“No, nothing. The police said that Terry must have tried to fight off his attacker, and the person panicked after shooting Terry and just ran away.”
“When you looked outside, did you see anyone, anyone at all?”
“No . . . but I wasn’t really looking at anything else. Just Terry, lying on the sidewalk.”
“Were you aware of any problems your husband was having with anyone at Chaney and Cox? Was he working on a case that was giving him particular trouble?”
“Terry worked mostly on contracts and mortgages, high-end stuff, like shopping centers and downtown development deals. He almost never went to court, and he got along with everyone at the firm. But, Mr. Barnes, none of this makes sense. That stuff about Terry trying to fight off the robber? That just doesn’t sound like him. Terry wasn’t a big guy, and he always tried to resolve any dispute with logic. He never resorted to violence of any kind. We used to talk about what to do if someone tried to mug one of us. I grew up in a small town, but Terry was born and raised in Philadelphia. He told me to just give my money to anyone who demanded it, not to try to resist or argue or anything, just give the person the money, because no amount of money was worth dying for. He told me that all the time, no amount of money was worth dying for. So why would he risk his life for the few dollars he had in his wallet that morning, especially if he was expecting to be made a partner in his firm? I just think there’s more to this than the police believe. Will you try to find out for me? I just want to know the truth, that’s all.”
“Okay, Rachel, I’ll look into it, but I have to tell you that there’s a good chance I won’t find out anything more than the police did.”
“Angie said you were good, very good. I know Terry didn’t die because he resisted someone trying to rob him. He just wouldn’t do that. If you look, you’ll find something, I’m sure.”
We discussed my fee and came to an agreement quickly. Rachel said both she and Terry had large life insurance policies and that money was no problem. When I left, she shook my hand and told me again that all she wanted was the truth about her husband’s death. I told her I’d do my best.
When I got into my car, she was back behind the glass again. Staring. At the sidewalk.
Chapter 6
When I left Rachel Pendleton, I used my cell phone to call police headquarters and ask for Dennis Wilcox. Denny was in, and he came on the phone in less than a minute.
“Detective Wilcox.”
“Good morning, detective. I know you told me not to call you at work, but if you expect me to keep quiet about you and those call girls on Seventh Avenue, I’m going to need more than that hundred bucks you slipped me last Saturday.”
Denny gave a deep chuckle and said, “JB, if you ever grow up, we’ll have to put out a press release. What’s up?”
“You free for lunch? I’m working on a case, and I wanna ask you a few questions.”
“What case?”
“Terry Pendleton.”
“Guy got shot last week at The Poplars. Who you working for, JB?”
“The widow. She seems to think there may be more to the story than you boys in blue suspect.”
“I’m wearing charcoal gray today, with just a hint of an underlying red plaid. The Pleasure Bar. Noon.”
“See you there, Denny.”
* * *
The Pleasure Bar is located in Bloomfield, in the city’s East End. The restaurant part of the place is an L-shaped affair, with one end fronting the main drag of the area. I was already there when Denny arrived at a few minutes past twelve. At 6’4” tall and a little under 240 pounds, Denny has me by about two inches and almost twenty pounds. With his mocha skin, short curly hair, and GQ wardrobe, he never just walks into a room. He makes an entrance, even when he’s not trying to. I was at a table near the long end of the L, overlooking the street right outside, and as Denny approached, I watched as everyone he passed stole a glance at him. Actually, in the case of one particularly good-looking woman, the glance wasn’t all that covert. Denny and I had known each other since fifth grade, when his family moved to Pittsburgh from Erie. We’d become friends almost immediately, mostly because we were both sports-crazy. It didn’t take long for the friendship to expand beyond the playing field, though, and by seventh grade, he was as good a friend to me as Angie was, and the three of us began spending a lot of time together. Even today, Denny and I often join Angie and Simon and the kids for barbecues in the Ventura backyard. Now, as he sat in the chair opposite me, Denny smiled and opened his menu.
“You order yet, son, or were you waiting for me to help you with the big words?”
“I thought I’d chance it on my own this time, ordered the Caesar salad.”
“Good choice.” Even though the restaurant was full, a waitress suddenly appeared beside Denny, asking if there were anything she could do to help him, anything at all. That happens a lot with him.
“I believe I’ll have the Caesar salad, too,” he told her. “And a glass of iced tea, please.”
“Certainly, sir,” she said, giving him the big smile. That happens a lot with Denny, too. He’s single, and there’s something about him that seems to attract every woman within a four-square-block area. I’m not jealous, though. Really.
As he opened his napkin and spread it across his lap, I looked at the custom-made suit that draped his
