Roast Mortem

quitting the fire academy. Instead, he said a name that I never expected to hear.

“Leila Quinn.”

“Mike’s ex-wife?” I whispered, feeling a creeping sense of dread. “What about her?”

“So your boyfriend never told you?” Surprised by my ignorance, Oat turned disgustingly smug. He played to Hoyt. “About ten years ago, my captain nailed her boyfriend’s wife, Leila — a real hot broad, too, former lingerie model. The captain invited Leila down to Atlantic City for a weekend. She took him up on it. Who knows what lie she told her dumb-ass cop husband to get away for the weekend, but off she scampered making herself very available.”

I felt cold inside, so cold I shivered. Matt was up the stairs by now, lingering on the landing beside a uniformed officer. Needing a friend, I met his eyes.

“Was there any violence back then?” Hoyt asked.

“Oh yeah,” Oat replied. “Detective Quinn didn’t find out for months. The wife finally brought it up when they were having some fight, just to stick it to Mikey, and when she told him the truth” — Oat looked skyward and made a fist — “whammo.”

“Define ‘whammo’ please,” Hoyt said.

“Your fellow detective went nuts, how’s that? The captain’s got a gold tooth in his mouth for a reason. Mike Quinn knocked out the real one.”

Hoyt exchanged a long glance with Ramirez — and the sight made my stomach turn. They’re making Mike for this.

Oat folded his arms. “That guy is no damn good. What he did to my cousin Pete, I’ll never forget.”

“Pete,” I said. “Pete who?”

“Pete Hogarth,” Oat replied. “My mother’s family knows all about Mike Quinn. The prick framed Pete’s old man on some trumped-up murder charge, planted evidence in his bird coop on the roof of his building.”

“That’s not true,” I said, struggling now to hold my temper. Matt stepped up behind me, put a hand on my shoulder.

“What do you know about it?” Oat spat. “Quinn wasn’t even a cop back then, just some rat kid with a Hardy Boys complex. He even got some phony civilian award from the mayor. The jerk was working the angles before he even set foot in the police academy, laying the groundwork to move right up the ladder.”

“Pete Hogarth’s father was a killer!” I shouted, moving fast toward Oat. The man actually took a step back. “He murdered a Dominican bodega owner in cold blood while he was robbing him — ”

“Shut your mouth — ”

“That’s enough,” Hoyt said. He turned back to me. “Ms. Cosi, can you account for Detective Quinn’s whereabouts after the incident at the pub?”

“Not exactly... I mean, Mike left and then...” I swallowed. “I called him several times. He hasn’t returned my calls yet, but — ”

“Then you can’t vouch for his whereabouts?”

“No, but I’m sure — ”

“Thank you, Ms. Cosi.” Hoyt turned to his partner. “Get Detective Quinn’s shield number from One Police Plaza and bring him in.”

“Wait!” I cried.

“He had motive and opportunity, Ms. Cosi. Unless he can come up with a credible alibi for the last couple of hours, he’s going to be a person of interest in this case — ”

“What about him!” I pointed at Oat. “He may have had a motive to do this. Let me tell you why — ”

“I was on duty at the firehouse all night,” Oat replied levelly. “We had three runs, and every man I worked with is a witness. Go ahead, check me out. Have fun wasting your time.”

Oh God. I turned back to Hoyt. “You have to listen to me. Mike didn’t do this. The captain had evidence in this apartment — ”

“Yes, I already have your statement about that. We’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for your help,” Hoyt said, waving over a uniformed officer. “You and your business associate are free to go now — ”

“But — ”

“Now.”

The uniform stepped up, hand on the butt of his night stick.

“Come on, Clare,” Matt said, tugging my arm. He deliberately moved his body between me and the smirking Oat Crowley. Good thing, too. I was close to ripping the lieutenant’s face off.

Outside, several police cars surrounded the apartment building. It was 4 AM, still pitch-dark, but the spectacle had drawn a cluster of gossiping neighbors, coats thrown over robes and pajamas. We stepped clear of it all and headed back to the Honda.

“Now I know why...” I said, voice hoarse.

“Why what?”

“I was angry with Mike for reacting so violently behind the pub, but I didn’t know about Leila... I didn’t know what his wife did to him behind his back.”

I stopped walking, faced Matt. “I can understand why the captain didn’t tell me. He wanted to play me. But why didn’t Mike tell me the truth?”

“I’ll tell you why. He was ashamed.”

“Of what?”

Matt tilted his head back, as if he were going to read me the answer in the stars. “You women talk endlessly about your problems. With your girlfriends, your sisters, your mothers. Talk, talk, talk. But men aren’t like that. Mike didn’t tell you about his wife going to bed with his cousin because he was ashamed and embarrassed.”

“If he had told me, I would have understood.”

“Clare...” Now Matt was rubbing his neck, as if he were struggling to translate Portuguese into Mandarin. “If I know Dudley Do-Right — and I think I do — whatever he kept from you... he did it because he wanted your love, not your pity.”

I nodded then whispered, “So now what do I do?”

“Well, Clare, if I know you — and I think I do — you don’t give up.”

Then my ex-husband, business partner, and oldest friend put his hand against my back and pressed me into forward motion again.

Thirty-Five

An hour later, dawn broke — although it was hard to tell. Beyond the French doors of my Village Blend, gray buildings met gray clouds in an unending urban haze. Even the sun was too weary to shine.

“How bad is it?” I asked the men sitting across from me. I wasn’t due to open for another hour, but I already had two customers: Detective Finbar “Sully” Sullivan, Mike’s righthand man on his OD Squad; and Emmanuel Franco, his younger, street-wise protégé.

“How bad is it?” Franco echoed. “On a scale of one to ten: I’d say a ten.”

“The man’s not dead,” Sully countered. “He’s just in custody.”

Franco shook his shaved head. “He’s charged, which means he’s dead to the department, and for a guy like Mike Quinn, when they take away your shield, they might as well put you in the ground.”

I closed my eyes, from anguish as much as exhaustion. Matteo was sacked out upstairs. But I couldn’t rest, not with Mike in hell. What awful thoughts must be going through his mind and heart? Is he cursing me now? Sorry he ever met me, ever walked into my coffeehouse?

“Guys...” I said, unable to stop a few tears from spilling out, “isn’t there any way for me to see Mike? Talk to him?”

Sully reached across the café table, squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry, Clare. We can’t even talk to