his dark eyes would do a shark proud. Officer Horne had described him well, too, like an ad for a successful businessman.
Officer Horne was also right about Mr. Amal Urbi, Savich thought. He looked older than Mr. Patil. He wanted to tell him not to rise, but Mr. Urbi got slowly to his feet and held out his hand to grasp Savich’s. Savich noticed his belt was indeed fastened high on his chest. He was a pleasant-looking old gent, a bit desiccated, but his dark eyes were bright with intelligence. There were a total of six gray hairs sticking up at odd angles atop his head. Savich knew he was long retired, that his family’s textile fortune went back several generations. He lived in one of the luxury condos in a complex he owned in Towson Corners. He’d known the Patils for a very long time, his friendship with Mr. Patil going back to childhood.
Both men seemed to care very much about Mr. Patil.
Once they were all seated, Jasmine Patil said, “I was telling our very good friends that Nandi was walking this morning. Can you believe that, Amal—Nandi was actually walking around! I heard several nurses cheering him on.”
Who knew if Amal Urbi believed it or not, but still he nodded, adjusted his belt a bit higher, and looked pleased. Mr. Shama said in a smooth, deep voice, not a trace of an accent, “He is an amazing man, Jasmine. I remember thinking that when I was only six years old.” He began tapping his fingertips on his knee. “My dear, is it possible to have some coffee?”
Mrs. Patil gave him a joyous smile, jumped to her feet, patted his face, grabbed a bright pink cell phone off an end table, punched one button, and said, “Eruska, please bring a carafe of coffee and your delicious
She beamed at all of them, fluttered her hands to great effect, Savich thought, watching Mr. Shama eyeing her like he would a particularly well-broiled hamburger.
Not five minutes later, Savich accepted a cup of coffee, took a small sip and set it back on its saucer. It was thick, rich, dark as sin, and almost as good as his. He wished he’d asked for tea. He accepted a
“Call me Jasmine, please, Agent Savich. Ah, the doctor tells me perhaps next Tuesday, if he continues to gain strength. But the thing is, I don’t want him here. Mr. Urbi and Mr. Shama have convinced me he might be in danger at home, because why would he be robbed twice? Whoever tried to kill him might try again. He is safer in the hospital with that lovely young man sitting right outside his door, protecting him. You must catch whoever is out to kill my husband, Agent Savich. May I call you Dillon?”
Savich smiled at her. “How did you know my first name, ma’am?”
He saw the ma’am rankled, but her smile didn’t slip.
“I asked Officer Horne—Dillon.”
He nodded, and with apologies, asked where each of them was the night Mr. Patil was shot in the back. Nowhere near the Shop ’n Go, they each said, and offered witnesses.
Savich asked them about the first robbery attempt. Nowhere near, each said, and produced more alibis.
Savich backed off. Mr. Shama was looking at Savich like he’d like to shoot him. As for Mr. Urbi, he was smiling toward Jasmine Patil.
Savich said, “Gentlemen, do you know of any reason why someone would want to murder Mr. Patil?”
None of them knew who could possibly wish to harm a single hair on Nandi Patil’s precious gray head, except, Mr. Urbi insisted, some madman who, for whatever reason, had a grudge against Nandi.
Savich needed to get them alone, but when? There was so much going on with Kirsten—he’d talk to Ben Raven about interviewing each of them. Savich rose, nodded to each of them. “Mr. Urbi, Mr. Shama, a pleasure to meet you gentlemen.”
“I will show you out, Dillon.”
She gave him that look again, a look that said she understood something very private about him, as a man. Yet she appeared to adore her old husband, and he was certainly besotted with her. Savich looked back at the two men, now speaking in low voices. Mr. Urbi looked up at that moment, met his eyes, and something moved in those dark eyes, something like understanding.
At the front door, Jasmine Patil rubbed her hand over his arm and moved closer. “It’s truly a pity for my granddaughter, Cynthia, that you are married, Dillon.”
He nodded. “Actually, ma’am, I don’t consider it a pity at all. My wife is very special. I will speak to you again, Mrs. Patil,” he said, and left her very nice house in Fairfax, not looking back, because he knew she was standing in the open doorway, staring after him. One of these three had better answers for him, he was sure of it.
He called Ben Raven, got his voice mail, and left him a message.
Right now he had to focus on getting Ms. Kelly Spicer, veteran waitress at the Texas Range Bar & Grill in Baltimore, down for a field trip to the Hoover Building for an interview.
CHAPTER 38
Kelly Spicer, longtime waitress at the Texas Range Bar & Grill in Baltimore and wife of the owner, Jonah Spicer, wasn’t a perky twenty-two-year-old. She was flamboyant and fifty with a huge smile she liked to flash at her customers whenever she claimed she was “straight off the Texas range.” It was a little fib, she told them, but God wouldn’t care, now, would She? She laughed at her joke, shaking her big Texas hair, making the silver hoops dance in her ears, and drawing your eye to the awesome cleavage on display from three open buttons on her blouse.
Savich, Lucy, and Coop sat with her in the seventh-floor cafeteria of the Hoover Building.
Coop was very nearly vibrating, his eyes never leaving Kelly Spicer. He noticed her cleavage, sure—he was still breathing, after all—but he was so excited about her being here he wasn’t even thinking of eating his bowl of turkey chili. He was leaning toward her, wanting to pull the words out of her mouth.
Lucy was as excited as Coop, and barely kept from dropping the beef taco off her tray.
Savich slid the roasted vegetables off his shish kebab as he asked Kelly what she thought of her sushi.
Lucy couldn’t bear the idea of raw fish, and kept her head down and chowed on her taco. Coop was fiddling with a spoon, his bowl of chili still untouched as he waited for her to take two bites of her sushi. He took that as a signal to begin. “We know the Baltimore Police Department already showed you the pictures, Ms. Spicer. Are you absolutely sure the woman you saw last night is Kirsten Bolger?”
“Absolutely, Agent McKnight. By the way, I sure do like your name, like an Irish knight charging in on his horse. Odd duck, she was, that’s what I told Gator. He’s my husband; he went to Florida way back in the day. Football, football, that’s what his life’s about. Now that it’s football season, he switches on the huge TVs and we turn into a regular sports bar.”
Lucy said, “If he’s from Florida, then why is it the
“Now, aren’t you the cleverest girl?” Kelly beamed her brilliant smile on Lucy. “I like that. The thing is, when Gator bought the place it was already named and famous for the Texas Espresso we serve. And we’ve still got Ivan the Bull for people to ride, so we gotta stay the Texas Range. Where was I? Oh, yes, last night—it was eight on the button when she waltzed in. She was alone at first, sat in a booth with a clear view of the bar and ordered fizzy mineral water. Then a guy came in and walked over to her, sat in the same booth, and they had their heads together, talking. I still wasn’t sure, you know? But then Linda came in—she’s a hairdresser from down the street, a really nice girl. She’s a regular, in three or four nights a week, to socialize, you know? And that’s when I really noticed her, because she was looking at Linda real close. Then she smiled, said something to the guy. She got up, ready to come over, I think, but Linda had to leave, had to get gas in her mama’s car, and she was out the door.
