of times I’d seen him, I wasn’t sorry in the least. Kathleen was far better off without a madman sharing her bed.

Kathleen leaned forward. “Yes. We’ve decided to go our separate ways. Lauren’s death had cracked an already faltering foundation, and Heather’s, uh, disappearance set the whole thing crumbling. It seemed to push him over the edge. Obnoxious, verbally abusive, the whole nine yards.” Her voice had gained some strength. Once the floodgates opened, her feelings came pouring out.

“Well, if there’s anything I can do, just let—”

“Thank you, Channing. Just so you know, I never blamed you for Lauren’s death. I know you loved her very much. She felt the same way about you, too.” A wistful smile shone through her tears. “I’m sure you knew that. Lauren wasn’t shy in expressing her feelings. In that respect, she was like her father.”

I nodded. Neither Lauren nor Dempsey ever shied away from giving someone their opinions. No matter what turmoil might ensue.

Kathleen cleared her throat. “Uh, speaking of William…”

“Yes?”

“I’d steer clear of him for a while,” she said, meeting my eyes.

Good advice, but a little late, considering my nighttime parking lot encounter. “Okay. I understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do. Not exactly. William is a dangerous, vengeful man, willing to blame anyone who’s convenient. And he’s very protective of his daughters.” She paused and pointed at me. “You for instance. Not only does he blame you for Lauren’s death, and for Heather’s disappearance, he…” Her head dropped and she mumbled something into her lap.

“What?”

“He blames you for our breakup, too.” Her head oscillated slowly, to its own cadence.

Yeah, I think I’d make a concerted effort to avoid William Dempsey. “I’m sorry about your difficulties with William. If there’s anything I can do, just name it. And thanks for the heads-up. I’ll be careful.” I rose to leave.

A mask of fright now covered Kathleen’s face. “He’s unstable, Channing. He’s dangerous. I’m afraid he’s going to do something terrible.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve changed the locks.”

I tried to be as calming as possible, but I wasn’t sure I was up to the task, considering I was this lunatic’s scapegoat. “If he comes around bothering you, call the police. Let them handle it. Okay?”

She nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but closed it abruptly. Then opened it again. “He took his gun. I looked in his closet this morning and the gun safe was empty. He feels he has nothing left to live for. First Lauren, then Heather, now me.” Her features melted into an amorphous blob.

So Dempsey has a gun. Like daughter, like father.

Kathleen started sobbing, slowly at first but gaining speed rapidly. Her shoulders shook and she gasped for breath between the sobs. Stared at me and kept on crying.

It took every once of restraint I possessed to keep from joining her.

_____

As I turned into my condo’s parking lot, Skip called. “You’d better come down here, man. I got a bad feeling about what Artie’s getting ready to do.”

The tone of Skip’s voice fueled an adrenaline rush. “Where are you?” I executed a quick U-turn in the lot and waited for an opening to shoot back into traffic.

“I’m in my car, a block from Reed’s place. Artie’s sitting at a little café, two doors down, sipping a coffee, staring at the club. It’s like one of those movies about the guy who gets so pissed off, he stalks his prey, captures him, and then pulls out his fingernails, one by one.”

“He’s just sitting there?” I asked.

“Yeah. But you better hurry. Artie never sits anywhere for long.”

I hauled ass on I-66 across the Potomac into the city, then zigzagged my way along the grid-like D.C. streets, maintaining phone contact with Skip the whole way. Traffic wasn’t too bad—on the weekends, it was always much lighter into the city than the bumper-to-bumper workdays. It still took me just under forty minutes to get to Foggy Bottom. When I arrived at Skip’s car, there weren’t any open spaces, so I pulled up alongside him and rolled down my window.

“Where is he?” I asked.

Skip pointed across the street, a half block up. “Right there. Under the yellow umbrella. He hasn’t moved. Just keeps staring at the front doors of the CCC.”

Artie sat at a table by himself with his back toward us. “Thanks, man. I’ve got it from here,” I said. “Catch you later.” I jammed Rex into reverse and backed up, waiting for Skip to leave so I could take his parking spot.

He roared off, and I parallel-parked, killing the engine. Better to confront Artie now than wait until something ugly erupted. I hopped out, timing the gap in traffic to cross the street. Safely on the sidewalk, I sauntered up to Artie’s table and slipped into the chair next to him. “This seat taken?”

Artie didn’t even glance at me. “Would it matter if I told you it was?”

“Nope.” I stared at the front door of the Capitol Comedy Club. An awning protruded about ten feet over the sidewalk, but it was high up, so you could see the orange door clearly. It was closed.

Artie didn’t say anything. Stubborn man.

“So, come here often?”

Stone face.

“There must be a thousand places to get a cup of coffee closer than this one,” I said, eyes on the CCC. Maybe if I didn’t gaze into his face directly, he wouldn’t get spooked. Like some kind of wild animal on the veldt.

“I happen to like their coffee,” he said. “Worth the drive.”

“Right.” I snapped my fingers and raised my voice. “Hey, isn’t that Reed’s club?”

Artie didn’t flinch. “Yes, I believe it is.”

“Wow. What a coincidence. You having coffee right here. Who woulda thought?”

My mentor finally turned his head in my direction. “Channing. I’m just an old goat enjoying a hot beverage. Leave me alone, will you? Don’t you have a club to run?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not even one o’clock. Besides, Donna can run that place by herself, in her sleep.”

“Then why am I paying you?” Artie asked, focused again on the CCC’s front door.

“Because you like my company?”

“Feh,” he said, shooing a fly away with his hand. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or to the fly, but I let it go.

I glanced around for a server, then realized it was one of those walk-up places like Starbucks. I didn’t want coffee that badly. More importantly, I didn’t want to risk Artie making a kamikaze run at CCC while I ducked inside.

Artie seemed unperturbed by my presence, as if he’d expected it all along. I touched his forearm. “Come on. Let’s go. You can’t go after Reed. He didn’t burn down the condo. And if you were thinking he killed J.J., forget it. Freeman checked and he has an alibi. Reed may be an ass and he may be trying to get his hands on The Last Laff, but you can’t go after him for that.”

He took a deep breath and let my hand rest on his arm. “We’ll see.”

“Artie, you can’t sit here and—” I broke off my sentence as a tall, curly-haired guy turned the far corner and headed for the Capitol Comedy Club’s front door. He strode right to it, pulled the door open, and disappeared inside. I felt my jaw hang open as I turned to speak to Artie. Nothing came out.

“What?” Artie asked, sensing something had caused me to short circuit. “What’s going on?”

“That guy who just went into the CCC? He’s Ryan Rizzetti, Heather Dempsey’s boyfriend.”

“So what does that mean?” Artie asked.

I managed a shake of the head. “Fuck if I know.”