Angel's Verdict Part 18

"Like you," Caldecott said smoothly, "we have a temporal practice . . ."

"One does need to pay the bills," said Caldecott.

"Our card," Beazley said, handing it over.

Bree took it, read it, and glared at them. "You're representing Armguard Insurance Company?"

"We're on retainer." Caldecott took the card back. "We're here on behalf of poor Mr. Mercury."

"Who is devastated by the accident . . ."

"But not in any way liable for your injuries."

Bree limped to the gate. "Forget it. I'm not suing Mercury, and I'm not dealing with you two. Go away."

"Do think she means it, Caldecott?"

"She may, Beazley. She may."

"I do," Bree said firmly. "I have no interest in suing Mr. Mercury." She reached the gate. Dent stood there, his hands clenched. He looked rough. "Mr. Dent," Bree said pleasantly, "I remember how efficiently you removed Sammi-Rose Waterman from B. Matthew's the other day. Do you think you could perform the service again?"

Dent took his sports coat off and hung it over the wrought iron fence. "Be glad to try."

"No need to get irritable," Caldecott said.

"We'll send you a release to sign," Beazley said.

"Don't forget to have it witnessed," Caldecott added. "Notarized, too. Say good-bye, Beazley. Keep in step, Dent!"

They were there, and then they weren't. The only thing left in the air was Caldecott's sn.i.g.g.e.r.

"They're gone," Dent said.

"None too soon. Thanks for your a.s.sistance. Those two can be a real pain." Bree hopped through the gate and onto the sidewalk. "Let's get on to Bay Street."

Dent took his sports coat from the fence and slowly put it back on. Bree didn't think she'd ever seen anyone look so tired. "You know those two guys?"

"I wish I didn't. They're opposing counsel. I've been up against them in court three times, now."

Dent seemed to focus with an effort. "Yeah? How's your track record?"

"Against those two bozos?" Bree smiled. "Pretty good so far. But I'm not sure about winning this case." She stopped and leaned against the side of her little Ford Fiesta. He opened the pa.s.senger-side door for her. She swung herself around, sat down backwards on the seat, and swiveled her legs inside the car. Dent got into the driver's seat and pulled out onto the road with less than his usual expertise. Bree glanced at him. She didn't know whether to bring up his jobless state or not. He looked awful. He hadn't shaved. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and the lines in his face were deeper than before. She'd talk to EB about putting him on the payroll as a driver. She had no intention of suing Phillip Mercury, but his insurance company owed her a driver at least. "This witness that seems to have disappeared. Do you have any recollection of that at all?"

He jerked a little and brought his attention back to her. "What?"

"The missing witness?"

He ran one hand over his chain with a rasping sound. "Oh, that. I've been over it in my own mind, over it and over it. Maybe she went straight to the defense lawyers? I think it was a woman. Her statement never went through the department at all, or if it did, I don't recall it. She never did show up for the trial, and I seem to remember that her statement was ruled inadmissible. There was some talk about the judge in the case owing the DA's office a favor."

"So it wouldn't be in the trial records."

"Might be with the defense counsel's office."

"Good idea. I'll get Petru on it. If it's a matter of public record somewhere, anywhere, we're allowed access to it. There's another thing. There's three hours gone missing, between the time Norris stabbed Haydee and the time her body was discovered in the river. Did you and Kowalski try to account for that at all?"

"I don't remember." There was a world of self-disgust in his voice.

"Kowalski might," Bree said calmly. "We can see him this afternoon, if you're . . . if you can spare the time."

He pulled up in front of the Bay Street office and double-parked. There was a lot of traffic this morning; the wail of sirens cut through the air, and the normal traffic routine seemed disrupted. There must have been an accident down by Montgomery. The Lexus behind them hooted angrily at Bree's car. Dent stuck his hand out the window and motioned the Lexus driver forward. "I'm going down to the Munic.i.p.al Building and see about getting a handicap sticker." He looked into the rearview mirror as the Lexus made an elaborate show of backing up and then swung wide to get around them.

"No need," Bree said. "I'll be weight-bearing next week. I'm sure of it."

He shrugged. "Okay by me. You want a hand into the building?"

"No," Bree said crossly. She shoved the car door open and then paused. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. I'm feeling irritable this morning."

"There's a lot of that going around."

"So I hear."

There was an awkward silence. "I'm sorry you lost your job, Dent."

