Eyeshot

by Lynn Hightower

  Sonora had always wondered why you could never find maternity clothes in shiny black leather.

  “Here they are!” Caplan’s voice was a boom of pleasure. Collie blushed. “Come on in, we don’t pay rent on the hallway.”

  A smatter of laughter, cool amusement from the girl in the ankle bracelet.

  “Come on, Mia. Give Daddy a hug and tell him you’re proud, then I’ll get you your first glass of champagne.” Caplan poured a tablespoon of liquid into a glass, handed it to his little girl. He squeezed her chin, and she smiled up at him.

  “I knew you’d win, Daddy.”

  There was a wave of approval and Caplan picked Mia up and set her on the desk next to the girl with the ankle bracelet.

  The room went tense. Sonora looked up, watchful. For a moment everyone seemed to hold their breath, looking from Collie to Ankle Bracelet. Sonora knew, then, that Caplan and Ankle Bracelet were deep in an affair, one of those office things that everyone knows about except the wife.

  And while Collie did not know, she sensed something. She looked like a deer in a headlight, awkward and large in her pink puffed sleeves amidst the leather briefcase set. Her lower lip trembled.

  Caplan turned, smiled at her with such tenderness that Sonora doubted what she had just seen. “My beautiful wife.”

  Too precious by half, Sonora thought. Rude to ask for a barf bag?

  A lesser man could not have carried it off, but Caplan managed. Sonora looked around, decided she was the only one there feeling nauseous.

  Formidable, she thought.

  “Detective.” Caplan handed Sonora a glass. He turned to Collie. “I know, I know, you’re pregnant. We have to be careful of the bay-bee. Help me celebrate with just a taste.” He pushed a glass into her hand. She pulled her hand away but he reached for it and made sure she had the glass secure in her fingers before he let her go. She smiled at him.

  Quit smiling, Sonora thought.

  Collie did not drink.

  “It’s a major victory, you know.” He spoke softly. If Sonora had not been standing so close she’d never have heard him. Someone was telling a joke. “Celebrate with me, Collie girl. It’s our big day.”

  “Mr. Caplan.” Bea Wallace swooped over to Collie and relieved her of the glass. She smiled at Collie. “Men.” Looked over at Caplan. “Sometimes I think you have the brains of a gerbil.”

  It took him aback. Sonora hoped, for Bea Wallace’s sake, that she was a state employee and impossible to fire.

  Caplan gave them a smile. “Don’t drink then. This wife of mine has a mind of her own.” He looked at Sonora. “Between the two of them, they’ll keep me from getting a swelled head.”

  “Too late.” Sonora said it softly enough that she did not think anyone heard. But Bea Wallace cracked a reluctant smile, and Caplan gave her a look.

  “Pardon?”

  “I said it’s late. Maybe we should talk some other time. After your celebration.”

  “No, no. Come on in my office a minute.” He raised his glass at the room. “Party on without me.” No one paid any attention except Mia, watching Daddy-the-Hero. “The detective and I have business. I’ll be—”

  “Hell, Gage, don’t you ever get a break?”

  He stiffened. He did not like anyone saying hell in front of his little girl, Sonora guessed. He waved a hand, turned to Collie. “Starting tomorrow, I’m taking some time off.” He grinned at Mia. “How’d you like to go down to London and see Gramma?” He looked at Collie. “You and me can take the canoe out. We haven’t done that in ages.”

  Sonora saw Collie’s hesitation, the shadow in her eyes.

  “It’ll be hot,” Collie said.

  Gage tucked his chin to his chest. “Sorry, hon. I was just wanting a break.”

  “Oh no, we can go. I can wear shorts, we can swim. It’ll be fun.”

  “You sure?”

  “Sure.”

  He squeezed Collie’s shoulder. “There is more to life than eating and sleeping, I promise.” He waved Sonora into his office.

  She noted Collie’s crestfallen droop and Bea Wallace’s frown. She studied the fold of flesh that lapped over the starched back collar of his shirt.

  I will get you, she thought.

