Paid in Full (7 page)

Molly shook her head, not surprised. The murder had occurred on a Saturday night, and even if anyone had heard a shot, they would have discounted it. Such was the case of city living.

“What about Lily Watson?” she asked.

“She was at a charity function. Several people saw her at dinner.”

“When was dinner?”

Andre rifled through some pages. “Six o’clock.”

“What about after that?”

Andre fidgeted uncomfortably and finally met Molly’s seething stare. He suddenly longed for his former life as a patrolman. “I’ll double-check,” he said. And before she could ask, he volunteered, “I also spoke with the people at the movie theater. A guy running one of the cash registers remembered the deceased’s wife, Deborah Thorndike. He even knew that she bought a large popcorn and Diet Coke.”

Molly sighed. “Great. Nobody killed Michael Thorndike.” She closed her eyes, trying to remain patient. She’d been a rookie, too, she reminded herself. But she certainly didn’t remember being this incompetent. When Andre didn’t resume the conversation, she barked, “Don’t you have something you could be doing?” He jumped up and darted out the door.

Molly groaned. She’d gained little from her trip downtown. There were still no leads on Bob Watson, and Deborah Thorndike had dismissed her after five minutes, claiming she was too distraught at the moment to be questioned again. All Molly had learned was that Thorndike had been at home alone working, refusing to join his wife at the movies.

It was a crappy day, and she’d taken out her frustrations on other people, a character flaw she desperately needed to improve. Her eyes wandered to the newspaper on the desk. Michael Thorndike’s face stared at her from the front page. She’d found it on her chair earlier in the day, and Captain Ruskin had circled Thorndike’s picture several times in red marker. The message was succinct and clear.

Molly closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Her cell phone chirped in her pocket, and she smiled when she saw the name on Caller ID.

“Hey,” she offered casually. “Hey yourself, sis.”

Molly sighed. Talking with her brother Brian was one of the great pleasures in life. She kicked off her flats and put her feet on the desk. “What’s goin’ on?”

“You made the front page again. Sounds tense.”

She grinned at Brian’s simple statement. He never sugar- coated anything and always used as few words as possible.

“Tense is one way to describe it,” she said, her eyes scanning the antacid wrappers that littered her desk.

“So you’re living at work again,” Brian concluded.

Molly knew what he was really saying. Her personal life was of constant concern to Brian, and although he never nagged, she knew her drinking bothered him immensely. He’d realized long ago that her happiness was measured in shot glasses, and when she was in a good place, she drank far less.

“So? Are you hangin’ in there? How’s your love life?”

She knew that if she didn’t give him something, he’d hound her, and his girlfriend Lynne would try to set her up. Lynne meant well, but Molly believed there should be laws about hetero women trying to set up lesbians. She thought of Ari again for the tenth time that day. “Well,” she said, “I did meet someone interesting.”

“Really? Spill it.”

“She’s a witness in this case. She’s the one who found the body.”

“Geez,” Brian exclaimed. “That must have been tough.”

“Actually, she didn’t seem that phased by it. She’s a really strong person, and I think she’s been through a lot.” Brian chuckled. “Stop laughing,” Molly commanded. “I know what that laugh means.” Even as she said it, a smile was spreading across her face.

“So, go after her, sis. She sounds promising.”

“No, nothing will happen,” Molly concluded, using her standard line.

“Why?” Brian asked. He knew his sister and her King Kong- sized inferiority complex. Molly was the living definition of low self-esteem. He’d watched her grow up and be constantly harassed by all the kids at school. She’d always turned to him for a shoulder to cry on, always choosing to hold the anger and sadness in her heart rather than knock some heads around.

“Brian, she’s gorgeous. And I mean like a model. She’s not going to fall for a bull dyke with a badge.”

“Again,
why not?”

Molly shook her head. “Look, Bri, first, I don’t even think she’s gay. She’s as much a femme as Lynne. And even if she is, beautiful lipstick lesbians don’t go for women the size of tanks.”

“You’re probably right,” Brian agreed. He knew that there was no arguing with Molly when she had already made up her mind. “So she’s pretty, right?”

“Absolutely gorgeous.”

“What color are her eyes?”

“Dark green.”

“Does she have great legs?”

“They go on forever.”