"What?"

"Your job? Ron told me this morning that Mercury fired you."

He blinked. "Yes. Yes, he did." He didn't look at her but stared ahead through the windshield. There was something more here than a job loss.

"Tell me what's wrong," she said quietly. "Please. Maybe I can help."

He rested his head against the steering wheel. "Florida Smith is dead. They found her body in the river about less than an hour ago."

Thirteen.

What's past is prologue.

-The Tempest, William Shakespeare No accident down by Montgomery, then. The traffic was being diverted to let the emergency vehicles get down by the river. Bree slammed the car door shut, grabbed Dent by the shoulder, and made him face her. "How?" she demanded. "What happened?"

"Somebody said she was shot. Somebody else said she was stabbed. You know what the crowds around a scene like that are like. Can't be sure of anything. But Lieutenant Hunter drove up just after they pulled her out of the river. And he's homicide, isn't he?"

Bree remembered what Cordy Eastburn had said: n.o.body better.

So it was murder.

"Tell me exactly what happened, Dent. From the beginning."

"The crew's back at the riverbank this morning, reshooting a couple scenes. I went down to report at seven. I was on seven to three today. Before I got fired. Which happened as soon as I got there. Vincent White was on set; I went over to see if he had any a.s.signments, and he said, 'Yeah, get lost. How's that for an a.s.signment?' "

"This was about seven this morning?" Automatically, Bree checked her watch. It was just after eleven. "Did you see Florida?"

"No, no I didn't. It doesn't mean she wasn't there. You know what a shoot's like. Everybody and his second cousin's running around like chickens with their heads chopped off. She could have been there, I guess. She is . . . was . . . always on time."

"Who else was there?"

"Ah." He ran his hand over his face again. "I don't know. Everybody, I guess." His eyes narrowed to slits. "Mrs. Waterman, for sure. She and her smarta.s.s lawyer. And Vince White, like I told you."

"Which lawyer? Payton McAllister?"

"The slimy one. Stubblefield."

"Dent. You were a cop. You've been trained to pay attention." She tapped him on the shoulder. "Would you look at me, please? What are you staring at anyway?" She followed the direction of his gaze out the windshield. It was fixed on a building about halfway down the street: Bartlett's Bar and Grill? Drinks Any Time. "Forget it, Dent. You don't drink anymore. You're going to help me find out how Flurry Smith died. Right?"

"Right."

"Do you blame yourself for this in some way? How could you?"

His face was bleak. "If I'd been a better cop sixty years ago. If I'd been a better man, none of this would have happened."

"You think Flurry's dead because she knows something about Haydee's murder that we don't?"

"What the h.e.l.l do you think?"

Evasion never helped anybody. "I think you're right. Not about your value as a cop or a man, but about the link. It has to be connected to the missing witness."

Bree was getting very nervous about the answers this case was presenting to her. "Listen to me. I need a driver. You want the job?"

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

"Dent, I don't have time for you to slide into this ... this valley, or wherever you are. You don't happen to know how Flurry died? Did you see the body for yourself?"

"I saw. Couldn't tell."

"Okay. We've got to get down by the river. I'm going to call EB and cancel my eleven o'clock appointment. I want you to figure out a way to get me as close as you can to the scene." Bree looked over her shoulder. The traffic was still heavy. And the Lexus was back. Bree waited impatiently for it to pa.s.s. It didn't. The vehicle pulled up and came to a stop. A chorus of angry horns greeted this maneuver. A plump middle-aged woman in a bright purple caftan got out of the backseat and rapped on Bree's window, charm bracelet jangling.

Bree opened the window, ready with an apology.

"You're Ms. Winston-Beaufort, aren't you?"

"I am. And I apologize for blocking traffic, but don't you think it'd be a good idea to have your driver move-"

"I'm Dixie Bulloch," she said. "The third sister. I have an eleven o'clock appointment to see you, but Morris couldn't find a place to park and couldn't find a place to park so we circled the block about a million times. Then I said, 'Morris! That's Ms. Beaufort herself. We'll just have the meeting right in her car, and then she can run me back home.' I hope that's acceptable to you, Bree-it's Bree, isn't it? Then Morris can take the car on home. So we don't have to worry about parking at all." She opened the back door and thudded into the backseat. She was wearing a lot of heavy perfume that flooded the car with a sharp, very unpleasant scent of flowers.

