“Where’s the fun in that?” I asked, barreling around her desk.
A quick fake to her right pulled her from her post. One spin-move later, I was rapping on Cap’s door. That fussy little office troll was too easy to screw with. She gasped as I chucked her rulebook to the curb and barged into Cap’s office without his blessing.
“I tried, sir,” Miriam whined. “I truly did. She’s just…”
“Yes, Miriam,” he said with a sigh. “She truly is.”
Cap glanced up at me perched on the corner of his desk, then shifted his gaze toward Harry still hovering in the doorway.
“Nighthawk. How can I help you today?” Cap rubbed his chin and held up a folder labeled Fiscal Budget. “A raise perhaps? An advance? A requisition for munitions? Napalm?”
“Not yet, sir. But soon.”
Harry closed the door and announced the reason for our visit. “We’ve got our first leads in the Henry murder investigation.”
Cap tossed the budget report aside and laid his glasses on his desk. “Do tell?”
Taking one of the cracked, red vinyl chairs across from Cap’s desk, Harry explained, “One of the vic’s neighbors, a crime-stopper type, spotted a white luxury car parked nearby around three a.m. But she didn’t get the plate number. Could be something. Maybe not. And we interviewed the Henry family. Veronica gave her mother an envelope containing the name of an offshore bank, an account number, and a passcode.”
“That’s a start. Make sure you book the contents into evidence. Wouldn’t want that to go missing.”
“Already done, Cap.”
“Well, get on it then. Don’t stand here talking to me. I’m busy,” he said, rolling his eyes. “With stupid shit.”
Miriam shot daggers at me as we left Cap’s office. I smiled sweetly and told her to have a good day.
“Why do you torment her?” Harry asked, when we’d made it out of earshot.
“It’s a sickness.”
We were halfway to Harry’s desk before I noticed Craig Farragut marching toward us. The freaking douche-canoe. What was he doing at the 51st?
Harry nudged me. “Here comes the reason you didn’t get your order to raise.”
“You mean the reason I got arrested.”
“Craig, how’s it going?” Harry asked, shaking hands with the bastard.
“You tell me. Any leads in the Henry case?”
I elbowed in-between them. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Harry?”
“Allie Nighthawk,” Harry said, shooting me a warning glance, “DA, Craig Farragut.”
Farragut’s eyes flashed. “Ah, yes. The…cadaver diver.”
“Always nice to meet a fan.”
“Raise any more corpses since your arraignment?”
“No. It’s been slow,” I said with a shrug. “So, you’re the ass—”
“Actually,” Harry interrupted. “We’re making headway on the case. We just got our first solid lead on an offshore account that belonged to the vic. It’s only a matter of time.”
Farragut’s eyes never left mine. “Really? Glad to hear it. Did that book ever turn up, Ms. Nighthawk? The one Ms. Henry mentioned during your…inadmissible conversation?”
“No, it didn’t. It was probably a red herring anyway.”
Farragut’s smile faded. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m late for a meeting. Nice to finally meet you, Ms. Nighthawk. Good luck at your hearing.”
I watched that dickweed saunter down the hallway, in his freshly pressed Armani, and I marveled at how even his walk looked arrogant. Little Allie swore I was pissing vinegar because he’d had me arrested. But as usual, she was full of shit. The man was too smooth, too slick — too Brooks Brothers. There was more than met the eye behind that perfect, bleached smile and those piercing green eyes. Sooner or later, he and I would come to blows. It was just a matter of when. But in the meantime, Harry and I had a murderer to catch.
We sat at Harry’s desk and hovered over his computer, pulling up Veronica’s offshore account. Harry whistled when he read the balance.
“Man, I’m in the wrong business.”
I peered over his shoulder at the monitor and almost choked. Twenty-three-year-old Veronica Henry was worth in excess of a million-five. Harry checked her personal accounts, too. They had balances exceeding 50K.
I knew high-priced call girls made good money. Even great money. But socking away this kind of dough? She wasn’t just boinking johns. What the hell had she been up to? And was that what had gotten her murdered?
