calls, DNA they haven’t matched, visiting his girlfriend’s place. I suppose they raided Ricky’s house, too?”
“They searched it, yes, the next night. With a warrant.”
“And found…?”
He lifted his hands. “Nothing I’ve heard about. Well, except normal boyfriend kinds of things. This picture—” he tapped the folder, indicating the photo of the two of them at the restaurant “—notes in Alicia’s handwriting, a take-out menu from the restaurant where she worked. Clothes, make-up, that sort of thing, you know, that she probably left at his place over the past few months.”
“Everything that would show she actually was his girlfriend.”
“And nothing to show he didn’t kill her.”
“But nothing to show he did.” She stood up and paced in the small area in front of the desk. “Did they actually interview him after they found her, or only after the landlord called?”
“They didn’t know to talk to him. Like I said, Alicia’s phone was missing, and she had nothing else of his in her apartment. Not an address book with his information, or any kind of computer, or anything. The only reason the cops knew her name was because of the landlord.”
“Didn’t Ricky show up at her place, wondering where she was when he couldn’t reach her by phone?”
“Yes, actually. That’s the first the police talked to him. He went to her apartment on Friday, the night after she died. The landlord had remembered seeing him the night before, and the cops were getting ready to pay him a visit. They questioned him quite extensively right there at her place.”
“Were you there?”
“Not that time. He wasn’t a suspect yet—at least not officially.”
“And he told them stuff?”
“Of course he did. After all, they hit him with the news, right there where she died, and he was devastated. He wanted to help.”
“And incriminated himself.”
Don held up his hands, and dropped them. “He didn’t put up an argument about the night before. He confirmed he’d been there, and that he’d left her—alive—close to eleven. They arrested him the next morning, once they’d gotten her phone number so they could retrieve a list of calls.”
“So what can I do? I have to help him.”
“You can’t help yet.”
“Of course I can. It’s why I came. Why you told me to come.”
“Casey, the cops have other priorities where you’re concerned. You know you’re wanted for questioning about what happened in Ohio three weeks ago. If they see you, that’s all they’re going to care about, and you and Ricky will be headlined as homicidal siblings.”
Casey didn’t want to think about Ohio, about how she’d killed a man. About how she was on the run. Especially now that Ricky needed her.
“But you said Eric vouched for me. He told them it was self-defense.” This would be Eric VanDiepenbos, a sweet, good-hearted, handsome young man who had befriended Casey three weeks earlier and then watched in horror as she’d killed the Louisville thug. She hadn’t meant for him to see it. She hadn’t meant for it to happen. “Besides, the cops know the guy was a mobster.
“You know it was self-defense,” Don said. “And Eric knows that. But until the cops hear it directly from you, they’re obligated to hunt you down. You can’t just waltz into the police station—or the jail to visit Ricky—until your own issues are cleared up.”
“Then let’s go. Right now.”
“We can’t. The people we need are all asleep. And you’re not going to get on their good side by pulling them out of bed on a Sunday night for something that could just as easily be done in the morning.”
She glanced at Death, who was typing frantically on the smart phone. Death nodded, and said without looking up, “He’s right. Everything’s closed, and folks are finishing up the weekend. It’s best to put it on the back burner till morning.”
“Okay,” Casey said, throwing up her hands. “Fine. You win.”
“It’s not a competition.” Don put Alicia’s folder in his briefcase and stood up. “You have somewhere to spend the night?”
“Ricky’s is off-limits, I guess?”
“Still sealed off. How about your house? Or maybe,” he added quickly, “your mother’s?”
“She doesn’t even know I’m in town.”
“Right.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “So I guess that means you’ll be coming home with me.”
“I can’t. The cops will look there.”
“They don’t know you’re in town, either.”
“But don’t they suspect I’ll be coming around, with Ricky in trouble?”
“I don’t know what they suspect. They’re cops. They suspect everything.”
“So here’s what we’ll do. I’ll find a place to sleep—”
“Come home with me.”
“—and I’ll meet