Friction (17 page)

“Heavy drinker?”

“No. He buys the hooch for his guests. Never seen him any way except cold stone sober.”

“Fights?”

Smitty hesitated, then said no.

“Fights?”

The club owner rolled his eyes, then, at a look from Crawford, gave it up. “I’ve never seen him engaged in one, but he’s…let’s say…respected.”

“Feared.”

“I didn’t say that. You can never quote me as saying that.”

“But nobody crosses him.”

“Not more than once, anyway. Draw your own conclusion.”

It wasn’t a conclusion, but it was a good guess that Otterman wasn’t above knocking heads together, or having henchmen to do it for him. “Does he carry?”

“Wouldn’t know. Haven’t looked.”

Smitty was probably lying about that, but Crawford let it pass. If Otterman had a CHL, it was to be assumed he was armed. “What else?”

“That’s it. He tips twenty percent, doesn’t cause me any trouble, and I don’t cause him any, and that’s the way I want to keep it. So if that’s all…” He looked at Crawford hopefully.

“You know a guy named Jorge Rodriguez?”

He shook his head. “Don’t get many greasers in my clubs.”

“Why’s that?”

Smitty raised a shoulder. “Maybe it has to do with the Virgin Mary.”

“The Virgin Mary?”

“You know, beans are into all that.”

Crawford didn’t pursue that illogical train of thought. “I want to know who these men are that Otterman meets with.”

Smitty made a strangling sound of righteous indignation. “You want me to spy on one of my best customers?”

His act didn’t impress or deter Crawford. He’d seen it before and knew it was all for show. He stood up and headed for the door. “Same as always, I need the info yesterday, and I’ll pay based on how good it is.”

“I’m no snitch.”

“Smitty, if the price was right, you’d sell your mother as a sex slave to a gang of vandals.”

“Already did,” he called to Crawford as he went out. “They brought the sorry bitch back.”

I
t was late afternoon by the time Crawford returned to police headquarters. He found Neal at his desk. When he saw Crawford, he said, “Long lunch.”

“I’m a slow eater. Got anything on Otterman?”

Neal related the basic information that Crawford had already obtained. He sat down at Nugent’s vacant desk and swiveled the chair from side to side. “Strike you as funny that he doesn’t stay with any one outfit for very long?”

“Not particularly.”

“Hmm. Did you check the video from the entrance security camera?”

“He came into the courthouse by the main entrance just shy of one forty. ADA Alicia Owens confirmed that they had an appointment at one forty-five. He was five minutes early. She was twenty minutes late. During the course of their meeting, they were alerted to the situation on the fourth floor and evacuated along with everybody else. We see him being herded through the west side exit on the ground floor.”

“You find the cop who let him leave?”

He told Crawford his name, but Crawford didn’t know him. “He’s earnest, but green,” Neal said. “Understandably, Otterman intimidated him. He’s being dealt with by his superior.”

“How harshly?”

“That’s another department. Not my business.”

Crawford wanted to jerk him up by his necktie and ask what his business was if not finding Chet’s murderer. “Otterman ever been in any of our district courts?”

“No.”

“As a witness?”

“Not as a witness, not as a juror. No association whatsoever,” Neal said. “We checked all. Double-checked Judges Waters and Spencer. No record of him at her former firm. Nil. Zilch.
Nada
. Zero. Told you so.”

“You want me to back off him.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

“If the morgue visit doesn’t produce anything, I will. Anything on the gun?”

“Far as we can tell, it was virgin except for the missing serial number. We’re checking local dealers for recent purchases, but it could’ve been bought anywhere.”

“The painter’s get-up?”

“Sold at nearly every hardware, paint, and big box store in the country. You can also order that brand from various online outlets. Shipments to Texas in the last six months amount to thousands, and that’s after being narrowed down by size, style, and lot number from the manufacturer. Also, he could’ve bought it in any one of the other forty-nine states and brought it here.”

“Gloves?”

“Same thing. We’ve got them by the boxful over there in that cabinet.”

“Readily available to any cop.”

“Also to any medical worker, housewife, food handler, hairdresser, germophobe. Let’s see…”

“Okay, I get it,” Crawford said with irritation. “The mask?”

“Not as widely distributed as the other items, but available in party and costume shops, as well as off the Internet. We’re still trying to track sales to this area. And, before you ask, we’ve conducted eighty-something interviews of people who were in the building.”

“Judging by the look on your face…”

“Everyone questioned has a logical, easily confirmed explanation of what their courthouse business was, and can account for themselves when the shooting took place.”

“Still leaves a lot of folks not yet questioned.”

