The Deadly Neighbors (The Zoe Hayes Mysteries) (31 page)

“Okay, Bill.” Susan released his hand and pulled up a chair, placing it directly beside his, invading his space. “Can we sit down, Bill?” She was already sitting. “Let me tell you why we’re here.”

As Susan talked about the dogfight situation in Mount Airy, I breathed through a contraction and looked around the office, noting the family photos on the desk, the diplomas on the wall, the palm tree in the corner, the trappings of a professional man. I noticed, too, how his eyes darted, how his fingers tapped his desk as she spoke. Halfway through, he tried to stop her.

“Actually, we have an ADA assigned to those very cases. He’s working closely with the police, I believe. But you must understand that we need to have solid evidence before we can prosecute, and that’s difficult with organized crime—and make no mistake, that’s what you’re talking about here. Organized crime. These gangs are local, but surprisingly sophisticated. The actual perpetrators are often the lowest guys on the totem pole, far removed from the people at the top. Often, even if we can identify the little guys, they have no idea who’s at the top with all the layers of involvement and responsibility. We might jeopardize a whole investigation if we make an arrest too early, tipping our hand, so to speak. Because, as you well know, Susan, if the police don’t have enough to make an arrest, we don’t have enough to get a conviction.”

“Don’t put this on the cops, Bill—they’re not the ones lagging here. If dogfights were a political priority for the DA, the cops would push these cases.”

Bill smirked and leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “What planet do you live on, Susan? Let’s talk about politics and priorities. The fact is we’re overloaded here. My office handles animal cruelty, but guess what? We also handle rape and sex crimes. Hundreds of cases each year. We’re always backed up, and we have to triage. How do you think the public would react if we let rape and child molestation cases get buried in order to prosecute some guy who raises pit bulls? Face it; animal crimes and illegal gambling don’t arouse the public. If they’re mentioned in the paper at all, they get a small paragraph on page twenty-nine. The DA is elected. We use our resources the way the public wants us to, or we’re out. It’s really that simple.” His voice was gruff, defensive, and his skin pasty The room smelled of his soggy aftershave.

Susan waited for him to finish. Her voice was patient, adamant. “Sorry, no. It’s not that simple, Bill. These fights are linked to a string of homicides.”

“Homicides aren’t really my area—”

“Fine. Then let’s stick to the dogfights. How do you think the public will react when the media report that the DA allows man’s best friend to be routinely brutalized and mutilated or puppies to be tortured—”

“Okay, cool down.” He grabbed his phone and made a call. “Morrison. Come in my office for a minute, can you?” When he hung up, he seemed more relaxed. “ADA Morrison is assigned to these cases. He’ll be right in.”

“I know him.” Susan sounded unimpressed.

“Good. And since he heads up prosecutions of our animal cases, he should be in on this conversation.” Bill leaned back, exhaling, loosening up, smiling, pleased to be passing the buck. “Would either of you like some coffee? Tea? A soda?”

I was thirsty, craved a ginger ale, but before I could answer, Susan offered a definitive “No, thank you.” The pause grew awkward while we waited; Bill tried to fill it by turning to me. “So. Do you work with Ms. Cummings?”

Again, Susan answered before I could open my mouth. “No, actually, this is Zoe Hayes. She’s a witness.”

Bill raised an eyebrow. “A witness? To what, exactly?”

“Among other things,” Susan replied for me, “Ms. Hayes was present at a Mount Airy dogfight Friday night where a man was murdered.”

Bill blinked rapidly as he looked from Susan to me.

“She is also the woman who found the body of a man named Stan Addison in that same neighborhood.”

“Wait, no. That wasn’t gang-related. Didn’t some senile old man shoot that guy?”

“No.” My voice surprised me; I hadn’t heard it all morning, and now I was correcting the ADA. “They don’t know who killed him.”

Bill’s voice was condescending. “As I recall, the victim was found on the old man’s porch, and the geezer still had the gun in his hand. At any rate, that death was not related to animal cruelty or dogfights—”

“You wanted me, Bill?”

Bill’s gaze moved over my head, focusing on someone behind me. “Come in, Morrison. You two have met.”

“Oh, yes. Doug and I go way back.” By her tone, I knew that Susan wasn’t a fan.

“My oh my. Susan Cummings. What brings you here? It can’t be that piddling client you’ve been harassing me about—what’s his name?”

“His name’s Hiram George, and no, I’m not here about him, but—”

“What then? Raising money for the old alma mater? Need a check for the alumni fund?”

