P. Parrish - Thicker Than Water

“Susan, don’t hang up,” he said.

She hesitated. “I wasn’t going to.”

“I want you to listen to me without saying a word.”

There was another pause. “Okay.”

Louis took her through his day, laying everything out for her, from the unreadable slide to Bob Ahnert’s revelation about the AB-negative sample. He finished up with the fact that neither Jack nor Ronnie Cade raped Kitty.

She said nothing.

“Well?” he asked.

“I’m a little stunned,” she said softly. “I’m trying to figure out what I can use.” There was a pause. “Can you bring me this report that says Kitty’s rapist was AB-negative?”

“Not exactly.”

“Can I subpoena it from someone?”

“No.”

A long pause this time. “Where is this report?”

“It’s in Jack Cade’s trial file from 1967, which was on Spencer’s desk when he was shot. The cops picked it up along with everything else.”

There was another pause. Louis could hear papers rustling. He was about to tell her that he was going to see Mobley when she interrupted.

“It’s not here,” she said.

“What?”

“I have the evidence sheet from Duvall’s office right here in front of me. There’s no mention of Jack Cade’s trial file. It’s not here.”

“It has to be. You’re sure?”

“I’m looking at the list, Louis. They took other files, but nothing about Jack Cade.”

Louis shifted the receiver to his other ear. “Then where the fuck is it?”

“How the hell should-”

“Wait,” Louis said quickly. “Ellie told me that she gave Duvall the file. It was there. So whoever killed Duvall must have taken it.”

They were both silent for a moment.

“Susan, I have to go see Mobley,” Louis said. “Come with me.”

“Why?”

“I need to convince him to reopen Kitty’s homicide.”

“You don’t need me for that.”

“Yes I do. I need him to see you’re with me on this.”

Susan was quiet for a moment. “If I decide to use this in a new defense, I don’t want to tip my hand. Mobley is a cop, Louis, with a cop brain. I can’t trust him.”

“Susan, listen to me. You’re going to have a hard time making this believable. You need Mobley to reopen Kitty’s homicide for credibility. You need the cops on your side this time.”

Susan was quiet.

“Trust him, Susan,” Louis said. “And me.”

He heard her sigh. “Okay. Give me an hour. Pick me up at home.”

Susan jerked open the door and stared at Louis.

“Damn,” she said.

“What?” Louis said.

She waved a hand at his blue blazer and tie. “Why didn’t you tell me this was dressy?”

Louis’s eyes traveled down to Susan’s blue jeans and back up to her face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We’re meeting Mobley at a restaurant down in Naples.”

Susan let out an impatient snort. “Give me ten minutes,” she said over her shoulder as she disappeared down the hall.

Louis came into the living room. Benjamin was tossing foil icicles on a Christmas tree, helped by a teenaged girl Louis assumed was the dreaded April.

“Hey, Benjamin,” Louis said.

“Hey.” He eyed Louis’s striped tie. “Ricco Tubbs wouldn’t be caught dead in that tie.”

“Well, when I get my Masarati, I’ll upgrade.”

“You taking my mom on a date?”

“Nope. Just work.”

Benjamin went back to throwing wads of icicles. Louis stood there watching him until a flash of red made him turn.

Susan was there, dressed in clingy red silk, leaning against the wall as she struggled to put on her high heels.

Oh man. .

He tried not to stare as she came forward. She was cramming stuff in a small black purse and it was a moment before she looked up at Louis.

“What?” she asked, frowning.

“Nothing. . nothing,” he said.

“Well, let’s go,” she said, heading out the door.

Louis glanced back at Benjamin.

“Sure looks like a date to me,” Benjamin muttered.

La Veranda was a candle-lit womb of a place on the water. Someone was playing “Fly Me To the Moon” on the piano as Louis followed Susan and the maitre d’ to a table near the window. It wasn’t until he heard the singer’s voice that Louis turned to look at the man seated at the piano.

Fuck a duck. It was Mobley.

Louis looked over at Susan. She was staring at Mobley too.

“I can’t believe it,” Susan said.

“I know,” Louis said.

“No, I mean, I can’t believe he’s good.”

Suddenly, Mobley spotted them. He didn’t miss a beat as he finished and then leaned into the mike.

“Okay, here’s a special song for two special friends of mine,” he said. He launched into “Hello Young Lovers Wherever You Are.”

Louis was watching Mobley, trying not to let his gaze drift over to Susan. On the ride down from Fort Myers, they had talked only about the two cases, bouncing things off each other in a mad tango of ideas. They had made a commitment to back each other up in front of Mobley. For the first time, they were on the same track.

But now, the heat of the work talk had tapered off, and they were left with only the votive candle flickering between them.

Louis looked over at Susan. How had she managed to do her hair up like that so quickly?

She felt his eyes on her and looked at him.

“You look really pretty,” he said.

She blinked several times, like she hadn’t heard him. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Mobley finished singing. He announced he was taking a short break, rose and came to their table.

“Well, if it isn’t the Lone Ranger and Tonto,” he said. “What are you two doing here?”

“We’re here just for you, Lance,” Louis said.

“How’d you find out I was here?”

Louis pulled out a chair. “Hard to keep a talent like yours secret for long,” he said.

Mobley looked at Susan, who was grinning. Finally, he sat down and a waiter immediately appeared with a scotch and water. Mobley glanced at the table, and seeing their empty glasses, motioned toward the waiter to fill them up. When he was gone, Mobley took a drink, then sat back.

“Didn’t know you moonlighted,” Susan said.

“It pays for all the piano lessons my mom made me take,” Mobley said. He looked at Louis. “I thought it was us against the lawyers, Kincaid,” he said.

Louis could feel Susan’s eyes on him. “I had to tell Susan. She’s Cade’s lawyer.”

Mobley took a drink of his scotch. “Forget it. Just tell me what you found out. Did the second sample match or not?”

“It didn’t match. It was AB-negative.”

“Any chance Ronnie Cade did it?”

“Nope. I checked his blood type. He’s O-positive, just like his father.”

“Son of a fucking bitch,” Mobley whispered. “I guess I will have to go pull Cade’s old defense file out of my evidence room.”

“You don’t have it,” Louis said.

“What?”

“You never had it. Whoever killed Duvall took it.”

Mobley leaned back in the chair. In the flicker of the candle, Louis could see something pass over Mobley’s eyes, like the sheriff was watching his whole career go down the toilet. Mobley reached up and, with a hard tug, undid his black bow tie.

“Lance,” Louis said quietly. “We can’t put this back in the box. You’ve got to reopen Kitty’s homicide.”

Mobley looked at Susan. “I hate lawyers,” he said. “I fucking hate lawyers.”

Susan glanced at Louis but said nothing.

Mobley got slowly to his feet. “I’ve got to do my second set. Order whatever you want, dinner’s on me.”

He drained his scotch and set the glass down hard. “Goddamn, I liked being sheriff,” he muttered, walking away.