Harry swiveled his chair toward me. “You really think the book’s a red herring?”
“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe it’s not a book, per se. Maybe it’s a ledger. With all that scratch laying around, you’d think she’d keep a record of it somewhere.”
Harry pulled up his email and smiled. “The phone records are here. Shall we?”
The list could be sorted by date, time and number. We were able to view both Veronica’s outgoing and incoming calls on the day of her death. When we sorted the list by source, I was surprised at how many calls involved the same numbers.
“Escorts like her have a repeat clientele,” Harry explained.
I stifled a yawn and looked at my watch. It was almost five o’clock. “This is going to take a while. Any chance we can check these out tomorrow?”
“Feeling like a boilermaker?”
“Maybe two.”
As we got up to leave, my phone rang. It was Opie. When I heard what he had to say, my mouth went dry.
“That’s up to you,” I said. “If you’re ready, I’m ready. Let’s get this over with. See you then.”
I shoved my phone back into my pocket and sighed. “Make that three boilermakers. The Prosecutor’s Office had a scheduling conflict with the preliminary hearing on January 16th. They asked Opie if we could go forward tomorrow morning. Nine a.m. sharp. Opie says he’s ready.”
“Boilermakers it is.” Harry grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, and we headed out the door.
11
The Tip of the Iceberg
Dallas looked surprised to see Harry and me saunter into The Blue Note for our afternoon cocktails. Jimmy and Hank sat at the bar, sipping beer and playing Keno. The booths and tables were empty. Apparently, Dallas hadn’t been lying. Tuesdays were slow. But I wasn’t there to work. A cool, smooth Jack Daniel’s on the rocks (or two) would ease me into my night off.
Within an hour, the early crowd left and made way for the late afternoon drinkers. Business picked up a bit. I almost offered to help, but Dallas handled it like a pro. Harry stepped out to pick up his shirts at the dry cleaners before they closed at seven but promised he’d return.
I kibitzed with Dallas between customers, sipping my Jack and wondering what fresh hell awaited me in the courtroom come morning. As I was picturing myself being led away in cuffs, a suit slid onto the barstool next to mine. Spiffy dresser, haughty, straight out of GQ. The kind of guy who never sits next to me intentionally. (Coincidentally, the kind of guy who sets my teeth on edge). I looked over my shoulder, thinking he was trying to hit on some high-class hunny on the other side of me. When that wasn’t the case, I stared down at my drink, hoping Mr. GQ would take the hint. Fat chance.
“Ms. Nighthawk?” The suit scooted his stool closer to mine. “May I buy you a drink?”
“No.”
He sat back stunned, but recovered in a beat and shot me a thin-lipped smile. “I assure you, this isn’t a pickup. I have a business proposition for you.”
That’s when I noticed Harry had returned and had taken a stool a couple of seats over, pretending to be a fly on the wall. He turned his back to me but was obviously listening to my conversation.
I swiveled my stool toward GQ and scanned him, head to toe. He was stylish and neat as a pin, all right. But his eyes were cold and hawk-like, his barely there smile fresh from the freezer. Little Allie got her panties in a wad. Who is this guy? What kind of proposi
tion? There was only one way to find out.
“I’m listening,” I said.
“I understand you’re working the Veronica Henry murder.”
How had he known that? Intrigued, I sipped my Jack and played along. “And if I am?”
“I represent a local businessman who is concerned that certain information may come to light that could tarnish his reputation.”
“That’s the way investigations go sometimes. Especially murder investigations.”
“My client is a wealthy man. He’s willing to pay a lot of money for that information. Even more for that same information on other…involved parties.”
“What makes you so sure there’s information to be had?”
GQ chuckled. “Ms. Henry was many things. Sexy, discreet. But above all, smart. She understood that information equals power. My client paid for her services, as well as her silence. Now that she’s dead, her continued silence is assured. But the information she possessed is still out there, somewhere. My client wants it. Now. All of it.”
