Dirty Blonde (36 page)

“It’s about time,” Russo grumbled, and Cate stood up.

“Here, let me help.”

“Thanks a lot,” the woman said gratefully, handing off the tray and hurrying back out to her cart. The uniformed cop nodded, then let the door close.

Cate turned to Russo with the tray. “Hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Me, too. Another thing we have in common. We’re made for each other. You complete me.”

“Gimme my dinner.”

“In a minute.”

“What the hell is your problem?”

“I need information. Tell me why you think Marz didn’t kill himself, and don’t give me all the soft stuff, like that he wasn’t that kind of guy. Give me hard evidence. Make your best argument. Sell me.”

“Who’re
you
kidding? This some game you’re playing? You hired the scum to kill him and Simone.”

“Like I said, I don’t think Marz killed himself. I met his wife and she convinced me, but that’s not evidence. You oughta help me out, since only one of us is mobile enough to catch the bad guy. Now answer my question and I’ll give you your dinner.”

“Not enough blowback for a suicide,” Russo answered gruffly. “I don’t get you, lady.”

“What’s blowback? I’ve heard the term, but I don’t really know what it means.”

“Blowback’s the blood and tissue that gets on your hand when you shoot yourself. The explosion blows it back on your hand.” Russo shifted in bed, wincing. “Rich shoulda had a lot of blowback. He had some, but not as much as I woulda thought. Or other suicides have.”

“So?”

“So that means somebody else got the blowback. It’s proof that your man put his hand over Rich’s and pulled the trigger. The hand on top blocks the blowback.”

Cate visualized the gruesome scene. “Like a stencil. How do you know how much blowback to expect?”

“Judgment call. Rich had stippling, so I would expect more blowback.”

“What’s stippling?”

Russo sighed theatrically. “Why you playing this game? You’re a freak, you know that?”

“What’s stippling? Your chicken’s getting cold.”

“Tattooing from the gunpowder, against the temple. Looks like a starburst. Shows that the gun was fired at close range. Gun fired that close should produce a lot of blowback. This didn’t. So your guy tripped up.” Russo’s injured face twisted. “He fooled them but he can’t fool me.”

“Right. You’re a genius, that’s why you drove off a cliff. Now tell me this, Einstein. Why would Marz let somebody put their hand over his and shoot him?”

“He was drunk. Anybody coulda done it.”

“He was drunk?” Cate asked, surprised. “I hadn’t heard that.”

“We smelled it on him. We found booze in the car. The test’ll come back with levels, if it’s not back already.”

Cate considered it. “Still, it’s consistent with suicide.”

“That’s what Nesbitt says, but I know Rich. He drank on the sly. His liver would show it. I guarantee the autopsy shows it.” Russo tried to lift his head but couldn’t. “Gimme my dinner!”

“He drank?”

“Hid it real well, but I know the signs. I used to be a drunk myself. He popped Altoids and got lost for a stretch now and then.”

Cate thought of what Sarah had said.
Richard frequently went off alone, to think.
“Did you ever confirm this with him?”

“Huh?” Russo seemed to grow suddenly tired and almost cooperative.

“Did you ever ask Marz if he drank?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He’s an Orthodox Jew. What do you think he’s gonna say? I want my dinner!” Russo raised his head, then gave up and put it back down again. “Why you askin’ these questions? Why’d you come anyway? Get outta here.” Russo shouted, “Yo, rookie! Rookie!”

The door opened, and the young cop stuck his head inside. “Yes, Detective?”

Russo pointed at Cate. “Get her outta here. She’s got my dinner.”

“He’s delusional, he’ll be fine,” Cate said, getting up, shooing the cop out, and closing the door behind him. She rolled the tray to Russo and folded her arms. “Here’s your dinner, you big baby.
Buon appetito
.”

Russo blinked, or at least his swollen eyes twitched.

“Aw. Can’t you feed yourself?”

Russo dropped his bandaged head backwards into the pillow.

“What a pity. Didn’t think of that, did you?”

“Please, God,” Russo said to the ceiling.

“You’re breakin’ my heart. Any other evidence?”

“Are you serious?” Russo’s eyes slid to Cate. “You know you hired that guy to do it.”

“Wrong. What else you got? That delicious meal sits right in front of you and you can’t even eat a bite. That’s ironic.”

