He’d been wrong.
And now the records were there should the auditors come around to him, looking for fraud. Given time, he could probably get that billing cleaned up. Como and Neshek were no longer around to testify against him, so he could pass off their excesses and poor bookkeeping on their own organizations. Fortunately, too, Turner was certain that he could control Jaime with the leverage of offering Sunset to him, and Mission back to his wife. Maybe it could still all work out for the best.
But then with this Hunt fellow nosing around…
Clearly Hunt had expanded the original mandate Turner had given him to simply monitor the reward calls for the police and, more importantly, to keep him informed as to the progress of the investigation. It seemed to Turner now that Hunt was actively investigating not just Como’s but Neshek’s murder. And nobody-certainly not the reward consortium-had hired him to do that.
Turner considered simply firing Hunt and getting someone more tractable to do the job. But on reflection, he decided to follow the old adage: Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. It looked like, for whatever reason, Hunt was in this for good. So long as Hunt nominally worked for him, at least Turner could keep a close eye, and maybe even some control, on what he was up to.
And at that thought, Turner finally felt the knot in his stomach loosen. He took a long sip of his cognac, and a good pull at his cigar, then blew the fragrant smoke out into his beautifully appointed office.
He was going to have to put in a call to Mr. Hunt, remind him of their original understanding, the parameters of his role.
Get this last monkey off his back.
23
For all the reasons he’d elucidated to Wyatt Hunt, the only thing Al Carter knew for an absolute certainty was that he had to keep his profile as low as possible around the police. He was black, an ex-convict, the last person to see Como alive. As far as he was concerned, right there he had strikes one, two, and three and it might not be long before he was out. Strikes four and five, as if they needed them, were his easy access to the tire iron and his lack of alibis on the nights of either of the murders. The greater part of him was amazed, in fact, that the two inspectors hadn’t already braced him and brought him downtown for questioning.
Somehow he-or maybe just the circumstances-had held them off for now, and maybe what he’d told Hunt about the Thorpe girl would slow them down for a few more days as well. He hadn’t liked to do that to the girl, or to put himself into the evidence mix on any level, but realistically, what were his other options?
In the meantime, he’d been thinking about it nonstop for the past four days and he’d come to the decision that he needed some hardcore insurance. And finally, he thought he had a workable plan.
Now he sat alone in the very back booth in front of a cracked mug of steaming coffee at Miz Carter’s Mudhouse on California. The Carters who’d run this establishment for years were no relation to Al. When the door opened, he raised his hand and caught the attention of the couple who’d just come in-his younger brother Mo and Mo’s wife, Rae. They walked on back, greeting people they knew in the bustling coffee shop. They were childless, married for seventeen years, and regulars here. They were also solid citizens-a crucial criterion for Al’s purpose today-the owners of Ebony Emery, the tanning salon and manicure place a few doors down in the Laurel Center. Meanwhile, Al slid out of the booth and was standing by the time they got back to him. He greeted Mo with a warm chest- bump and a tapped fist, and Rae with a chaste hug and an air kiss by her ear.
The original Miz Carter’s daughter Penny had a couple more cracked mugs of coffee (the place’s funky trademark), small plates, and a big wedge of cinnamon coffee cake in front of Mo and Rae before they’d gotten their napkins unwrapped. Everybody made small talk, casual and loose, while Penny hovered and took orders. Al, on one side of the red leather booth, put in an order for a hamburger and a milk shake while his brother and sister-in-law on the other said they’d split the mac-and-cheese and the house salad. As he ordered, Mo was slicing the cake, giving some first to his wife, then serving himself.
When Penny went to place the order, Mo popped a bite of cake into his mouth, sipped from his mug, then put it down and raised his eyebrows. A question.
But now that the time had come, Al found his resolve weakening. He smiled to cover the sudden embarrassment-that’s what it was-then put his own mug down, twirled it a couple of times. “You’re great to come down.”
Rae, thin and buxom, gave him a kind smile that animated her face and made it a thing of beauty. “It didn’t exactly wear us out, Al.” Then, in a more serious vein, “What’s troublin’ you, brother? This thing with Dominic?”
“At least that.”
“What else?”
“Well, the Neshek woman too.”
“I don’t know her,” his brother said.
“One of Dominic’s colleagues. Got herself killed, too, this past Monday night.”
“Good Lord,” Rae said. “Two of ’em now?”
“Two of ’em,” Carter said.
Mo came forward over his coffee and cake, put his elbows on the table and his hands on both sides of his face. The ridge over his brows was pronounced, almost hooded. “They got you involved?”
Carter blew out a long sigh. “Not yet, Bro-Mo, not yet.”
“But you’re worried?” Rae asked.
Carter bobbed his head down and up. “It seems to be my constant state lately.”
“So what do they got on you?” Mo asked.
“Nothing. There’s nothing to get.” He met their eyes, one at a time. “I swear to both of you. There’s nothing to get.”
Rae reached a hand over the table and touched Carter’s. “Well, then, sugar, what you worried about?”
His throat rumbled as though he were chuckling, but there wasn’t anything funny in his eyes. “You got to ask?”
She looked down, picked at her cake with her long fingernails. “No, I guess not, I think about it. You think they do that again?”
“They did it last time,” Carter said. “Three and a half years for a crime I didn’t commit.”
His brother spoke up through his natural reluctance. “Hey, Al. Not that you hadn’t done some shit.”
“Okay, grant that,” Carter said. “I was a dumb kid. I wasn’t an angel. Maybe I’m still not, but I keep my nose clean. And I damn sure didn’t kill Mr. Como or anybody else. Whatever I’ve done before, I’ve paid for it now. And that’s not how it’s supposed to work. You know that. They’re supposed to send you up for something you actually did. Last time, they missed that little detail. I never went near that liquor store and-”
“Yeah, well,” his brother cut in, “the problem was you shoulda remembered back then how we all look the same.”
“Problem is,” Carter said, “I’m remembering now. And there is no way I’m going back in on this.”
“So what-?” Rae stopped and started again. “Why did you need to talk to us? How we gonna help you?”
“I’m not sure you can, but-”
He stopped speaking as Penny showed up back at the booth with their orders. After she’d put the food down, she asked, “What’s a fish say when it swims into a wall?”
They all looked up at her.
“You tell us, darlin’,” Mo said.
“Dam!” And with a delighted giggle, she was gone back to the counter.
Al Carter couldn’t help himself. The absurdity of the ridiculous joke while his life was in such turmoil had him chuckling. “Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Damn damn damn. That woman’s been reading my mail.” And suddenly the chuckling turned into real laughter. Extended laughter. Finally, wiping his eyes, Carter faced his relatives across the table. “Sorry. I don’t know why that hit me.”