“And if I don’t want to play?”
“That would be a grave mistake.”
I side-eyed him. “How do I know that you, or your client, didn’t kill Veronica?”
“We had no reason to want her dead. The quid pro quo arrangement suited everyone just fine. Her death, on the other hand, is problematic.”
GQ pulled a card from his pocket and laid it on the bar. “My employer’s offering more than you could ever hope to make puppeteering corpses. Call me when you’ve found the merchandise.”
He slunk away as stealthily as he had appeared, leaving only his business card behind. I picked it up and turned it over. The card was blank, except for a handwritten phone number.
Harry, and his bottle of Guinness, were at my elbow in an instant. “So, Andre Petrov wants to buy any confidential information we turn up. That’s interesting.”
“Who’s Petrov?”
“He’s a lieutenant with the Russian mob.”
I tucked Petrov’s business card in my pocket and whistled. “Veronica sure had some interesting clients.”
“Not to mention a lot of them,” Harry said. He chugged the rest of his Guinness and plunked the bottle onto the bar. “Odds are, this is just the tip of the iceberg.”
Wasn’t that peachy? If we were right, we might end up with more suspects than we could shake a stick at.
12
Nani Nani Boo Boo
Come 9 a.m., Opie and I resumed our seats on the bench outside Hearing Room A and waited for our case to be called.
Opie hummed quietly, staring into space, tapping his foot against the marble floor, over and over again. Counselor Sling Blade looked like he’d slipped over the edge. The wheel was spinning but the hamster was dead.
I covered my face with my hands and stifled a moan. Then I drove my palm into the top of his knee, bringing the tapping to an end. “Relax. You look like a two-year-old who has to pee.”
“We’re back in front of Judge Franklin, you know.”
And things had gone so swimmingly last time. “Suck it up,” I hissed. “You’ve got nowhere to go but up.”
The announcement of my case blared over the PA system, causing me to twitch like a freaking freshie. Opie and I entered the courtroom and took our places at the defense table.
Opie straightened his tie and nodded curtly to Jerry Milligan across the aisle.
The Clerk of Courts rose to his feet. “All rise. The Criminal Court of Hamilton County is now in session. The Honorable Harold T. Franklin presiding. Please be seated and come to order.”
Judge Franklin flipped open his file and leaned toward his microphone. “Good morning. In the matter of the State of Ohio versus Allie Nighthawk, is the defendant prepared to formally enter a plea at this time?”
Opie nodded. “Yes, Your Honor.”
Judge Franklin stared at me over the top of his tortoise-shelled cheaters. “Ms. Nighthawk, it is charged that on or about January 5th , in the city of Cincinnati, Ohio, you did knowingly and willfully raise the corpse of one deceased Veronica Henry without an order of authorization, in violation of O.R.C. 2927.01, subsection B, gross abuse of a corpse: ‘No person, except as authorized by law, shall treat a human corpse in a way that would outrage reasonable community sensibilities.’ How do you plead?”
Opie kicked my foot beneath the table, reminding me to answer like a sane person this time.
“Not guilty, Your Honor.” I glanced over my shoulder and found Harry seated in the back row. He smiled and tossed me a wink.
Judge Franklin nodded toward Milligan. “Mr. Prosecutor, call your first witness.”
“The State would like to call Doctor William Francis Blanchard to the stand.”
My heart sank as Doc Blanchard strutted up the center aisle. After the clerk swore him in, he sat in the witness chair with his chin held high, radiating confidence and grim determination. I remembered our conversation from the day of the raising when he said he would deny having given me authorization to raise Veronica Henry. All I could do was stare straight ahead, hold my breath, and hope he wouldn’t torpedo me.
Milligan cleared his throat and launched his attack. “Doctor Blanchard, please state your name for the record.”
“Dr. William Francis Blanchard, the third.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Now if you would, please review your curriculum vitae for the court.”
