| |
Adam put his head in his hands after Beverly huffed out of his office. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stayed like that when a soprano voice chirped in his ear, “Morning, sunshine,” followed by the sound of a cup being placed on his desk. “Coffee can cure anything. From Alzheimer’s to the blues. Or so I’ve heard.”
Adam glanced up at his partner. “Is that what Felicia tells you?” Jinks’s live-in girlfriend, Felicia, was a self-appointed alternative medicine guru who was always trying to get Adam to eat tofu this or quinoa that.
“She doesn’t know what I add to my coffee here at the station, though.”
“I’d say six sugars and three creamers doesn’t count as health food.”
Jinks pointed at the cup on his desk. “I stopped by Dean’s Coffee Bean and got you a quad espresso. Figured you needed it.”
“What I need is for this nightmare to disappear.”
“If you mean Harlan, yeah. But I think I also saw Beverly Laborde running out the building on my way in.”
“She’s back, all right. And as righteous as ever.”
“About Harlan?”
“Let’s just say I don’t think I’m on her Christmas card list anymore.”
Jinks plopped into a chair and opened the lid of her coffee to lick up the cream, leaving a white mustache on her light brown skin. “She probably knows it, like you and I know it, that this whole thing is bunk. Harlan was framed. So now we just have to find out who’s responsible.”
“Yeah. Easy.”
“Sure, easy enough. After long days and nights and lots of interviews and phone calls.”
“Didn’t see you when I brought Harlan in earlier.”
“I was already working on those phone calls. Our victim, Wallace Ryall, wasn’t a very popular guy.”
“I knew he and his brother were on the outs. And his father considered him enough of a suck-up to leave him out of his will.”
“That’s not all. He was Mr. Litigious. Sued people all the time. Over-compensation, you know? An average looking guy with an average intelligence and an average income. He probably even had an average haircut, and his favorite color was beige.”
Adam pulled a photo of the victim out a folder and passed it over. Jinks took one look at Wally Ryall wearing a khaki-colored suit and gave Adam an “I told you so,” look.
“Harlan told me he was in business with his brother, Ramsay, which failed, hence the estrangement.”
Jinks slurped up more of the cream. “A snowmobile business. But when Wallace Ryall kept suing customers and suppliers, it eventually bankrupted the company. I can understand why his brother might be a tad miffed.”
“He seemed to bounce back with his new business.”
“I talked to one guy who said Ryall was a pretty talented wood craftsman. He made custom skis. But I don’t think that ended his litigation obsession.”
“So, we have a bunch of pissed-off litigants to add to our suspect list.”
Jinks uttered a very unladylike belch. “Strange thing about the location of the murder. Be a lot easier to shoot the guy at his house. Why way out in the boonies? And why a sword, for God’s sake?”
“I got an expedited court order for the phone records from Wally Ryall. I haven’t chased down all the callers and callees on the day before and the day of his murder, but the few I’ve checked so far look benign.”
“Maybe a phone call that lured him there was arranged to look legitimate? Or the murderer set up a meeting with Ryall in person? Or kidnapped him. Since no cars were found at the scene, the killer either drove Ryall there or he had an accomplice who drove Ryall’s car back to his house.”
“I’ve got the tech guys matching car tire treads and looking at Ryall’s car right now.”
“You got that list of phone records, lover boy?”
Adam handed it over, and Jinks scanned it. “I’ll follow up with these. And we’ll need a warrant to search Ryall’s home.”
Adam pulled out another piece of paper and flashed it at Jinks. “Right,” she said, adding, “You’ve been a busy bee this morning.”
He returned the copy of the warrant to the folder. “This came through yesterday. You were out on that McWilliams case at the time. How’s that going, by the way?”
Jinks grimaced. “Sexual assault cases aren’t my faves. But I’ll have time to help with Harlan’s case.” She added, “We’ll also need a warrant to search Harlan’s home. Have to cover all bases. Appearances and all.”
She didn’t add, “In case Harlan really is guilty,” but she didn’t have to. If he were honest with himself, he’d admit point-blank he’d briefly entertained the notion Harlan could have killed Ryall. Very briefly.
“Warrants are us.” Adam patted the folder.
“We’ll get right on it then,” and she put her feet up on his desk.