“Is she smart?”

“Yes.”

“And how many times have you thought about her today?”

Molly opened her mouth and closed it. Brian was baiting her, but there was no point in lying to him. Even over the phone, she was totally transparent. No one else in her life knew her this well. That fact frustrated her and comforted her all at the same time.

“Call her,” he said before he hung up.

She snapped the phone closed but didn’t drop it back in her pocket. The Michael Thorndike file lay open on her desk, Ari’s phone number conveniently handy. All Molly had to do was flip a few pages and press a few buttons on the phone. How hard was that? She’d just mustered her courage when she remembered their conversation that afternoon. It hadn’t gone well. Molly had clearly crossed a line, and she suspected it had something to do with Ari’s father. She’d hurt the woman, a fact that brought her more pain than the heartburn. She definitely wanted to apologize.

The phone was already ringing before Molly engaged her brain again. The voice that answered was soft and melodic.

“Hello, Ms. Adams. It’s Molly Nelson.” She bit her lip and held her breath. There was a long pause, which Ari obviously didn’t feel obligated to fill. Molly gave a halfhearted laugh. “Well, at least you haven’t hung up on me.”

“Is there something I can do for you, detective?” The softness and melody were gone.

“I just wanted to say how sorry I was, you know, for saying what I did this afternoon, and bringing up your father. That was really out of line—” Molly closed her mouth to prevent further babbling. When Ari said nothing, Molly continued. “It’s just this case . . .” She trailed off. “It’s a career buster.”

“And you’re worried I’ll screw it up,” Ari said, completing her thought.

The detective swallowed hard. “Well, Ms. Adams, frankly, yes, I am.”

“Why don’t you call me Ari?”

“Okay,” Molly replied, relief sweeping through her. “Did you learn anything from your visit?”

“Not really,” Molly sighed, almost grateful that someone was interested. Bouncing ideas off Andre was like hitting a wall of cotton. He just wasn’t good at it. “I did determine that at least two of the partners are slimier than Thorndike. I’m surprised he was the one who was killed.” Molly shifted her large frame in the chair. She’d been sitting in it for three hours reading reports and statements. Her ass was killing her. “What about you? Any luck?”

“Possibly.”

“I thought you were shopping?” Molly teased.

Ari laughed and Molly joined her. “Okay, you caught me,” she admitted.

“Well, tell me!” Molly exclaimed. “Solve this case for me, and I’ll be yours for life.” She sucked in her breath, amazed that the words had come from her mouth. She reached out to grab them, but they’d already sailed over the phone line.

“That’s quite a proposition.”

Molly nearly dropped the phone. Was Ari flirting with her? “Uh, well . . .”

“Don’t worry, detective, I won’t hold you to that.” Ari relayed her suspicion about the pictures. “Hopefully, whatever it means will come to me. I know it’s important.”

Molly frowned, partly out of pride that she might have missed a clue, and partly at Ari’s involvement. “You have to promise me something, Ari. If Bob Watson contacts you, promise me that you’ll call.”

“I haven’t heard from him,” she insisted adamantly.

“Just promise me. We’ve tailed Lily for the past two days and gotten zilch. The captain’s calling off the detectives assigned to her. I’m convinced she doesn’t know where he is, but somebody must. He has to have help. His picture is all over the news. Somebody would have seen him by now.” Molly ran a hand through her curls and leaned back in her chair. “I’m sure he’s called a friend. If he calls you—”

“I’ll call you,” Ari interjected. “I promise. Is there anything else, detective?”

Molly searched for a reason, any reason, to keep Ari on the line. She just loved the sound of her voice—so comforting and calm. After listening to men bark and belch and make other disgusting sounds all day, Ari’s chuckle was welcomed. Unable to think of any pressing matter to discuss, she simply said, “Uh, no. I hope I didn’t call too late. If I did, I’m sorry again.”

“It’s okay. I was just outside on my balcony.”

Molly pictured Ari staring out into the city lights. “Sounds nice. I’m just finishing up work.”

Ari took an audible breath. “If you’re not too tired, why don’t you join me? I could make us some tea and put on some jazz.”

The offer hung in the air for a few brief seconds. Molly couldn’t help but balk initially. It was her nature. “I’m not very presentable, and to be quite honest, I probably could use a shower.”