When Doc finished rambling off the alphabet soup of his degrees and certifications, Milligan continued. “Doctor Blanchard, were you present in your morgue on January 5th, awaiting a court order to authorize the raising of the corpse of Ms. Veronica Henry?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was Ms. Nighthawk with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you, in fact, receive the court order which authorized the raising of said corpse?”
Doc glanced at me. “No, sir.”
“And despite the lack of said order, did Ms. Nighthawk, in fact, proceed to raise the corpse of Ms. Henry?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In the absence of said warrant, did you, in your capacity as Medical Examiner, give Ms. Nighthawk express permission to raise the corpse of Ms. Henry?”
Doc hesitated, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “No, sir.”
Milligan stepped toward the stand. “I’m sorry, Doctor Blanchard, would you please repeat your answer? Louder this time, for the court, if you please.”
“No, sir. I did not.”
“Thank you, Doctor Blanchard. I have no further questions at this time.”
Judge Franklin glanced at Opie. “Would the defense like to cross-examine the witness?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Opie stood and approached the stand. “Doctor Blanchard, would you agree that you have testified here today that you were present with Ms. Nighthawk when she raised the corpse of Veronica Henry?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you, in fact, tell Ms. Nighthawk that in your capacity as Medical Examiner, you did not think an order to raise was required?”
Doc fidgeted with a button on his sport coat. ‘Yes, sir. I did.”
“Did you further advise Ms. Nighthawk that it was in your purview as Medical Examiner to authorize the raising of the corpse of Veronica Henry to assist you in determining the cause of her death?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When Ms. Nighthawk took you at your word and rose Veronica Henry, did you at any time try to stop her?”
Doc squirmed. “No, sir.”
Milligan tossed his pen onto his notepad. “Objection! Dr. Blanchard sharing his opinion with Ms. Nighthawk that he is entitled to authorize a raising without the requisite order is not the same as him providing her with express consent to raise!”
“Your Honor, please!” Opie glared at Milligan. “I’m trying to—”
“Overruled, for the moment,” the judge said. “I want to see where the defense is going. Proceed, Counselor.”
Opie clear
ed his throat and picked up where he left off. “Did you, in fact, Dr. Blanchard, encourage Ms. Nighthawk to ‘get the raising over with’ because you had a ‘full house and no open tables’?”
Doc’s cheeks blazed. “Damn straight, I did. All this bureaucratic nonsense has to stop. I’ve got enough on my hands without having to fight the damn County just to do my job. As long as I serve in the role of Medical Examiner, I’m legally and ethically bound to perform a complete examination of a corpse to determine cause of death. And that includes authorizing a raising if I deem it necessary.”
“Final question, Doctor. Did you deem the raising of Ms. Henry necessary?”
Doc turned his head and stared into my eyes. “Yes, sir. I did.”
Opie smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Blanchard. I have no further questions.”
Judge Franklin nodded to Milligan. “Further questions for the witness, Mr. Prosecutor?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Jerry took his time strolling toward the witness stand. “Dr. Blanchard, once Ms. Nighthawk raised the corpse of Veronica Henry, did you glean any additional information that assisted you in the determination of the cause of her death?”
“Not as such.”
“Thank you, Doctor Blanchard. No further questions.”
The judge scribbled a note in his file. “The witness may step down.”
Doc slid out of the witness stand, kept his eyes front and center, and returned to his seat.
Judge Franklin glanced out over the bench. “Will you be calling additional witnesses, Mr. Prosecutor?”
“No, sir,” Milligan said, backing away from the stand and returning to his table.
“Mr. Andrews, will the Defense be calling any witnesses today?”
Opie shook his head. “No, Your Honor.”
“Very well. Closing remarks. Mr. Prosecutor?”
“Your Honor,” Milligan began, “This whole dog and pony show has been nothing but a smoke screen. Clearly, a request was made for an order to raise. That request was denied. Ms. Nighthawk proceeded with the raising without the required legal authorization to do so. Those are the facts of this case, and they are not in dispute. The prosecution rests.”
Life Among the Tombstones Page 7
