might have been a brunette. It was hard to tell. It was dark.”
Crawford slumped in his chair.
“Actually, it might not have been a lady at all.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Alex. What did you see?”
“I’m not sure.” He coughed loudly. “I’m real sick, Bobby. I think I have a fever.”
Crawford stood. “Where are you?”
“In front of Maloney’s.”
Bingo. “I’ll be over in a few minutes. We can go to the drugstore and get whatever you need. Wait for me, Alex.” He hung up and stood. “Let’s go, Carmen. We’re going to have a guest for lunch.”
Carmen frowned. “Oh, Bobby. How we gonna make out if someone else is there?”
They headed over to Broadway and 242nd Street. There was a fifty-fifty chance that Alex would be there and Crawford preferred to take the “glass is half full” approach. Carmen was dubious. When they pulled up in front of Maloney’s, there was no sign of their sick, drugged-out informant.
Carmen held out her hand. “That’ll be five dollars, Mr. Man.”
Crawford got out of the car and looked around. He never worried about Alex; although his word wasn’t rock solid, Crawford could tell that he was counting on him for a few bucks and a meal. Alex didn’t pass up the opportunity for money or food, and would even make up information just to get both. He put his hands on his hips and looked down at the pavement.
Something wasn’t right.
Chapter 23
I went home and took a shower, hoping to wash the day’s unpleasantness off along with the mud that had pooled in my slippers and on my feet. I threw the slippers into the bathroom garbage can and took my clothes off, marveling at just how horrendous I looked after my little adventure.
Thank God for Jimmy Crawford. I didn’t think going back to school and having to confess to Kevin and Sister Mary that I almost had gotten a criminal record was such a good idea. Reckless driving I could handle, but harassment? Resisting arrest? Those two charges were for real criminals, not for nerdy, rule-following college professors.
I didn’t know where this newfound bravado came from or what had possessed me to follow the red car. The car was not one of Jackson’s or Terri’s; she had a minivan—in preparation for their future spawn, I suppose—and he had an old Nissan Sentra, what we around these parts called a “station car.” Everyone who commuted via the railroad had an old junker that they drove the few miles to the station. The red car wasn’t theirs. But whose was it?
After my shower, I called Crawford’s cell. He picked up after a few rings. “I hope I’m not getting you at a bad time.”
“I’m in a Dumpster behind Maloney’s. It’s not a great time.”
Curious. “What are you…” Never mind, I thought. “First, thanks for sending your brother. He got me out.”
“He told me. You’re welcome.”
“Second, I thought we should run the plate on the red car. I got the license plate number.”
“I’m up to my knees in garbage right now, so maybe we should have this conversation later?” He sounded winded and more than a little perturbed.
I sat down on my bed, drying my hair with a towel. “Do you want to call me when you get back to the precinct?”
“What I want to do is get out of this Dumpster, have lunch, go home, and forget this day ever happened.”
Well, alrighty then. “Give me a call later,” I said, hanging up. Instead of focusing on Crawford’s crabby demeanor, I thought about all of the mysteries I was now involved in: who killed Ray? Who shot me? Where did Terri and Jackson go? And did they have anything to do with each other?
I decided that I wouldn’t be able to think clearly until I ate something.
I ended up at the diner in town, one of my favorite hangouts. I figured that if I was going to become an amateur sleuth, I needed a greasy spoon to hang out in where everyone knew my name. Although it had been a hundred years since I had read a Nancy Drew book, I was sure she had a hangout. I remembered that she had a sporty coupe and I vowed to buy myself one of those. Maybe having a sporty coupe would mitigate the fact that no matter how many times I went to the diner, nobody ever remembered me, so I always sat at the counter, slightly dejected that I was that unmemorable.
“Help you?” a young waitress asked, approaching