  34

  Sonora was disappointed when Caplan closed the door and she had a chance to look around his office. She had expected to dislike him for keeping it neat and orderly, in spite of the pressures and long hours he’d been working to put Drury away.

  But the computer was still up and humming. One file cabinet was open.

  Caplan moved a stack of files and videotapes off a chair. “Why don’t you take the one behind my desk? You might be more comfortable, everything else is in such a mess. Just let me do one thing—”

  Caplan scooted behind his desk—box of files under one meaty arm—and touched the keyboard of his computer.

  The sounds of a crowd going wild filled the room, with the loud announcement that Elvis has left the building.

  Caplan grinned. “Better than a beep.”

  “This chair’s fine,” Sonora said, taking the one he’d cleared. She rested one foot on the edge of a box of papers. Waited for him to get comfortable in his chair. His intercom buzzed. Bea Wallace sounded harassed.

  “WSTR, on line three. You want to take it?”

  “Tell Sly I’ll be issuing a statement at four-thirty, as planned.” Caplan paused. “But tell him I’ll beep him and try to talk to him personally first, if I get a chance. Oh, and if the Inquirer calls, put ’em through.”

  Caplan looked up at Sonora, leaned back in his chair. “I’m all yours.”

  “Congratulations on the verdict. I honestly didn’t think you had a prayer.”

  “Me neither.”

  “And you still prosecuted? You’re either honest, ethical, and not too bright, or a big-time gambler.”

  He smiled at her, twisting gently from side to side in the well-padded leather chair. His eyes were very blue.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Sonora asked.

  “A prime moment,” Caplan said.

  Mistress and wife toasting his success in the next room, television and newspapers at four-thirty to announce the big victory in court. A man riding so high might well believe he could get away with murder twice.

  “So. Detective Blair. No blacks or Indians in homicide these days?”

  Sonora tilted her head to one side. “Both, I think. So?”

  “So what did you do? Who’d you piss off? Must have been that thing last year when you brought in that serial killer—what did you guys call her? Flash?” He stuck his tongue in his right cheek, making it puff out. “Heard you slept with a witness, or some such thing. I guess somebody in this man’s army is out to get you, Detective.”

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “Smart girl like you? Come on. Here you are on my doorstep again. Questions, concerns, problems.” He waved a hand. “You suspect me of some kind of involvement in this Julia Winchell thing, God knows what or why. Cards on the table, Madam Detective? I’m a popular guy, I got your clout, I got your pull. I’m the hot potato, so I’m just curious how I managed to land in your lap. You got my sympathy, though, you surely do.”

  “That’s kind of you,” Sonora said mildly. “Maybe we’re in the same boat. You went up against the football alumni, and I’m going up against a popular district attorney. But hey. Worked for you, didn’t it? You’re my hero, I guess.”

  “What is it you want, Detective?”

  “Your alibi, Counselor.”

  “My alibi for what?”

  “Tuesday, July eighteenth, from, say, eleven-thirty A.M. till eleven P.M.”

  “Pretty broad time spread you got there, podna.”

  Sonora opened her notebook. Looked up innocently. “You have a problem answering the question?”

  Caplan shook his head, cheeks drawn, bottom lip pursed. “No. Let me think a minute.” He closed his eyes. “Working, I think. Pretty much all I have been d
oing, these last few weeks. But no, I remember that Tuesday because Collie and Mia went up to Cleveland to go fishing with Ralph. Ralph is her dad.” He said the name like it was funny.

  “They catch anything?”

  “Collie? Doubt it. Dad probably did. I think Mia said she got something. Pretty excited about it, as I recall.”

  “So you went home about what time?”

  “Two-thirty. I’d left my laptop at the house, and I had a file I wanted on it. And I hadn’t had lunch. I knew Collie and Mia were in Cleveland with old Ralph, so the house would be quiet. I went home, put on some sweatpants, made myself a sandwich, and worked till late.”

  “How late?”

  “Some time after eleven. I stopped and watched the news, drank a brewski. Claire Pritchard was on with the stock market report, so it was already part way over. Must have been between eleven and eleven-thirty.”

