Deadly Gamble: The First Charlie Parker Mystery (12 page)

"Anyway, about Gary," she finally said,
bringing herself back to the question.

"Who else did he hit on?" I prompted.

"Brad North's wife, I think. She and Gary
looked pretty cozy one night. You know him? North? He's a personal
injury attorney. I know I shouldn't say this about a colleague . .
." Her mouth formed a little grimace. "But that man is just so
obviously after a buck. Get him in a social situation and he's
still selling. He'll practically ask you if you've been hurt
somewhere, just so he can suggest suing someone. I've never really
gotten to know her, but it wouldn't surprise me if she had to look
elsewhere for a little attention."

"I was engaged once to Brad North," I told
her.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I mean for what I said.
That was really tactless."

"No offense. I'm thankful it didn't work out.
He and Stacy eloped right under my nose. I guess that should have
told me what kind of person he is."

"You're right. If you don't mind my saying
so, you got the better end of the deal."

"If you don't mind my saying so, I agree." We
laughed, breaking the uneasy moment.

"So, who might have killed Gary Detweiller?"
I asked.

She sipped more wine and stared into the
fire, thinking. "You're investigating on behalf of Stacy North,
aren't you?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Well, I don't think she would do it. I don't
even know the lady, but it doesn't seem like it would be her
style."

"Can I tell you something in confidence?" I
asked. "Detweiller stole a watch from Stacy. When she realized it,
she was terrified. She had me recover the watch, and I thought that
would be the end of it. When he turned up dead, she was even more
terrified. I don't think she did it either. But she's scared to
death of her husband."

"And she might kill to keep him from finding
out what was going on?"

"No! I mean, I really don't think so."

"You don't want to think so."

"I want to find out what really happened, and
I want to hope like hell that when I find out, the truth will clear
Stacy."

"Could Stacy use a friend in the legal
profession?" Carla asked. "I know Brad North, for all his
obnoxiousness, has a lot of friends in the business. If she needs a
lawyer, she may have a hard time finding one that won't run
straight to him."

"She's worried about that," I admitted.

Carla set her wine glass on a coaster and
stood up. She stepped into the foyer where I found her reaching
into a pocket of her briefcase.

"Here," she said, handing me a card, "have
her call me if she needs to."

I took the card and thanked Carla for her
time. She promised to call me if she remembered anything more about
Detweiller that might point to the killer.

Outside, the air had turned cold. My denim
jacket was no match for it. I hurried to the car and turned the
heat on. Cold air blasted me until I'd driven a couple of miles.
Gradually I began to warm up. It had been a long day and home
seemed like a good idea.

Another suspect defused. Another acquaintance
of Detweiller who'd claimed to see right through him, who hadn't
been taken in or threatened by him. So far, I had to admit, it
looked like Stacy was the only one with a strong motive for wanting
him out of her life. Someone was lying to me. Who? And why?

Chapter 11

Who was lying, and why? Who and why? My sleep
was filled with faces. Unfamiliar people who taunted me with untrue
stories. Hatred and greed and threats and unfulfilled promises
loomed as motives. I awoke at dawn, exhausted.

Rusty raised his head as I swung my legs over
the edge of the bed. I rubbed at my temples hoping to dispel the
headache forming there. He relaxed again on his rug at the foot of
my bed as I stumbled toward the bathroom. I turned on the hot water
full blast and let it begin to steam as I stripped off my
underwear. Adjusting the water temperature downward somewhat, I
stepped in and let the stinging spray wake me up. I slicked shampoo
over my hair, scrubbing my scalp until it was tender.

Twenty minutes later I was pink and smarting
but no closer to any answers. I slipped on a thick terry robe and
padded to the kitchen to start some coffee. Rusty dashed out the
back door, and I raised the window shades on the back door and
above the sink. By the time I dried my thick hair and put on jeans
and a sweater, the coffee and Rusty were both ready. He came in and
munched down a bowl of nuggets while I stood at the refrigerator
door trying to decide what I was in the mood for. I was in the mood
to dump this case and take a vacation.

