Nancy answered without looking up from her typing. “Sure is, Melba. Been waiting on you and Sam to get your asses over here.”
“Well, it’s been that kind of a morning. Okay if we go on in?”
From behind the partially cracked office door a voice rumbled, “That you, Reightman? Is Jackson with you? You two get your butts in here right now!”
At the sound of Kelly’s voice, Nancy stood up and thrust a bulging folder at Reightman. “Fair warning, Melba, he’s in a mood today. Give him this while you’re in there and tell him it all needs to be signed. All of it – today.” She reached over to grab a quick drink of her cola, and then promptly returned to her typing and chewing.
Reightman clenched the folder with both hands, struggling to keep any of the papers from falling out. When she had it under control, she handed it off to Jackson. “You give it to him.”
“Why do I have to?”
“I figure since you play golf him every Saturday he’s least likely to throw this monster at your head while yelling four letter words, that’s why. So stop your whining, and just do it.”
Jackson rolled his eyes and grinned. The Chief yelled through the door, “I heard that, Reightman. I ain’t fuckin’ deaf!”
Chief Kelly gave them both the once over when they entered. “It’s about damn time!” He reluctantly took the folder from Jackson, grimacing when he felt its hefty weight, and then stacked it on top of the already overflowing in-box. He pointed at the two heavy, pleather covered chairs in front of his desk. “Park your sorry selves there.”
They removed several piles of folders from the seats and stacked them carefully on the floor. Once she was seated, Reightman pulled her sticking blouse away from her neck and used one of the file folders to fan herself. Chief Kelly studied them for a minute from under his bushy brows while chewing on the inside of his cheek. He rolled his neck from side to side, causing a couple of vertebrae to crack.
“Feeling warm, Reightman?”
“A little, Chief.”
Kelly grunted at her comment and then started in. “This is one fine hell of a mess. Detectives, as I’m sure you’re well aware. Already this morning – before I even had my second cup of crappy coffee – I’ve had calls from the Mayor, the DA, and some piss-ant reporter from the paper.
“Sorry, Chief.”
“Hold on to your horses, Reightman. It gets better.” Chief Kelly eased his chair back into a more comfortable position. “As you might imagine, the Mayor and the DA are concerned about the murder and the associated publicity. As a result, so am I. You’d best bring me up to date on where we are with this thing.”
Reightman and Jackson exchanged one of those looks partners exchange when they’re in the hot seat.
“Well, Detectives?”
Jackson set up a little straighter in his chair and filled the Chief in on the events of the night before, stopping to clarify the occasional question. Every once in a while the Chief would hold up a large hand indicating he should stop talking, and chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Finally, Jackson wrapped up the briefing.
“Where’s Mr. Bailey now? Sitting in a cell?”
“Right now he’s in the interview room with his attorney. While I’m thinking about it, have they notified Mr. Guzman’s next of kin?”
Jackson answered, “As far as we have been able to tell, Reightman, there are no next of kin. Mr. Bailey says there never have been, at least any he knew of. There was one cousin Guzman stayed with several years ago, but he moved away some time ago and Bailey doesn’t know how to reach him. He seems to be the only person who was close to Guzman for a number of years. We can ask again during the interview, just to make sure.”
“Speaking of that, Jackson, we should probably be getting back, although the crazy little Asian lady will likely be grateful for any extra time. She doesn’t really seem to be capable of –” Reightman stopped short when the Chief sprung straight up out of his chair.
“What crazy little Asian lady?”
“Toby Bailey’s attorney, sir.”
“Toby Bailey’s attorney?” It was unlike the Chief to repeat things. Usually he caught on the first time.
“Yes, sir.” Melba looked at him expectantly, and thought he was looking a little worried. “Sir, is something wrong?”
The Chief sat back down in his protesting desk chair. “Detective Reightman what, pray tell and the Savior help us, is the name of the attorney representing Mr. Bailey?”
Reightman wrangled the business card from her pocket, and handed it across the desk. When he didn’t take it, she put it down in front of him. He reluctantly picked it up, and read it before dropping it back down. “Things are going to be getting mighty complicated.”
“Why do you say that, Chief?”
Kelly pointed to the card. “Because of her.”
“Because of Madame Zhou?” When Kelly nodded in the affirmative, she shot a glance toward Jackson, and ran her fingers through her already tangled hair. “Chief, I know this case looks messy right now, but we’ve had less than a day to work it. We already have the suspect in custody, and we’re working on tying up what are, admittedly, a lot of loose ends. But you know Jackson and I are really good at our jobs, Chief.” Reightman continued in what she hoped was a confident tone, “Frankly, I think we have more things to worry about than some old, doughty lady who seems barely capable of defending anyone, much less a suspected murderer. I mean, she has to be almost ninety, and she really doesn’t seem to have much experience. Sure, she’s a really fussy and maybe a little demanding, but I don’t think she’ll give us much trouble. I’m more concerned she won’t be able to adequately represent Mr. Bailey, although I suppose technically that’s none of my business.”
“Not give us much trouble, Reightman?”
She didn’t care for the Chief’s tone of voice, or for the expression on his face. “I don’t think so, Chief.”
