Silenced by the Yams - By Karen Cantwell Page 0,27
string to pull.”
He caught me off guard, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. We’d gone from talking about Frankie to discussing the complications of our friendship. An awkward silence hung in the air.
“Besides,” Colt said finally, “I promised Howard I’d stay out of this one. He’s my landlord, remember? I like where I live.”
“Frankie saved your life, Colt.”
“Curly . . .”
“Listen,” I said, “I’m sorry that you feel used by me. Honestly, you’re very important to me and I would never intentionally do anything to make you feel otherwise. But Frankie is in trouble and I have my connections, so I’m clearing his name, with or without your help.”
Truthfully, I didn’t have that many connections. Just Guy Mertz, for what he was worth. He had an in with Randolph Rutter, although I didn’t know what good that might do. Then there was Clarence-the-odd-one who claimed to be employed by the ACL. I couldn’t deny that Colt’s contacts and know-how wouldn’t benefit greatly, but I wasn’t bluffing when I said I’d clear Frankie’s name with or without his help. I was determined to prove that Frankie was innocent and I was counting on Colt’s caring nature to come through and lend me a helping hand.
Colt furrowed his brows and leaned in close. “Have you forgotten that just this afternoon someone tried to fill you with bullet holes?”
“Don’t be so dramatic. I was a bystander to a drive-by shooting along with you and half a million others. It was probably some drug gang war incident. They happen in DC all of the time.”
The furrows relaxed a bit.
“Come on,” I wheedled, “be a good guy.”
Colt was crumbling, I could tell. I got down on my knees to push home my desperation. “Frankie needs your help.”
That did the trick. Colt blew out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. You can get off your knees. I’ll help. Under one condition—you run everything by me. No going off on your own, no meeting with odd people who say they know things. And if things get dicey and I say we’re done, then we’re done. End of story.”
I smiled and crossed my heart. “Promise, Captain.” Standing to pace the room, I pondered those witnesses in the kitchen. “First,” I said, “I want to find the missing bottle with the mystery ingredient that Frankie poured onto those yams. Which means we have to talk to Frankie. Now.”
Chapter Eleven
I needed to hear from Frankie, firsthand, what happened in that kitchen Sunday night. If he added something to those yams, he’d tell me and if he had any suspicions about who actually tried to kill Randolph Rutter, he’d tell me that, too. And the sooner the better since his indictment hearing was on Thursday. Plus, with the younger girls at friends’ houses, time was mine. For now.
“But,” Colt said, while peeling an orange he snatched from my fruit bowl, “have you forgotten that it’s eight o’clock at night? Way past visitor’s hours, I’m sure.”
In fact, I couldn’t remember when visitor’s hours ended. A quick re-visit to the FAQ page on the DC Department of Corrections website told us that we’d just missed our chance—they ended at eight. And as I already knew, our next possible date was Thursday. That just wouldn’t do. His hearing was at ten a.m. I scrolled down further hoping to find some loophole. “Look at this!” I turned the screen so Colt could read. “Legal visits are permitted 24 hours a day, seven days a week.”
“That’s right!” Colt was exaggerating his own enthusiasm. “You just passed your bar last week—you’re all set Barbara Marr, Esquire. Go in and visit him tonight.”
I refused to let Colt’s sarcasm drown the spark of inspiration growing in my mind. Somehow, I knew, I could make this legal visitation rule work for me. I just had to figure out how. Did I know any lawyers? Yes, but none I dared approach with this scheme. I didn’t even know whether Frankie had a lawyer. If real life resembled the movies, he could either retain his own lawyer, or if he couldn’t afford one, the court would appoint counsel.
A really fine idea was brewing in my devious mind.
“So,” I said, “I would guess that criminal lawyers hire investigators, right?”
“Sure. Sometimes they keep them on staff, sometimes they hire out on a case-by-case basis, why?”
“And if an investigator needed information from the lawyer’s client in order to, you know, investigate, then that would fall under the category of ‘legal visits,’ right?”
He narrowed his eyes and