Believe me, it may seem cheaper in the short term. But the public is going to suffer in the long run. These guys miss a lot, that's for sure. No, I pick up what's on the scanner. If I'm in the neighborhood, I'll hop over.'
The pretty Chinese woman had a closed face. She sat on the end of her chair. She wasn't relaxed. Rosa wished she'd lighten up. 'And I thought I got lucky last night. No way these two babies aren't mine. Am I right?' she asked April.
'Sure. So, what's going to happen now? We need a death report.'
'Blinky's out sick, too,' Rosa went on.
'Who's Blinky?' April asked.
'Blinky's the other deputy. He's got a drooping eyelid, so we call him Blinky.'
'You mean George?' Mike asked.
'Yeah, Blinky.'
'Is that why he's out sick? The eyelid?' The Chink was still deadpan. Not exactly a barrel of laughs, that one.
Rosa laughed anyway. 'Oh no, he's out because one of his babies infected him with hepatitis A. I'd call that pretty careless, wouldn't you?'
Mike nodded. 'It kind of gives you the willies about playing with other people's blood, doesn't it?'
'You have any leads yet?' Rosa got serious and tapped her desk with a pencil.
'Early days,' Mike said. 'Give us a call tomorrow. I'd like to be present.'
'Fine, I'll let you know.' She stood up to show she was done with them, then changed her mind and took them to the door. Then she walked down the hall with them to the elevator. But after all that they still didn't tell her anything worth knowing.
10
Yes, sir, he told me to go straight home from the theater.' Until this point in the interview Wallace Jefferson, Jr., had held Mike's eye without wavering. Now he looked down at his big-knuckled hands, clenching the natty cap he held in his lap. 'I'm sorry I did. If I'd been there to pick them up, that fine gentleman and lady would still be alive.'
And how could they be sure of that? April was feeling less than patient with this one. Her exhaustion was returning after a second wind that had lasted most of the day. Now it was nearly six, and she was in a hurry to get out of there and meet with Jason and Emma, who'd left a message saying she could come to their apartment at six-thirty.
Okay, there it was. A patch of white showing in Jefferson's apparently downcast eyes, as if he was actually trying to look up at her and Mike from his half-closed lids to gauge their reaction without the appearance of doing so.
'They were fine people. I will miss them,' he intoned, speaking like a worshiper in church and not a suspect in a grubby precinct interview room.
'Did your boss often send you home to fend for himself in the middle of snowstorms?' Mike asked.
'He was a thoughtful man. I live in New Jersey.'
'Doesn't it seem contrary to the point of having a chauffeur, though?' Mike mused.
'Sir?'
'Isn't the point of a chauffeur to have him around in the worst weather?'
Jefferson's eyes came alive at this. 'I do—did— whatever Mr. Petersen asked me to do. Whenever he sent me home he had his own reasons.'
'What reason do you think he had last night?'
'What reason?'
Wally Jefferson seemed acutely respectable with his dark suit and dark driver's cap, his manner of almost exaggerated gentleness, and his voice that was soft, reverent, and well spoken. To April he seemed old-style African-American in the same way her mother was old-style Chinese. Everything hidden behind a predetermined formula for expression that could be altered neither by flattery nor torture.
If he was nervous in the interview room, he did not show it. Jefferson was a broad slab of a man of about five nine, weighed something over two hundred pounds, was the color of roasted coffee beans. They'd run him through the computer. He had no priors. Still, there was something about him that April did not trust.
'What was his relationship with Mrs. Liberty?' she asked.
'They were in the same social set,' Jefferson said easily.
'Is that a way of saying they were friends?'
'I'm sure I don't know. I just drive the car.' He raised his hand to his mouth and coughed delicately.
'Were they possibly more than friends?'
'I wouldn't know.'
'What was your work schedule?' Mike changed the subject.
'You mean with Mr. Petersen?'
'Yes, what days did you work?'
'It wasn't the same every week. Mr. Petersen traveled a great deal. When he was here, I sometimes worked every day until midnight, one a.m. When he was away—' He shrugged.
'You drove other people.'
'Not really.' Jefferson looked wary.
'How about Mr. Petersen's wife?'
'Oh, yes, I drove her.'
'What about Liberty?'
'Well him, too. Sometimes.'
'Why was that? Doesn't Mr. Liberty have his own driver?'
'He did when Mrs. Liberty was working. But she isn't working—wasn't working anymore. He likes the walk to work. So now when they need someone, they call a service for a driver.' Jefferson poked under his coUar to scratch at the skin on his neck.
'Or you drive them.'
'Yes.' Jefferson famed his attention to his knuckles. They were thick and crooked, almost deformed.
'Did Mr. Liberty call you to drive him to the airport yesterday?'
'No, he didn't.'
'Why not?'
Jefferson reached for his nose and pinched it between two fingers. 'I really couldn't say.'
'Is it because he didn't have a car?' Mike leaned forward in his hard chair, shrugging his shoulder holster a little.
Jefferson seemed particularly interested in the gun. 'Sir?'
'Liberty's car? What happened with that?'
'Oh, yes. Mr. Liberty's car.' Jefferson nodded solemnly.
'It was stolen, right?'
'A bit of bad luck.'
'How and when was the car stolen?'
Jefferson hunched his shoulders, shaking his head, as if the whole thing were a sad story he'd heard.
'Come on, now, Wally. We know you took Mr. Liberty's
Jefferson was stunned. 'Mr. Liberty didn't tell you that!'
'Oh, yes, he did. He said you stole his car.'
'Oh, now, that just ain't true. Let's correct that right now. I had permision to use that car. Ask the boys at the garage. I could take it out anytime.'
'You had permission to take the car out of the garage when you were going to drive him. Just as you could take Mr. Petersen's car out of the garage for
Jefferson shook his head. 'I could use the cars.'
'Both of them?'
'Yessir.'
