“If you run into any trouble with that let me know. My neighbor, Bitsy Peck, has at least eight spare bedrooms and loves company. And why don’t you come out for dinner later? If you don’t get a better offer, I mean.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that.” Very sipped his Ballantine, gazing around at his dead friend’s dreary little apartment. “Not much to leave behind when you’re gone, is it, dude?”
“No, Lieutenant,” Mitch said softly. “It’s not.”
CHAPTER 14
“What have you got for me, girl? And, please God, make it good,” blustered Yolie as she barreled across the lawn from her cruiser, fists clenched, jaw clenched, clenched. “Because I really need a break here, understand?”
Des was stretched out on one of Mitch’s lawn chairs savoring the fresh sea breeze after spending so many hours at that damned desk-searching high and low on her computer screen, working the phone. Quirt lay underneath her, his tail swishing in the grass. The geese were flying overhead. The grill was lit. Augie’s killer was still on the loose. The Dorset Flasher, who either was or was not the same person, was still on the loose. Her father was having his chest cut open in three days. It was just a typical Sunday evening in paradise. “I understand, Yolie,” she said. “Chill out, girl. You’re so wired you’re giving off sparks.”
“Damned media people keep messing with my head,” she huffed in response. “Demanding I feed them something for the six o’clock news. What do you tell them when you have nothing to tell them?”
“That this is an ongoing criminal investigation. That you are pursuing numerous fruitful leads, are making excellent progress and have no new information that you can share with them at this time.”
Yolie stuck out her chin. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what I said.”
“Then you should be fine.”
“Rico really doesn’t like me putting my face out there.”
“Rico will really have to deal with it. Sit yourself down, will you? You have to learn how to pace yourself. We’ll talk it out over dinner.”
Mitch had gone to fetch a bucket of sweet corn from Bitsy’s garden. His own fresh-picked salad greens were taking a bath in the kitchen sink. Two organic free-range chickens were marinating in olive oil, lemon juice, rosemary and garlic.
He came trudging up the path now, a Corona in one hand, his bucket of corn in the other. “Hey, Yolie,” he called to her. “Can I get you a beer?”
She shook her head. “No slow juice for me. I’m on duty tonight.”
“In that case, how would you like a cranberry spritzer with a twist of lime and a sprig of my very own homegrown mint?”
“Do I look like some skinny East Side Gap bitch to you?”
“Down, girl,” Des cautioned her.
Yolie puffed out her cheeks. “Sorry, Mitch. Didn’t mean to bite you. I’m just a little stressed right now.”
He grinned at her. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“That cranberry… whatever sounds great.”
“One spritzer, coming right up,” he said as a buzzer went off inside the cottage. Someone was at the causeway gate. Mitch fetched his binoculars from inside of the door and had a look. “Ah, good, it’s Lieutenant Very.”
Yolie’s eyes widened with alarm. “What’s he doing here?”
“I invited him to dinner. Hope you don’t mind.” Mitch pressed the buzzer to raise the security barricade and then went inside to make her drink.
Des watched the New York cop ease his motorcycle across the wooden causeway, hearing its throaty roar.
“I-I had no idea he was coming. None.” Yolie sounded even more wound up now-if such a thing was even possible. “It would have been nice if you’d warned me, girl. Just a teeny-tiny heads-up, know what I’m saying? I’ve been wearing the same clothes since yesterday. Smell like I’ve been living in a damned Dumpster for the past…” She broke off, fanning her face with her fingers. “Am I acting whack?”
“Not at all. He’s really cute. And Mitch thinks he’s a nice guy.”
“He does seem nice, doesn’t he?”
Des got up and went inside. Mitch was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on Yolie’s drink. “Is this you pulling a Bella or what?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Master Sergeant.”
“You do, too, Mister Matchmaker.”
“Ohh… I see where you’re going with this. But you could not be more wrong. I had no idea Yolie was coming to dinner when I invited him.”
She gave him a doubtful look. “Uh-huh…”
“But now that you mention it I’m glad she’s here.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because the guy’s desperately lonely. And when I first mentioned Yolie’s name to him he went ‘Woo…’ ”
“Woo…? What’s that mean?”
“That he thinks she’s hot.”
“Mitch, he’d better not hurt her.”
“What makes you think he’d do that?”
“He’s a man, isn’t he?”
“I knew it. Film noir weekend was a huge mistake. I should never have screened Out of the Past for you. Let’s try to think positive, okay? Lieutenant Very isn’t Robert Mitchum and Yolie’s not Jane Greer. Just leave them be.”
He started back outside with Yolie’s spritzer and a cold Corona for the lieutenant. Des followed him. Very stood next to his bike yakking a mile a minute with Yolie, the two of them so hyper Des was sure they were about to lift right up off of the ground.
Mitch handed them their drinks. “Any luck finding somewhere to stay tonight, Lieutenant?”
“Afraid not. There isn’t a motel room to be had anywhere.”
“I just spoke to my neighbor Bitsy. You’re welcome to bunk with her. She lives in that giant natural-shingled place over there. I can introduce you after dinner.”
“Thanks, dude. Appreciate it.”
“How did you make out with that other thing?”
Very took a long, thirsty gulp of his Corona. “I made out,” he replied, leaving it there. Des had no idea what they were talking about.
Mitch checked the grill and decided the fire was good to go. Fetched the platter of marinated chicken from the kitchen and set the pieces on the grill to sizzle, arranging the ears of corn around them.
Very flopped down at the picnic table. “You get anywhere today, Sarge?”
“Not unless you call nowhere somewhere,” Yolie grumbled, sitting down across from him.
“Your people still haven’t turned up that ski mask?”
“No mask. It’s gone. Or was never there to begin with.”
“How about Dawgie’s body? Did they find any hairs or clothing fibers on him?”
Yolie shook her head at him. “Nothing. And they can’t tell us much more about his assailant than we already knew. He, or she, swung that bat right-handed. Height’s anywhere between five six and six foot-depending on how low Augie was crouched as he crept through the brush in the dark.”
Des took a seat with them. “How about the force of the blows?”
“Average strength for a man. Above average for a woman. Meaning we can cross Bertha Peck off our list. Except she’s so tiny and ancient that she was never on it to begin with.” Yolie took a sip of her spritzer. “Those shoe prints they found down by the riverbank? Tread pattern belongs to a pair of Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars. It’s a unisex shoe. A man or woman could have been wearing them. Same old song-average-sized foot for a man, above average for a woman. They gave me their usual boatload of blah-blah-blah about the perp’s estimated weight and corresponding height, for whatever good that does.”
Des made a face. “Which isn’t much.”
“I don’t even pay attention,” agreed Very, nodding, nodding. “I’ve turned up big, fat perps with little, tiny feet. Pip-squeaks who wear a size twelve triple-E. That stuff’s meaningless. Sure sounds good when they do it on Law and Order though.” He peered across the table at Yolie. “So you’re nowhere.”
“As I believe I just told you.” She turned her gaze on Des. “I’m still waiting to hear from you, Miss Thing. Got any news I can use?”
“I do. For starters, I tracked down Hal Chapman’s alibi.”
Yolie brightened. “This would be Terri E as in maybe Edsen?”