Deadly Interest (17 page)

“
Of course,” he said. The
huge smile on his face stretched wide. “But if we collaborate, then
I can rest easy, knowing Banner Bank will come out smelling like a
rose when the story breaks.”

I shrugged.

He wagged a finger at me in playful fashion.
“The story will break. Barton will be found to be guilty.”

Bass had taken to jittering in his chair,
looking eager to jump into the conversation, but unwilling to stop
David before the entire offer was on the table. At the short lull
in the conversation, he piped in. “So, you’ll allow some of our
staff to take a look at your files?”

David held up his hands. Large hands.

“
I’d prefer only one set
of eyes on our files. Discreet eyes.” He glanced at me with
meaning. “I can get into trouble if I allow broad access to our
records. Allowing one investigator, sanctioned by yours truly, to
help launch the bank’s own research into the matter, will be
understandable.”

“
Alex here can do it,”
Bass said without so much as a glance my direction to consult
me.

“
That’s precisely who I
had in mind,” David said.

I wanted to say something sarcastic, like
“Surprise, surprise,” but then he smiled again. I expected a leer
or some snarky look, but his expression was devoid of guile.

I had no idea what either of them expected
me to uncover, but I knew that I often found information in the
least likely places, so I nodded. “You’ll arrange to have the files
sent over?”

David blinked. The small lenses of his
glasses served to make his eyes appear bigger. “Oh, no, we can’t
let our records out of the bank. At this very moment, I have my
staff setting up a work area for you.”

The question popped out of my mouth, sharp
and indignant. “You were that sure of me?”

“
Well . . .” His voice
took on a soothing tone, I got the feeling David viewed me as he
would a rambunctious kitten. Avoid the claws and the tiny teeth.
Maybe they can’t do any real damage, but they sure can smart.
“Alex,” he said, in gentle chastisement. He seemed to like saying
my name. “When I heard how you and that other woman had been
brutalized, I knew we had to do something. I’m afraid for you. If
Barton stays on the loose, there’s no telling what kind of danger
you’re in. This solution is best for all of us.”

“
I’m not convinced it’s
Barton,” I said, my own voice straining for patience.

“
Of course,” Bass said,
jumping in. “That’s why you’re investigating. So you can find out
for yourself.”

David stood, and in a gentle motion, took my
right hand in his. “I have several pressing engagements this
afternoon. But perhaps tomorrow we could get started?”

“
That’s perfect,” Bass
said.

I shot him an annoyed glance, which he
missed.

David, apparently picking up on my
displeasure, squeezed my hand, ever so slightly. Surprisingly it
didn’t hurt. “Alex? Is that all right with you?”

I nodded. “Sure. What time?”

“
Let’s do breakfast
tomorrow. I’m an early riser, but you let me know whatever time is
best.”

I looked into the sparkling brown eyes
smiling at me. The man had been nothing but the picture of
consideration since I’d met him. I found him a bit overbearing, but
no different than any hundred other successful businessmen out
there. Breakfast might be nice.

“
I’m up early too. Where
would you like to meet?”

As though I’d given him a precious gift, he
smiled. Letting go of my hand he thought for a moment. “I’ll pick
you up here, say seven o’clock?”

“
Sure.”

“
I know a great little
place,” he said. “We’ll have plenty of privacy to discuss the
investigation.”

Momentary panic made me blurt, “It is a
restaurant, right?”

I must have caught him unawares, because he
laughed out loud. “Yes, Alex, it’s a restaurant. I don’t have any
ulterior motives here.” He winked, then spoke just loud enough for
me to hear. “Not yet, at least.”

* * * * *

Deep into creating my Vicks file, I jumped
when my desk phone rang a half-hour later.

Without preamble, Detective Lulinski asked,
“You up for a cup of coffee?”

“
Sure,” I said.

“
I’ll meet you at the
Emperor’s Roost in fifteen minutes, okay?”

