I looked at her for a minute.
“I don’t think you’re a bitch, Dee-Dee.”
And I left the room and walked back along the bar to the front door.
Definitely one tough cookie.
Chapter 24
I spent the next couple of days trying to find excuses not to meet with Rachel Pendleton. I’d have to talk with her eventually, since I now knew for sure that her husband had been unfaithful, and despite Dee-Dee’s claims to the contrary, her affair with Terry did open up at least the possibility of another motive for his murder. One scenario that had to be considered was his being killed by the jealous husband or boyfriend from some other extramarital liaison. Also, what if Rachel had known about Terry’s cheating? Could she have hired someone to murder him? I really didn’t think so, since I considered it unlikely that her circle of friends included many hired killers. And speaking of hired, why hire me, especially if the cops had already written Terry’s death off as a mugging? Plus, at our first meeting, her grief had definitely seemed genuine. Still, I would have to talk with her, in person, about this aspect of her husband’s life. It wasn’t something I was looking forward to, but it had to be done. Meanwhile, I had asked Denny if he would check out Marko for me. Denny told me I’d have to bribe him for any information he came up with, and, after some negotiation, we agreed that I’d buy him lunch on Friday at the Grille on Seventh downtown.
I got there early, and while I waited for Denny, I thought some more about my conversation with Deidre Wilson, especially about her response when I’d asked her if Terry had talked about being made a partner at Chaney and Cox. Had she hesitated before answering, or had I imagined it? I’m usually pretty good at reading people, and my gut feeling was that Dee-Dee knew something that, for whatever reason, she wasn’t willing to share with me. I also thought about the way she looked at life. I couldn’t imagine being as hard in my assessment of women as a group as Dee-Dee was of men. Of course, I wasn’t lugging two divorces around as part of my past, either. That might tend to change one’s outlook. Having never been married, let alone divorced, I wasn’t in a position to say.
Looking up, I saw that Denny had arrived. He was wearing a dark gray suit that probably cost more than my monthly mortgage payment. A bright yellow silk tie was knotted perfectly at the top of his pale blue dress shirt, and gold cufflinks showed at the ends of his coat sleeves. His black loafers, which I knew he’d had custom-made on his last trip to Italy, gleamed with a luster that would have made a drill sergeant weep.
As he sat down opposite me, I asked, “Didn’t you wear that same outfit a couple of times last week?”
Denny just chuckled and shook his head a little. Actually, I don’t think he’s ever worn the exact same outfit twice. There’s always some variation, maybe just a different tie or shirt, but always something.
After we’d ordered our lunches, he said, “Anybody been following you?”
Since my run-in with Manny, I’d been extra careful about checking for tails.
“If they are,” I said, “I haven’t spotted them.”
Denny thought about that for a minute.
“Then they weren’t there,” he finally said. “You’d’ve seen them.”
“Yes, I would,” I agreed. “What about my man Marko? Any news?”
“Marko Stevenson,” said Denny. “Got a record but nothing really bad. Couple of minor assault charges. Served a few months on one of them. Arresting officer in that incident mentioned something about Roid rage in his report. Marko’s been out of trouble, at least officially, for over a year now.”
“Own a gun?”
“Nope, at least not one that’s registered in his name. You like him for the Pendleton murder?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “At the moment, he’s just one of many in the growing cast of characters in this little drama. How about Chaney and Cox?”
“Looked into that myself,” said Dennis. “Firm seems to be okay. About the only slightly unusual thing about them is that, for a small Pittsburgh firm, they handle a good number of overseas transactions. ‘Course, there’re two other small law firms in that same building that also deal mostly with international clients, so that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
“They always been at Fifth Avenue Place?” I asked.
“Un-uh,” said Dennis. “Until about five years ago, they weren’t much more than a neighborhood legal office. Then they moved downtown and started acquiring some A-list clients, which begat even more of the same, and so on. Now they’re so successful that I doubt if any of the partners has actually seen the inside of a courtroom in years. The American dream, JB.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Our lunches arrived, and while we ate, we made plans to get together for some basketball the following Sunday afternoon. A group of rookie cops plays in a year-round league, and occasionally, when they’re a couple players short, Denny and I fill out the team. I think we originally made the cut mostly because of Denny’s rank, but following our first game, we were in on merit, especially after Denny slam-dunked over three opposing players, two of whom ended up hobbling off the court.
After lunch, Denny walked me back to the garage where I’d left the 4Runner.
“Sorry I wasn’t more help, JB,” he said.
“Well,” I told him, “don’t feel too bad. I only had to buy you lunch, and, actually, I thought I’d have to spring for dinner. Got ya again, man.”
“Ha!” said Denny, as I turned to walk into the parking garage. “You idiot. I was gonna give you the information, ‘cause
