Love is Murder

Chapter 15

DETECTIVES PHOENIX AND Flynn were waiting for me as I left the Frank E. Campbell Funeral Chapel. I hadn’t heard from Phoenix since I refused to tell tales on my colleagues and stormed out of his car without saying good night. The first thing I thought when I saw him was, Now what? What I actually said was, “Yes?”

“Ms. Tyler,” said Detective Flynn, “there are a few questions we’d like to ask you.”

“Are you taking me down to your station?”

“How about we buy you a cup of coffee around the corner?” Phoenix said.

I wanted to tell him where he should shove that cup, but I restrained myself. The truth was I needed to sit down and I needed some coffee. What I did not need was another surprise. Damon’s mother had thrown me for a loop. At least Phoenix and Flynn were known quantities.

WE SETTLED INTO a curved imitation leatherette booth in the back, where it was quiet, with me sandwiched between the two detectives. Phoenix was a big man measuring north to south; Flynn was more than ample going east to west. A smiling waitress approached with an order pad. She asked us what we would like to have in a manner that suggested she really wanted to know. I enjoy being around people who like doing what they do, and this woman’s genuine smile lifted my spirits.

“Three coffees,” Flynn told her.

“Separate checks,” I said.

Phoenix told his partner, “She’s joking, G.G.”

I looked at Detective Flynn, who was built like two sides of beef. “Your mother named you Gigi?”

“It’s G.G. Two initials. For George Gordon,” Flynn said.

“His mother liked poetry,” Phoenix added.

“George Gordon, Lord Byron,” I said. Suddenly I felt a little uncomfortable because I was showing off. Then I realized Phoenix was showing off, too. I wondered if he was showing off for me.

The waitress returned with our coffee and began distributing the cups.

Flynn looked from his partner to me, and back to his partner, and then addressed both of us. “If you two are through talking about whatever the hell you’re talking about, can we discuss the murder?”

“I didn’t hear anything,” the waitress said as she scurried away.

Phoenix bypassed the sugar bowl and pushed the container of Sweet’N Low toward me. Flynn eyed his partner with suspicion.

“You know how she takes her coffee?”

“Lucky guess,” I said. I emptied two packets into my cup. “What do you want to ask me?”

Detective Flynn took his little notebook out of a jacket pocket, but Phoenix was the one who began their coffee shop interrogation.

“According to the folks at your network,” Phoenix said, “nobody had a motive for killing Radford. But everybody has a theory.”

“Theories are flowing like my wife’s mascara when she watches a Disney movie.” Flynn’s tone was affectionate; it was the first thing about him I liked.

“We want to run a few of those theories by you,” Phoenix said. “For what you can add. Or subtract.”

“Okay,” I said.

“We heard Radford had big gambling debts,” Phoenix said.

“Damon didn’t gamble.”

“It was a drug killing,” Flynn said.

“Damon didn’t take drugs.”

“Jealous husband?” Phoenix asked.

“He didn’t go after married women.”

“Plenty of single women, though,” Flynn said.

“From what we’ve heard,” Phoenix said.

“And read,” Flynn added.

“How long have you two been partners?” I asked them.