The Emperor’s Roost, a
small restaurant that had seen better days, sat at ground level
between my building and the one next door. Everything about the
place was d
ark. Umber-paneled walls were
broken up with the occasional yellowed painting. Every one depicted
Emperor Napoleon in a battle pose. Booths lined the crescent-shaped
seating area along the perimeter. Downstairs from my office, the
restaurant was c
onvenient for me. Not so
much for the good detective. Something was up. “Sounds great,” I
said. “I’ll grab a table, so look for me.”

The phone clicked in my ear without him
saying anything more.

Fifteen minutes later, almost on the dot, I
watched him walk in from the restaurant’s north entrance. He
brought in a gust of cold air, or so it seemed from the reaction of
the woman manning the to-go counter adjacent to the door.

His eyes scanned and found me in seconds,
and five strides later he was at my table, a semi-circular booth in
the bar area of the place. Smoking section. As he took off his coat
and then sat, he eyed the clear glass ashtray between us, then up
at me with a quizzical look.

“
It was the only open
table,” I said.

A quick smile, gone as fast as it came. He
pulled a box of cigarettes out of his suit coat and laid it on the
table. But he didn’t light up. Instead he looked at me for a couple
of beats, and I watched him take in the bruises, and the shadow
that promised a black eye despite Bass’s predictions that I’d skate
on that one.

A gum-cracking waitress showed up with a pot
of coffee. We both turned our cups over for filling. “You hungry?”
he asked.

“
I am, actually,” I
answered, surprised. I hadn’t taken any menus since he’d said “just
coffee,” but when Lulinski ordered a Monte Cristo sandwich with
fries, I decided on a bowl of broccoli soup.

“
Thanks for meeting me,”
he said. Nothing about my looks, no chastisement about my being
back to work so soon. Rather than being disappointed, I was
relieved not to have to go down that path with yet another
person.

“
Not a problem,” I said,
“I take it something’s going on?”

Gray eyes, gray hair, and wearing his gray
suit again. I wondered about this fellow, and tried again to decide
his age. Somewhere between late forties or early fifties, I
thought. He nodded, fixing his gaze on the cigarette box again. He
started sliding it back and forth between his hands. “Could
be.”

Despite the fact that his face was slim, his
cheeks sagged a bit below the jawline. Coupled with gray stubble
that told me he hadn’t shaved in a while, I wondered if he’d been
up all night. “You okay?” I asked.

His eyes jumped up at me, as though I’d
brought him out of a reverie. The man was tired, all right.

“
Yeah. Lot on my mind.” He
chanced another smile, just as brief as the first one. “Here’s the
problem. Diana’s still unable to speak. I can’t get anything from
her.”

I didn’t think Diana would be much of a
witness, to be honest. She’d panicked so quickly that I doubted
she’d even remember anything from that night. But I kept quiet.

Lulinski took a breath. “I ran a check on
her. She did time; I don’t know if you knew that.”

“
I knew she had
problems.”

“
Yeah,” he said. “I’ll
say.” He didn’t expand, but changed direction. “She was involved
with a guy some years back. He went away; did some hard
time.”

“
I heard something about
that.”

“
Well, seems like he just
got out.” He held my gaze, watching me as the import of his words
took hold. “Parole.”

Following his lead, I asked, “And you think
he might be the guy who attacked us?”

“
I’m looking into
it.”

I took a sip of coffee and considered it.
“And Mrs. Vicks? What would be his motive for killing her?”

His long fingers wrapped around his own
coffee cup, Lulinski shook his head. “That’s part of the problem.
He’s a good suspect—he’s had drug convictions, he’s done time for
home invasion and for armed robbery—but we need to know what it is
he wants. What he was looking for.”

“
Looking for?” I
asked.

“
Both times the house was
entered, it was searched. For what, is anyone’s guess at this
point.”

“
What’s the guy’s
name?”

Lulinski hesitated. “Grady,” he said, with a
sigh of resignation. “Larry Grady. First name Laurence with a
‘u’.”

“
Grady? That’s Diana’s
last name.”