Adam smiled at her. “Miss Laborde and I independently came up with the idea Mayor Lehmann or one of Reginald Forsythe’s cronies might be behind the frame-up.”
“She’s got brains in addition to the beauty. Just don’t let Felicia know I said that.”
“So what do you think? About Lehmann or the Forsythe angle?”
“Lehmann is a dickhead, and I’d love to be able to pin a murder on him. But I think he’s too much of a coward to kill anybody. At least, physically.”
Adam snorted, and she continued, “The idea that it could be a revenge move on the part of a Forsythe partner-in-crime—that’s got some legs.”
He replied, “Other than the Forsythe-Lehmann revenge angle, there could be other motives to frame Harlan. Hatred, convenience, an opportunistic killing, or something related to Harlan’s business. A disgruntled customer, a competitor. Someone who might benefit the most if Harlan went out of business.”
“That sure smells like a Forsythe plan.”
Jinks inhaled a chocolate-chip muffin in two bites, crumpled up the wrapper, and did a perfect three-pointer into the trash. “The mayor’s going to be on our asses over this. If he gets a whiff that we’re going easy on Harlan due to our friendship. . .”
“And then there’s Reuben Ryall.”
“What about him?”
“That research I was telling you about. The Ryall patriarch, being of the rich, white persuasion, was a good bud of Lehmann’s.”
Jinks groaned. “How good?”
“Good enough to make a contribution to the mayor’s re-election campaign, apparently.”
“Here we go again.”
“Me, I love carousel rides. Round and round and round.” Adam gulped down some of his now-cooler espresso and wrinkled his nose. “Whoa. That’s extra-black.”
“Put some hair on your chest. Hetero women still like hair on a man’s chest, right?”
“Depends upon the woman. And the hair, I guess.” Adam tapped a pencil on the folder. “I checked into Reuben Ryall’s death. To see if there were any signs he’d been murdered, too.”
“And?”
“The medical examiner’s autopsy listed natural causes. Brain aneurysm.”
“Ouch. My cousin Shijo had one of those. He’s still on crutches and slurs his speech two years later.”
“Shijo. Let me guess which side of the family he’s from.”
“It’s funny, but my African-American kin get along better with the Japanese clan than vice versa.”
“Prejudice comes from every side. I’ll bet cardinals turn up their beaks at sparrows.”
“And all the dogs at the Westminster show love to hate on the poodles. Silly furry topiaries.”
He grinned, knowing Felicia owned a large standard poodle with reddish-brown, curly hair. Minus the topiary. “In all those phone calls you made, you find any charges of prejudice, sexual assault, threats against Wally Ryall?”
“Not so much as a ‘he looked at me cross-eyed.’ Though pretty much everyone called him a self-absorbed, narcissistic jerk.”
“Plenty of motive potential there.”
“Where do you want to start?”
“Prospero. He said he didn’t know the sword was stolen, and I found out he has an air-tight alibi for the entire day of the murder. He drove up to Boston with two friends to attend a matinee of The Nutcracker at the Boston Opera House. Ate at Fajitas & ‘Ritas after.”
“But he’s a good place to start.”
“Yep. And a search of the antiques store.”
Jinks dropped her feet to the floor, guzzled the last of her coffee that was more cream than java, then stood up and bopped Adam on the arm. “Come on, man. Times a’wasting. We’ve got a potentially innocent man to save.”
“Potentially?”
“As far as Mayor Lehmann is concerned, that’s what we’re going to call him. Officially.”
“I’m sure the chief would appreciate it. He had me in his office yesterday with a friendly warning on that very subject.”
Jinks looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “What about Beverly Laborde?”
“What about her?”
“She attracts trouble like mold to cheese.”
“I don’t think she’ll get in our way. She’s helping Agnes Flamm open a new wine shop. She’ll probably be too busy for anything else.”
Jinks gave him a full-on slow burn, and he chose to ignore her. Beverly had turned down his invitation to go to dinner, what, three times now? If that wasn’t a clear sign she wasn’t interested in him, he didn’t know what was. His ex-wife was clamoring for an affair—thus cheating on the mayor no less—but Beverly couldn’t seem to run away from Adam fast enough.
Romantic relationships all ended up in divorce or death or heartache. He’d take a down-and-dirty criminal case over that any goddamned day of the year.
