possible. “It would have been nice if you’d warned me, girl. Just a teeny-tiny heads-up, know what I’m saying? I’ve been wearing the same clothes since yesterday. Smell like I’ve been living in a damned Dumpster for the past…” She broke off, fanning her face with her fingers. “Am I acting whack?”
“Not at all. He’s really cute. And Mitch thinks he’s a nice guy.”
“He does seem nice, doesn’t he?”
Des got up and went inside. Mitch was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on Yolie’s drink. “Is this you pulling a Bella or what?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Master Sergeant.”
“You do, too, Mister Matchmaker.”
“Ohh… I see where you’re going with this. But you could not be more wrong. I had no idea Yolie was coming to dinner when I invited him.”
She gave him a doubtful look. “Uh-huh…”
“But now that you mention it I’m glad she’s here.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because the guy’s desperately lonely. And when I first mentioned Yolie’s name to him he went ‘Woo…’ ”
“Woo…? What’s that mean?”
“That he thinks she’s hot.”
“Mitch, he’d better not hurt her.”
“What makes you think he’d do that?”
“He’s a man, isn’t he?”
“I knew it. Film noir weekend was a huge mistake. I should never have screened Out of the Past for you. Let’s try to think positive, okay? Lieutenant Very isn’t Robert Mitchum and Yolie’s not Jane Greer. Just leave them be.”
He started back outside with Yolie’s spritzer and a cold Corona for the lieutenant. Des followed him. Very stood next to his bike yakking a mile a minute with Yolie, the two of them so hyper Des was sure they were about to lift right up off of the ground.
Mitch handed them their drinks. “Any luck finding somewhere to stay tonight, Lieutenant?”
“Afraid not. There isn’t a motel room to be had anywhere.”
“I just spoke to my neighbor Bitsy. You’re welcome to bunk with her. She lives in that giant natural-shingled place over there. I can introduce you after dinner.”
“Thanks, dude. Appreciate it.”
“How did you make out with that other thing?”
Very took a long, thirsty gulp of his Corona. “I made out,” he replied, leaving it there. Des had no idea what they were talking about.
Mitch checked the grill and decided the fire was good to go. Fetched the platter of marinated chicken from the kitchen and set the pieces on the grill to sizzle, arranging the ears of corn around them.
Very flopped down at the picnic table. “You get anywhere today, Sarge?”
“Not unless you call nowhere somewhere,” Yolie grumbled, sitting down across from him.
“Your people still haven’t turned up that ski mask?”
“No mask. It’s gone. Or was never there to begin with.”
“How about Dawgie’s body? Did they find any hairs or clothing fibers on him?”
Yolie shook her head at him. “Nothing. And they can’t tell us much more about his assailant than we already knew. He, or she, swung that bat right-handed. Height’s anywhere between five six and six foot-depending on how low Augie was crouched as he crept through the brush in the dark.”
Des took a seat with them. “How about the force of the blows?”
“Average strength for a man. Above average for a woman. Meaning we can cross Bertha Peck off our list. Except she’s so tiny and ancient that she was never on it to begin with.” Yolie took a sip of her spritzer. “Those shoe prints they found down by the riverbank? Tread pattern belongs to a pair of Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars. It’s a unisex shoe. A man or woman could have been wearing them. Same old song-average-sized foot for a man, above average for a woman. They gave me their usual boatload of blah-blah-blah about the perp’s estimated weight and corresponding height, for whatever good that does.”
Des made a face. “Which isn’t much.”
“I don’t even pay attention,” agreed Very, nodding, nodding. “I’ve turned up big, fat perps with little, tiny feet. Pip-squeaks who wear a size twelve triple-E. That stuff’s meaningless. Sure sounds good when they do it on Law and Order though.” He peered across the table at Yolie. “So you’re nowhere.”
“As I believe I just told you.” She turned her gaze on Des. “I’m still waiting to hear from you, Miss Thing. Got any news I can use?”
“I do. For starters, I tracked down Hal Chapman’s alibi.”
Yolie brightened. “This would be Terri E as in maybe Edsen?”
“It’s Ensor,” Des informed her. “Hal told you she worked for some New York outfit that recovers peoples’ lost assets, right? I surfed the Web sites of a gazillion companies until I finally found one called Equitrust. It’s headquartered in White Plains, not the City. I accessed their employee directory and found a Terri Ensor. Then I located a Gregory and Terri Ensor in West Nyack. Called them up and got Greg. Identified myself and asked him if his wife was home. Right away, he wanted to know why. I told him she may have witnessed a vehicular accident in Dorset last evening. He acknowledged that she was out here visiting a college friend, just got home this morning. He went and fetched her. When Terri got on the phone I told her I needed to talk to her about Hal Chapman. She said ‘Who?’ I said ‘You know, your trainer at the Dorset Fitness Center.’ After a really long silence she went ‘Ohhh…’ Clearly, Greg was still standing right there and she was scared he’d find out. I told her I just needed to know if Hal was with her last night at nine o’clock. She wouldn’t be called to testify in court. This was strictly off the record. But I needed to know.”
Yolie stared at her expectantly. “And…?”
“She backed him up, Yolie. Everything Hal told you.”
“That’s good work, girl. Thanks.”
“Excuse me, did I say I was done?”
“You’ve got something more?”
“I checked with Amtrak on the comings and goings of Kenny Lapidus over these past three weekends. The first weekend that our Dorset Flasher waved hello, Kenny bought himself a ticket on the Northeast Regional that left Boston’s South Station on Friday at 5:35 p.m. It arrived on time in Old Saybrook at 7:34. He caught a train back to Boston from New London at 10:20 p.m. on Sunday. Made it home just after midnight.”
“Why did he leave from New London?”
“The late train doesn’t stop in Old Saybrook on Saturday or Sunday.”
“So he was here in town while the Flasher was doing his thing?”
“He was here,” Des confirmed.
“No way,” Mitch protested as he turned the chicken on the grill. “Kenny’s not the Dorset Flasher.”
“I’m not saying he is, baby.”
“But Dawgie was all over his mother,” Very pointed out. “Kenny had a definite motive for swinging that bat.”
“How about the other two weekends?” Yolie asked her.
“Amtrak had no record of him purchasing tickets last weekend. He must have driven his Prius down. We already know he drove here this weekend. He told us so. What we don’t know is whether he got here on Friday in time to leave that little present on my welcome mat.”
Yolie considered this for a moment. “You think Captain Rundle would mind if you took a personal day tomorrow?”
“Captain Rundle would be thrilled not to see my long face hanging around his barracks. You want me to drive up to Boston and check out the security cams at the MassPike toll booths, am I right?”
“You are. Let’s nail down exactly when Kenny came and went. I’ll run his credit card receipts. Maybe he bought gas somewhere along the way.”
“You people are wasting your time,” Mitch argued insistently. “Kenny’s a total wimp. Hell, I used to protect
