Ricochet (16 page)

“Obviously I thought so, too. Thank you for the invitation.” She returned his smile, then looked across the pot of geraniums at DeeDee. “Hello, Detective Bowen.”

“We hate to bust in on your lunch date, Mrs. Laird. But I suppose it’s just as well you’re here, too. We were about to tell the judge about the latest development.”

Elise turned quickly to Duncan. “What development?”

“Something that came up last night.” As he said the words, he realized he was assuring her that he hadn’t told DeeDee about her visit to his town house. Her evident relief didn’t make him feel any better about it.

The waiter arrived with his and DeeDee’s drinks, along with a lemonade for Elise. It was like the one he’d had at the bar, except that hers was served with a strawberry as big as an apple impaled on a clear plastic skewer.

The judge ordered another scotch. The waiter asked if they’d like to see menus, but the judge said he would let him know when they were ready. DeeDee requested a straw, and the waiter apologized profusely for not bringing one. These distractions allowed Duncan and Elise time to exchange a long look. At least she was looking toward him. He couldn’t see her eyes through the dark shades.

Trickles of sweat were rolling down his torso, and it wasn’t only because of the heat. The tension at the table was palpable. Even though they were all going through the motions of being relaxed in one another’s company, pretending that this was a casual gathering without agenda, they all knew better.

No one said anything until DeeDee’s straw had been delivered. She thanked the waiter with a nod, peeled away the wrapper, and stuck the straw in her glass. “Judge Laird, are you familiar with Meyer Napoli?”

He laughed. “Of course. He’s been in my courtroom too many times to count.”

“As a defendant?” DeeDee asked.

“Only as a witness,” the judge replied unflappably.

“For which side?”

“Depending on the case, he’s testified both for the prosecution and the defense.”

“Who is he?”

“Sorry, darling.” The judge turned to Elise. “Meyer Napoli is a private investigator.”

“Had you never heard of him, Mrs. Laird?”

Elise removed her sunglasses and gave DeeDee a level look. “If I had, I wouldn’t have asked.”

A crease had formed between the judge’s eyebrows. “You mentioned a development.”

The judge addressed the statement to Duncan, so he responded. “Meyer Napoli has gone missing. It became official this morning. It’s been over twenty-four hours since anyone has seen or heard from him. His secretary, who seems to be the person closest to him, is convinced that he’s met with foul play.”

The judge was hanging on every word. When Duncan stopped with that, he raised his shoulders in a slight shrug. “I hate to hear that. I hope the secretary is wrong, but how does this relate to us? What possible bearing could a private investigator’s disappearance have to do with what happened in our home night before last?”

Duncan locked gazes with Elise. “We found Gary Ray Trotter’s name among papers on Napoli’s desk.”

Her lips parted slightly, but Duncan didn’t expect her to say anything and she didn’t. In fact, no one spoke for a noticeable length of time.

Finally DeeDee cleared her throat. “The detective investigating Napoli’s disappearance noticed Trotter’s name on a memo. Actually a personalized Post-it. ‘From the desk of Meyer Napoli.’ The detective thought it coincidental, Trotter being recently… deceased. He knew that Detective Hatcher and I would find that interesting, and he was right. We talked to Napoli’s secretary last night.”

“And?” the judge asked.

“And nothing,” DeeDee replied. “Trotter had never made an appointment with the secretary to see Napoli. She doesn’t remember anybody by that name coming to the office, but, of course, that doesn’t mean that Trotter and Napoli didn’t meet somewhere else. Obviously they did. Or had contact of some kind, because the secretary confirmed that the handwriting on the Post-it was Napoli’s.” She looked back and forth between the judge and Elise.

The judge chuckled. “You’ve thrown out a lot of assumptions, Detective. Any one of which could be fact. Or none of them. Perhaps Napoli heard through the grapevine that Trotter had died during the commission of a crime. His name rang a bell and Napoli jotted it down to remind himself of it later. Who knows where their paths crossed? Maybe Trotter owed him money.” He gave her a gentle, somewhat patronizing smile. “Aren’t those as plausible as your assumptions?”

Duncan wouldn’t have been surprised if DeeDee had launched herself across the table and knocked him on his condescending ass. He wouldn’t have blamed her, either.

Instead she gave the judge an abashed grin. “Detective Hatcher chides me constantly for jumping to conclusions. It’s one of my character flaws. However, this time he agrees with me.”

The judge looked toward Duncan for elaboration. Duncan nodded him back toward DeeDee, indicating that she still had the floor.

She said, “Meyer Napoli has questionable ethics, but he’s reputed to have a mind like a steel trap. He wouldn’t need to jot himself a reminder note. He wrote down Gary Ray Trotter’s name for a reason.”

