Deadly Dreams - By Kylie Brant Page 0,45

the photos.

“Oh. I just know him by Juicy. We go back a way, back to my college days. If you wanted to score a little, Juicy was the go-to guy, right? We met up a couple times after I got out of Somerset, and maybe I said how it was tough to get a job, you know, with a record. He said maybe he’d have some work for me.”

Surprise flickered. Somehow Risa hadn’t been expecting this. “You’re selling drugs?”

He actually looked shocked. “What? No! God, nothing like that. I’m doing his books.”

“His books,” Nate repeated carefully.

Crowley lifted a shoulder. “He’s a businessman, right? Every business is a balance of profit and expense. I get the feeling he’s moved up the ladder some since I knew him from Temple. Dealers work for him now. Part of my job is to figure out what he owes to who so he can pay them.”

Risa rubbed her brow. They’d stumbled on something much further reaching than another possible witness to question. “Do you have a copy of his books?”

“Well, not now.” He looked anxious. “We were making the exchange the other day in the park. I’d finished them up and given them back to him. I won’t talk to him again for a couple weeks. I keep trying to get him to let me put everything on a spreadsheet, and then we could e-mail it back and forth. But he doesn’t trust computers. He’s afraid someone could hack into his account and get hold of his financial information.”

Crowley buried his face in his hands. His voice muffled, he said, “If he finds out I’ve told you this much, I’m dead. I heard this story about him dropping a guy in a trough of acid.” He raised his head then, looked hopeful. “Probably just an exaggeration, right?”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s true.” Even as Crowley went ashen, Nate went on. “So were you telling the truth about him getting to the park after you?”

The man hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know when he got there,” he admitted finally. “I just turned around and there he was. He’s creepy that way. If he doesn’t want you to, you won’t see him.”

“Okay.” Nate straightened and gave Crowley a small smile. “Thanks for your help. When we talk to him, we’ll keep your name out of it. Make it sound like someone else spotted the both of you there.”

Crowley chewed his lip. “You sure? ’Cuz maybe it’d sound better if I called him and said how you talked to me and would be coming by. Like I’m warning him.”

“Let’s let him think that I haven’t gotten around to you yet and that you’re next on my list.” Nate moved toward the door. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”

Mystified, Risa preceded him out the door and back down the narrow hallway. She sent a blinding smile to the still suspicious-looking Bob and said, “Thank you so much for allowing us a bit of Sam’s time. He’s been a great help.”

Nate waited until they were on the sidewalk before murmuring, “Laying it on a bit thick, weren’t you?”

“Not as thick as you were with Crowley at the end.” She slanted a look at him. “What are you planning?”

“I’ll put out the order for Juicy to be brought in for questioning, but I’m guessing we’re not going to get anywhere with him as a possible witness,” he admitted, as they started in the direction of where he’d parked the car farther down the street. “The rest of it? Crowley doing his books? I’m turning that over to Morales. Likely he’ll contact the captain in Vice. If they can get hold of Emmons’ financials, they might be able to build a case on him, maybe even go after his supplier.”

“Hopefully this case will stick.” She stopped as they reached the car. Annoyance briefly flared. Battled with dark humor.

Someone had dumped a very full litter box on the hood of the dark Crown Vic. Scratched into the driver’s door were the words COPS SUCK.

Nate looked up and down the street, but the sidewalks were unusually deserted. Blowing out a breath, he surveyed the damage. “Well, shit.”

Risa nodded. “Literally.”

Chapter 8

“If I were done, I’d have called you, McGuire. Did I call you? I don’t believe I did.” Liz Chin had to tilt her head up a long way to meet his gaze, but she wasn’t fazed by something as unimportant as stature. Her hands were on her hips, her tone

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