Spencer Quinn - A Fistful of Collars

“It’s all right,” Bernie said, lowering his hand. “We’re here to help.”

Went without mentioning: that was what we did. Although who were we helping, exactly? I hoped to find out soon, but if not I was cool with that, too.

Felicity nodded.

“Will you stay in the bathroom for a few minutes?” Bernie said quietly. “I need to talk to Thad.”

“About me?” said Felicity, even quieter.

“Why would it be about you?”

“I don’t know,” she said. And then: “We usually sleep together.”

“I’m not the togetherness police,” Bernie said.

Whoa! A totally new one on me. Policing was more than Metro PD, the state troopers, FBI, ATF, Secret Service, Game and Fish? Even with someone like me who’d been in the business just about forever, there were still new wrinkles. But I was in good shape on account of wrinkles never bothered me, Leda’s obsession with ironing every single piece of clothing remaining a total mystery.

Meanwhile, Felicity was nodding again, like she was having no trouble following all this. “It was just that he was having such a bad night,” she said.

Bernie held out the bottle. “How many of these did he take?”

“He needs them to sleep,” said Felicity.

“But how many?”

“There’s nothing I can do to stop him when he gets… the way he gets.”

“Was he drinking, too? Drugging?”

“Probably. He has demons.”

“What kind of demons?”

“I don’t know,” Felicity said. “It’s all tied up with him being an artist, but sometimes they take over.”

Bernie took a long breath. “Okay,” he said. “Just go in the bathroom and stay quiet.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Try to beat back the demons a little,” Bernie said.

“Thank you.” Felicity rose. She wasn’t wearing any clothing-my preference as well: once Bernie’s mother had tried to get a vest on me! — and Bernie did a pretty good job of trying not to watch her, sort of, all of that a bit of a puzzler, while she took a robe off one of the chairs and threw it on. Felicity went into the bathroom and closed the door. Bernie and I returned to the big round bed. The darkness in the room had a sort of feel, like weight pressing on my back.

We gazed down at Thad, still sleeping with his arm thrown over his face, a big strong arm, although now the muscles looked soft. Bernie’s face was hard. I stood very straight and still, ears way up. We know how to send a message at the Little Detective Agency. Thad made a low sound and shuddered in his sleep.

“Dreaming about April?” Bernie said in his normal voice, no lowering or whispering.

There was a long silence. Then Thad’s face-the visible part, below his arm-twitched, and very softly he said, “Oh, April, no, no.”

“What’s happening to April?” Bernie said.

Another silence, not as long as the first. Then, even more quietly, Thad said, “It’s too horrible.”

“What is?” Bernie said.

Thad groaned. “Blood,” he said, “too much. Way, way too much.”

“Whose blood?”

“Everywhere,” Thad said, his voice rising. “Blood all over us, all over the sheets.” And he suddenly threw off his covers. He had a lipstick stain on his chest: I had time to spot that just before he opened his eyes, those huge blue eyes, now all blurred and foggy. “A knife?” He twisted sharply toward his empty hand, gazed at it. Was he expecting a knife to be there? I didn’t get it.

Thad turned, jumped at the sight of us, his eyes clearing fast. He sat right up. “What the hell?” he said.

“What happened to the knife?” Bernie said.

Thad licked his lips. He looked very bad, dark purple patches under both eyes, his skin kind of pasty and waxy, like he’d gotten a lot older since the last time we’d seen him. But his eyes were clear now and he was wide awake. “Knife?” he said.

“The knife you used to kill April,” Bernie told him.

“No,” Thad said, shaking his head. “No, no, no.” He glanced around in that desperate way perps do when they’ve got a notion to book. “How did you get in? Where’s Jiggs?”

“Waiting for us to finish our conversation,” Bernie said.

“Jiggs knows you’re here?”

“No question.”

“But… but he’d never do that.”

“Maybe he’s decided it’s time to cut his own deal.”

“Deal?” Thad said. “He knows I’d give him anything.”

“Not a deal with you,” Bernie said. “I’m talking about the law.”

“The law?” Thad reached for the covers, pulled them back up, meaning… meaning it would be harder for him to book. At that moment, I knew one thing for sure: Thad was no perp.

“There’s no statute of limitations on murder,” Bernie said. “And from information we’ve developed it’s pretty clear that Jiggs was an accessory after the fact.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Thad said.

“Chet and I,” said Bernie. What was wrong with Thad? Wasn’t that obvious?

Thad’s gaze shifted to me, then back to Bernie. “Where’s Brando?”

Bernie shrugged.

Thad licked his lips again. They were all dry and cracked. He glanced at the bedside table. An empty water bottle lay on its side in a little puddle on the tabletop. “I need water,” he said. “Can’t think straight.”

“Try easing up on the drugs,” Bernie said.

And all at once, I was thirsty, too: funny how the mind works. I went over and licked up that puddle.

Meanwhile, it looked like Thad was starting to get angry. “A real feather in your cap, huh, bringing down a movie star?” he said.

“I couldn’t care less about that,” Bernie said.

Or something close, my mind getting stuck a bit back at the feather part. That feather on the gym floor, glossy black with the red markings, would probably look great in a cap, but Bernie never wore one. And just as I was thinking about the feather and how it got to end up in the gym, from out of nowhere came Brando, sort of flowing across the room, up onto the bed, and settling down in the crook of Thad’s arm. Brando settled some more. He could settle like nobody I’d ever seen. Thad gazed down at him, then back at Bernie, and now the anger was gone.

“I knew it would be someone like you,” he said.

What are you talking about?” Bernie said.

“Someone ruthless,” Thad said. “Who came to take me in. That’s what you’re doing, right? Arresting me? Aren’t you a cop or something?”

Bernie’s laughter is one of my great pleasures in life, but there’s one laugh he has that’s not so nice. Still pretty nice, since it’s Bernie, after all, and it’s not that I didn’t like hearing it. I just didn’t like hearing it quite as much, and I hardly ever did. But Bernie laughed that not-quite-as-nice laugh now, laughed it in Thad’s face.

“You think I’m ruthless?” he said. “Just wait.”

“For what?” Thad said.

“For what’s coming.”

Thad’s eyes shifted. “Maybe I should call my lawyer.”

“Who’s that?”

“I’ve got lots of lawyers,” Thad said. “Nan will know.” He glanced toward the door. “Where is she?”

Bernie shook his head. “You’re on your own right now.”

Thad pulled Brando in a little closer. Brando wasn’t in the mood. He rose, sort of drifted off the bed, and vanished in the shadows.

“What about Felicity?” Thad said.

“You’re dealing with me,” Bernie said. “Me and Chet.”

Thad looked at me. For no reason at all, I chose that moment to bare my teeth; actually, it was more like my teeth chose the moment to bare themselves. Has that ever happened to you? But even if it has, so what-no offense-human teeth being what they are?