says, “Is she the one who—”
“Yes,” I answer quickly, knowing what she wants to ask and not wanting to hear it.
Heidi glances over her shoulder, then beckons me closer with a crook of her finger. “This is just hearsay,” she says in a low whisper, “but rumor has it that Hurley thinks David is the one who killed that woman and that a homicide charge isn’t far behind.”
I pull back, feeling something uncomfortable squirm in my gut. “I was afraid of that,” I mutter.
“Do you think David killed her?” Heidi says, her eyes as big as saucers.
“No. Maybe. Hell, I don’t know,” I say rapid-fire, ending with a tired sigh. “I don’t think so, but then I’ve been surprised by David’s behavior a bit too often lately.”
“I’m so sorry, Mattie.”
I’m saved from any more of Heidi’s pity when I hear a door open behind us and recognize my brother-in-law’s booming voice as it echoes down the hall. “I mean it, Hurley. No questions until I get back from the john.” I turn and prepare myself for Lucien—never an easy task.
Technically speaking, Lucien is a handsome man. He has blue eyes, clear skin, nice features, and a well- proportioned build. But he always looks rumpled and worn, as if he’s slept in whatever he’s wearing, and he slicks back his strawberry-blond hair with enough grease to deep-fry a moose. Plus, once you get a glimpse of Lucien’s mind or, worse yet, hear the stuff that comes out of his mouth, any hint of attractiveness disappears faster than you can say sleazeball.
Despite his many shortcomings, or perhaps because of them, he’s a very successful defense lawyer. His wheeling and dealing skills are legendary and the vast majority of his clients’ cases are either reduced to a lesser charge or dismissed altogether. I suspect part of his success stems from his opponents’ willingness to give in to his demands so he’ll shut up and go away.
Most of his cases are low-profile crimes such as drunken driving, assault and battery, and the occasional car theft. I think there might have been a manslaughter charge or two over the years, but outright cold-blooded murder is a definite rarity. It doesn’t seem to be slowing Lucien down any, however. In fact, judging from the extra spring I can see in his step, he’s revved up and raring to go.
“Mattie!” He grabs me and gives me a full-body hug, allowing himself to get a few cheap thrills through bodily contact. After I squirm loose, he steps back and gives me a head-to-toe perusal that makes me feel like I need a shower.
“And may I say, doll face, you are looking
“Down, Lucien,” I say. “Save it for someone who gives a rip.” I hear Heidi snort behind me.
“Ooh, you just love playing hard to get, don’t you, Mattie baby?”
“Impossible to get, is more like it, Lucien. And I’m not your baby,” I say, wondering why I am bothering to correct his crass behavior because I know from past experience that it never works. “How’s David doing?”
“Fine, considering. They don’t have enough to pin him with anything too serious yet, though it was damned foolish of him to lie like he did. Just makes him look guilty.”
“Is this obstruction-of-justice charge anything serious? Will he have to go to jail?”
“Maybe, but it won’t be for long. I can’t let my own brother-in-law rot away in jail, now can I?”
I consider reminding him that David won’t be his brother-in-law much longer, but decide to let it pass for now. It seems a petty detail in the overall scheme of things and besides, knowing the way Lucien’s mind works, he’ll think I’m flirting with him.
“Can I see him?”
Lucien clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Might not be best just now,” he says. “I think he’s a bit ticked with you since he figures you were the one who squealed to the cops about the vic being at his house that night. Technically you did him a favor, since her being there helps to explain the hair and fiber evidence they have. But I don’t think David is seeing it that way right now.”
“All I did was tell the truth,” I whine, feeling a heavy flush of guilt. I look around and lower my voice. “And then only when I was cornered. I didn’t have a choice, Lucien.”
“Hey, sweet cheeks, I understand. Really I do. But David’s not in a spot to be real understanding just now. You can appreciate that, can’t you?”
No, I can’t. And it pisses me off that every time David does something bad or stupid, I somehow end up being the one who feels guilty.
“Look,” Lucien says, “much as I’d love to bend your ear”—he pauses, giving my chest an ogle-eye—“or several other parts of your body, for that matter, I have to whiz something fierce and get back into that interrogation room. But I do want to talk to you about all this. The sooner the better. Is there a time when I can drop by?”
The last thing I want is for Lucien to drop by. “I’ll get in touch with you in the next day or so,” I tell him, lying like a rug.
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.” I do the accompanying gesture out of habit, before I can stop myself. Not surprisingly, Lucien watches my fingers with a smiling leer before disappearing into the men’s room. Seconds later, the sound of a huge fart rips through the air like a sonic boom.
I look at Heidi and roll my eyes.
“He’s a piece of work, isn’t he?” she says.
“Something like that.”
“Any idea what your sister sees in him?”
“Not a clue. I can only assume it’s the result of some aberrant gene she inherited from her father.”
Heidi chuckles.
“Who’s on duty tonight?” I ask. “I need to get some information for Izzy from the file on Karen Owenby.”
Heidi picks up a clipboard and starts reading names. “Tommy Mazur, John Quam, Larry Johnson. And, of course, Detective Hurley is in the interrogation room if—”
“No! Not Hurley,” I say, trying to block out the image of a sexually laden interrogation fantasy that has just popped into my head. “I don’t want to interrupt him. Larry will do. In fact, he’s perfect since he was one of the officers on the scene the night of the murder. Any chance he’s here?”
“Not at the moment, but I can call him and have him here in five minutes.”
“Would you? Thanks. Mind if I wait in the squad room?”
“Not at all.”
Like the conference/interrogation room, the squad room does double duty as a kitchenette and break room. I’ve been here before. Prior to marrying David, I dated a couple of the guys on the force and during my years in the ER I built up more than a passing acquaintance with several others. Nurses and cops always seem to be drawn together—a camaraderie of the trenches kind of thing. Both have jobs that entail odd hours, lots of stress, and dealing with people when they are at their very worst. And at four o’clock in the morning in a town the size of Sorenson, there isn’t much to do. Consequently, the cops often showed up at the ER to share a cup of coffee or two and chat away the quiet hours of the night. Our conversations were often ribald, sometimes personal, always lively. The odd hour and the stresses we had in common fostered a level of intimacy that made it easy to talk about things you wouldn’t discuss with anyone else. I got to know some of the guys really well during those coffee chats.
That was when I became good friends with Larry, who was going through a bitter separation and divorce at the time. At some point I realized Larry had a crush on me but, unfortunately, I didn’t feel the same about him. He’s a sweet, nice-looking man with broad shoulders, a trim build, warm brown eyes, and a thick head of dark hair. But I never felt even the smallest spark of sexual tension between us. I adored him; I just didn’t want to sleep with him.
Despite our disparate feelings for one another, we have remained good friends over the years. In fact, our bond is tighter than ever, in part because I was the nurse on duty a few months ago when Larry came in for some surgery. There’s nothing like getting up-close and personal with someone’s hemorrhoids for fostering a true sense
