I threw out the cup of decaf. For this, I’d need caffeine.
I dosed grounds into a portafilter, tamped, clamped, and pulled two shots. Then I poured the double into a cup and took it with me to face Mike across the marble bar.
“What... exactly did he tell you?”
“That someone mugged your ex-husband’s friend in your back alley. Why didn’t you call the police?”
“You’re the police. And you’re here.”
“But you didn’t call me.”
“Matt’s friend... he didn’t want to report the incident.”
“Why?”
“There are issues.”
“What issues?”
I took another hit of caffeine. “I don’t know yet, but Matt promises he’ll tell me later.”
Mike’s gaze didn’t waver. “Be careful, Clare.”
“Of what?”
“A man who doesn’t want to report a crime is usually a criminal himself.”
I folded my arms. “Ric’s the victim here, not the criminal.”
Mike didn’t try to argue; he simply continued drinking his coffee.
“We’re going into business with this man, you see? He’s the one who made that breakthrough with the decaffeinated plant I mentioned....” I was trying to project confidence, but I could tell I was coming off defensive. “It’s really an amazing thing, you know, for the trade? And Matt’s known Ric for almost his entire life.”
Mike glanced away. “Matt’s not exactly pure as the driven snow.”
“That’s not fair. I mean, okay... I wouldn’t call him an innocent lamb, but Matt’s definitely no criminal. And I don’t appreciate the snow crack.” I closed my eyes and held up my hand. “Don’t say it. I already know... crack is also a term for cocaine.”
Mike drank more latte. “So what do you think happened?”
“I’m not supposed to discuss it with you.”
“Solve a few homicides and you’re flying solo, huh?”
“I made a deal with Matt. He agreed to take Ric to St. Vincent’s ER now and tell me everything later—”
“—as long as you keep the details from me.”
“What are you, a mind reader?”
“Some people are an open book.”
“Meaning me? Now you sound like my ex-husband.”
“Ouch.”
“Listen,” I leaned on the coffee bar, closing the distance between us. “Since you already know the basics, I don’t see any harm in talking hypothetically.”
“Hypothetical is my middle name.”
“I thought it was Ryan.”
“Aw, Clare... you remembered.”
“Have you ever heard of a mugger using a prerecorded message?”
The detective put down his nearly empty latte glass. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
I shook my head.
“I’ve had voices mechanically distorted in extortion cases, but never a street mugger. Not in my experience.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Mike’s lips twitched. “What else do you think?”
“If the mugger didn’t want his or her voice recognized, then Ric might have recognized it, right? Which means—”
“Ric already knows this person.”
“Or...” I murmured, “he’s about to know this person.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Ric’s in town for the ICGE—it’s an international trade show for the coffee industry. Later this week he’s announcinghis horticulture breakthrough, and it’s going to shake up a lot of people.”
“What does ‘shake up’ translate to? Will it ruin them?”
“No... at least not right away. Ric’s deal is exclusive with the Village Blend, and we’re a premium product. Something like this won’t change the mass market for years. This discovery shouldn’t be a total shock, either.”
“Why not?”
“People have been working on creating a viable decaffeinated plant for a little while now—the interest was negligible at first but the percentage of decaf drinkers has skyrocketed in the last fifty years. It was something like three percent in the sixties, now it’s close to twenty, and—”
“You don’t have to tell me. It’s a very old song, where there’s a market, there’s interest in exploiting it.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Love it or hate it, so goes the capitalist formula for progress.”
“So who’s competing with your friend?”
“Some scientists in Hawaii are doing field tests on a genetically engineered decaffeinated plant. And back in 2004, there were rumors that Brazilian scientists from the Universidade Estadual de Campinas had identified a naturally decaffeinated Ethiopian coffee plant.”
“What happened there? Why wasn’t that a success?”
“Ethiopia supposedly raised issues over the ownership and that was the last anyone heard of it—the quality of those beans is still an unknown.”
“Is Ric associated with that discovery?”
“No. Ric’s living in Brazil now, but Matt tells me he did his own experimentation. He’s been interested in botany since he hung out here at the Blend back in college.”
“He went to college here?”
“He came as an exchange student from Costa Gravas for a year or so. He lived in the Village and took classes at NYU and Cornell, I think.”
“I thought you said he was from Brazil.”
“He and his family are living in Brazil now, but he was born and raised on Costa Gravas.”
“Where is that? Central America?”
“It’s a small Caribbean nation, near Jamaica, Spanish and English speaking. It was a British colony, which explains Ric’s surname. His father’s side held land there for generations. But now the island is independent and self-governing. Ric’s family left and went to Brazil. They reestablished their coffee farm there.”
“Don’t you know why his family left?”
“Not really. Matt and I were divorced when it happened, and I lost touch with Ric... until now.”
“What kind of a guy is he, would you say?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is he the kind who makes a lot of enemies? Does he have a temper? A short fuse?”
“No. The man’s as easygoing as they come. Five minutes after the mugging he was telling my daughter how beautifully she grew up.”
“If he’s not one to make personal enemies—”
“I didn’t say that... I don’t know him well enough, and...”
“What?”
“He’s a pretty smooth operator with women. At least he used to be, back in the day.”
Mike nodded. “Would he sleep with a married woman?”
“I don’t know...”
“Crimes of passion are at the top of the charts in my caseload.”
“I know... but it seems more likely that someone’s after Ric’s research.”
“As well as his life?”
“I don’t know that Ric’s life is in danger. The mugger stole his hotel room keycard. But this person might have taken his wallet too—the mugging was interrupted.”
“How?”
“I’m pretty sure a police siren spooked the mugger first, and then when this robber came back, I was there with Ric.”
“Then you saw the mugger?”
“No. Before I had the chance, I was introduced to our back wall.” I lifted my bangs, showing Mike my bruised forehead.
“God, Clare...”
I dropped my bangs, but he reached out to lift them again. With one hand, he held back my hair. With the other, he tested the bruise’s discolored edges. The rough pads of his fingers were gentle, but the injury was sore.
I winced.
“Sorry...” he whispered. “Damn that ex-husband of yours. He should have called 911.”
Mike appeared to continue examining the bruise, but the affectionate way he kept stroking my hair was starting to scramble my brains. He just wouldn’t stop touching me, and for a moment I lost my voice along with my train of thought.
“It’s okay,” I finally managed. “Ric was the one who needed the ER. He was pistol-whipped pretty badly. When I first found him, he was unconscious.”
Mike’s hand released my chestnut bangs, but he didn’t pull away. Slowly, gently, he began to curl locks of hair around my ear. As his blue eyes studied my green ones, he seemed to be thinking something over. Then one finger drew a line down my jaw, stopping beneath my chin.