He nodded. “We think they got married.
Either that, or she took his name as part of a common-law
arrangement.”

“
You don’t know for
sure?”

Shrugging, he took a long sip of coffee
before he spoke again. “Not worth my effort at this point. We know
they had a relationship. If I need to, I’ll trace down any evidence
of a legal arrangement later.”

My conversation with Bass and David this
morning sat at the back of my brain like a headache waiting to
happen. I’d agreed to investigate this story for my station. Right
now the question was, should I share that information with the
detective here?

He interrupted my thoughts. “What?”

I shook my head, not understanding.

“
You were miles away there
for a second. What’s on your mind?”

I deflected. “Diana would have some idea,
but—” I let it hang.

“
Exactly,” he finished.
“There’s no way we’re going to be able to talk to her anytime soon.
Even if she’s up and around in the next couple days, she’s
apparently so fragile that to interrogate her could be
traumatic.”

The waitress brought our food. I took a big
spoonful and blew on it, seconds later realizing that the word of
the day was: tepid. I preferred my food hot; this wasn’t. I glanced
at the waitress, now fetching orders halfway across the restaurant.
When my eyes returned to the table, I saw that Lulinski had almost
completely downed the first half of his sandwich, shoveling it in
with a gusto that surprised me for such a thin guy.

By the time they would get my soup warmed
up, he’d have the rest of his meal scarfed down. With a sigh, I
took another big spoonful and pretended it was gazpacho.

Lulinski pushed the mouthful of food into
his left cheek as he finished his thought. “Diana was seeing a
therapist,” he said, chewing now. “I talked to the man today.”

Still chewing, he started in on the second
half of the sandwich, then dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out
his notebook. He flipped it to a page in the middle and read the
information to me. “Dr. Thomas Hooker, psychiatrist, located not
far from here, just off Madison and State.”

“
Hooker?”

“
Yeah, I know. Bad name.”
He shrugged.

“
Why are you telling
me?”

“
Dr. Hooker won’t talk to
me. He can’t. Bound by those damn privacy laws.” He said that last
part with a heavy dose of sarcasm, then held a hand out to stave
off commentary. “I know, I know. I understand the need for them,
but . . .”

I waited for him to finish the thought.

“
He wants to talk to
you.”

No way, I thought, and I said so. “He won’t
talk to a cop, but he’ll talk to someone from the media?”

Two big bites and the rest of Lulinski’s
Monte Cristo was history. I resisted the urge to comment.

He shrugged. Grabbing the bottle of mustard,
he covered the thick-cut French fries with layers of yellow, taking
a moment to salt them liberally before shoving three into his
still-masticating mouth.

“
Mustard? On fries?” I
asked, then added, “Eeyoo.”

Gray eyes shot up and he grinned through his
chewing. “Old habit. My first partner made me try it on a long
stake-out once. Been hooked ever since.” He took in a breath and
shrugged us back to the topic. “Dr. Hooker won’t give up any
information on Diana because of patient confidentiality,” he
continued. “But when I advised him of Diana’s condition, and of the
incident that transpired, he wanted more information. He says that
the more he knows about the attack, the better he’s going to be
able to help Diana get back on her feet.” Still chewing, Lulinski
averted his eyes. “I mentioned you, and he thought that it would be
helpful to Diana if you made some time to talk with him.”

I’d gotten about halfway through my soup,
and now I held an empty spoon above the bowl. “And you think if he
talks to me, I’ll uncover information about Diana’s old boyfriend
that can help you.”

He rolled his tongue around his teeth,
clearing food. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

My disbelief came out in an
almost-laugh.

“
What so
funny?”

“
Didn’t you accuse me of
using my relationship with Mrs. Vicks to further my own
investigation?”

One side of his mouth curled up. An
abbreviated nod. “Yeah, but that was before I knew we shared a
mutual distaste for Dan Starck.”

Ooh . . . interesting
comment. I tucked that little tidbit away for later. “But now you
want me to use my relationship with Diana to further
your
interests.”