“I’ll fix you.” Russo lifted his head, fumbled for the call button, and pressed it with a thumb. “The nurse’ll come. She’ll feed me.”

“Not gonna happen. They’re busy. I know, I was just out there.”

“We’ll see about that.” Russo kept pressing the button.

“Why don’t you ask the Boy Wonder at the door? Maybe he’ll feed you.”

“That’s too gay.”

So enlightened.
“You’re going to prison. Think of it as orientation.”

Russo stopped chuckling.

“Tell me about the videotape. You’ve seen it. Why don’t you think it’s Marz?”

“I could just tell. The guy on the videotape didn’t walk like Rich. Rich walks fast. The guy in the cap walked slow.”

“He was going to shoot somebody. Maybe he needed to take aim.”

“Not point-blank. It wasn’t Rich.”

“Let me ask you a question. Could it have been a woman?”

Russo paused. “Possible.”

Micah
.

“But it wasn’t. It was the guy you hired.” Russo kept pressing the call button.

“Where did Marz go after the verdict?”

“To get loaded.”

“How do you know?”

“I watched him, I knew his habits. He had his routines, we all do, especially drunks. When things went bad with the writing, or we got another rejection letter, he’d disappear.”

“You know where?”

“No.”

“Another woman?”

“No. The bottle.”

Cate considered it. “You said they found booze in the car. What else did they find?”

“The gun, and that’s another thing.”

“Tell me.”

“It was a revolver, a Rossi. Looked new, like it was bought in a store.”

“Okay, what’s wrong with that? Rich wouldn’t have been able to buy a gun from the street, even his wife said that.”

“I checked the two gun shops in town, the one in Old City and one in South Philly. Neither had sold to Marz.”

“Maybe he bought it in the suburbs.”

“I checked ten others in the area, none of them had, either. Also, the gun we found in the car had the serial number filed down, so it couldn’t be traced. Why would Rich do that, if he was going to shoot himself?”

“Maybe when he shot Simone he didn’t know if he’d shoot himself.”

“Rich didn’t even know enough about guns to scratch off the serial number. I had to tell him those things for the scripts. He didn’t know anything about guns. In one of his first drafts, he had a revolver with a safety on.”

“So?”

“Revolvers don’t have safeties.”

“I knew that.”
But Micah could have bought the gun and filed the number off. And she’d know about doing that from the TV show.
“So what else did they find on him? A wallet?”

“Yes.”

“Cell phone?”

Russo stopped. “I don’t remember.”

Bet not. Cell phones show who called you last.
Cate pulled her chair over to the bed, picked up the fork from the dinner tray, and stabbed a piece of white meat.

“Come on, Judge. Gimme a break.” Russo raised his raspy voice. “I’m starvin’ here.”

“Shut up.” Cate found the foot pedal, raised the top half of the bed, and stuck the chicken in Russo’s face. “Eat this before I stab you.”

“This a trick?” Russo peered down at the chicken, his bruised chin going triple.

“Eat!”

Russo took a bite and chewed, wincing as he swallowed.

And just at that moment, the door to the hospital room burst open.

CHAPTER 44

“You’re throwing me out?” Cate asked, astounded, as Nesbitt hurried her down the hospital corridor, gripping her by the elbow. She’d imagined getting physical with him, but this wasn’t the fantasy.

“You’re damn right I am.” Nesbitt’s graying bangs blew back off his forehead, his trench coat billowed open, and his wool tie took flight. “I cannot believe you,
Your Honor.
”

“Slow down.” Cate was whizzed around the nice lady with the dinner cart, like a Ferrari switching into the fast lane.

“Suck it up.” Nesbitt wouldn’t even look at her, leading with his chin like the prow of a battleship. “I cannot believe that you did that.”

“If you’d stop, I’d explain.”

“I want you out of this building as soon as possible.”

“I learned a lot in there, and today. Stuff you should know, if you don’t already, which you probably do and kept from me.” Cate was confusing even herself. It was hard to make sense at this speed.

“What were you thinking?” Nesbitt seemed not to hear, hustling Cate past pastel landscapes, her heels clattering across the glistening floor. He said, “Russo is a danger to you. He thinks you killed his friend and got away with it.”

“His instincts are right. Marz didn’t do it.”

“Did you forget already? The man tried to run you over last night. You were admitted to a hospital.”

