“It’s heavier than I thought.”
“Is that so?”
“No, that’s not so, Mr. Smarty Pants. It may surprise you to know a woman happens to have a lot of other things in her purse.”
“I’m glad to hear it. What you got?”
She plunked the bag down on the kitchen table. “Here, I’ll show you. I got keys. And a compact. And a lipstick.”
She pulled out the gun.
22
IT WAS ONE OF THOSE good-news, bad-news situations. I wanted to catch her with a gun. I didn’t want her to catch me with a gun. I had to act fast before she trained it on me. I reached out quickly, twisted it from her grasp.
“Let’s not point that at anyone, shall we?”
Her eyes were wide. “I don’t know where that came from. I didn’t know it was there.”
She was so fixated on the gun she failed to notice her kimono had fallen open and her left nipple was sticking out. I noticed, which is a sad commentary on the state of the married man. Even with a loaded gun in play, my attention could be distracted.
I held up the gun. “This isn’t yours?”
“No.”
“You didn’t know it was in your purse?”
“No. I have no idea how it got there.”
“Is it Vinnie’s?”
“How should I know?”
I wasn’t staring, but something drew her attention to the open kimono. She pulled it closed, said, “I don’t like this. You come in here, accuse me of having a gun, look in one place and it’s there. How do I know you didn’t plant that on your way in?”
“You met me at the door. You weren’t carrying a purse. I didn’t go near that chair. Is it Vinnie’s?”
“I tell you, I don’t know.”
“Does it look like Vinnie’s?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do. You fired it. Take a look. Is there anything about it that’s different than Vinnie’s?”
“I don’t know.”
“You haven’t looked.”
She set her jaw, looked at the gun. “I can’t tell. I’d have to have it in my hand.”
“I’d rather have it in mine.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Small problem there. You told me you didn’t have a gun.”
“I don’t have a gun. That’s not my gun.”
“Uh huh.” I sniffed the barrel. “It’s been fired recently. You wouldn’t know anything about that?”
“I don’t know anything about any gun. My god, you’re worse than the other guy.”
“What other guy?”
“The other cop. In here, asking questions.”
“But he didn’t find a gun?”
“He didn’t look.”
“Too bad.”
“No, it isn’t. I didn’t have a gun. You planted it on me. I don’t know how you did it, but you did.”
I dumped out the bullets, showed her the empty shell. “There’s been one shot fired.”
“That’s impossible.”
“How is it impossible? It’s not your gun.”
Her eyes shifted.
“See, you can’t get away with it. You kept the purse locked in the trunk of your car. Why would you do that if you didn’t know about the gun?”
“Who says I did?”
“I say you did. I was waiting for you to come home. You drove up, popped the trunk, took out the purse. Now, you wanna play games, it’s up to you. You can answer questions here or down at the station.”
“Aw, gee.”
She looked on the verge of tears. I wondered if that was just an act. If so, I wondered if she’d ‘accidently’ let the kimono fall open again.
“So, let’s try it again. Where did you get the gun?”
“I …”
“Yes?”
She exhaled noisily. The kimono rustled. “It’s like you said. It’s Vinnie’s gun. He loaned it to me. Forgot to take it back.”
“And you’ve been carrying it ever since?”
“No. I haven’t been carrying it. I just had it. After he got killed I got scared, so I put it in my purse.”
“You thought someone might be after you?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t that a little melodramatic?”
“Vinnie’s dead.”
“What’s that got to do with you?”
“I don’t know what it’s got to do with me. I don’t know what it’s got to do with him. Someone shot him in his house. I’ve been in that house. I could have been there then. It could be me on the floor.”
During that outburst her kimono had loosened perceptively. She didn’t seem to be wearing any panties either. Visions of Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct danced in my head.
“So you put the gun in your purse?”
“Yeah.”
“Where was it?”
“What?”
“Where was it before you put it in your purse?”
“Oh.”
“Hadn’t thought of that?”
“Didn’t realize it was important,” she snapped. “It was in my dresser drawer.”
“Had it been fired?”
“I didn’t think so. But it must have.”
“How did that happen?”
“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t reload after target practice. It’s been a long time. I don’t remember.”
“The gun has never been out of the house from the last time you took target practice until you put it in your car?”
“That’s right. So it can’t have anything to do with the murder. It’s unimportant, see?”
She cinched the kimono around her, struck a haughty pose. She must have thought she was winning.
“So if we test fire this gun and put the bullet on a comparison microscope with the fatal bullet they won’t match?”
“Of course not.”
“I hope you’re right. Technically, I should take you in. The gun is evidence, needs to be checked out.”
“You don’t need me. Take the gun. What do you need me for?”
“You had the gun in your possession. That makes you a person of interest.”
She leaned in. “Ah, come on. Give me a break.”
“Did the cop who talked to you take you in?”
