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Adam waved at Beverly after she dropped him off at the station. He hoped some of his words had gotten through to her. That she’d think twice about returning to her not-quite-legal ways. But he was a cop, and he’d seen it all. Habits, learned behaviors, personal codes—once they drove those ruts into your soul, it was hard to turn around.
After checking in with Jinks, he stopped by the lab and was pleased to see Joe Brimm hunched over his work desk. “Joe, my man, tell me you found something helpful at Harlan’s antiques shop the other day.”
Before he had a chance to reply, Adam added, “Are those new specs I see? What happened to the contacts?”
“Infection. The doc had these half-price, though.”
“Sporty. Got a hexagonal thing going on.”
Brimm took off the glasses to rub his eyes. “Finished the inspection of the knob from Harlan’s shop.” He waved Adam over so he could see the computer screen. “See that deep gouge and those small scratches below it? That’s where a tension tool was used. Whoever did it was pretty skilled. Only used a light torque.”
“You’re saying someone did pick the lock?”
“Seems so.”
“Well, well. That helps our case, though it’s not enough by itself.” He patted Brimm on the shoulder. “Good work. Keep me posted on anything else you find.”
Adam grabbed the morning’s Junction Jive from the reception desk and headed to his office. Looked like Sam Cowie was busy working on the Wallace Ryall murder case from his end. Adam scanned Sam’s update in the paper but nothing new, at least to him.
He and Sam went way back. The man was an honest journalist and wouldn’t let their friendship get in the way of covering the story no matter where it led. Maybe that’s why they got along so well, a professional code of ethics.
Adam sat down at his desk for a moment glaring at the phone, then got up again and paced around. No way around it, he had to make a call he’d dreaded. Grabbing the receiver, he sat on top of his desk and dialed his not-so-favorite prosecutor, Philip Arment.
The clipped tones that greeted him on the other end were a sure sign Arment was as “overjoyed” to hear from him. “Yeah, Dutton, what can I do for you?”
Adam kept his voice neutral. He was proud of himself for that—should be made an honorary Swiss resident. “I’m calling about the Wallace Ryall case, Phil.”
“And Harlan Wilford’s arrest, you mean?”
“The arraignment.”
“Quite frankly, Dutton, I’m surprised your Chief Quinn would let you handle this case. Conflict of interest and all.”
“He trusts me. So should you.”
“I don’t have much choice right this moment. But rest assured, I’ll be watching everything you do. One misstep, and—”
“You’ll take me off your dance card for the Valentine’s Dance. I get it. Thought you should know that Joe Brimm found definite signs of a break-in and someone picking the lock.”
There was a pause on the other end and the sound of the phone being put down. When Arment picked it up again, he said, “If that’s all you’ve got, Adam—”
“This case is hardly two days old, Phil.”
“Why don’t you hold a séance or something, Dutton? Look, the evidence against Wilford is still pretty tight. I’m going to ask for no bail.”
Adam sucked some air through his teeth. “You do what you have to.”
“I nailed Wilford last time, Dutton. I’m not worried. See you tomorrow?”
Adam hung up, still seething. When he’d found Harlan had the prior arrest for assault, he’d also learned that the newly minted prosecuting attorney on his case was none other than. . .Philip Arment. That’s what made Adam even angrier. The nerve of Arment wondering why the chief had let Adam work the case—the same Arment who’d refused to recuse himself from Harlan’s murder case.
But maybe he had a point. Adam was ordinarily expected to work with the State’s Attorney, but this particular time, he was trying to help defend the accused. Or trying to help pursue the truth, which he hoped would exonerate the accused.
Adam checked the time. Six o’clock. He wasn’t going to do Harlan or the case or justice any good if he was this keyed up tomorrow. He grabbed his coat and headed for the one place he knew he could take out his frustrations without getting himself arrested.
§ § §
When he arrived at Jim’s Gym, half a dozen other cars peppered the lot. He might have a good sparring partner instead of the bag for a change. Adam grabbed his boxing gloves from his car and ducked inside.