Oh. They’d gone to law school together. I turned, curious to see Susan’s smarmy classmate. And immediately, almost fell off my chair. He was in a suit now, not khakis and a polo shirt. But there was no doubt. The man had the same sandy hair, rough acne scars, tortoiseshell glasses. The same preppy demeanor.

No question. ADA Doug Morrison was the man I’d bumped into at the dogfight.

Oh dear. My throat tightened, cutting off my breath. Pretend not to recognize him, I told myself. Act like you’ve never seen him before. Ignore him. Oh, God. Did he recognize me? Did he remember that Molly and I had been the reason that the fight had shut down early? He must, I thought. After all, Susan and I were there to complain about dogfights and related violent crimes. And he’d seen me a few nights ago. Stepped on my foot. Exchanged words. Of course he knew who I was. Oh, man.

Okay, I told myself. Don’t let on that you remember him. Pretend. If he thinks you don’t know him, it might still be okay. So, while Susan talked, I concentrated on her, keeping my face clueless and blank. I didn’t utter a word or as much as glance at Douglas Morrison for the rest of the meeting. I barely took a breath. When we said good-bye, I looked at Bill. When Susan and I walked to the elevator I felt wobbly, but kept on moving, staring straight ahead.

I had no idea what went on at the meeting, how it ended. In my panic I couldn’t hear a word. And I knew, as Susan and I entered the elevator, that it hadn’t mattered whether or not I’d avoided looking at ADA Doug Morrison. I’d felt his eyes on me the whole time.

I
LOOKED FROM
S
USAN
to Nick, Nick to Susan, and saw twins. Identical expressions of doubt and concern.

We sat at a table at the Fifth Street Deli, having lunch. I couldn’t touch my chicken salad. I was too nervous to eat, queasy with fear. As soon as we’d left the DA’s offices, I’d taken Susan into the ladies’ room and frantically told her about Doug Morrison. She’d listened but dismissed what I said, insisting that it couldn’t be true. She’d defended him, not because she knew he hadn’t been at the dogfight, but because she’d known him since law school. Sputtering mad, frustrated with Susan, I called Nick and told him I needed to talk to him. Even though he hadn’t slept yet, he’d come right over, met us for lunch. I repeated for him what I’d told Susan.

“He was at the dogfight.”

Nick blinked at me, half his face wincing. “Are you sure?”

“I can tell you what he was wearing.”

More eye blinks.

“Look, he pushed Molly and me out of the way so he could place a bet. He practically knocked us over, he was in such a hurry; the fight was about to start.”

They both stopped eating and sat still, watching me with furrowed eyebrows and tilted heads. Why? Didn’t they believe me?

“What? You don’t believe me? He was there—”

Susan shook her head, doubtful. “Are you sure it wasn’t just someone who looks like Doug? I mean, Doug’s always been an asshole, but dogfights? I can’t imagine—”

“Susan. He was there. And if I recognized him, you can be sure he recognized me. He must know that I was the infiltrator who caused the fight to shut down early. He definitely knows that I was there. And that I know that he was there.”

Silence. What was the matter with them? Didn’t they see the danger?

Finally, Nick turned to Susan. “Well, if Zoe’s right, it would explain—”

“Wait—,” I cut him off. “What do you mean, ‘if’?” Aha. I’d caught him. “If” meant that he doubted my word.

“Huh?” He seemed confused. “Please don’t go semantic on me, Zoe.”

“It’s not semantics if you don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t believe you—”

“Well, do you believe me?”

He looked away, sighing. “Oh, Mother of God.” He pushed his plate away and leaned his elbows on the table. “What are you talking about? What’s the problem here?”

“The problem is that you doubted what I said.” I was hurt, wanting to lash out and hurt him back. “And you know what? If a man can’t believe a woman, maybe he shouldn’t marry her—”

“Zoe—” Susan gasped.

“Oh, Christ.” Nick grabbed my hand and met my eyes. “Zoe, what the hell? Look. I understand that you’re strung out. I get it. I know that you’re upset. But can’t you accept that maybe—just maybe—the entire world isn’t against you? Maybe you’re hypersensitive?”

“Stop right there, Nick.” I withdrew my hand from his. “Stop blaming everything I say or do on my pregnancy. I know what I saw.”

“I never said you didn’t. I merely suggested that you’re overreacting—”

“Lord Almighty, will you two stop?” Susan put her hands up, a gesture of peace, but I wasn’t pacified. I glared at Nick, who looked right back at me, eyes unwavering.

“Zoe, let me finish what I was about to say before you interrupted. If you are right, it would explain what’s been hindering the dogfight investigations. I wasn’t doubting your word, I was just—”

“—doubting my word,” I finished his sentence for him, steaming. “If” was not merely an introductory word. It was a disclaimer.