Kelly leaned forward and slammed his hands down on the desk. The big file folder slid from its perch on top of his in-box and dropped to the floor, scattering dozens of sheets of paper across the grey linoleum. He stood and glared at her. “Let me tell you something, Ms. Hot-Shot Detective. That old, fussy, doughty lady who seems barely capable of defending anyone is one of the best legal minds in the entire state, if not the entire country!” He aggressively poked the card on the desk. “I’ll have you know, she graduated in the top of her class from Harvard Law. For the past forty years she’s caused every opposing attorney, and a few federal judges, to break out in cold sweats just by walking into the courtroom. Really fussy? A little demanding? You, Ms. Know-It-All, have absolutely no idea just how fussy and demanding she can be.”
Reightman was starting to feel queasy and shifted in her chair as a little trail of perspiration trickled down her side underneath her blouse. “But, Chief –” She didn’t get a chance to finish before Kelly started in again.
“She may be getting old, but you better damn well believe she’s fully capable of mounting a defense for her client and having us for breakfast at the same time. She can do both with one dainty hand tied behind her scrawny old back. On top of which, she’s one of the best connected women in this city.” The Chief stopped his rant to mop his forehead with a handkerchief. “To further edify you two,” the Chief grimly continued, “she also owns about twenty-five percent of the entire downtown business district. If she decides to fight dirty, believe you me, Reightman, we’ll be covered head-to-toe in mud before that old dragon is done with us. “
In the dead silence following the Chief’s revelation, Reightman could feel herself beginning to sweat profusely. She felt very warm and wondered if maybe her blood sugar was dropping. Her hands were balled up into tightly clamped fists on her lap. She stared fixedly down at them and bit her lip almost hard enough to make it bleed. That hurt…and so did her feet. She glanced at Jackson and saw him give a cautioning shake of his head. She relaxed her hands, and then involuntarily clamped them tight again.
“What the heck is wrong with me?” She reached up to check the back of her neck and discovered it felt hot and flushed, as did her cheeks. “Why doesn’t Kelly turn on the air?” She reached for the file folder and began fanning herself. She considered her body’s reaction some more, and then nodded to herself, slowly at first and then faster. Yep. She knew what was wrong. The old lady had played her, and now Reightman was totally, absolutely pissed off. She leaped out of her chair. “Why, that sneaky old…”
“Detective Reightman!” She looked at the Chief and noticed his hard glare. “Sit your butt back down.”
“Melba, get yourself under control – please.” Sam almost never used that tone with her.
She felt a vein throbbing in her forehead. “How dare she pull some stunt like that? How can that manipulating old…old…”
“Detective, I said to sit down!”
Her left eye started to twitch. She started to snap out another remark, but reconsidered and shut her mouth. She looked at Jackson and then at Chief Kelly and felt behind her for the chair. She sat.
The Chief glared across his desk. “Detective Reightman, you just sit there for a minute and simmer down.” He picked up the Green Dragon card and turned it over in his hands a few times. “I know you’re upset by her antics. Hell, just the thought of her gets under my skin. But what we need to do now is get our shit together and act like professionals. I damned well know this is not the first time you’ve had to deal with some sneaky-assed legal eagle, and I expect better of you.”
“You have got to be kidding me!”
“No, Reightman, I’m not kidding. You’re old enough to know better than to get yourself worked up. Now, you sit there for a minute with your mouth shut. Understood?” He held her eyes for a minute more. “Reightman, do you understand?”
She jerked her head in his direction. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now here’s what’s gonna’ happen. You, Detective Jackson, are going to walk down to the interview room and inform Mr. Bailey and his legal counsel you’ve been detained, and that you felt it courteous to inform them so they could continue their little pow-wow. Tell them it’ll likely be thirty minutes or so before you’ll join them. That should make Madame Zhou happy, and if we are lucky, she might worry about what’s going on. Then call the forensics team and see if they’ve turned up anything new. Call down to the morgue as well. It is probably too early for anything solid, but it’s worth a shot. Anything would help. We sure as hell can’t afford to be caught cold footed this early in the game.” The Chief shifted his attention to Reightman. “Reightman, you’re going to walk yourself down to the ladies room and splash some water on your face. Then you are going to take yourself down the street and get yourself a cup of coffee, or a soda – or whatever the hell you drink – and you’re going to sit yourself down for a few minutes and cool off. You’re going to meet up with Jackson, in say 20 minutes or so, at which point he will bring you up to date on any new information. Then, you’re both going into that interview room to start the questioning. There will not be an outburst. There will not be any yelling. You, Reightman, will not let whatever’s been affecting you the last couple of months get the better of you today. Don’t play into Zhou’s hands. Just gather the information you need to move this case forward. I’ll be in the observation area with a rep from the DA’s office in about thirty. Understood?”
“How dare he talk to me like I’m a small child? I know how to do my damned job!” She caught Sam’s calm, encouraging nod out of the corner of her eye. “Understood, Sir.”