“True, but so far nothing even mildly sinister or suspicious has come to light. No ties to Judge Spencer except for one woman. Judge Spencer granted her a divorce six months ago. No kids involved. It was settled to each party’s satisfaction. Her ex moved to Seattle. On Monday afternoon he was at his job at a fish-packing plant. She was in the courthouse because she was summoned to jury duty.”

“People lie, Neal.”

“People also tell the truth. This lady still had her summons.”

“Nothing new on Rodriguez?”

“Nobody’s missed him. At least, no one has come forward to claim the body.”

“Doc Anderson confirmed there was no bruise on his knee?”

“No bruise.”

“Told you.”

“But no one can substantiate that you kicked the guy.” He sat forward, propping his forearms on his desk. “Our main person of interest remains
you
.”

Without inflection, Crawford said, “I don’t fit the gunman’s description, and I have an alibi.”

Neal was still holding his stare when Crawford’s cell phone vibrated on his belt. He read the caller ID and clicked on. “Hello, Grace.”

“You’re not alone,” Holly said.

“Neal Lester and I are comparing notes on the case.”

“You’re in the building?”

“That’s right. What’s going on? Georgia good?”

“I need to see you.”

“Okay.”

“In private.”

His heart hitched. “I can do that. When and where?”

“I’m in my office, but wait until the building clears out before you come up.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be there.”

Disconnecting, he said to Neal, “Grace invited me over for lunch tomorrow.”

“One of the policewomen offered to go after food, and she brought back about fifteen pounds of barbecue plus a half dozen sides.”

The thought of food made Holly ill. “Start without me,” she said to Marilyn, who had already called numerous times, asking when she could expect Holly at home. “I’ll be there as soon as I can get away.”

“You said that hours ago.”

“I’ve had a lot of catching up to do. It’s been a busy afternoon.”

“Greg Sanders has had a busy one, too. He was on the six o’clock news.”

“So was I.”

“Yes, but your appearance was a rerun of the press conference. That’s old news. We need something fresh.” On a burst of inspiration, she said, “I’ll bring the feast to your office. We’ll talk turkey over ribs.”

“Absolutely not,” Holly said. “Mrs. Briggs left me with a stack of documents and correspondence to sign. Besides, how many vodkas have you had?”

“Who’s counting?”

A soft knock sounded on Holly’s door. “My last appointment is here, Marilyn. I have to go. Don’t you dare get behind the wheel of a car.”

She hung up just as Crawford came through the door and closed it behind him. Since his clean-shaven court appearance, he’d grown a scruff. His jacket was wrinkled, his necktie loose and askew, his dark blond hair completely ungoverned.

He looked wonderful. She wanted to climb him and hang on.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

She followed his gaze down to the cell phone still in her hand. Setting it on her desk, she said, “Marilyn.”

“Who’s high on my shit list.”

“For calling the press conference? I never would have agreed to it if I hadn’t thought it was important to defend your actions.”

“So you’ve said. But you took an unnecessary risk.”

“So you’ve said. No need to rehash it.”

He tugged his crooked tie into place, rolled his shoulders, shifted his weight. After several moments of awkward silence, he asked, “Where’s Dennis?”

“Home by now, I suppose.”

“Your home?”

“His home.”

“Huh. Short visit.”

“He only came here to see for himself that I was all right.”

He made a derisive sound. “You’re nearly gunned down, he rushes to your rescue, wild with worry, three days later.”

She smiled. “You made rather obvious your aversion to him.”

“What gave me away?”

“You stormed off without a word to anyone.”

He looked angry, then chagrined, then angry again. “He sailed in and acted like he owned you.”

“He hugged me.”

“He held you.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Where he put his hands.”

“He and I were together for a long time. We’re familiar.”

“He’s familiar, reasonable, and refined. But I’ve got a caveman mentality. When he put his hands on you, I wanted to rip out his throat. Mine are the only hands I want touching you.”

“You don’t have a claim.”

His eyes narrowed. “I kinda do.” He started walking toward her, and for each step forward he took, she took one back until she came up against her desk. “That unreasonable, unrefined fuck on your sofa gave me a claim.”

The rumble of his voice, and the words themselves, caused her heartbeat to accelerate, and, while she knew she should stop this, she couldn’t bring herself to.

By now he had her trapped against her desk, his wide chest filling her field of vision, his scent, his raw, unpolished maleness, wreaking havoc on her.

“This plan to ‘cancel it,’” he said, “how’s that working for you?”

“Not very well.”

He placed the heels of his hands on her hip bones and curved his fingers around her bottom. “For me either.”

In a hushed voice, she said, “I wish I still had it to look forward to.”

His eyes searched hers. “Do you remember it the way I do?”

“How do you remember it?”