“Guys, please,” Susan pleaded. “Zoe, stifle it. You’re not being fair.”

“You know what, Zoe?” Nick reached for his plate, picked up his corned beef sandwich. “Think whatever you want. I’m not going to debate with you about how I phrased my sentence.”

“Fine.” I crossed my arms and sat sulking and childlike, resenting them both. For a few minutes they ate in silence. I watched the door for dogfight club members to barge in and shoot at me, saw two young mothers with preschoolers waiting for a booth. The gunmen would probably not make it past them. Safe for a while, I stared at my chicken salad sandwich, determined not to eat. But as I watched, it began to beckon me, luring me with tender white meat and crisp celery. Okay, I thought. I’ll just take a nibble. I reached for it, took a bite of pure flavorful creaminess on rye. And suddenly the rest of the deli disappeared, and so did all coherent thought. I was completely absorbed in the act of devouring my sandwich, chewing, tasting, feeling, smelling. And, swallowing mouthfuls, I was overwhelmed with a craving for quantities of mayonnaise. I looked around, searching for sources of mayo, dug my fork into Nick’s potato salad and helped myself to a healthy wad. Then another. Delicious. Smooth. Mayonnaise, I thought, was an underrated substance. I’d have to buy some on the way home, wondered why people didn’t eat it plain, by the spoonful.

“So please, just be patient.” Oh. Nick was talking. Apparently, I’d missed the first part, engrossed in condiment appreciation. “Even with your statement, we can’t prove anything yet. And if this guy’s involved and thinks you recognized him—”

“If?” Nick had balls, using that word again. I snapped back to reality. To the danger my life was in.

“Dammit, Zoe. Can I finish what I’m saying?”

“Jesus God.” Susan shook her head, sick of us both.

“If—and, yes, I mean if—he thinks you recognized him, we’ve got trouble. Fact is, even if he didn’t recognize you, we’ve already got trouble from your friend Digger. So, here’s what we’re going to do.”

He waited for me to protest, but I didn’t. Finally, he was addressing the danger I was in.

“First, I’m getting you that bodyguard. Don’t argue about it. It’s not negotiable. I want somebody to be around you whenever I’m not.”

I didn’t argue. A bodyguard sounded fantastic.

“And, beyond that, I think you should take a leave from work.” Before I could open my mouth, he put his hand up to stop me from responding. “Hear me out before you respond. You’re having contractions. Dr. Martin’s advised you to take it easy. But your job—even half-time—is demanding and stressful. And with your father and his house, and Molly, and—if I haven’t blown it by pissing you off—the wedding…”

He kept on talking, but I wasn’t listening. I was studying his face. His eyes were bloodshot, his scar too purple, his skin too pale. Nick’s rugged features seemed hangdog and haggard. He needed to take a leave more than I did.

“Okay. I’ll think about it.” I already had been thinking about it. The half-day schedule wasn’t working for me; basically, it meant doing a whole day’s work in half the time. In a few months, I’d be on maternity leave; I’d begun to think about starting it early. Nick’s eyes widened, surprised that I wasn’t arguing with him. I took his hand, smiling at him.

“… just forget it.” Susan nudged my arm for emphasis. “You won’t have a minute to yourself.” I’d lost track of the conversation again. Susan had said something that I’d missed. What was the matter with me? Why couldn’t I stay focused? “You should grab every chance to rest now, while you can.”

Was she crazy? “How am I supposed to rest with Digger and Doug and the whole dogfight community coming after me?”

Susan closed her mouth and turned to Nick; Nick turned to me. “If this ADA is corrupt, Zoe, he’s going down. So are the dogfights and the people who run them. In the meantime, you’re not alone. We’re going to take care of you.”

I nodded. I didn’t bother to point out that, once again, Nick had prefaced his statement about the ADA with “if.” We all knew that it wasn’t just my imagination or my hormones. Doug had recognized me and knew I meant trouble. I was in real danger. Whether or not Nick and Susan wanted to admit it, they knew that, too. Otherwise, Susan wouldn’t have come running to stay with me in the middle of the night. And Nick wouldn’t have jumped to hire a bodyguard. I could count on Nick and Susan. I loved them both. Suddenly I went all sappy, overcome with affection for the two people at the table with me. Tears swelled in my eyes. Oh, Lord. What was the matter with me? One minute I was cursing them, the next I was ready to slobber them with kisses. Nick was right. I was a bundle of confused, fluctuating hormones.