“Good,” he responded tersely. “Dismissed.” They both got to their feet. As they opened the office door the Chief stopped them. “One more thing, Detectives.” They turned back toward the big desk. “I’m hoping like hell you’re both as good at your jobs as Reightman says. Otherwise, we could all be in for a world of hurt.” He held their eyes until they nodded their understanding. “Oh, and send Nancy in here. She’s gonna’ have to help me get all of this damned paper back in order.” They shut the door behind them.
After leaving Kelly’s office, Jackson and Reightman parted ways; Sam heading to his desk and Melba making her way to the ladies room. Melba walked to one of the sinks and splashed cold water onto her hot, red face. She looked in the flaking mirror. After a minute, she dug around in her bag for a tube of lipstick and added a little color. She considered her reflection and decided the color didn’t help much. She returned the lipstick, and walked to the beat-up wooden bench by the door. She dropped the bag and took a seat. She slipped off her too tight shoes and rubbed her aching feet. She checked her bag to make sure she had a few bucks handy and transferred the bills to her jacket pocket. She wedged on her shoes and stood up, shouldering the heavy bag.
She walked down the hall, and went out the glass doors on the side of the building, noticing the glass was dirty and needed a good cleaning. Melba looked up and blinked. The sky seemed very bright today. Her eyes hurt, so she sat down on the steps and opened her bag again, pulling out a pair of dark glasses and putting them on. Better. She stood up, walked down the four steps leading to the sidewalk and strolled distractedly down to the corner coffee shop.
Melba perused the menu hanging behind the register while waiting in the short line and politely greeting a couple of people she knew. She ordered a sweet tea, dug money out of her pocket and picked up her drink from the barista. She left a couple of quarters as a tip. She located an empty booth and sat down, placing the tea on the table. She took a sip, and then rested the cool plastic cup against her hot forehead. She pulled a paper napkin out of the dispenser and blotted her skin. Then, she slowly and methodically tore it into tiny, irregular pieces. She sipped some tea and stacked the little pieces into three separate stacks, making sure they were all the same size. She adjusted one of the stacks by removing a few pieces and placed them carefully on an adjacent pile. Satisfied with her work, she finished her tea and got up. She went out the door and up the sidewalk and the steps, and entered the same door she'd exited fifteen minutes earlier. Sam was waiting in the small side entry lobby.
“I had a sweet tea.”
“That’s good. It had to have been better than the crappy coffee here.”
“Yeah, it was, and I feel better now. I think I have myself under control.”
“Good:” He gave he a thorough looking over. “Melba?”
“Yeah, Sam?”
“What’s with the sunglasses?”
She reached up with her left hand and touched the rims. “It’s bright outside.”
Sam looked at her and then out the glass doors. “Looks pretty cloudy out there to me.”
Reightman pulled off the glasses and looked out the glass doors. “Yeah, you’re right. Silly me.” She unzipped her bag and jammed the sunglasses back inside the purse. She zippered the top shut, struggling because the bag was full. “Anything new from Tom, or the folks in the morgue?”
“No, not much. The forensics team said they’ve confirmed the blood on the wet clothes matched the victim. Said there wasn’t as much on them as they’d expect if he’d been wearing them when he was stabbed. They said to check with the morgue to see if there was any fabric fiber inside the wounds, and to have them determine if the slashes line up with the wounds on the body. They also confirmed there were no figure prints on the weapon. They finished processing the scene early this morning. Nothing else showed up and the only prints they found on premise probably belong to the regular staff, but they’ll confirm that today. I called down to the morgue, but Lieberman hasn’t made it in yet. Riley said he called in this morning saying he wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be in until later today. Riley said he really didn’t sound too good.”
Melba might have snorted and Sam was immensely pleased with her return to normality. “That’s about it.”
“Figures,” she shrugged. “You ready to get this show on the road?”
"Yep. How about you? Am I gonna’ have to kick your lazy butt all the way down the hall?”
“As if.” She looked down the hall they needed to traverse to get to the interview room, and squared her shoulders. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“That’s the ticket, Ms. Ready-As-I’ll-Ever-Be.”
This time, she definitely snorted. “Thanks for putting up with me, Sam.”
“Always will, Melba.” They made their way down the hall, taking the required left hand turns to the interview room.
She knocked once and opened the door. Bailey and Zhou Li were sitting at the table. There were a couple of opened take-out cartons on the top, along with all of the items Madame Zhou had removed from her bag earlier. There were a couple of new additions to the clutter in the form of a memo pad with a gold fountain pen on top.
Bailey was wiping mustard off his chin with a paper napkin. “The Police Chief sent his secretary down with a couple of sandwiches a while ago,” he explained.
Jackson nodded and smiled. “That’s nice.”
“Oh yes, Chief very considerate. We get very hungry.” Zhou Li clapped her small hands in delight.
Reightman walked around the table to an empty chair, never taking her eyes off the old lady. She sat down, placing her bag in the chair beside her. She glanced toward the observation window. She knew she had to be careful, but also had to prove she couldn’t be steamrolled. More importantly, she needed to show Kelly that she had herself under control. However, she wasn’t about to take the kind of bull Zhou Li had dished out for a single minute more. “Let’s just cut the crap, counselor.”
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