Ari chuckled again. “I’ll take my chances.” Another awkward pause passed before she added, “I’d really like to see you.”

Molly heard herself accept the invitation, perhaps a little too quickly, and was out the door with Ari’s directions before she could change her mind.

Soft jazz seeped into the hallway and Molly hesitated. Why was she here? Absolutely exhausted, caught in the middle of an investigation, she
should
have been at home in her bed, yet here she was about to knock on a woman’s door for some sort of pseudo-date at nine o’clock at night. The music reached a crescendo, nudging Molly forward.

At the sight of Ari, Molly knew she’d made the right decision. The business clothes had been shed in favor of shorts and a T- shirt, and Ari’s long black hair fell freely over her shoulders and rested against her breasts.

“Come on in,” Ari said, motioning to the couch as she headed back to the kitchen for the tea. Molly planted herself in the middle of the room and stared at the beautiful figure moving around the kitchen, reaching for cups, pulling her hair to one side and when she bent over . . .

Very uncomfortable and nervous, Molly tore her gaze away and studied the living room as if it were a crime scene.

The condo was immaculate, interior design touches everywhere. What struck Molly the most was the sense of order.

Books were lined up on the shelves, tallest to shortest, the pillows situated on her sofa were perfectly positioned, and her CDs were organized by genre.

Famous prints adorned the walls, most notably Van Gogh’s “Lilies.” Molly wandered to the bookcase and squinted at the collection of framed snapshots. She instantly recognized one of Bob and Lily Watson, Ari smiling between them.

Next to it, a shiny silver frame caught her eye. Jack Adams with his arms around a beaming Ari in her Class C uniform, the day she graduated from the police academy. She studied the photo, comprehending the significance. Ari was a former cop. It explained her curiosity at the crime scene and possibly her relationship with her father. Ari wasn’t a police officer now, so what did dad think of his daughter leaving the force?

“Surprised?” Ari asked, venturing from the kitchen with two mugs of tea. Molly nodded without comment. Tonight wasn’t the time for family history.

Carrying both mugs, Ari led Molly outside. The detective admired the view and slowly took in the balcony’s furnishings. The patio was as much a room in the house as any other. Rugs covered the cement, plants hung from the ceiling, and a small clay firepot sat in the corner.

“For those cold winter nights?” Molly joked.

“When I’m feeling especially rebellious toward my landlord, I burn a scented log.”

They settled on the chaise lounges and sipped the tea. Complemented by a cinnamon stick and a sprig of mint, it tasted heavenly. The tea soothed her nerves or maybe it was the jazz humming softly in the background. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in days, felt her muscles relax. A heavy sigh escaped her lips.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ari asked.

“I’m under an enormous amount of pressure with this case, and both the gun and the prime suspect are missing,” Molly said, holding up a hand immediately, to stave off any apology from Ari. “I’m not trying to blame you for Watson’s disappearance.”

“I know you’re not. Actually, I’m totally floored by Bob’s behavior. Even I’m wondering about his innocence,” Ari said softly. “At least, a little.”

“That’s ironic,” Molly commented, sipping the tea. “I’m beginning to have some doubts of my own.”

Ari’s heart skipped a beat. “You mean you believe me?”

Molly shook her head. “I’m not sure what to believe. His name’s on the wall, he doesn’t have a good alibi, and he had multiple reasons to hate Thorndike, including an affair with his wife and a nearly destroyed business opportunity.”

“But something’s bothering you still,” Ari concluded.

Molly nodded. “It’s too easy. That usually doesn’t happen with a smart killer, someone who doesn’t leave prints and dumps the gun. I’m finding it a little hard to believe that he would leave Thorndike alive, at least long enough to write a dying declaration.” She looked at Ari and pursed her lips, unable to admit out loud that she wondered if Bob had been set up.

“God, I hope that’s true. I mean, I know running off made him look guilty, but I know Bob. I just can’t believe he’s capable of murder.”

Molly heard the sincerity in her voice. “You’re a loyal friend, aren’t you?”

Tears welled in Ari’s eyes. She looked into her mug and swirled the cinnamon stick, trying hard not to lose it. “Since high school. We dated briefly, but then we were just friends.”