The morning paper waited on the porch. I
flipped through it page by page while I worked my way through two
cups of coffee. Wistfully, I eyed the ads for spring break trips to
Mexico or Hawaii. Once this case was over, I was going to think
seriously about traveling. Ron had taken a ski vacation at
Christmas and had only gotten out of his cast three weeks ago. His
being out of the office had put an extra burden on me for two
months. His business trip last week had landed me in the middle of
Stacy's problems. I owed it to myself.

That decided, I felt hungry enough to eat a
piece of cinnamon toast. I flipped on the radio while the butter
and sugar bubbled fragrantly under the red element in the toaster
oven. I dumped the coffee grounds and rinsed the pot. Just as I
turned off the water, I caught the announcer's words saying that a
suspect had been picked up in the Detweiller murder. A prominent
attorney's wife.

The shit was about to hit the fan.

I dialed Carla Delvecchio's office and got an
answering machine. It was only seven o'clock. I decided to go to
the office and try again later. I'd no sooner wrapped my toast in a
napkin than my phone rang.

"Charlie?" Stacy's voice was thin and
frightened.

"Stacy, where are you?"

"In jail," she cried. "I'm so scared,
Charlie. Please help me."

"Does Brad know?"

"Not yet. He had a breakfast meeting at six.
The police showed up about five minutes after he left."

"Shall I try to find him?"

"No!" Her voice was terrified. "Can you just
get me out of here?"

"Stace, you need an attorney. Let me get you
one, and we'll see what we can do."

"Please don't tell Brad," she begged.

"He's going to find out, Stace. There isn't
any way to hide this now. But I'll get you another attorney and
we'll see what happens next."

She was crying openly when I hung up. I
looked up Carla Delvecchio's home number. She sounded barely awake,
but agreed to meet me at the police substation where Stacy told me
she'd been taken. Rusty didn't look too happy when I told him he'd
have to stay home, but I had no idea where this day would take
me.

I called our office and left a quick message
on the answering machine for Sally and Ron.

The Osuna substation of the Albuquerque
Police Department is only a couple of miles from Stacy's house. For
me, though, it was over forty-five minutes in morning rush hour
traffic. I dashed through the door of the one-story brick building,
frazzled and impatient.

"Stacy North was brought in here this
morning," I explained to the officer at the desk. "She called me
for help."

The officer was an Hispanic woman about my
age, who looked like she'd just come on duty and hadn't had her
first coffee yet. She pawed through some folders on the desk before
thinking to check the computer.

"Oh, yeah," she said, like the name had
finally registered with her. "You must have just missed them."

"What?"

"Her attorney came, but they have to take her
downtown first. She'll be held there until her bond hearing."

Great. Well, Stacy was in Carla's hands now.
I didn't see that there was much else I could do at this point. At
a pay phone attached to the wall of the substation, I placed
another call to Carla's office. I left a message on the machine to
have her call me at my office when she was through downtown. It
seemed there was nothing left for me to do but wait.

I climbed in my Jeep and began the slow trek
back across town. Today, the air held the promise of spring. Clear
blue sky, uninterrupted by clouds, allowed the sun to warm the air.
Tree branches were still bare, but thick buds had formed on them, a
hint that flowers would soon burst forth. I traveled Osuna Road
from the substation west. The golf course on my right showed a hint
of green. In the planter areas of the median, the daffodil sprouts
were already four inches tall. I wondered where Stacy was right
now.

At San Mateo the traffic was thick. Drivers
yawned behind the wheel as they inched their way forward. I waited
my turn at the light, cutting across three lanes once I got a break
so I'd be in the correct lane to turn left at the freeway entrance
two blocks ahead. On I-25, things weren't moving much faster. It
was impossible to tell whether construction work or an accident was
the cause or if this was simply the norm on a workday morning. I
stayed in the middle lane, hoping to be in the right place should
there be a blockage ahead. Impatient drivers darted in and out,
gaining the advantage of a car length or two, only to wait again as
their chosen lane slowed to a stop. One blue import passed me three
times this way, its driver looking like a prime ulcer
candidate.

