Dirty Blonde (37 page)

“Don’t be so sure. If you’d let me tell you what I—”

“And what do you mean, it doesn’t matter what happened to you? Russo’s guilty of attempted murder. We have procedures.
Laws.
” Nesbitt looked stricken, his mouth opening, forming a circle like an open wound. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to
you
, a
judge.
”

“You are, and for once, I’m using my judgment. Russo wasn’t a menace to society, he was a menace only to me, because he thinks I killed his friend. And Russo isn’t the point, Marz is. Simone is. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I know what I’m doing. We have to find out who killed Simone and Marz and bring them in.”

“We
know
who killed them!” Nesbitt raised his voice again. “That case is cleared because I cleared it. You’re not a detective. I am.”

The elevator doors opened onto a wide-eyed group of people, who’d evidently been able to hear the argument. Cate flushed and Nesbitt gestured her out without another word. They headed through the crowd for the exit doors, feeling a chilly blast that came only partly from the doors being opened and closed. People streamed out, tugging on knit hats, buttoning up winter coats, and wrapping themselves in overlong mufflers before they hit the sidewalk. A couple of teenagers came in, carrying white bags of McDonald’s that trailed the warm scent of fresh French fries.

“Where’re you parked?” Nesbitt asked calmly, when they got outside to the sidewalk. She walked next to him, their shoulders distant, their footsteps hitting the cold concrete on the way to the parking lot. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“No, it isn’t. I want to make sure you leave.”

Or not.
Cate’s mouth went dry. “In the lot across the street, at the hotel.”

Nesbitt held a hand up to stop a station wagon and waved Cate across the street.

“If you’d listen, I could tell you what I learned today, from Sarah Marz and George Hartford.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“You might be persuaded.”

“I won’t be. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Fine.”

“Good.”

Cate crossed the median slightly behind Nesbitt, feeling hollow inside. The night had fallen a frigid, starless black, the moon hiding. The massive concrete Civic Center sat on her right, an empty edifice looming in the dark, and the University Museum was on her left, with its ornate dome designed by Frank Furness, oddly exotic in this American cityscape. The Penn Hotel lay straight ahead, a tall column of bright yellow windows, and the garage was off to its right.

Cate said, “You know Micah Gilbert, Simone’s assistant? I think she did it.”

Nesbitt kept walking.

“I think she had an affair with Simone, and he ended it when the trial was over. In fact, the moment the trial was over. And she was hurt and angry, and went and shot him. Then she set Marz up for the murder. He would be the perfect candidate, given what had happened in the courtroom, and he was drunk enough that she could overpower him.”

“How would she know where Marz was?”

“She called him on his cell. Marz had a cell phone and he wasn’t found with it on him. Micah had access to Simone’s files, so she would know Marz’s cell number.”

Nesbitt didn’t respond.

“I think she called Marz and said she had to meet him. That she had something important to tell him, maybe inside information that would help in an appeal. Or just good, old-fashioned dirt on Simone.”

“Can you walk a little faster? I want to get back to Russo, Judge.”

Judge. I’ve been demoted.
“What do you think of my theory?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I think you’re wrong and I’m right.”

Hmph
. “Well, I think I’m right and you’re wrong.”

“Great.”

“Fine.” Cate buttoned her coat against the cold. She must have been crazy to think anything could happen between them. If he had been interested in her, he certainly wasn’t any longer. Anyway, they were too different by nature, and now they stood on opposite sides of the fence. She followed him onto the sidewalk, crossing to the entrance to the parking garage. Nesbitt’s slowing cadence posed a tacit question.

Cate answered, “I’m on the first floor.”

“What’re you driving?”

“A rental.” Cate walked ahead, and Nesbitt let her pass, his features impassive in the semidarkness. A group of businesspeople came out of the lot, laughing and talking, a fluorescent light flickering like an inner-city strobe on their padded shoulders and cashmere topcoats. Cate led the way to her car, digging in her purse on the fly. She found her keys with less rummaging than usual, stopped at the back fender of the Acura, and looked up at Nesbitt, who eyed her, his mouth tilted down unhappily.

“This you?” he asked.

“Yes. Thanks for the walk.”