"You're my new client?" Bree said.

"Figured nothing would make my sisters madder. You've got quite a reputation." She thrust a plump, freckled hand over the headrest. "Call me Dixie."

The Lexus found a break in the traffic and moved off, with Morris at the wheel.

Bree looked helplessly at Dent.

"So," Dixie said brightly. "Shall we drive around a bit, or do you just want to sit in the car and chat?" She stuck her head between the two front seats. Her hair was dyed a bright, brave red. "My goodness, you did get banged up in that accident with Phillip, didn't you? Although I have to say you're looking much less awful than I thought you would. Sammi-Rose said your face was about burned right off. But that's Sammi-Rose all over. Never lets facts get in the way of a good story. Your leg's broke though, is it?"

Bree looked down at the infuriating cast. "That it is. Miss Bulloch, Dixie. Before we go any further, why don't you tell me why you wanted to see me?"

Dixie wriggled comfortably into the backseat. "Now that is quite a story. I would have been along to see you before this, but I've been kind of tied up lately, what with one meeting and another."

Dent cleared his throat. "You wouldn't be a friend of Bill W's, by any chance?"

"I surely would," Dixie said. "You a friend of his, too? Now, isn't that a coincidence. You know, I thought I'd seen your face before."

Bree was happy to see Dent pulled out of his slump, if only momentarily, but the morning was wearing on, and she didn't care at the moment what friends the two had in common. "Dixie? Could you just summarize the reason you wanted to see me? I'm a bit short of time at the moment." Bree figured there was little if any chance that Dixie was fond of brevity, but it wouldn't hurt to give it a shot. "Dent is going to drop me as close as he can to the Bitter Tide shoot, and then he's going to take you on home. Aren't you, Dent?"

"Sure." He put the car into drive and pulled into the street.

"Aren't they making that movie down by the river? That's where all the commotion was a little bit ago, wasn't it? What do you suppose that's all about? Some tourist fell off of one of the tour boats, I should think. They get into those bourbon sours and fall into the river like that." She snapped her fingers. "My sister went on down there this morning fixing to take Flurry Smith's head off with an ax. Maybe she's the one fell into the water. That'd be no loss to the country, that's for sure."

Dent pulled up in front of an unmanned police barricade and said bluntly, "Florida Smith is dead."

Dixie gasped. "That sweet child? Down there?" She craned her neck out the window and looked down at the activity beyond the barricade. "What in Sam Hill happened?"

Florida was a lot of things; sweet wasn't one of them. Smart, curious, ambitious-all that lively intelligence taken out of this world-for what? "We don't know yet," Bree said.

"So you're going to the river to find out?" She worried at her lower lip. "Holy crow. You don't suppose Sammi-Rose really did up and shoot her, do you? My goodness. And here I thought my morning was going to be taken up with boring old legal matters."

"I'm afraid that it wouldn't have happened in any event, Dixie. I've inherited the obligation to dispose of your grandmother's effects according to the directions she left in her will. The likelihood that you and your family are going to be on the wrong side of any legal action I might have to bring is pretty strong."

Dixie blinked. She wore a lot of mascara, just like her sister, but she wasn't as adept at application. She had dark smudges beneath her eyes. "I'm tryin' to work out what you just said. You mean you can't take me on as a client?"

"It's called a conflict of interest," Dent said. Dixie amused him. Which was a lot better than Dent, depressed.

"Well, that's all right, then, because like I told your Mrs. Billingsley, I didn't come to see you about me; I came to see you about Justine. Justine is your client, right?"

"Justine?" Bree had switched her briefcase out for a large tote bag with a strap. She hung it around her neck, opened up the pa.s.senger door, and collected her crutches. "We can't talk about her, either, Dixie."

"Why ever not?"

"Conflict of interest," Dent said. He put the car in park, then got out and came around to Bree's side of the car. "Let me give you a hand there, boss. This is as close as I'm going to get. It's a hike to the scene, but at least you won't have to go down any steps."

Bree took stock of her surroundings. Front Street ended in a cul-de-sac near the open-air market on Montgomery. Old, deserted warehouses loomed on either side of a narrow road leading down to it. The road had a fairly steep slope, but it was asphalt rather than cobblestone, which would make her descent easier.

Dent handed over her crutches. "I'll run Dixie home and then be back for you."