“To tell you, I’d have to get really graphic.”

“Blushing terms?”

“Gutter terms.” He leaned in closer and whispered, “Wanna hear how tight you were?”

She closed her eyes momentarily. “Crawford.”

“Sorry. I know. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong everything.” He exhaled a gust of frustration, removed his hands, and backed away. “So wrong we can’t even talk about it. But at least I got you to call me by my first name.”

She moved away from the desk so she wouldn’t be tempted to pull him back to her. “Last night you told me good-bye.”

“I meant it. Last night.”

“It’s the right decision, Crawford.”

“It’s the only decision. For both of us. Except…” He looked her in the eye, sighed, muttered a swear word. “Except, if that one time with you was going to be the only time, I wish I’d taken it slow.”

She ducked her head and sensed that he, too, looked away.

Eventually, he cleared his throat. “We’ve got business to talk about. Does the name Otterman mean anything to you?”

“Chuck?”

His head went back with surprise. “
Chuck
?
You know him?”

“Of course.”

“Why ‘of course’? Have you locked horns?”

“Not at all. In fact, just the opposite. He’s a supporter. He’s contributed to my campaign.”

He looked at her with bafflement, then laughed, then dragged his hand down his face. “Oh, that’s beautiful. It’ll give Neal a woody.”

“Why?”

“Doesn’t matter. Private joke.” His hand dropped to his side in an attitude of defeat. “Why’d you need to see me?”

“Sit down.” She indicated a chair facing her desk.

He looked at her incisively. “No, this sounds like news I’d rather hear while standing.”

“It’s bad.”

“That’s the only kind of news I’ve been getting lately. Let’s have it.”

The blow couldn’t be softened. She didn’t even try. “Joe Gilroy has filed for a temporary restraining order against you.”

For several seconds he looked at her as though she’d spoken in a foreign language, then he tilted his head in misapprehension. Finally, when he’d fully processed what she’d told him, his facial features tightened with rage. Through his teeth, he hissed, “Son of a bitch.” He turned and started for the door.

Holly, anticipating just such a reaction, beat him to it, placing herself between him and the door and pressing her hands flat against his chest. “Crawford, think! If you blaze over there and confront him, you’ll be doing just as he wants you to. He’ll call the police, and it will be written up as a domestic disturbance.”

“Another entry to my
file
. That stinking, fucking file.”

“Exactly! You’ll be playing right into his hands, making his case for him. Is that what you want?”

“No. I want to kill him.”

She gave him a look that caused him to rethink that declaration and set him to cursing. Abruptly turning away from her, he began prowling her office like a caged lion, taking in the aspects of the room. He picked up the crystal paperweight on her desk and hefted it in his palm. For a moment she feared he would hurl it through the window.

“Nice office.” He tilted his head back to look at the chandelier in the center of the ceiling. “Is this where you make all those judgments against people? Is this where you roll the dice to determine their futures?”

“Don’t do that.”

Brimming with contempt, his eyes cut to her. “Why not?”

“Because I won’t be your whipping boy when it’s not me you’re angry at. Besides, I won’t be making any judgments regarding you. I recused myself from your custody case.”

Chastened, he returned the paperweight to the desk with inordinate care. “Since when?”

“I dictated the letter first thing this morning, before the press conference. Mrs. Briggs had it typed on my letterhead and ready to sign before I left for lunch. She hand-delivered it to Judge Mason. He’s the administrative judge for this district.”

He relaxed his stance and his shoulders, but resumed the prowling.

She went on. “I told Mr. Gilroy that he would have to take the TRO to another judge for signature, but I asked him why he felt one was necessary. He told me about your unannounced visit to their home last night.”

“I’ve never had to announce my visits before. I always did just as a courtesy. Fat lot of good having manners has done me.”

“He claims you threatened him with ‘you’ll be sorry.’”

“I did, and he will be if he keeps up this kind of bullshit.”

“There wasn’t any physical contact last night?”

“If he said there was, or ever has been, he’s lying.”

“No, he acknowledged that you hadn’t touched him. In which case, I urged him to reconsider.”

“To no avail, apparently.”

“He…” This was the part she had most dreaded telling him. “He claims you pose a threat to Georgia.”

He stopped pacing and looked at her, obviously at a loss for words.

“Not in an abusive sense,” she said. “He fears you might take her.”

“Kidnap her?”

“That was the word he used.”

He snuffled a mirthless laugh. “If I’d had intentions of doing that, I’d have done it a long time ago.”

“I said as much. But he argued that the events on Monday could have an impact on you professionally. Your mishandling of the situation, and the fallout from it, could cost you your career.”

“Mishandling?”

“He said all this, Crawford. I didn’t.”