“Stay outta trouble, Judge.” Nesbitt turned on his heel, his trench coat catching a cold blast as he walked away, the soles of his shoes scuffing the gritty concrete of the parking lot.

So be it.
Cate didn’t watch him go, keeping the melodrama to a minimum. She chirped the car open and got inside. The interior was freezing, the leather seats chilly against the back of her legs. She turned the key in the ignition, backed out of the space, and went up the ramp to find the exit sign, in that counterintuitive way of parking lots, then drove down to the exit. She stopped at the white kiosk, equipped with crappy TV, paid the fee to a young cashier talking on a cell phone, and was about to drive forward when her headlights swung onto the figure of a man.

Nesbitt
.

Cate slowed to a stop, and Nesbitt hurried toward her car, yanking open the passenger-side door, folding himself into the seat, and turning to her.

“I’m sorry I treated you that way,” Nesbitt said, his tone still louder than usual. “I do want to hear what you think you learned, but not now. I’m too pissed off to hear you now.” Nesbitt met her eye in the semidarkness. “If you want, when I calm down, maybe by tomorrow night, I can take you to dinner and we’ll talk all about your theory. How’s that?”

Whoa
. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“What do you think? You think I
like
to follow you all over creation?” Nesbitt threw up his hands. “You think I like driving after you to your friend’s? To the hospital? You think I went up to Centralia for my
health
?”

Cate felt a warm rush of emotion. Nesbitt was really sweet. And he knew the whole truth about her, all that awful stuff, and he still wanted to date her. For a minute, Cate didn’t know what to say.

“This is more than a job to me, obviously,” Nesbitt said, his tone softer. “You know that.
You’re
more than a job to me. I care about you. I hate what you’re going through, what you’ve been through.” Nesbitt paused, looking at her. “Maybe we can have some dinner?”

Cate felt her throat catch. “Yes.”

Nesbitt smiled. “Excellent.”

It fell suddenly quiet in the car. They sat together in near darkness. Nesbitt’s face was one foot from hers. Cate could feel him breathe. She suddenly realized she knew nothing about romance. He should be kissing her, but he wasn’t. “Aren’t you gonna kiss me?” she asked, after a minute.

Nesbitt grinned. “Not yet,” he answered as he turned away, opened her car door, and climbed out, leaning over and peeking through the open door, letting in a gust of cold air.

Cate laughed, surprised.

“Pick you up tomorrow night at eight. Good night.” Nesbitt closed the door and gave it a slap, and Cate laughed again, then gave him a wave as she drove away.

She hit the street and turned left, heading back toward the city, feeling happy and excited. She was definitely on to something, after what she had learned from Russo. She knew the next logical step to take. If she could find out more, then she’d have more of a case to present tomorrow night, to get Nesbitt to reopen. She had a lot to do and she felt oddly adrenalized. Maybe because she was getting closer to the real killer, or because she was proving Nesbitt wrong. Or maybe it was Nesbitt’s not-a-kiss.

She hit the gas.

CHAPTER 45

PISTOL RANGE IN REAR, read the blue neon sign, and Cate pulled up in front of the gun shop just as a man was locking the door. She had come straight to the gun shop in Old City and had gotten here just in time. If Micah were going to buy a gun, this had to be the place. The shop was only blocks from her office and apartment.

Cate switched off the ignition and jumped out of the car, shouting, “Excuse me! Please don’t close!”

“What?” The man turned from the door, his steel key ring still in the lock. A security spotlight shone above him, showing an immensely beefy six-footer. The man’s head was shaved, his bumps in bas-relief under the bright light, and he wore only a red Sixers windbreaker, despite the cold.

“Please! Wait!” Cate dashed around the car to the big man. Traffic rushed behind them on four lanes.

“Lady, you need a gun that bad?”

“Uh, yes, I do.” Cate wanted information, not weaponry, but she hadn’t had time to get a story in order. His assumption was as good as any. “Yes, I need a gun.”

“Wait a minute.” The man looked down at her. Up close, he looked about thirty years old, with large dark eyes and thick lips with a scar that vanished when he smiled, like now. “I know you. You’re that judge, been in the papers.”

Rats.
“Yes, that’s me.” Cate introduced herself and stuck out her hand, and he shook it without crushing it.

“Lou Behrens.”

