Sandra Brown - Ricochet

Esteban’s jaw went slack. He leaned forward, then back. He opened his mouth to speak but found he had no words. Finally he shook his head and said, “That bitch. That lying bitch!”

“It’s not true?”

“Fucking A, it’s not true.” He bounded off his seat and began to prowl the marble floor, flinging deprecations in rapid-fire Spanish.

“Why would she say such a thing?” Duncan asked.

Esteban bore down on him. “Why? I’ll tell you why. You want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Okay, it was like this. That night at the party?”

“The one where you said there was ‘and nothing’?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was a jerk, the kind of guy who would-”

“What happened at the party, Tony?”

“Cole got wasted. He passed out. That girl, that Elise, comes on to me. And I mean, man, she was hot for it. Hot, you know?”

“Okay.”

“She’s all over me. Made me nervous.”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah, I didn’t want my new teammate pissed at me over this chick, but she said it wasn’t like that between her and Cole. Said they were friends and that he would want her to have a good time at the party. She was saying stuff like that all the time she’s got her hand inside my pants. So I gave her what she wanted. Coupla times. I mean, she’s great-looking. Why not, you know?”

Duncan made a guttural sound of acknowledgment.

Esteban sat back down. “She was good, man. I wouldn’t have minded having some more of that, but the next morning, she’s writing down all her phone numbers, asking when I’m gonna call, stuff like that.

“Every day after that, she’s calling me, asking when she’s going to see me, why haven’t I called, didn’t I like her, how dare I use her and then dump her like she was nothing.”

He stopped suddenly. “You see that movie Fatal Attraction? That’s what she was. That broad. That psycho bitch from hell. I expected to come home one day and find a fucking bunny boiling on my kitchen stove.”

“Did you ever see her again?”

He shook his head. “I don’t need that shit, man. I guess she gave up. She finally stopped calling.”

“What did Coleman have to say about this?”

“He didn’t know. At least, I didn’t tell him. Don’t know if she did.” He frowned with disgust. “Man, I knew she was one twisted chick, and she swore she would pay me back for dumping her, but I didn’t figure on her making up something like I’m gay. Gay? Jesus!” Then he chortled a laugh. “It’s funny when you think about it.”

“You took it upon yourself to go to Atlanta and see Tony Esteban?”

“Yes.”

No sooner had Duncan cleared the door of the Barracks than he’d been summoned into Bill Gerard’s office. Captain Gerard was a good cop with nearly forty years with the department. He was a fair supervisor who kept himself up to speed on all the cases the VCU was investigating, and he dispensed advice when asked for it. But he trusted the detectives under his supervision to do their jobs without having to be micromanaged.

However, when necessary, he could chew ass effectively. Duncan braced himself for a good one.

“The Braves management office called,” Gerard said, stacking his freckled hands on his thinning ginger-colored hair. “They were steamed you didn’t go through them to interview Esteban.”

“I wanted to catch him unaware.”

“Apparently you did, because after you left, he had second thoughts. He went whining to the team’s PR people about a cop from Savannah asking him about a woman he barely knows who’s involved in a fatal shooting. He was scared the media would get wind of it, blow it out of proportion, he’d wind up the cover story of The National Enquirer.

“The nervous PR people called Chief Taylor, who called me and wanted to know what the hell was going on.” He spat into his dip cup and peered at Duncan over the top of his reading glasses. “I’d sorta like to know that myself, Dunk. What the hell’s going on?”

“I’m not convinced the fatal shooting of Gary Ray Trotter was self-defense.”

“Aw, shit.”

Gerard liked to hunt and fish, read books about the Civil War, and make love to the wife he’d been married to since the night after his high school graduation. He was looking forward to enjoying those pastimes in retirement, which was only two years away. Until then, he wanted to do his job well, meeting its demands, but avoiding the snares of bureaucratic politics so that he could exit the police department gracefully and enemy-free.

“You think the judge’s wife wasn’t just protecting her life?”

“I think she may have been protecting her life style.”

“Shit,” he repeated. “This isn’t going to sit well with Cato Laird.”

“I realize that, Bill. Believe me, I deliberated on it all the way back from Atlanta. He’s chief judge of superior court. He presides over felony cases. The last thing a police department wants is a judge with a grudge against cops who bring those felons to court. This places the department in an awkward position. I understand and appreciate that. But it’s my duty-”

Gerard held up his hand. “None of my detectives has to explain himself to me, Dunk. I trust you. Trust your instincts even more.”

He wouldn’t trust him so well if he knew the secrets Duncan had been keeping recently, the ethics he’d violated. Elise’s note. His private encounter with her at his house. He wouldn’t trust him so well if he knew how hard Duncan had struggled with his decision to pursue the case against her.

“What did Esteban say that implicated her?” Gerard asked.

“Is Kong here?”

Gerard looked at him with puzzlement. “I don’t know, why?”

“I’d like for him and DeeDee to be in on this. That way I only have to tell it once.”

“I’ll go take a leak. You get them in here.”

They reconvened five minutes later. DeeDee came in with a can of Diet Coke and an attitude. She was miffed at Duncan for going to Atlanta without her, or even telling her about the trip beforehand. He didn’t let her pouting bother him. She’d get over it. Soon, unless he missed his bet. She’d suspected Elise of an ulterior motive all along, and he was about to provide one.

Kong was his hairy, sweaty, but affable self. “What up?” he asked Gerard.

The captain pointed to Duncan. “This is his meeting.”

Duncan began by saying, “First of all, I’m giving notice here and now. When I grow up, I want to be a professional baseball player.” His description of Tony Esteban’s penthouse was designed to have them smiling, relaxed, and listening by the time he got down to the nitty-gritty.

“There was this red metal sculpture standing in the center of the room. It looked like an instrument of torture, or maybe a swan. And just like in the movies, he pushes a button, these smoky mirrored doors slide open, and there’s a bar stocked with every conceivable potable.”

They were raptly attentive by the time he got to Jenny. “Hugh Hefner never had it so good. Legs that went on forever. Tits out to here.” He gestured with both hands, holding them away from his chest. “Right there on display beneath this tight tank top, and I’m talking-”

“We get it, Duncan,” DeeDee said. “She had big tits. What did Esteban have to say?”

He gave the men a look that said there would be a more detailed description of Jenny’s chest later, then recounted for them his conversation with Esteban.

When he finished, Gerard asked for clarification on a few points. “It was Mrs. Laird who told you Coleman Greer was gay?”

“Last night at their home,” Duncan replied. “DeeDee and I were summoned there. Mrs. Laird was reluctant to destroy the myth-”