He didn’t have to inhale deeply to notice the familiar aroma of rubber, plastic mats, pine cleaner, and sweat. A testosterone gym, for sure—not too many feminine customers darkened its doors, and the owner was fine with that. Though they did install a woman’s bathroom, in case.
Wonder what Beverly Laborde would say to that? Somehow, Adam thought she might be able to hold her own in the ring and put up a pretty good fight.
Adam was in luck. His occasional sparring partner, Frank Ethridge, was there and greeted him with a thump on the back. “Wondered what happened to you, Adam. Thought you were swallowed up by a blue hole.”
“Blue hole?”
“Black hole wouldn’t fit a cop, now would it?”
Adam laughed. “Guess not. Got your gloves ready?”
“I had ‘em bronzed and mounted on my wall when I hadn’t seen you in a couple months.” The man guffawed at his own joke. “Nah, I kid. They’re over there. I see you brought yours.”
“I need this, Frank. And don’t think I’ll be taking it easy on you this time.”
“Like you ever do.” Ethridge tilted his head and squinted at Adam. “I know why you’re here, though. Read about Harlan in the paper. Damn shame.”
Adam took one of his gloves and popped it on the other man’s head. “Less talk, more violence.”
The two men headed to the small boxing ring in the corner and immediately settled into a friendly but jabbing exchange of punches and counterpunches. They happily added their own collection of sweat to the gym’s catalog of aromas.
They’d been at it for only fifteen minutes when Frank’s cellphone rang from the edge of the ring. He tore off his gloves and hopped over to check it, then apologized to Adam. “Gotta take this. It’s my kid. She tried out for the school band today. Bassoon. Tried to get her to go for the flute. More jobs.”
After Frank had stepped out of the ring and headed out the front door, chatting the entire way, Adam became aware of a presence behind him. He whipped around and saw the mocking mug of Sergeant Mike Moody.
Moody leaned across the ropes. “You up for a round or two, Dutton?”
Adam was tempted to take him up on his offer and wipe that smug smile right off his face. But he didn’t think the chief would be too happy if one of his detectives beat one of his sergeants to a bloody pulp. “Would love to, Mike, but I’ll have to take a raincheck. I’ve got an appointment in an hour.”
“Appointment? You mean date, right? With that sexy Beverly Laborde? You must be doing it with her, right?”
Moody was baiting Adam, angling for a fight. But the image of a bloodied and battered Moody would have to do for now. “It’s a case I’m working on. A reason I made detective so fast—a lot of overtime, paid and unpaid.”
Adam said those words through a clenched smile, playing it cool. He knew how his words would affect Moody, who’d made no secret of his career-climbing ambitions. And it did wipe the smile off the other man’s face, even it not nearly as satisfying as a left hook.
Adam left the ring, waved at Moody, and headed outside the building. Frank was finishing up the conversation with his daughter and must have seen the dark clouds forming on Adam’s face. “What got into you, sport?”
“Sergeant Mike Moody. A man who thinks he’s God’s gift to, well, everything. He’s not my biggest fan.”
“I can’t leave you alone for a moment without you getting into trouble. You should hire me as your official bodyguard.”
“I’ll run it by the chief, Frank. I’m sure he’ll be happy to put you on the roll. For free, of course.” Adam pointed at the phone still in the other man’s hand. “Daughter make the band?”
“She made it through the first round. Says there’s another girl gunning for the same seat. Kinda like her own Mike Moody.”
“She has my sympathies. Give her my best. And tell her she’s got good genes on her side. How could she possibly lose?”
Ethridge grinned at him. “You are so full of it, cop-man. But I’ll tell her. Better than my prepared pep talk of ‘always drink upstream from the herd.’”
Frank had a way of cheering Adam up, and Adam parted ways feeling less nervous about Harlan’s arraignment tomorrow. And with any luck, Moody wouldn’t find out that Adam’s “appointment” was with the TV and a beer while flipping through case notes about Wallace Ryall’s murder.