“Pleased to meet you, Lou.” Cate had to find a way to use it to her advantage. “So then you know that I’ve been getting a lot of publicity. My house was broken into, and I need protection. I can’t go another night without a gun.” She tried to sound like a damsel in distress, which she had seen on TV. “I feel so unsafe. Please, can you stay open a little? I won’t take long, I promise.”

“Well, okay,” Lou answered, his voice softer, and Cate started to think sexism had been getting a bad rap.

“Thanks so much. I appreciate it.”

“But you can’t buy a gun and start blastin’ away, you understand.” Lou twisted the key ring in the lock, setting it jingling, and opened the front door. “You have to take lessons. Learn firearm safety. We have classes on Saturdays and some weeknights.”

“I will, I will. I just want to have a gun tonight, so I can sleep better. Just in case.”

“Come on in, let’s see what we can do for you.” Lou flicked the switch, turning on old-fashioned fluorescent lights. He ushered Cate inside, then closed the door behind her and headed toward a doorway on the left. “Wait here while I turn off the burglar alarm.”

“Sure, thanks.” Cate looked around at a rectangular store that seemed almost stop-time. Old glass display cases framed with real wood flanked the room on either side, and ancient red-and-black linoleum tile covered the center aisle. On the right wall hung an array of dusty flags, a faded blue one that read COLT and next to it a sun-bleached yellow for RUGER. Under the flags, at least fifty antique guns had been mounted on cheap pegboard, leading to a rack of modern rifles lined butt down in the back, next to a room closed off with bars and padlocks. The air smelled vaguely of dirt and stale cigarettes, like a hardware store with attitude.

“Step over here, Judge,” Lou said, reemerging from the doorway. He set the store keys on the glass top with a clatter and went behind the counter on the left. A grimy cash register sat at the end of the counter, and the wooden shelves behind were filled with stacks of colorful boxes that read American Eagle, in cherry red and white; Winchester, in tomato red; and Remington, in kelly green and chrome yellow. It looked like a cute and cheery display until Cate realized the boxes contained bullets. She shuddered, thinking of the heat that had whizzed past her cheek last night. It reminded her of her purpose.

“So what’s a good gun for girls?”

“A girl gun?” Lou smiled, his scar dissolving into sweetness. “You mean pink? Or like these with the mother-of-pearl handle?” He waved a hand at some smaller guns, their whitish handles shining with opalescence.

“I mean a gun you’d sell to a woman, for example.” Cate leaned over the counter, which displayed an array of guns on top of their boxes. She skimmed the brands: Beretta, Colt, Rossi.
Rossi
. That was the gun that was the murder weapon. She remembered the name because it sounded like Russo. “What do you think about those Rossi guns?”

“The revolver? Good choice.” Lou reached for the keys, unlocked the back of the counter door, and plucked the gun from the top of its blue box. He pocketed the keys, brought out the gun, set it on the counter in front of Cate. “This is a good basic gun. It would be a fine choice for you.”

“Revolvers don’t have safeties,” Cate said, for lack of something better. How could she find out if Micah had bought this gun from him?

“Don’t worry about that. You don’t need a safety on a revolver. It takes some doing to squeeze off a shot. Check it out for yourself. Pick it up and squeeze.”

Cate hefted the heavy gun and pressed the trigger, which made a loud
click
. “I see what you mean. The other judges already have guns. I don’t want to be the last judge on my block to get one.”

Lou laughed.

“Judge Sherman told me he likes the gun he got, but I don’t know if he got his here. Do you know?”

Lou set his scarred lips. “I shouldn’t say, to be honest with you. We keep our customers strictly confidential. Nobody will know from me that you got your gun here.”

Great
.

“But on the QT, I can tell you that the Common Pleas Court judges shop here and most of the Sixers. A few Eagles, too. We sell to police, also. We’re responsible. That’s why I say you have to have the lessons.”

“Cops buy this gun? I thought you said it was a girl gun.”

“Men use it, too, of course. It’s one of our bestsellers. It’s on TV all the time. Gangster gun of choice.” Lou ran a thickly ridged fingernail along the glistening silvery chamber, with its perfectly machined indentations. “Leaves no casings behind to identify the gun. Not like a semiauto.”