“No, he just talked to me here. It’s where I live. It’s where you’ll always find me. What can I do to show you I’m on the level?”
That was as close to a proposition as I’d gotten from a near-naked woman in some time. Not that I was about to act on it. Or would have, even without a murder charge hanging over my head. But I had a small problem. With the appearance of the gun, there was no way I could avoid taking her in. And I wasn’t a cop. And, even if she was willing to come with me, a citizen’s arrest wasn’t going to fly. Not with her claiming I planted the gun, which she was sure to do. If she was willing to accuse me of it when she thought I was a cop, she was damn sure to accuse me of it when she found out I was a murder suspect.
I had to let her off the hook. But I had to do it very carefully so it didn’t seem suspicious.
“I should really take you in,” I said.
“Please.”
She stood up, took a step toward me. Her sash was untied. She shrugged her shoulders. The kimono fell to the floor.
Her breasts were full, her nipples pink and perky. She’d had a bikini wax since the picture.
And, as Mike Hammer would say, she was not a real blonde.
She reached her hands out toward me.
“Get dressed,” I said.
She was shocked. She clearly couldn’t believe it. What was I, gay?
“You’re taking me in?”
“Put your robe on.”
“What?”
I pointed to the kimono. “Go on. Put it on.”
“You’re not taking me in?”
“Put your robe on.”
She picked up the kimono, slipped it on, knotted the sash.
“You just made a bad move,” I told
her. “I don’t really think you’re involved. Then you pull a bonehead play like that, that makes me think you are. Well, grow up, sister. It doesn’t matter how cute and spunky you are, or what a great bod. If the bullets from this gun match the one that killed your boyfriend, not a lot’s gonna help. By rights, I should make sure you’re in custody when that happens. But, strictly speaking, a judge isn’t going to issue an arrest warrant unless the bullets actually match. Technically, I gotta test the gun first. That gives you a narrow window of opportunity. An opportunity to do something smart and stop acting so damn dumb. You work tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Go to work. Go about your business. Do everything you would normally do. If I need you, I’ll know where to find you. If things work out, I won’t need you.”
I sighed, shook my head.
“I know I’m going to regret this,” I said.
I picked up the gun and walked out.
23
ALICE COULDN’T BELIEVE IT.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“She was naked. She had a gun.”
“So you brought it to me?”
“I thought it might set a precedent.”
“What?”
“Naked women with guns.”
“Stanley.”
“What was I supposed to do? There I was, impersonating a police officer, which they tend to frown on, suddenly the broad has a gun.”
“Suddenly? I thought you found it in her trunk.”
“I did.”
“Then there was no ‘suddenly’ about it. It was a known gun, a premeditated gun. It wasn’t sudden.”
“Okay, the naked woman was sudden.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I didn’t ask her to take off the robe, Alice.”
“No. You just implied you’d let her go if she did.”
“I did nothing of the sort.”
“Did she take off the robe?”
“Yes.”
“Did you let her go?”
“That’s not the point.”
“What’s the point?”
“I was letting her go anyway. I was never actually going to arrest her. You will recall I am not a cop.”
“There’s no need to shout.”
“I wasn’t shouting.”
“You raised your voice.”
“I’m stressed. I have dead bodies that I can’t account for that are connected to me. That tends to make me edgy.”
“Hadn’t noticed. So, you had no intention of arresting this woman because you weren’t a cop?”
“What are you getting at?”
“Did she know that?”
“Alice.”
“If she didn’t know that, the fact you couldn’t have done it doesn’t apply. As far as this woman knew, you were going to run her in.”
“What’s your point?”
“No point. Just trying to clarify the situation. Stanley, this isn’t like you. Impersonating a police officer. Tampering with evidence.”
“Who said I was a police officer? And how do I know the gun’s evidence?”
“It’s probably the murder weapon.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“She told me it wasn’t.”
“She was probably lying.”
“She was lying. I caught her in it. Made her confess.”
“Confess what?”
“She said she didn’t know anything about the gun, I must have planted it on her. When I proved that wasn’t true she admitted the gun was her boyfriend’s and he must have loaned it to her and not taken it back.”
“She admitted that?”
“Yes.”
“But she didn’t admit shooting her boyfriend with it while it was in her possession?”
“She didn’t do that.”
“What was she wearing when she told you she didn’t do that?”
“Now you’re just being silly.”
“Right. You catch the woman in a lie and she takes her clothes off. What does that tell you?”
“I should try to catch you in a lie?”
“Stop it, Stanley. I’m scared. You’re charged with murder. It’s ridiculous. We know that, but the cops don’t. And then you run around making it worse. You find a body, you don’t report it to the police. You find a murder weapon, you don’t turn it in.”
“How could I turn it in? They’d have arrested me for the second murder.”
“Exactly. You’re acting suicidal. If you wanted to get convicted you couldn’t do a better job.”
