Not the kind of question anyone dares to ask.
Then I realized that we weren’t headed for either my office or her apartment. It took me a while,lost in those thoughts, but even my thick brain picks up a landmark here andthere. Diagnosis confirmed when she pulled off at the State Police barracks andparked next to another cruiser.
I recognized the number. Her cruiser. Not in the shop.
She shut the Ford down and tossed me the keys. “This one’syours. Goes with the badge, compliments of Fearless Leader. I think you’ll findthat the seat fits. And no, you won’t be leaving us short. This used to be thegovernor’s ride, odometer’s rolled over about five, six times, went on thesurplus list for age and mileage and we snapped it up as a spare. You bestbelieve it’s had good maintenance.”
I sat there and gaped like a boated fish. Then I hoistedmyself out of the car and checked it, tires and belts and fluids and all, justlike she knew I would. That was why she’d shut it down. Always preflight yourown vehicle, even if someone else has just been flying it. Especially if.
And besides, it saved me from having to think. She stood therein the state-cop lot watching, inscrutable Mona Lisa half-smile on her face.That woman could be a royal pain in the ass.
“How’s it look?” She turned the question into adouble-entendre by leaning back against her own cruiser in a fashion-model posethat accented her long lean body and those curve-hugging Cash-colored pants.
“Uh, Sergeant Cash . . .”
“The name,” she whispered, “is Nef.”
I retreated into the car and adjusted that driver’s seat. Itand the pedals were a custom job, they must have changed them when ProfessionalRegulation grabbed the cruiser. Damn sure the governor’s driver wouldn’t have abutt and belly like mine. Anyway, I could use the car. I could not use Cash’s sardonic grin as shewatched me flee in disarray, leaving her in control of the battlefield.
I probably wasn’t a safe driver just then, stunned, only halfof my meager brain on the road and traffic, but I managed to make it back to myapartment without incident. No, I didn’t try driving the way Cash would. I don’thave the balls for that. Anyway, I parked way out back like I always do. I don’tlike having other cars snuggled up close to mine and maybe hiding hostile folkswhen I get in or out. It’s one of those nasty suspicious habits that let me getold.
I climbed out of the car and hiked across the lot and up theback stairway, still on automatic pilot with that shock from Cash. I didn’t paya lot of attention but still would have known if Kratz had wandered by while Iwas out. So I knew, as soon as I reached my floor, that Sandy was in myapartment. I could smell her signature in the hall and even pick up a trace ofit through the shielding. I was more sensitive to her than any other witch, nowthat Maggie wasn’t around.
I grinned to myself. Good timing. Cash might have lit thefire, but Sandy would be the one getting warm. No, I never had seemed to havetrouble finding female companionship. Maybe Cash hadn’t been teasing me.
Nef. She’d reminded me to call her Nef. A lot more intimatethan State Police Detective Sergeant Nefertiti Aswan Cash.
I slid my key into the lock — Sandy had enough sense to lockup behind her with Kratz on the loose — opened the door, and took a deep breathof teriyaki marinade, grated orange and soy sauce and ginger and red wine,steaks and mushrooms sizzling on the stove top. She liked good food just asmuch as I did, and we often swapped off on KP. She’d turned at the sound of thekey and met me halfway across the entry, then stopped and wrinkled her nose.
“That damned Black slut has been climbing all over you.”
I froze in mid-step, then put my foot down. “Another murder,she needed me out at the airport. Kratz again.”
“Like hell. Kratz never used lipstick as a murder weapon, andthat’s her shade. You stink of her. What’d you do, fuck that . . .that . . . goddamn pickaninnyright in the middle of the lobby floor?”
Scratch her hard enough, her parents started to showunderneath the veneer. At least she hadn’t said “nigger.” I didn’t think herovertone of “witless child” was much better. Sure, Cash was a lot younger thanus, but . . .
I’d been through her tantrums before, years ago in college,when I’d quit going with Sandy and took up with Maggie. Rough. Yeah, she’dcalmed down after a couple of months, but reallyrough. Sandy always was a woman of volcanic passions. I enjoyed them, most ofthe time.
“That FBI agent, Bycheck, he showed up at the airport while wewere headed out. Someone must have called him, standing orders. Anyway, Cashdidn’t want to get into a fight with the guy so she hugged me to hide ourfaces. Waited for him to get past.”
Looked like that just made Sandy madder. Maybe she could sensethe stuff I’d left out, not “the whole truth” like that oath says. Anyway, shestopped cold, glared murder at me, and turned back to the kitchen. She pickedup the frying pan. I thought for a heartbeat she was going to throw it in myface, but instead she walked across to the living room and dumped it and theteriyaki steaks and mushrooms and meat juices right in the middle of my antiqueKazakh rug.
Then she turned and walked out the door and slammed it behindher. I didn’t follow.
IX
I knew, from long experience, there was no point in tryingto talk to Sandy for a day or two. She’d cool down and regret the things she’dsaid and done and go hide under her bed until the embarrassment wore off. Andwe both had stuff on our calendars.
So the next morning, I headed upstate again, anotherappointment with Ridge. I took a bunch of twists and turns before I left thecity, circling back on my route and ducking into alleys and waiting to see whatcame wandering by, cutting through parking lots between one-way streets,watching
