Fatal Connections

Chapter 54

Fortunately, Officer Friendly just happened to be in the neighborhood and noticed me slumped in the front seat. He seemed more concerned than upset with me. In fact, he took pains to make sure I was fit to drive by asking me questions like those doctors use to check for concussions. It was almost a sobriety test.

He took the precaution of asking for my license and running a check on it. The fact that he gave it right back assured me that I had no outstanding warrants. Yet. Finally, he said I was free to go, and I wasted no time leaving.

If they hadn't issued a warrant for my arrest after a week, that was a good sign. Still, I was plagued by the timing of Marian Harcourt's phone call vis-à-vis my arriving to find the butchered bodies. That issue refused to go away. I needed to understand what had happened. Could that delivery man have witnessed my arrival at the house? I tried to recall that morning but couldn't remember if there was a van in the neighborhood or much of anything else, except the horrendous scene in the Harcourts' basement.

But I did not plan to do any more work without at least an attempt at actual sleep. Dozing off in the car not only hurt my neck, but my back was grumbling and small explosions of pain ricocheted inside my skull.

I found my way home and collapsed into bed with all of my clothes still on, including my shoes. Once I settled into the mattress, my brain went into a deep, black inkwell. Darkness and relief for a moment, then a pinpoint of light. The world's tiniest LED expanded slowly into a bright white hole. Which widened and swallowed me into the blinding glare of the desert. And I'm back in Dreamland again. Boots on the ground.

When I awoke, I could see a darkening sky through the window near my bed. I checked my bedside clock. It read 7:45 pm. But what day?

I checked my phone; it was still Saturday. I lay there staring at the ceiling. Then I rolled out of bed and trudged to the window. The streets were empty, except for the usual lines of parked cars. Street lamps threw spotlights onto the vehicles, creating occasional splashes of color on the bluish-gray tableau, like a really old movie, partially colorized. I was still in a half-dozing state when I realized who I needed to talk to— Minetti. But he was probably working. At this hour, the restaurant might be packed, or not. In Maple Lawn? Well . . . .

Before taking off for the restaurant, I called Alex Kingsley. Nick had referred me to Alex, a bona fide private eye, when I needed help with a previous investigation, one lifeline thrown to me by another lifeline.

Since then, I had come to think of her as a kind of mentor. I tried not to impose, but I've learned the hard way that if you need a favor, sometimes the best thing to do is just ask. After we'd exchanged brief pleasantries, I said, "I have an unusual situation and could really use your help with a few things."

"How unusual? And how many things?" Her voice held a playful undertone, but I didn't think she was smiling.

I thought about how to answer. "Unusual because if I don't find out the truth, I could be wrongly arrested for murder."

A short pause. "I see," she said, as if noting the time of someone's death.

"I need a background check," I added. "And some serious digging into an organization called Embrace the Wild."