Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,104
them professionally. And the sibling rivalry thing bothers me. Something really hinky was going on there.”
“Like with Genesis.”
“Yes, exactly. If Cal was also in a relationship like that with Deja or Nia or both, I could definitely see the sibling rivalry thing escalating to a jilted-lover murder.”
The Braveheart soundtrack got louder, and the front seat squeaked. Apparently the white boy with the Bob Marley tattoo didn’t want to be liable for anything he overheard.
“No,” Auggie said, “I mean, Genesis’s dad and brother were talking about money too. A lot of money.”
“Fifteen thousand dollars isn’t a lot of money.”
“Says the guy who can’t afford a new air conditioner.” Wincing, Auggie pressed his face against the glass, grateful for the cool. “I could definitely use fifteen thousand dollars.”
“The problem is that they stood to make a lot more from the civil suit. They wanted him alive, not dead. Nia on the other hand—”
“Nia couldn’t have shot herself during the middle of her own speech.”
“The White Rabbit could have shot her.”
“Sadie? Why? To cover up the fact that she was selling steroids? That’s piddly stuff, Theo. The shooter took a huge risk last night, and it required planning, timing, and a cool head. Do you really think that sounds like a tweaker who hangs around a private gym and sells roids? Besides, it’s a weak motive. Whoever did this is capable, yes, but he’s also got a serious motive.” After a moment, Auggie added, “Or he’s crazy.”
The Braveheart music got even louder. This track had a lot of bagpipes, which felt to Auggie like the acoustical equivalent of a Phillip’s head in the ear canal.
When Theo spoke again, his voice was thoughtful. “Kickbacks to trainers and coaches aren’t exactly uncommon. Every few years, there’s another scandal, and everybody has to act shocked and surprised that big universities and professional teams are offering financial incentives. Some of it goes to the athletes, but the smart teams understand that a coach or trainer usually has a lot of pull, and so they’ll court the coach too: lavish vacations, generous donations to the local team’s fundraising efforts, a cushy consulting job.”
“A car with a temporary out-of-state tag.”
“I wondered how Cal had been able to afford that Mustang. I figured any extra cash was going into his coke fund.”
“Um, guys,” the driver said. “Friendly reminder that I’m still up here, you know? So if you could be cool, please?”
“Head?” Theo asked quietly.
“It’s ok.”
“I can handle this part on my own.”
“No, I want to be there.”
The duty officer at the front desk was named Murray—at least, that’s what his tag said—and he looked well past the age of retirement. Auggie pegged him at somewhere in his mid-seventies; he had a stray white nose hair that reached halfway to his lip. Theo seemed to know him; he walked right up to the officer and said hello.
Murray stared at him and said, “Yes, sir. May I help you?”
“We’re here to see Detective Somerset,” Theo said. “It’s about the shooting last night.”
“He’s very busy, but I’ll let him know. You gentlemen can have a seat.”
“Is everything going ok, Jim? How have you been holding up?”
Phone in one hand, Murray blinked a few times, seeming to consider his options, and settled for, “That’s Officer Murray, sir. Please have a seat.”
“It’s me, Theo.”
“Yes, sir. Please sit down now.”
When Auggie and Theo sat, Theo muttered, “Don’t.”
“I just think it’s cute that you kept trying.”
“I said don’t.”
The station smelled like burnt coffee, floor wax, and overheated bodies. Someone was running a hand dryer in the bathroom; voices competed, rose, and merged into a babble. Where the light came in through the double glass doors, it glowed against the white vinyl tiles. Auggie closed his eyes; a moment later, someone was saying his name softly, and he realized he had fallen asleep.
“Sorry.” He wiped his mouth, spotted the drool patch on Theo’s coat, and mumbled, “Oh God.”
“It’s fine,” Theo said quietly.
“Are you ok?” The voice was familiar: friendly without being forced; warm without being cloying. Detective Somerset bent down to examine Auggie. “You’re pretty pale.”
“I’m fine,” Auggie said.
“Are you—”
“He said he’s fine,” Theo said. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, ok. Can we talk here, or do you want to come back?”
“Better go back.”
So they followed Somerset to the bullpen, where desks had been pushed together in pairs. Somerset pulled two chairs up to one of the desks, sat, and took a long drink of coffee. “Sorry. It’s been a long night.”