Ed Gorman - Voodoo Moon

"She actually said that?"

"Yup."

She laughed. "I'll have to tell her about discretion." Then, "I think Sandy's father might have murdered her."

"Her father?"

"He's an amateur photographer. He started taking photos of Sandy when she was very little. Apparently, the wife was upset but wouldn't or couldn't-or thought she couldn't-do anything about it. He kept on taking the photos until Sandy herself threatened to turn him in to the authorities."

"How'd you find this out?"

"Sandy. I went to her high school to speak on Law Day and she came up afterwards and asked me if she could come to my office and talk to me. Three days later, she was dead."

"You ever talk to the father?"

"I drove out there once-they live on an acreage-but he wouldn't let me in. He was pretty nasty. He gave me a little speech about how he wouldn't trust a white lawyer, let alone a black one. Except he said nigger." She smiled. "Unfortunately, that isn't proof he's a killer. The terrible thing is, a lot of people are very nice folks as long as you don't get them on the subject of race."

"Any idea what he did with the pictures he took of her?"

She shrugged. "Not really. But I'd like to get in that house sometime when nobody was home."

"Why?"

"See if he's got any other child porn around the house."

"You think he ever molested her?"

"Not from what she said. He was satisfied with just the pictures, I guess. And then she got too old for him. She said he stopped taking photos of her when she turned eleven. Probably about the time she started having noticeable breasts."

"You never went to the county attorney?"

"No point. Sandy said that if I did, she'd just deny everything. Her mother died of heart disease five years ago. He's all she has-had." We had three cups of coffee. She said, "How'd you get involved with all this?"

I told her about Tandy and the show.

"Oh." Her disappointment was easy to see.

"She's not a fake." I sketched out the two cases I'd worked on. "I just don't believe in that kind of thing, I guess."

"Then how did she locate the bodies?"

"That's the funny thing. I know stuff like that happens. But I can't believe it. My husband buys it, though. He's a psychologist. He thinks that someday we'll all be in touch with our full mental powers." Then, "He's white, by the way."

I smiled. "Good for him."

"I just meant it's a novelty. You still don't see a lot of black women with white guys. I think that's why people here are so nice to us. If it was the other way around-if it was a black man with a white woman-I think we'd get a lot more grief."

"You're probably right."

We finished up our pitas and started on our last cups of coffee. "So you going to see him?"

"Who?" I said.

"Sandy's dad."

"I'll try."

"If you learn anything, will you tell me about it?"

"Sure."

"He really is innocent."

"Between you and Dr. Williams, I'm beginning to believe it."

"Really?"

"Well, maybe a little bit, anyway."

A police cruiser swung into the parking lot. I could see Susan in the windshield. She looked serious, serious but beautiful. You couldn't see the scar from this distance.

She got out of the cruiser and strode inside. She came directly to our table.

She nodded to Iris Rutledge. "Hi, Iris. Don't buy anything from this guy."

"Don't worry, Susan. I already had him checked out with the Better Business Bureau. They said buyer beware."

"Everything going all right?" I said.

"I just had a few follow-up questions."

"Well, that works out fine," Iris said. "I need to get back home, anyway."

She stood up. Extended her hand. Then reached in the back of her jeans and took out a thin leather wallet. "Here's my card."

"Thanks."

"Call me."

"I will."

"'Bye, Susan."

"'Bye, Iris."

"You want some coffee?" I said to Susan.

"She's a sweetie."

"She sure seems to be."

"Just black'll do. I've got a long night ahead of me."

I got a refill and a cup for her. The place was starting to fill up. The novelty had worn off the crime scene. Yellow crime scene tape is bedazzling for only so long.

When I got back, she was gone. She reappeared a few minutes later. "Pit stop."

"I could use one of those myself."

The two urinals were busy. Two teenage boys peed and talked about the murder.

"Drug deal," one of them said.

"That what the cops said?"

"No. But I'll bet your ass that's what it was."

"They said he was old. Maybe he was a Mob guy or something."

"If he was, somebody else is gonna die."

"How come?"

"They don't let you run around and kill Mob guys like that."

"Who doesn't?"

"The Mob, you dumb ass. The Mob don't let you."

"He was a mobster," I said, when I got back to my table.

"Who was?"

"The dead guy in my motel room."

"Mafia, you mean?"

I laughed and told her what I'd heard in the john.

"Oh, that'll go on for weeks. Everybody in town'll have his own theory about who did it, and why." Then, "He was a little more interesting than just your run-of-the-mill private eye."

"Oh?"

"I've got a few friends in Chicago, too. I had them run his name through the crime computer."

"Anything interesting?"

"He was arrested for letting his gun permit expire and he was arrested for drunk driving. Found guilty on both counts and both were enough to get his license lifted both times. He had to reapply to get reinstated. Technically, he was out of work for twelve months following each arrest."

"He doesn't exactly sound like a death row kind of guy."

She sipped her coffee. "It's actually cold in here. I've got goose bumps. Look."

"You're wearing short sleeves."

She held her arms out. "Feel them."

She wasn't kidding. Her slender arms were covered with coarse little bumps.

I sat there feeling my groin stir. Now I had a new item to add to my list of turn-ons. Goose bumps.

She withdrew her arms.

"You weren't kidding." I was wearing a windbreaker and a long-sleeved shirt. It was time for gallantry.

I stood up, took my jacket off, slid it around her shoulders. It covered up the small.38 she wore hooked to the side of her jeans. "That's very sweet. Thank you."

I sat down. "So tell me what you came here to tell me."

"I told you about him losing his license."

"Yeah, but you wouldn't drive over here for that."

She laughed. "I thought it was Tandy who read minds. But it's you." More coffee. "Boy, that feels good going down." Then, "The DA there was prepared twice to bring charges against him for extortion."

"Blackmail?"

"Exactly."

"And the charges were dropped?"

"At the last minute, both people asked that the matter be tabled."

"You learn why?"

"Nope. But presumably they decided it wasn't worth dragging their secrets through court."

"So now we have to figure out why he was here."

She nodded. "You don't have any ideas, I suppose?"

"No, afraid I don't."

"Your friends are from Chicago and he was from Chicago."

"Last time I looked, Chicago was only about four and a half hours right down the interstate. I drive in there at least once a month. So do a lot of people."

"True enough. But the river doesn't flow that often in the opposite direction. Not many Chicago people come here. I mean, we have some nice skyscrapers and a big new airport and a lot of Picasso statuary not too far away, but somehow we still don't get many Chicagoites out here."

"'ans.'"

"Pardon?"

"Chicago ans . Not Chicago ites ."

"And there's a fifty-fifty that the Wests and Kibbe being out here at the same time was a coincidence."

She made a smirk of her lovely lips. "You really believe that?"