“Only for observation.”

“You were unconscious. You inhaled toxic fumes.”

“I’ve been breathing that stuff since I was little.”

“Maybe
that’s
why you’re crazy.” Nesbitt snorted, propelling her onward. “I opened that door and couldn’t believe my eyes. You were right there, not a foot from him. Leaning over the bed, talking to him,
feeding him.
”

“I took pity.”

“You took your life in your hands. The man knows how to fight, to kill. He’s trained law enforcement, remember? They teach us those things at the academy. In fact, we don’t graduate clue school unless we learn it.” Nesbitt’s grip tightened as he steered her past a set of wooden chairs. “Get the connection?”

“He was lying in a bed. He’s got bandages out the wazoo. He couldn’t do anything to me.”

“Of course he could. He’s got a few broken bones. He’s a little medicated. You think that would stop Russo?”

“He can’t even feed himself.”

“You’re a small woman. He was scamming you.”

“No, he wasn’t, and after all, he didn’t hurt me. All’s well that ends well.”

“I told you not to go see him and you did.”

You’re not the boss of me,
Cate thought but didn’t say, because it would make her sound immature. Then she reconsidered. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Nesbitt rolled his eyes, on the run. “I’m the boss of
him
. Russo. He’s my prisoner. It’s my case.”

Cate caught a blurry glimpse of an older patient, tossing in his bed. “Shhh. This is a hospital. People are trying to sleep.”

“Russo is in police custody.” Nesbitt lowered his voice to Controlled Fury. “That cop outside the door isn’t there to protect Russo from the world. He’s there to protect the world from Russo. You lied, and that cop happens to be my nephew.”

He’s got a lot to learn.

“I told my sister, the kid can’t cut it, but does she listen to me? No. Does anybody listen to me? No. That kid is gonna get somebody killed someday.”

“Don’t blame him. I wasn’t in danger.”

“You were, too. You’re like my daughter. I tell her, close your purse, but she always leaves it open. You know why I say that? Because I’m a cop. And I know that if she keeps leaving her purse open, sooner or later she’s gonna get her wallet stolen. But does she listen to me?”

“No?”

“No. But this is worse than purses. This is like driving drunk. You’re in danger and you don’t even know it. You think you’re invincible, that it can’t happen to you, when you’re just
lucky
it didn’t.” Nesbitt spotted the elevator bank and made a beeline for it. “You’re just
lucky
that Russo didn’t wrap his hands around your throat and strangle the ever-livin’ life out of you. Or snap your neck. It woulda been quiet and deadly. Over in a split second, nobody the wiser. Before my nephew finished the box scores.”

Cate shuddered. “Kind of graphic, Nesbitt.”

“You think it doesn’t happen? You think nice ladies don’t get strangled?” Nesbitt’s voice got louder again. “It happens. I just left a murder scene in Tacony. A young wife and a three-year-old, a little girl, strangled to death by the husband. It happens every goddamn day.”

Cate heard the anguish in his tone, and suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. Nesbitt punched the DOWN button for the elevator, and they both fell quiet as a woman nurse wearing a loose, patterned uniform passed by, eyeing them curiously. Her shoes squeaked as she walked away, emphasizing the abrupt silence between them. The elevator arrived and the stainless-steel doors slid open, and they stepped into the long rectangular cab without a word. The doors closed, sealing them inside.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Cate hit the scratched-up button for the ground floor. “It’s just that I felt like I was getting close to something.”

“You might’ve messed up my case against him, too,” Nesbitt said, after a minute. He shook his head. “You’re the victim, asking questions of a suspect in custody. What a frigging mess.”

“It shouldn’t affect the case. I didn’t interrogate him. We didn’t talk about what happened in Centralia. We talked about Marz and Simone.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Nesbitt kept shaking his head. “The issue is what he’ll say you asked him. He had no lawyer present. Better yet, you
posed
as his lawyer. This is so against procedure, there
is
no procedure. No precedent. I told you, I’m a by-the-book kinda guy. I gotta tell the ADA, and my case against him might be out the window.”

“What happened to me doesn’t really matter. What matters is what happened to Marz and Simone. Because somebody killed them and got away with it.”

Nesbitt’s head snapped up, his brown eyes flared. “No, they didn’t. Marz killed Simone and he’s dead.”