Elise had been following this exchange silently, but with undivided attention. “Are you implying that…” Then she shook her head in confusion and asked, “What are you implying?”

“I think I can answer that, darling,” the judge said. “They’re implying that there’s a connection between Napoli and Trotter, and by association, between Napoli and us. Is that it, Detective Bowen?”

In view of his testiness, she responded with remarkable calm. “We’re not implying anything, Judge Laird. But it struck us as coincidental that less than twenty-four hours after he was fatally shot in your home, Trotter’s name would show up on the desk of a private investigator who, also coincidentally, has been reported missing. It’s strange, to say the least.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t explain the strangeness of it.”

DeeDee continued with her typical doggedness. “Please try, Judge Laird. If there was a connection, no matter how long ago or how remote, it might explain how Trotter chose your house to break into. It seems far-fetched that he chose it at random. That’s a quirky element of this case we just can’t reconcile. Why did he choose you to burglarize?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Trotter is in no position to tell us, so I doubt we’ll ever know,” he said. “He could have heard of us through Napoli, I suppose, if they had a history, even in passing. Beyond that, I can’t venture a guess.”

“You’ve never had direct contact with Napoli?”

“Not outside my courtroom. My wife had never even heard of him until a few minutes ago.”

“Is that right, Mrs. Laird?”

“That’s right. I’d never heard of Napoli. Nor Trotter.”

DeeDee sucked the last of her Coke through the straw. “Then I guess we’ve wasted your time. Thanks for the Coke.” She reached for her handbag, and the judge took that as a signal that the interview was over.

“They make an excellent shrimp salad,” he said. “I’d be pleased to treat you.”

DeeDee thanked him for the offer but declined. The judge stood up and shook hands with each of them. DeeDee smiled down at Elise and told her good-bye.

Duncan was about to walk past Elise’s chair, when he hesitated, then extended his hand to her, almost as a dare to himself. First of all, it’s not easy to shake hands with a woman who’s given you a hard-on, and knows it. And second, he was thinking about what had happened the last time they shook hands. “Good-bye, Mrs. Laird.”

She hesitated, then took his hand. Or did she
clutch
it? “Good-bye.”

It was more difficult to pull his eyes away from hers than it was to withdraw his hand. He followed DeeDee inside the clubhouse and through the dining room. They waited to speak until they reached the lobby and she had given the parking valet her claim check. “What do you think?”

Before Duncan could answer, Stan Adams strolled up to them. “Well, Detective Sergeant Hatcher, I see that you and Judge Laird have kissed and made up since Savich’s trial.” He grinned at Duncan, then greeted DeeDee.

“Is this what you do in your spare time?” she asked. “You hang out in the country club until Savich commits another murder?”

The lawyer laughed, but became serious when he turned back to Duncan. “Are you investigating the fatal shooting at the judge’s house the other night? What was the guy’s name, Trotter?”

Duncan wasn’t surprised that Adams knew of the incident. As DeeDee’s society friend had said, the story had created a buzz. It also had been reported in the newspaper. Subtly. The judge, who usually basked in the glow of media attention, must have called in a favor with the managing editor.

The story had been buried on page ten and details were practically nonexistent. According to the brief story, Trotter was an intruder who had made an attempt on Mrs. Laird’s life, then later died. He could have died of a heart attack or cholera for all the reading public knew.

Stan Adams said, “I thought it was self-defense. How come y’all are on it?”

“Like you, we’re always trying to drum up business.” Duncan’s grin was as affable as the attorney’s, but equally insincere.

Adams knew he would get no more information from them. “Well, if it turns out that Mrs. Laird needs a good defense lawyer, I hope you’ll recommend me.”

He walked away and had reached the double entrance doors, when DeeDee called out to him. “Oh, Mr. Adams, I just remembered. Your dentist called. It’s time you had them bleached again.” She tapped her front teeth.

The attorney fired a finger pistol at her and said, “Good one, Detective. Good one.”

Then he was gone. DeeDee muttered under her breath, “Asshole. Every time I think of that mistrial…” She made a snarling sound and clenched her fist.

Duncan was looking at her, but not really seeing her. His mind wasn’t on Savich or his oily attorney. It was on the judge. His cream-colored linen trousers, his cool and courteous manner.

“A drink at least… . They make an excellent shrimp salad.”

He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Here’s the car,” DeeDee said and started for the door. Realizing he wasn’t following, she turned back. “Duncan?”

But his mind was still on the judge. Tucking his wife’s hand into the crook of his elbow. Possessively.

“Tell me what possible motive Cato Laird could have for wanting to kill you.”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

Making a split-second decision, Duncan told DeeDee to go on ahead. “I’m going to stick around here for a while.”