  “Anybody come to the door?”

  He shook his head. “If they did, I didn’t know it. Never heard the doorbell, but sometimes I don’t hear it when I’m working at home.”

  “Anything else?”

  He paused. “A confession.”

  Sonora raised an eyebrow, wary of his tone.

  “I made myself two sandwiches. And ate a box of glazed Krispy Kreme doughnuts.” He slapped his gut. “As you can see, I’ll eat anything. Oh, look, she’s trying not to laugh. Don’t hold it in, Detective, could be harmful to your health.” He was smiling, but his eyes looked sad. “This brings back memories, Detective.”

  “Of what? Micah’s murder?”

  “I was under suspicion then, too.”

  “And now?”

  He shrugged. “I survived that, I can survive anything.”

  That Sonora might believe. “Anybody call while you were there, at home?”

  “Several people. I didn’t pick up. Bea knew where I was, but nobody else did. I was hiding out, trying to get some work done. You don’t believe me.”

  “I think what we’ve got here pretty much counts as no alibi.”

  “Pretty much.” He picked a pencil up off his desk, balanced it in the groove between his nose and upper lip. “Tell me, you think I ought to grow a mustache?”

  “That’s of absolutely no interest to me.”

  “What is of interest, then?”

  “What did Julia Winchell look like?”

  “Never saw her.”

  “Want to see a picture?”

  “No.”

  “You kill her?”

  “No.”

  “You cut her up?”

  “God, no. Can’t even carve meat.”

  “If you did cut her up, what tool would you use?”

  He looked at her. Perturbed, finally.

  “You own a hacksaw, Mr. Caplan?”

  He hesitated.

  “Let me help you on this one. Your wife says you own a hacksaw.” She hadn’t, but Caplan didn’t know that.

  “I guess I might have one out in the garage somewhere. So?”

  Sonora leaned back in her chair, stretched out her legs. “Most of the men I know have a pretty accurate mental inventory of what tools they have, in the garage or anywhere else.”

  Caplan grinned. “I’m not most men. I’m pretty secure about my tools, so I don’t spend a lot of time taking inventory. You impressed?”

  “Believe me when I tell you that I’m not. Are you willing to submit blood and hair samples, Mr. Caplan?”

  “For what possible reason?”

  “How about a look in your garage? Turn over that hacksaw?”

  “Play by the rules, Detective, I have faith in our system of justice. Get a court order and I’ll cooperate.”

  Sonora stood up. “Enjoy your victory, Mr. Caplan. We’ll talk again soon.”

  “I’m sure we will.”

  Sonora headed for the door.

  “Detective. I was wondering—”

  She paused, hand on the doorknob.

  “What does it take to impress you?”

  She studied him a minute, caught sight of the file drawer that was hanging open. She indulged herself and crossed the room, snapped it shut. Headed back to the door, looked at him over her shoulder.

  “I guess if you got away with murder twice, that would impress me.”

  35

  Sonora walked into the women’s bathroom in homicide and headed for the sink. She was hot and sweaty and wanted to wash her face. She should not have made that last comment to Caplan. Never issue a challenge to a stone-cold killer; she had learned that the hard way.

  A stall door was just swinging shut, then it opened. Sanders came out.

  “They’ve been here again,” she said.

  Sonora went and looked into the stall. The toilet seat was up. “You know, they’re each and every one of them detectives. You’d think they’d know better than to leave clues.”

  “Are they never going to get the men’s room fixed?”

  “Last I heard they’re still trying to trace the smell. Some kind of backup in the drain somewhere.”

  Sanders grimaced. “They can smell it all the way back in Crime Stoppers, and I don’t want to be mean, but I am sick of these guys coming in here. They’re messy. They’re gross. I found—”

  “Please don’t tell me.”

  “But what can we do about it?”

  Sonora pushed hair out of her eyes. Looked in the mirror. Short hair would not suit her face, and if she got it cut, she couldn’t pull it back. She looked over her shoulder at Sanders. Still there. “You prepared to fight dirty, Sanders?”