Somewhere around the Candelaria exit, the
flow picked up. The reason was unclear—we'd passed no accidents or
other obstructions. I switched to the right lane, ready to join the
mini-group that would head west on I-40. I took the 12th Street
exit and arrived at the office about ten minutes later. It was
still early. Ron's car was in its usual spot; Sally hadn't arrived
yet. I caught up with Ron in the kitchen, where he was fumbling to
extract a coffee filter from a tightly pressed white stack.

"I hate these things," he grumbled. "Why
don't they make them easy to get apart?"

"Want some help?" I took the stack from him,
licking my thumb and index finger. Even at that, it took a little
coaxing to pry the top filter away.

Ron filled the glass decanter with water from
the sink while I measured out the ground coffee.

"Stacy North was arrested this morning," I
told him.

"I wondered about that," he replied. "I heard
something on the radio about 'a prominent attorney's wife'."

"Well, that probably means Brad has the word
by now," I said glumly. "Poor Stace. She sounded panicky when she
called me this morning."

Ron poured the water into the receptacle on
top of the coffee maker and switched the machine on. We stood there
without speaking until it began to gurgle somewhere deep
inside.

"What will happen to her now?" I asked.

"She's probably being booked right now," he
said. "Then there will be a preliminary hearing. She might get a
judge to agree to bail, seeing that she's not exactly a threat to
society. Does she have an attorney?"

I told him about calling Carla
Delvecchio.

"She's supposed to be pretty good," he said.
"Strong on women's causes."

"I just wish I knew what was happening. I
hope she'll call me later to fill me in."

Ron slipped his arm around my shoulders. "You
did what you could, Charlie." He saw I was in a slump. "Hey, while
the coffee brews let me go get cinnamon rolls."

I nodded but had a hard time getting
enthusiastic. He was trying, though. I found two mugs in the
cabinet while he went out the back door toward his car. Sally's car
pulled in just as Ron was leaving so I reached for another mug.

"Hey, how's it going?" Her cheery greeting
fell into such a void that she purposely stepped around me to check
my mood. "What's the matter?" she asked.

I filled her in on the morning's
developments. I'm not usually a moody person, and it worries those
around me when I get into a funk like this. Sally was sympathetic,
but optimistic. "Look at it this way," she said. "No one like Stacy
North is going to spend any hard time in jail. And Delvecchio's
good. She'll have your friend out in no time."

I couldn't help but believe her. Looking into
Sally's honest open face with the wide blue eyes, one couldn't do
otherwise. We poured ourselves mugs of coffee and awaited the
cinnamon rolls. Ron would probably go to his favorite bakery, which
was just up Central Avenue in the University area. I told Sally
about my idea of taking a vacation while we waited.

"Charlie, that's a great idea!" she said.
"Just get away from here, go find a beach somewhere, lie around,
meet some handsome guy..."

"Well, that's not exactly in the plan," I
told her. "I just want some time out of town. I need to clear
Stacy, Brad, the office, and the tax returns out of my head."

"Do it. Call your travel agent this
morning."

I hesitated.

"Don't worry. If a call comes in on the Stacy
situation, I'll buzz you."

Ron came back just then, and we each helped
ourselves to a thick roll, coated with white frosting and sprinkled
with finely chopped pecans. I took Sally's advice and settled in at
my desk, travel agent's number in hand. Thirty minutes later I was
booked for ten days on Kauai. I would leave May first, giving me
plenty of time for tax season to be over and plenty of time, I
hoped, to get Stacy's problems out of my hair.

"Line two, Charlie," Sally's voice came
through the intercom.

"Charlie, what is
with
this Brad
North?" Carla didn't bother with an introduction, but I guessed who
it was immediately.

"In what context, Carla?"

"Wow, I just got my butt chewed royally."

"He what?"

"Yeah. He tracked me down by phone at police
headquarters. While I was filling out the paperwork to get Stacy
released, he proceeded to inform me that he would represent his
wife and that I could just take my little ass home."