Sandra Brown - Ricochet

“Why didn’t you notify us immediately?”

“Took five days to get his sorry ass over here to see me!” Gordie exclaimed, casting a disparaging glance toward the lawyer, who yawned in response.

“You know how bad I want Savich for Freddy Morris and others,” Duncan said.

“Yeah. So?”

“So I think you reconsidered the offer you turned down last week. You made up this bullshit story so you’d have something juicy to bargain with.”

Gordie looked wildly at DeeDee and the lawyer, neither of whom offered him an escape hatch. Coming back to Duncan, he said, “It ain’t like that.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“I saw her with Savich,” the small man insisted, his nasal voice rising in pitch.

“That’s not the club where you were arrested later that night for assault.”

“Right. I left the White Tie and went to that other place.”

“Savich see you at the White Tie?”

That possibility made him visibly fearful. He squirmed in his seat. “He wasn’t paying no attention to me. I was on the other side of the club, watching the show, one of them girls getting it on with a brass pole.”

“You were skulking in a dark strip joint-”

“What’s skulking?”

“Were you drunk?”

“No.”

“Gor-dee,” Duncan said.

“Okay, okay, I was getting there, but I wasn’t drunk yet.”

“High?”

His eyes darted about evasively, but then he said, “I may have had something. I don’t remember.”

“But you remember the blonde Savich was in conversation with.”

“Yeah.”

“From across a dark nightclub. While you were high and drunk. And days later you conveniently recognized her as Elise Laird.”

Gordie bobbed his head emphatically. “That’s right. What you just said, Hatcher. That’s it in a nutshell.”

Duncan stood up and shoved his chair beneath the table. “You’re full of crap.”

“No! I swear I’m not! Not this time.”

“Why should this time be any different? Oh, wait.” Duncan snapped his fingers. “The reward. That’s the difference.”

“That fifty grand’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Do I look like I was born yesterday?” Duncan shouted. “You heard about the fifty-thousand-dollar reward. You know I want Savich. Bingo. You’ve made up this story and wasted my time, which I have precious little of these days. I have even less patience with lying, sniveling lumps of maggot shit like you, Gordie.”

“Okay, Hatcher, maybe I have lied to you a few times before,” he said, his voice cracking. “But not this time. I swear it, I…Where are you going?” he squealed in panic as Duncan headed for the door.

“We’ll get back to you,” Duncan said over his shoulder as he and DeeDee walked out.

Worley was waiting for them on the other side of the door. “What do you think?”

Duncan expelled a long breath as he thoughtfully watched through the small window as Gordie was escorted from the room by guards. “He’s a habitual liar. But either he’s gotten exceptionally good at it, or he’s telling the truth this time. He’s stuck to his story without changing a word. Let’s give him overnight to fret about it, then come at him again. In the meantime, let’s take this to the judge. See what-”

“Ixnay.” Worley poked a fresh toothpick into his mouth. “No can do, Dunk. Orders from above.”

“What the hell?”

“I knew you’d be pissed. That’s why I put off telling you until after you’d had a crack at Savich and Gordie here, but Captain Gerard said we’re not to confront the judge about his wife’s alleged meeting with Savich.”

DeeDee sputtered, “Are you serious?”

“As death and taxes,” Worley said. “Gerard bounced Gordie’s story off the chief, who practically bounced Gerard out of his office. Through this whole ordeal, they’ve managed to keep a lid on Mrs. Laird’s history as a topless dancer. You can imagine the field day the media would have with that. But an association with Savich would make her G-string days look like Sunday school.”

DeeDee said, “If memory serves, it was Chief Taylor himself who ordered us to use every resource available to solve the mystery of Mrs. Laird’s disappearance, right?”

“I’m only telling you what Gerard told me,” Worley said. “Gerard said that Chief Taylor said that this business about her and Savich was a story from a con trying to create a better bargaining position for himself, and that the judge didn’t need to be made aware of it until we had indisputable proof. He asked what were the chances of Mrs. Laird having anything to do with a criminal like Robert Savich.”

“What were the chances of her having anything to do with Meyer Napoli?” DeeDee really didn’t expect an answer and none was forthcoming. She divided a look between Worley and Duncan, landing on Duncan. “Well? Our hands having been tied, what do we do from here?”

We find Elise so I can demand to know what the fuck she was doing with Savich. That’s what Duncan was thinking, but that’s not what he said. “We keep looking for her.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a loud clap of thunder rattled the windows.

The thunder preceded the rain that began that afternoon and fell relentlessly over the next forty-eight hours. It made the recovery mission more problematic, and literally dampened the spirits of everyone involved, so that by the third consecutive day of rain without any sign of letup, the mood in the VCU was funereal.

Even though it was Saturday, no one was taking a weekend off. The detectives were gathered in Duncan ’s office, going over what they knew, speculating on what they didn’t. The ballistics report was back on the bullet the ME had removed from Napoli -no match for it on any of the national crime databases. Dead end there.

Worley gnawed his toothpick. “If she went into the river, whether she was pushed or jumped, how come she hasn’t popped up yet? Usually doesn’t take this long. Ten days?”

“Maybe she was never in the river,” Duncan said.

“Maybe she was never on the bridge.” The men turned to DeeDee, who expanded her thought. “ Napoli was driving back into the city. He could’ve dumped her body in South Carolina somewhere. Miles of marsh, forests. Lots of places to hide remains.”

“What about her sandals?” Worley asked.

“He realized he had them, stopped on the bridge to get rid of them-”

“And the Wicked Witch of the West flew in on her broom and shot him.”

“It was just a thought, Worley,” she said snidely.

To her further irritation, she lost the coin toss and had to go out in the downpour to pick up lunch. She had just returned and was passing out the sandwiches when Cato Laird surprised them by walking into the office unannounced.

He looked like he’d lost at least a pound for each of the ten days his wife had been unaccounted for. His golfing tan had turned sallow. His eyes were sunk deep into their dark sockets. His shoulders were stooped. He hadn’t bothered with an umbrella. His clothes and hair were wet, adding to his ragged appearance. His unexpected arrival silenced everyone in the unit. All eyes were on him as he approached Duncan, who was trying to work up enough enthusiasm to take a bite of the sandwich that DeeDee had foisted on him.

“Detective Hatcher, we need to talk.”

Duncan motioned for the judge to follow him into his tiny office. Once they were seated, the judge laid a manila envelope on Duncan ’s desk, then glanced toward the open door. “I suppose they should be in on this, too.”

“DeeDee, Worley,” Duncan called, knowing they were well within hearing distance. They appeared almost immediately.

“Captain Gerard, too,” the judge said. “Is he here?”