And I sure as hell wouldn’t be intimidated.
“I’ll deal with you later, Dodd,” Head scowled at me before turning to Jeremy Poole. “I’m in charge, and the name’s, Richard Head.”
“Yes, very funny,” Jeremy said, obviously thinking the name was a joke of some sort at his expense.
I snorted a laugh.
“Goddamn it—”
“Jeremy,” Ned Weatherby interjected, “This is Detective Richard Head.”
The lawyer paled. “Really?”
“Really.”
“My apologies, Detective Head.” Poole cleared his throat. “I’m Mr. Weatherby’s lawyer. If you have any questions for my client, you’ll ask them in my presence. We’ll be in the kitchen.”
“Why do you think Weatherby needs a lawyer?”
Good one. Damn, I hated giving that guy credit, even in my mind.
“Mr. Weatherby is not merely a client. He’s also a personal friend.” Poole laid a hand on Weatherby’s shoulder. “Come on, Ned. I’ll fix us some tea.”
I guess Poole wanted Head to know where things stood also, because with that they turned their backs on the detective and headed toward the kitchen.
“Did you call Billy Star yet?” I heard Poole whisper as they passed me.
My ears perked up as I recalled an angry Billy Star from the pics I’d shown Dylan earlier.
Ned’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, Christ, no, I haven’t called anyone. I .. I suppose I’d better call him. That’s one call I sure as hell don’t want to make. And … and I need to call Luanne too. I need to call her first.”
The kitchen door swung closed slowly behind Ned and his lawyer, and all Head could do was watch it close him out.
He kicked the sofa. “Pansy. Did you see the shoes on that lawyer guy? He must spend on loafers what I spend on my whole fuckin’ wardrobe.”
“It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it, Detective?”
“Shut up, Dodd.”
By the time midnight rolled around, every light in the Weatherby mansion blazed. Almost every inch of the house had been dusted for fingerprints. Detective Head had personally overseen the CSI’s work as they swabbed my hands and seized my bloody-soled runners and neatly tagged and bagged the evidence. He looked on as they fingerprinted me, and smiled as they took a hair sample (more like a handful of it). If there had been a way he could have gotten away with it, I’m sure he would have ordered a cavity search.
“Let’s go over it one more time, Dodd.” Detective Head chewed on a toothpick like he was warming up for an Olympic sport. Oh, geez, he must be trying to quit smoking again.
Could this day get any worse?
“Shall I go slower this time, Detective?”
“Just keep it up.” He glared at me. “You’re in serious shit here, Dodd. And your smart mouth isn’t doing you any favors today. But that’s just fine with me. Just fine. I’d like nothing better than to throw you away for a good long time.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can do what I damn well please.”
“Ah, there’s this little thing called ‘the law’. You might have heard of it.”
Head leaned in close. Close enough so that no one else could hear him, and so that I could smell mint on his breath. Apparently, his toothpicks were flavored. “I never liked you, Dodd,” he said. “I don’t like anyone who makes their living by being a rat.”
Sure, blame the rat for nailing the snake.
He leaned closer still. “Which is why it’s going to give me so much pleasure to personally see to it that you rot in jail for this crime.”
“Even though I didn’t do it, Detective?” I kept my voice calm; I didn’t so much as twitch a muscle. My eyes were clear and steady. But on the inside, things were liquefying as fear spread. “We both know I didn’t kill Jennifer.”
He eased back, a tight smile on his face. “I know no such thing.”
“I told you — several times, in fact — Jennifer Weatherby hired me to follow her husband.”
“Yeah right! She hired you to trail her husband, because of some mysterious blond mistress that nobody else has ever seen or heard tell of. How do we know she exists? Maybe she’s one of them ET types, huh? Straight from the planet Pleasesavemyass.”
“You’re an asshole, Head. And you look the part, too. It’s a wonder your mother doesn’t dress you better.”
His fists clenched, but he was smart enough to unclench them. “You know what I think, Dodd? I think you’ve got a thing for Ned Weatherby yourself.”
My jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”
“I don’t think anyone hired you. I think you’ve got the hots for moneybags and that’s why you’ve been stalking him. That’s why you had the pictures and all those notes. Jesus, you followed him into the locker room! We got laws about stalking in Ontario. You might have heard of that.”
I tried for calm. Fought for control. “You know you’re reaching for straws, don’t you, Dick?”
He glared at me.
“Jennifer Weatherby came into my office just this past Monday,” I continued. “She was extremely upset. She was convinced her husband was cheating on her. And she wanted me to follow him for a week to see if her suspicions were correct. That’s what I did. Thus, the pictures.”
“How convenient. What did you do Dodd, sneak back here when Ned was in a meeting? Wait till he left for work then sneak in here and shoot Mrs. Weatherby? Get her out of the way so you could have her husband?”
I bit down on the other words — harsh, angry, four-letter words — that threatened to color the room. I was losing my patience. “Look,” I said. “You can waste your time harassing me. You can diddle the night away because of some personal vendetta. So be it. But damn it, Dick, there is a murderer out there. She threatened Jennifer, and apparently has made good on those threats. So what are you going to do about it?”
The smile on his face slowly widened as he stared at me. He chuckled. Chuckled deeper. Then he laughed out loud.
Okay, when Richard Head laughs out loud, everyone hears him. Everyone turns and stares. And he knows it. He starts out putting his hands on his belly. He squares his shoulders. And he tosses his head back as if his thick, red neck were made of rubber. Then he bellows his ha-ha’s. Red-face roars them. This theatrical-grade performance will go on for a good minute, while everyone within hearing distance — let’s say about eight square miles — runs to see what’s so damn funny.
And yes, every damn cop in the house came into the living room where he sat across from me.
He wiped the laugh-tears from his eyes. “Okay, then Dixieland, or whatever your name is….”
“My name is Dix. “
“I don’t really give a rat’s ass what your name is. Listen to me very carefully, Dodd,” he said. The room was so still and quiet his words couldn’t be mistaken. Nor could their meaning. “Let me tell you a story…. Let me tell you what I’ve got here. I’ve got one dead woman, to wit, Jennifer Weatherby. I also have one wealthy widower. And I look at a woman like you, alone and wanting a man. Needing a man — if you know what I mean. A woman like yourself would find Ned Weatherby quite appealing. Quite the catch for an old—”
“Now, wait a minute—”
“I’m not finished.”
“Fine. What’s your theory?” I sat back. “Go on then, Dickie.”