  “Like how dirty?”

  Sonora took off her shoe, smashed the tampon dispenser. “Never use your gun for this sort of thing, young Sanders. I knew a guy used his gun to hammer in a nail and shot his thumb almost all the way off.”

  “You’re breaking in to a tampon dispenser?”

  “Un petit larceny. Here.” She tossed a cardboard box to Sanders, who actually caught it. “Men are funny creatures, Sanders. Vulgar, crude. But squeamish about the oddest things. Spread these around. It will definitely get rid of the single guys. May work on the married ones too, some of them anyway.”

  She glanced at Sanders’s feet, looked back again to make sure. High heels again. Sheer black stockings, instead of the usual thick tights. “Lunch with the married guy?”

  Sanders blushed, deep dark satisfying red.

  Sonora looked away. “Sorry. None of my business.”

  “I suppose you’ve never done anything like that in your life.”

  “Sure I have.”

  Sanders leaned against the stall door. “How’d it turn out?” She teetered back and forth on the balls of her feet, anxious, hopeful. Ready to call 1-900-Psychic to see if all would be well in the name of true love.

  Sonora sighed, leaned up against the wall. “I know what you want me to tell you. You want me to say he left his wife and kids, and married me, because we were soulmates and it was meant to be. Please don’t let me forget the part where we lived happily, ever after.”

  Sanders’s voice was very small. “These things do work out sometimes, you know.”

  Sonora looked at her kindly. “Yes, they do. I’ve even known people where it worked out.”

  “It did?”

  “Yes.”

  “But not for you?”

  “For me it was like a virus. I got it once, got over it, and am immune to catching it ever again.”

  “I wish I knew for sure if he was married.”

  “Okay, here’s a quick check. How long did you know him before he said he loved you?”

  Sanders opened her mouth, but Sonora held up a hand.

  “You don’t have to tell me. Just remember single guys are impossible to pin down, and married guys tell you they’re committed in forty-eight hours—they’re in a hurry and they got no freedom to lose.”

  Sanders sat down on a toilet seat and put her head in her hands.

  Sonora sighed. “How long?”

  “The fi
rst night.” Sanders’s voice had dragged down at least two octaves.

  “Look, this isn’t like some kind of exact science, Sanders. For all I know, this love of yours is a straight-up soulmate. I’ve never met him, I can’t judge. Come on girl, get up. Decorate.”

  Sanders dragged little blue boxes out of the dispenser. “It’s the married thing that’s driving me crazy. I have to know. Would you … Gruber wants to tail him. See where he goes at night.”

  “You know, there is a simpler way. You could just ask him, point blank.”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “He said he didn’t know.”

  Sonora burst out laughing.

  “I don’t think it’s so very funny,” Sanders said.

  “I know, Sanders. I wasn’t laughing when it happened to me.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Ask him this. Ask him, when he turns over in bed at night, is there a woman there with him. If there is, tell him he might be married.”

  Sonora took a good long look at Sanders and made up her mind. Hopeless romance wasn’t worth a second look. Keaton was hopeless. She decided to have dinner with Smallwood.

  36

  Sam was at his desk when Sonora went into the bullpen. He looked up as she settled into her chair.

  “I already listened to your messages for you.”

  “Gee thanks, Sam, how come?”

  “I didn’t have any. And also, because somebody else was listening to them.”

  Sonora stopped. Looked at him. “Somebody was listening to my messages?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Who?” Her voice was quiet but hard.

  Sam gave her a wary look. “Molliter.”

  “He say why?”

  “Said it was an accident.”

  “How could that be an accident?”

  Sam shrugged. “And by the way, Visa says your payment is overdue.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Sonora flipped through the large stack of bills. She’d brought them to the office thinking she’d get to them sooner. Another fantasy gone to hell. Why was Molliter listening to her messages?

  “Oh, and your son called. He wants to know if you could take off work early and drop him at some kind of all-age show in what I warn you is a sleazy part of town. And you’d need to pick up three of his buddies.”