“I didn’t know I was going to find a body. I didn’t know I was going to find a gun.”
“You knew you were going to find a gun after you found a gun.”
“What?”
“You found a gun. In the trunk of a car. Did you drop it like it was red hot and get the hell out of there? No, you went to the bimbo’s apartment and got it.”
“My fingerprints were on it.”
“Right. And wiping your fingerprints off it and putting it back in the trunk would have been much more dangerous than going to the woman’s apartment, impersonating a police officer, and taking possession of what, if not the murder weapon, was at least a gun in the possession of one of the chief suspects.”
“She’s not a chief suspect.”
“No, you are. At least as far as the police are concerned. I’d expect you to know better.”
“Oh, come on.”
“No, you come on. Who’s a more likely suspect, you or her?”
“I didn’t do it.”
“Right. That should make her more likely. I find it strange you don’t think so.”
“You’re just playing with words, Alice.”
“I’m not playing. It’s not a game. You’re in trouble. What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know.”
24
RICHARD WAS WORSE THAN ALICE. Which is hard, because I’m not married to Richard. But, even with that handicap, the man managed to reduce me to rubble. Of course, he has a law degree. But what’s a law degree compared to Alice?
“You got the murder weapon?” Richard said.
“It’s not the murder weapon.”
“No, it’s just a recently fired gun in the possession of the victim’s girlfriend. Tell me, what percentage of homicides are husband-wife related?”
“She’s not his wife.”
“Oh, she’s just a girlfriend. Then it couldn’t possibly be the same motivation. Because they don’t have that slip of paper that says ‘I’m going to make you angry enough to shoot me.’”
“I don’t think she did.”
“Despite having a recently fired gun.”
“I don’t think it’s that recently fired. Here, see for yourself.”
“You’d like to get my fingerprints on it? Just in case yours aren’t enough to get me charged as an accessory and get me disbarred.”
“You’re an attorney. No one’s charging you with anything.”
“Oh, attorneys are immune from the law. I forgot. Thank goodness I have you around to refresh my memory on some of these finer points.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Quoth the scofflaw. It was bad enough when you were just costing me money. Now you’re going to cost me my entire practice.”
“Right,” I said, “it’s all about you.”
Richard closed his mouth. Glared at me. “Excuse me. I’m sorry. I was thinking of myself, when I should be thinking of my pro bono client. Who’s gone out of his way to jeopardize my existence. I lost sight of my prime objective, saving you from your most recent series of bonehead moves.”
“You see why I had to take the gun.”
“Of course. So when the girlfriend identifies you as the guy who impersonated a cop, they’ll know who to ask for it.”
“Any time you’re through kidding around.”
“I’m kidding around? You think I’m kidding around? I�
��m not kidding around. I’m stalling while I try to figure out if I have to turn you in to the cops, and if I do, what do I tell them? I mean, Jesus Christ, can you think of a story that even sounds plausible?”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why are you here?”
“You’re my attorney.”
“Not by choice. You got me in a position where I can’t withdraw my services without forfeiting twenty-five grand and risking going to jail.”
“You’re taking this personally again.”
“What, like The Godfather, it’s not personal, it’s just business? Well, guess what? When they nail me for my part in this, who do you think will be doing time? My business? You think Wendy and Janet will pull a few months for me?”
“Richard.”
“This is not a slap-on-the-wrist crime here. This is a situation where a suspended sentence would seem like a win.”
“I don’t see what’s so bad.”
“You can’t search crime scenes. You can’t appropriate murder weapons.”
“It wasn’t a crime scene when I searched it.”
“Why, because there wasn’t a ribbon? You got there ahead of the police. You know how much worse that is?”
“Yesterday’s news, Richard. You already bawled me out for that.”
“Right. You didn’t find anything at the crime scene, so you went out and got me a gun.”
I’d actually found a body at the crime scene, but it didn’t seem like a good time to bring it up. “What did you want me to do with the gun? I couldn’t leave it with her. It had my fingerprints on it.”
“What? Someone put your fingerprints on it? Then of course you’re not to blame.”
“I was searching the woman’s car. I found a gun. I didn’t expect to find it. I put my hand in her purse and there it was. After I’d taken it out of her purse it would have been stupid not to see if it had been fired. It had, which was embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing? What a wonderful way to put it. I framed myself for a murder. It’s a little embarrassing.”
“Which is why I had to retrieve it. I not only had my fingerprints on the gun, I had my fingerprints on the bullets.”
“I understand that. What I don’t understand is why you had to bring it to me.”
“You’d prefer I didn’t tell you what I was doing?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t do it. Look at the position you put me in. I either have to turn it in to the police and risk being disbarred for betraying the confidence of a client. Or not turn it in to the police and be disbarred for compounding a felony and conspiring to conceal a crime.”
Stakeout (2013) Page 8
