Frozen Stiff

a police academy dropout. “I heard she was stabbed in the heart, and a crime like that generally indicates intimacy and passion.”

“Do you really think so?” Misty says, looking up at him with big doe eyes. He nods and puffs his chest out a little more until Misty shifts her focus to me. “Is that true?” she asks.

Security Boy’s chest collapses a bit and he shoots me a quick side glance, like he’s afraid I’ll contradict him and make him look bad. I’m tempted, but I’m not here to crush blooming romances or make enemies. Besides, what the kid said is right.

“Yes, that’s true,” I say, and Security Boy’s chest puffs back up into pigeon mode. “Did you guys know Callie very well?”

Misty shakes her head. “I saw her when she came into work every day and she always said hi, but we never really talked or anything. She was one of the reporters.” Judging from Misty’s tone of awe, I gather that being a reporter is akin to being king, or in this case, queen.

“She was a real nice lady,” Security Boy says. “Real pretty, too,” he adds, making Misty pout.

“Was there anyone special in her life that you know of?”

Security Boy shakes his head. “Nah, she didn’t date much. Between work and her kid, I don’t think she had the time.”

For a moment I’m dumbstruck. Then I blurt out, “Callie had a kid?”

Misty smiles and says, “Yep. His name is Jake. What a cutie-pie! He’s like nine or ten months old and he’s got these huge blue eyes and the most adorable little face.” She smiles wistfully for a second before her expression turns suddenly grim. “Poor little Jakey. Losing his mom like that. It’s not fair.”

Security Boy proves he’s not a total incompetent when he narrows his eyes at me and says, “As a cop, I would have thought you knew that Callie had a kid.”

I mutter a curse under my breath and think fast. “Cop? I’m not a cop,” I say with an incredulous smile, saying a silent prayer that I’m reading him right. I dig out my fake licenses and show them to him. “I’m a private investigator.” I emphasize the last two words as if they’re some sort of elite award. “Cops are so limited in what they can do what with all the restrictions the law puts on you, and I don’t have the patience for that crap. Besides, I like doing things my own way, you know?” Security Boy nods eagerly. “I mean, if you know your stuff and have the wits to do the investigative end of things, why settle for a job that makes you work with restrictive laws and pathetic pay?”

“Oh, man, that is so true,” Security Boy says. Judging from the distant, dreamy- eyed look he now has, I’m guessing I just steered him toward a new career path.

“Anyway,” I say, hoping to get things back on track, “I was hired by someone to look into Callie’s murder but I’m just starting my investigation. I’m afraid my new employer neglected to tell me that Callie had a child.”

Though it is within the purview of the ME’s office to notify the next of kin of someone’s death, it’s often doctors or the police who do it. In Callie’s case, it was Bob Richmond who did the deed. It’s easy enough to understand why Richmond wouldn’t have mentioned that the woman had a kid, but I can’t help but wonder why Hurley failed to share this bit of info. An ugly, dark suspicion starts to rise in my mind and apparently it’s affecting my expression because both Security Boy and Misty back up a step or two.

“Who hired you?” Security Boy asks.

This is a question I anticipated. I give him a tolerant smile and using my most officious voice say, “I’m sorry, I can’t reveal that. The PI Code of Ethics and all . . . you know.” I wink at Security Boy hoping he’ll see it as my acknowledgment of his inclusion in some mysterious inner circle.

Apparently it works because he says, “Oh, yeah, of course.”

“Suffice to say, it’s someone with a vested interest in the case.”

“I’ll bet it’s Mike Ackerman,” Misty says to Security Boy, her eyes growing big again.

“Who’s Mike Ackerman?” I ask, digging out the notebook and pen from my purse. As I scribble down the name, Misty fills in the blanks for me.

“He’s a big shot with the network, and everyone says he has a great eye for talent. He did discover both Carmen Soledad and Dayton Wynn,” she says pointedly, naming two young TV actresses whose recent surge in popularity has made them frequent fodder for the tabloids. “He’s the executive producer for Behind the Scenes and the person responsible for bringing Callie on board. Everyone thought she was destined to be his next big find.”

“Is this Mr. Ackerman here today?” I ask.

“Sure is,” Misty says. She picks up the phone but I stop her.

“Actually, I’d like to talk to some of the other people here first, if that’s okay. Anyone Callie worked with. Are her other coworkers here?”

“Sure are,” Misty says, all helpful again. “In fact, I’d say most of them are here today. Sundays are always busy because it’s the day our show airs.” She turns and looks at Security Boy. “Gary, why don’t you take Ms. Taylor back into the studio with you and see who might be free to talk with her.”

Gary frowns and looks doubtful. “I don’t know,” he says. “Shouldn’t we run it by Sheila first?”

“Who’s Sheila?” I ask.

“Sheila Rabinsky. She’s our station and production manager,” Misty explains.

“And she doesn’t care to have a lot of extra people hanging around,” Gary adds.

I’m beginning to think Sheila has the potential to become a huge wrench in my planned works so I think fast and come up with an idea. “Tell you what,” I say. “I don’t want to risk you guys getting into trouble or losing your jobs. So why don’t you let me talk to Sheila myself?”

The two of them look at one another, give simultaneous shrugs, and then Misty again picks up the phone. Many long minutes later, after I have paced the width of the lobby at least a dozen times pretending not to notice when Misty and Gary make surreptitious grabs and gropes at one another, Sheila appears. She is tall, tanned, and anorexically thin, with huge brown eyes, pinched lips, and a cute, chin-length bob in anthracite black. Her makeup is applied with exquisite precision and while her pantsuit and shoes are stylish, the height on her heels and the material in her clothing are both workaday practical. I can tell from the skepticism in her expression and the wary way she is eyeing me that it won’t be easy to pull a fast one on her.

“Hi,” she says, extending a well-manicured hand. “I’m Sheila Rabinsky, the station manager. I understand you’re here about Callie Dunkirk?”

I shake her hand, which is cold, dry, and surprisingly lifeless. “Yes, I am,” I say, releasing my grip and handing her a business card. “I’ve been hired by a private party to investigate her death and was hoping I could talk with some of the people she worked with.”

Sheila’s eyes narrow as she scans the card. “You are a private investigator?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you have some other ID?”

“Sure.” I take out the billfold Hurley gave me and hand it to her. She studies it closer than I like before handing it back to me.

“This may not be the best time,” she says with a dismissive smile. “Sundays are very busy days for us.”

“I realize that,” I say, looking impatiently at my watch. “But it’s rather important that I do it today since I have to catch a flight to Washington, D.C. this afternoon to investigate the connections Callie had there.”

An expression of surprise flits across Sheila’s face, but then disappears so quickly I wonder if I imagined it. “You think Callie’s death is tied to someone in Washington?” she asks, feigning indifference.

I give her the same dismissive smile she gave me a moment ago and a mental kudos for cleverness since she asked about someone in Washington rather than something.

“I’m not at liberty to reveal that,” I tell her, and watch as her eyes take on the look of a hungry predator. “It’s a rather . . . delicate and potentially explosive situation. However, in exchange for your cooperation today I would be willing to promise you a preemptive exclusive on the story once we are ready to go public. Given the . . . um . . . stature of the people involved, I’m sure you can understand why things need to be kept very hush-hush for now, but I am certain my client won’t mind having the truth come out once we can turn over enough evidence to ensure a conviction.”

The corners of Sheila’s mouth twitch as she anticipates the coup I’m offering her. “An exclusive that lets us break the story?” she asks.

“Absolutely. From what I understand of Callie, I’m sure she would have wanted it that way.”