Клэр Донелли - Catch As Cat Can

“It never happens?” Sunny asked. “An attractive witness, a marshal who’s on the road so much, there’s no room for a private life?”

“I don’t—it’s not—” Will floundered around for a moment, then said, “You’re making a big jump from bad judgment to murder.”

“Well, this hypothetical person with bad judgment carries a gun,” Sunny pointed out.

“And what’s the motive for killing Treibholz?” Will challenged.

“The crooked detective from California who was playing mind games with Neil?” Sunny shrugged. “Treibholz could put him in the crosshairs for a bunch of contract killers.”

“But that’s not a reason to kill the guy,” Will said. “If Neil’s new identity was in danger of being exposed, the WitSec people would move him again.”

“And would Neil still be Val’s witness? Or would he just disappear out of her life into still another new identity and never see her again?”

Will’s expression turned grim. “You’re throwing a lot of stuff on Val.”

“I’m just asking some questions,” Sunny replied. “We’ve had to ask them about friends of mine in the past.”

That got a stiff nod from Will. “Okay. So how do you tie in Charlie Vane?”

Sunny spread her arms. “Suppose he found out about Neil’s past. Maybe Treibholz came around asking questions that got Vane suspicious. Old Charlie was a guy who cut a lot of corners and needed a lot of money. I wouldn’t put it past him to try a little blackmail on Neil.”

“And then it would be the same situation as Treibholz.” Will really wasn’t liking this line of thinking.

Sunny took a deep breath. “It’s not just your friends I’m wondering about,” she said. “How about Abby Martinson? She had a prior relationship with Neil when he was Nick Gatto, and it seems a hell of a coincidence, her turning up here after being away for so long. What if she was in contact with Neil?”

“That’s a big WitSec no-no.” Will still looked serious, but some of the grimness leaked away as he considered Sunny’s suggestion. “Although the program has been a hundred percent effective when people follow the rules, that’s the one that gets broken most—and gets people killed.”

Sunny nodded. “What if Abby found that Treibholz was sniffing around and came to warn Neil?” Now she frowned. “The guy died the day after she got off the plane.”

“So, motive and possible opportunity,” Will said. “What about means?”

“Abby’s dad was an outdoorsman,” Sunny replied. “A real huntin’ and fishin’ guy. He had guns.”

Will strode around a little more, silently stewing. “You’ve got the start of a case—for both of them,” he abruptly admitted. “But there’s no evidence.”

“Maybe the crime-scene people will get lucky,” Sunny suggested. “They managed to recover the bullets that killed Treibholz, didn’t they?”

He nodded. “One got pretty messed up after exiting his head—a lot of metal in that freezer. But the other is in decent shape. The slug came from a nine millimeter pistol—which, yes, is kind of government issue these days.” His hand made an absentminded gesture toward the Glock holstered under his coat. “But I need something stronger before I’d ask for ballistics on Val’s piece. Think you can find out anything about the late Mr. Martinson’s gun collection?”

“I can try.” Sunny was pretty sure her face wasn’t a picture of joy. “Can you let me out of my promise to keep playing dumb about Nick Gatto? That would let me talk to him about that part of his life.”

Will stared at her. “Why would you want to do that? We just about cleared him as a suspect.”

“Yeah, we cleared Neil Garret, but Nick Gatto got involved with both of our new suspects. I’d like to see how Nick talks about each of them.”

Will laughed. “You think your feminine instincts can turn something up?”

Sunny shrugged. “Something is better than the nothing we’ve got now.”

Will grudgingly gave his okay. Then he leaned in to give Sunny a quick peck on the cheek before heading up to Levett to report on his meeting with Deke Sweeney.

Better than when he came in, Sunny thought. But still distracted with work.

She sighed and returned to her keyboard. Speaking of work, I suppose I’d better get some done.

But as she went through the day’s activities, Sunny kept an ear out for the sound of the gate next door opening. It finally rattled up sometime after lunch. Sunny actually found herself jumping to her feet but then forced herself to sit down again. Let him get settled first. I’ll want to work my way into this.

Sometime later, she decided it was time to put her plan into action. She slipped into her parka and headed next door, just another shopper looking for something out of the ordinary to make for supper.

Immediately, her plan hit a snag. Someone else was at the counter, shopping ahead of her. Sunny noticed that the display cases were pretty bare. Between the ice storm and Deke Sweeney’s embargo, Neil must really be hurting for merchandise.

He brought out a tray with triangular pieces of pink, grooved flesh resting on the crushed ice. “Have you ever tried skate wings?” Neil asked the older woman on the other side of the counter. “I’ve already prepared it, so you have no skin or bones to remove. Actually, it’s not a bone, but a piece of cartilage. Anyway, you can see it’s nice and thin, you can sauté it quickly. I can give you some recipes—”

“Does it smell fishy?” the customer, obviously a meat-and-potatoes type, interrupted.

“It shouldn’t, because this is fresh.” Neil held out the tray and waved a hand over it. “If you’re worried, though, I’d suggest soaking the fish in water and lemon juice. Skates are related to sharks, and like them, they urinate through their skin. The soak will neutralize the slight trace of ammonia that sometimes turns up in even fresh skate—”

The woman shook her head.

I suspect you lost her at “urinate,” Sunny thought.

Neil’s other offerings didn’t pass muster either, and the shopper left, heading in the direction of Judson’s Market. The shopkeeper stared after her. Sunny wondered whether the fury on his face was aimed at her or at himself.

It turned out to be aimed at the fish. Neil jammed the tray of skate into the display, muttering, “This is what I get for going into this business. Trying to sell people on something we used to cut up for bait.”

“Maybe you cut it up for bait on the west coast,” Sunny said, “but we New Englanders have been eating it—probably since we arrived here.”

“Yeah, but you New Englanders are cheap.” Neil had the grace to look embarrassed for letting that slip out. Then he did a double take. “Wait a minute. How do you know I’m from California?”

Sunny smiled. “How do you think, Nicky?”

Garret deflated behind the counter. “I guess your friend Price told you.”

“Well, I was looking into things, after that California detective tried to kill my cat.” She leaned across the counter. “That made a lot more sense when I learned your real name—Gatto.”

Neil gave an embarrassed shrug. “Guess there was a cat involved somewhere in the family tree. My grandfather’s people were fishermen in the Mediterranean, and he’d take me and my dad on fishing expeditions. That’s where I learned the business.” He gestured around the shop.

“But you wound up in the stock market.”

“My dad was a blue-collar kind of guy, like a lot of the folks around here,” Neil said. “I wanted the things a white-collar job could bring.”

Like a stint in prison for white-collar crime, Sunny thought.