wash down the lump in his throat. He looked down at the table to avoid the girls’ gaze; it was clear that they knew something was wrong. “Do you need me?” He mouthed a thank-you to the waiter when his second beer appeared.
“No. I’ll handle it. I’m pulling a double so I can go to Ricardo’s sister’s baby shower tomorrow. That oughta be fun,” she said. The noise in the background got louder and she shouted to an officer to cut his siren. “I’ll call you later,” she said and hung up.
A wave of exhaustion took hold of him. The body count was rising and his energy was ebbing.
Neither one was good.
Chapter 25
I managed to make it through the Hardin/Madden tag team questioning session in just under two hours. Brendan and I spent those two hours answering their questions until it became apparent to them that we had nothing to say beyond “we found a body in a grave and we don’t know anything else.” They were perplexed as to why not one, but two, bodies missing body parts had been found by me. I reminded them that it was Brendan, not I, who had found the second body. Small but salient point, in my opinion. I was perplexed about the two bodies, too, however, and asked them if they had any theories about that.
We also reviewed the 911 calls of the early morning, and they told me that they would follow up on that. I got a glimpse of the cop I had seen earlier that morning and he didn’t have the look of someone who had just gotten the news that he was receiving a commendation in the near future.
But despite everything I told them, they still regarded me suspiciously. Two things about Hardin and Madden: one, they don’t find me remotely amusing, and two, they really don’t have a clue as to how to conduct a murder investigation. If they did, would they really consider me a viable suspect? If I had any smarts at all, would I have buried a body in the yard next to mine and then allowed my dog to dig up the body? I think not.
I mentioned to them that Peter Miceli had been in the vicinity that day and that seemed to excite them more than the thought of throwing me in the slammer overnight. I explained to them how the missing hands and feet were a Miceli signature and that the NYPD was working that angle on Ray’s murder.
“And what would Miceli’s motive be in killing Terri Morrison?” Hardin asked, his hound-dog face sad and questioning.
Hmmm. I hadn’t really thought about that. “Give me time. I’m sure I can come up with something,” I said, ever helpful. I’m nothing if not gifted in coming up with murder scenarios and told them so.
Their stony gazes told me that they weren’t impressed.
When they finally released the two of us, Brendan’s mother, Jane, drove both of us back home with a promise to check in on me the next day.
I was worried about the kid; he had become almost catatonic on the short ride home. I was hoping that after a hot meal, a good night’s sleep, and the care of his lovely mother, he would be able to function somewhat normally again. Then again, he was a teenager who had seen a dead and dismembered body. It might be a long time before he felt normal.
The next day, I wandered around in a haze, careful not to look over into the Morrison’s yard, which would remind me again of what I had seen. I spent the better part of the day on the couch trying to wipe the memory of the day before from my mind and was only partially successful. The only time I wasn’t thinking about it was when I was thinking about either who had killed Ray or who had shot me. I was happy when I checked my watch and saw that it was six o’clock and cocktail hour could begin.
There was not enough vodka in the world to erase the memory of seeing Terri, for whom I now had a little sympathy despite our past, in that grave. I thought I would give it a shot, though. I made myself a giant martini with about twenty olives and took it into the living room. Funny thing about finding Terri: I was no longer thinking about Peter Miceli. I had already fixed myself some guacamole from an old