‘She probably won’t stay in town,’ the Blade heard himself say in his thin, wispy voice he so loathed. ‘Not from here, is she?’ Stupid, dummy! he berated himself. Shut up, shut up!
The old woman nodded at him. She had wrapped her fluffy hairdo in a protective cocoon of toilet paper, and the Blade thought she looked ridiculous. ‘You’re so right. Ought to go back to whatever cesspool she’s from.’
He nodded politely. Yes, if everyone thought Velvet had left town, then wouldn’t it all be easier for him? Perfect.
Three people emerged from the marina office. Lovely, one was his Darling. Why, she wore grief well, as cute as could be in her jean shorts. Pretty is as pretty does, Mama used to say. His mouth went dry with want. The three walked back to Pete’s boat, went aboard, and came out perhaps two minutes later. Velvet was sobbing. He could see her bent shoulders in the dim light of the marina.
A man walked with her, steering her toward the police cars.
Panic flamed in him. Oh, no. They were arresting her. That would not do at all, not at all…
But they – and now he could see in the dim light the other was a tall man, not a cop – went past the parked police cars, past the quiet ambulance. And he could hear his Darling sob, and – oh, this would not do – the man put his hand on her arm, tenderly. The Blade’s heart boiled. The man opened the door of a Ford Explorer and she got in, the man helping her like they were on a date.
The man turned toward the crowd. The Blade, seeing his face, grimaced. Heat tickled the backs of his hands.
The Explorer pulled out into the street, and the small crowd of onlookers parted to make way for it. One of those magnetic signs was affixed to the door, white letters bold against a stylized red-and-blue background: KEEP WHIT MOSLEY JUSTICE OF THE PEACE. The Explorer passed within three feet of the Blade, and he saw his Darling’s face, leaning against the passenger window. She had her fists pressed to her eyes. He heard the storm of her voice over the car’s motor as it shot past.
The Blade hurried away. If they were arresting her, a cop would have taken her away. Not a judge. And she hadn’t had a bag. She wasn’t leaving town. That thought steadied him as he jumped into his beat-up Volkswagen. He didn’t like her running around with that judge when she belonged to him.
That judge. That judge had seen her upset and wanted to help her… wanted to take her to his house and undress her and…
No. No. He knew he was letting his imagination run wild and imagination was his enemy until his Darling was safely in his arms. Judge Mosley was part of law-and-order, after all, so he must be taking her to give a police statement. Or to fill out forms.
Yeah, you know what all those Mosley boys are like. You know.
The Blade revved his engine and headed toward town. He wanted her with him. Screw waiting. Maybe he could catch them before they got into Port Leo’s downtown, on the dark bay highway. Flash his headlights, pull them over onto the shoulder or a dark parking lot. Get Mosley out of the car, gut him with one swift move, then cut his throat. He wondered if a judge’s blood would reek of musty courtrooms and old thick books. Then he could whisk his Darling to his cabin and make her his, comfort her, take her away from the world’s sadness.
He floored the accelerator.
6
‘Do you think he suffered?’ Velvet mopped her eyes.
‘It was probably over in an instant.’ Whit believed in mercy, and it was the likely truth.
She rolled down the window a couple of inches, and the cool of the wind slammed into her face. ‘That little cop. Salazar. She any good?’
‘She has an excellent reputation.’
‘Here in Mayberry-by-the-fucking-Bay? How many murders do you have here a year? One?’
‘None last year. I think one the year before that.’
Velvet wadded up her tissue. ‘Oh, great, so she lives and breathes homicide. I feel so much better now.’ She stared at him. ‘So exactly what role do you play in this aside from chauffeur?’
‘When there’s a suspicious death, I examine the scene, meet with the people who knew the deceased, talk with the investigators, decide to order an autopsy or not, conduct the inquest, work with the ME in Nueces County if needed, rule on cause of death.’
Velvet’s eyes widened. ‘So never mind the cop. All you gotta do is rule it’s murder and she has to investigate.’
‘I have to make decisions based on the evidence. I got to be judicial,’ he said.
She regarded his tropical shirt and ratty shorts. ‘Yeah, when I picture judicial, I’m seeing you. What are you, twelve?’
He didn’t know what to say to her; his inexperience gnawed at him. He cleared his throat. ‘I promise you I’ll be fair, and I’ll listen to what you have to say about Pete’s… state of mind.’
‘When will the autopsy be done?’
‘In the next couple of days. I’ll get a verbal report from the ME first, but we won’t have a complete report for a few weeks. And before you keep casting aspersions against me and Claudia, you ought to know that I grew up with Pete. I knew him and his brother.’ And I sleep with his ex-Wife, so clearly I’m an interested party.
‘Pete never mentioned you.’
‘He was more friends with my older brothers. But if someone killed Pete, we’re not gonna let him or her get away with it.’
‘I suppose it wouldn’t be politically sound to let a Hubble be murdered and let the killer slip free,’ she said bitterly. ‘No, I guess you have to investigate to the balls when it’s a state senator’s son.’
‘I know you’re upset,’ Whit said, ‘and I’m real sorry for your loss, but is there some reason you’re cranking on me?’
‘I thought judges were all supposed to be big poker players. You don’t got a poker face. I can tell by the way you look at me you think Pete and I are trash.’
‘I don’t have a negative opinion of you.’ He paused. ‘I want to help you.’
She unfolded and refolded her tissue. ‘Who found the body?’
‘A young woman. We think she’s a runaway, although she’s apparently a few days past eighteen, so I guess you turn into a vagrant then. Um, I saw a video camera set up in the bedroom.’ She could draw her own conclusions, Whit supposed.
‘That’s not how you make a movie,’ she snapped. ‘You got at least two cameras, not just one, you got better lights than you’d have on that boat, you got a makeup girl. No way was Pete making a movie with that little-ass camera. He was professional.’
‘But moving on to a new career?’
‘Porn had worn him out. It’s hard work, you know. He wanted to come home to research and write this script. And he wanted me to direct it once it was done.’
‘So he gave you a chance to make a real movie?’
Her stare was acidic. ‘Excuse me. Have you seen my movies? They are real movies, butthead. I’m the Spielberg of porn. I have plots and characterization and depth and everything.’
Whit suspected it was the everything part that raked in the profits. ‘But this film about his brother had no adult-movie elements,’ he said. ‘Right?’
‘Of course not. I wanted to try a different kind of project. You know, that’s allowed if you’re creative. Shakespeare wrote comedies and tragedies. It’s only small minds that jam you into one freaking hole forever.’ She turned back to the window. ‘So where are you dumping me after I give this statement?’
‘I suppose Pete’s mother isn’t an option,’ Whit ventured.
‘She’d cut my throat in my sleep and bathe in the blood.’
‘You’re sure you don’t have any friends in town?’ Whit asked.
‘I don’t want any friends here, thank you kindly.’
‘Then I guess we’ll get you to a motel. You got several choices: the Excellent, which isn’t, the Port Leo Inn, the Gulf Breeze. A bunch of B and Bs. There’s also a Best Western and a Marriott Suites, too.’
‘I can’t believe Pete is dead and I have to stay at a Best Western.’ She managed a sniffle and a slight smile, friendlier than just a moment ago. ‘Any room at your inn? I’m awful quiet and I don’t take up much space.’