“Is that a fact?”
The nurse cracked open her Rolodex and flipped through it. She scribbled a number on a scrap of paper and shoved it across the counter at Leo.
“BWB Temporary Services. Check with them.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Leo folded the paper over and inserted it into his breast pocket.
Halfway down the directory posted in the lobby of the building, Leo found BWB Temporary Services. He took the elevator to the ninth floor and introduced himself to a good-looking, youngish man eating a take-out sandwich at his cluttered desk.
“It must be exciting working for the DA’s office.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“I guess that was a stupid thing to say. I bet everybody says that. It’s probably boring just like everybody else’s job. Although I can personally testify that running a temp agency is never boring. Every day there’s another emergency. Some girl’s got her period and can’t work her assignment. Some boy’s got his period and won’t come in. You know how it is.”
“The thing is, I’m looking for a lady who might have worked for you.”
“What’s her name?”
“Violet Perkins.”
“Oh sure, Violet worked for us.”
“She did?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve been looking all over for her. I was beginning to think she didn’t exist.”
“Oh, she exists all right. But she’s not on my Christmas list, I can tell you that much. I had an assignment for her three weeks ago and she never showed. You have no idea what a bad impression it makes when one of our people is a no-show. The clients usually don’t call back. Anyway, I bet you ran her name through your computer and couldn’t find her.”
“Right.”
“I bet I know why.”
“Why?”
“Because you were right, she doesn’t exist. Her name isn’t Violet. It’s Constance. That’s what it says on her driver’s license. But she hates it, so she tells everybody to call her Violet. And I have to say, I don’t blame her. Violet is much more colorful. I’ve got a photocopy of it if you want.”
“What?”
“Her driver’s license. We have to keep one on file for everybody that works here.”
The youngish man, Leo could now see, augmented his good looks with a bit of makeup and was older than he had first thought. He opened a massive filing cabinet drawer and thumbed through the files until he got to the right one. He held out a photocopied page to Leo.
“Here, you can keep it. Since she doesn’t work here anymore, I won’t be needing it.”
“I really appreciate this. You don’t know how much.”
“Happy to help.”
“So, what does BWB stand for? I guess everybody asks.”
“Everybody does, and I always say they’re my mother’s initials, but for you, I’ll tell the truth. When Craig, that’s my partner, when we started the business, it was just the two of us. And it was just a cleaning service. We went into rich people’s homes and cleaned up. And we really did-clean up, that is. So we expanded into other areas and hired more people and eventually became a multiservice temp agency. We just never bothered to change our name, which has since grown to be an embarrassment.”
“Because?”
“Because BWB stands for Bitches With Brooms.”
TWENTY-NINE
“This is Anne Hunter, may I help you?”
“Guess who’s investigating a murder at the DA’s office?”
“Who is this?”
“Do you want the story or not? Maybe I should call Dear Abby.”
“Okay, spill it.”
“The man who set the Torso Killer free is working a murder case.”
“Leo Hewitt? Investigating a murder? That’s not possible. What murder?”
“Rachel Lee.”
“Look, why don’t you give me your-”
Anne heard the click of the line disengaging and hung up the phone. She took a notepad from her desk and wrote: Leo Hewitt, Rachel Lee, possible connection with Monty Lee? She looked at the paper a moment, then added: This has got to be bullshit!
Anne Hunter had been the first to break the story about the infighting in the DA’s office during the Guaraldi trial. She’d coined the term every paper in the nation picked up on: The Guaraldi Fiasco. Even the television news shows used it. And it had been the headline of her first lead story: The Guaraldi Fiasco. And thanks to her source on the prosecution team, she had scooped every paper in the nation-as well as television and radio-with Hewitt’s resignation. But then, Hewitt himself had been her source. Who was Mr. Anonymous that had just called her? He had to work in the DA’s office to get that kind of information. If it was true. It would be nice to write another lead story; the only problem was that once Leo had his fall from grace, no one at the DA’s office would talk to her. She’d pretty much burned those bridges. And, truth be told, she’d had something of a hand in Leo’s undoing. Her stories had targeted the entire DA’s office for its mishandling of key evidence, and, at the end, she had singled out Leo for her tirades.
Her last story on the case had been an overview of Leo Hewitt’s legal career and had been titled, The Man Who Set the Torso Killer Free. The story had, in effect, bordered on slander but got her on the short list for the Pulitzer that year. And the woman who had once been as close to a Pulitzer as Roxanne’s trumpet was now covering county zoning meetings. And here she was, wondering if that far-off whistle was the sound of the gravy train pulling back into the station. Maybe it sounded too good to be true, but she’d be a fool not to follow up on it. She picked up the phone and dialed. The number was still as fresh in her mind as it had been three years ago.
“This is Anne Hunter with the Tribune. Put me through to Paula Manning’s office.”
She listened to a series of electronic clicks, then heard the phone ringing on Paula’s secretary’s desk.
“Hi, this is Anne Hunter with the Tribune. I need to speak with Paula. I know she’s not in, but while you’re checking to make sure she’s not in, please tell her I’m running a story on the Lee case and this will be her only opportunity to confirm or deny. I’ll hold.”
She waited for several minutes, and the next voice she heard was Paula’s.
“There is no Lee case. What are you talking about, Anne?”
“Rachel Lee. Your office is investigating her death.”
The line was silent, and Anne knew she’d screwed up. She should have at least confirmed that someone named Rachel Lee had died recently. She could kick herself for being so stupid. She closed her eyes and hoped for the best. Maybe Paula would trip herself up.
“I don’t know what you heard, but it’s wrong.”
Bull’s-eye. “I hear that you have Leo Hewitt working the case. And Paula, I got this from a very reliable source in your own department. I’m running the story whether you confirm it or deny it, but if you do deny it, you’re gonna look like either a liar or an incompetent who doesn’t know what’s going on in her own office. Either way, you’re gonna look bad.”
“Well, that’s your specialty, isn’t it? Making people look bad. It was a nice try, but you can’t bluff me, Anne. If you really had a source that strong, the last thing you would do is call me.”
“I’m not bluffing. Try me.”
“You’re way out of line on this. First of all, the district attorney’s office is not investigating the death of Rachel Lee. It was deemed an accident. Second, Leo Hewitt works traffic court. You get the picture?”
“Yeah, I get it. Hey, you can’t blame a girl for trying, right?”
“Look, Anne, just between me and you, do you honestly think Bob Fox would let Leo Hewitt investigate a cat up a tree? Someone’s pulling your leg.”
Anne hung up the phone. She knew Paula was right, of course. The whole thing was ludicrous. The only problem was, if the whole thing was just a joke, Paula would never have taken her call.