“That leaves his house,” Bellamy said quietly. When he and Dent turned to her, she added, “I know where he lives.”
“No wonder you know his address,” Dent said as he turned onto the street. “You hail from the same ritzy neighborhood.”
The Lystons’ estate where she’d grown up was several streets over. “Don’t hold that against me.”
“You ever been inside Rupe’s place?”
She shook her head. “After Strickland’s conviction, my parents were invited to his Christmas open house three years in a row. They declined each time, and I guess he and his wife finally got the message, because the invitations stopped coming.”
Rupert Collier’s limestone house sat on a rise of sprawling lawn with well-tended grass, centuries-old live oak trees, and lush flower beds. Parked at the curb in front of it was an Austin PD squad car.
Dent asked, “What do you think?”
“They’re probably here to discourage the media from storming the castle.” She gave it a moment’s thought, then said, “I have an idea. Pull up and get out like we’re expected.”
He parked at the curb directly behind the police car. As soon as he cut his engine, two officers alighted and approached their car from each side.
“Your idea doesn’t include jail time, does it?” he asked.
“I hope not.” She pushed open her car door and got out, smiling brightly at the policemen. “Hello. We’re here to see Mr. Collier.”
One of the officers said, “Sorry, ma’am. His house is off limits to visitors.”
“But we have an appointment.”
“You media?”
“Hardly,” she said around a light laugh. “We’re personal acquaintances.”
One officer squinted at her, looking more closely. “Aren’t you the lady who wrote the book?”
“That’s right. Mr. Collier helped me when I was researching the legal aspects of it.”
The two officers exchanged a look across the hood of her sedan. The one standing nearer to Dent stared into his face as though trying to see past the dark lenses of his sunglasses so he could determine the reason for the bruises. Dent acted supremely unfazed by the scrutiny.
Turning back to address her, the cop said, “Mr. Collier didn’t mention to us that he expected anybody this evening.”
“Well in light of his getting beat up, our appointment might have slipped his mind. Wasn’t that just awful?” She flattened her hand against her chest. “I hope y’all catch the person who assaulted him.”
“You can bet we will, ma’am.”
“Oh, I have no doubt of it. In any case, I’m sure Rupe… uh, Mr. Collier… will want to see us. In fact, he asked for the meeting. I have some vital information for him about Dale Moody and Jim Postlewhite.”
Dent, who was standing in the open wedge of the driver’s door, jerked his head in her direction, but his surprised reaction went unnoticed by the two police officers, who were fixated on her.
One gave his partner an inquisitive look, and when his partner said, “Better let him know,” the first said, “Wait here,” and started up the walk toward the house.
Bellamy smiled up at the other, the one who’d recognized her. “Have you read Low Pressure?”
“My wife bought it when she read that it was based on a true crime that occurred here. Must be good. She hasn’t put it down since she started it.”
Bellamy smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”
While engaged in this conversation, she was also well aware of the one taking place at the front door of Rupe’s house. After a brief exchange, the officer made a gesture as though tipping his hat to Rupe, then he turned away from the door and motioned them forward. “He says it’s okay.”
After thanking the officer with whom she’d been chatting, Bellamy went around the hood of the car, and she and Dent started up the walk. Under his breath, he asked, “When did you become an eyelash-batting, breathless Texas belle?”
“When I needed to.”
“Why haven’t you ever tried it on me?”
“Because I didn’t need to.”
“And who the hell is Jim Postlewhite?”
“Trust me.”
That was all she had time to say. They were now within earshot of the front door, where Rupe Collier stood waiting. The damage done to his face was so extensive that if he hadn’t peeled back his swollen lips and smiled, he would have been unrecognizable. The teeth were unmistakable even rooted in red, puffy gums.
“Well, well, look who the cat dragged in!” The false bonhomie was for the benefit of the police officer, who stood aside for Bellamy and Dent so they could proceed across the threshold and into the two-story vestibule. “Thank you, Officer.”
Rupe waved him off and closed the front door, then turned to them, his smile still in place. “You thought I’d be angry, didn’t you? Fit to be tied that you finagled your way in here?” Laughing, he shook his head. “Actually, I’m tickled to see you. Come in.”
He walked past them and motioned that they follow. The hallway was wide and long and dotted with area rugs of marginal quality. From the vaulted ceiling hung three massive chandeliers better suited to a Spanish castle. The rooms they walked past were ostentatiously decorated.
Finally they arrived at a den that was more tastefully furnished and actually looked like it was lived in rather than there just for show. It had a wall of windows overlooking a limestone terrace and a sparkling swimming pool with a fountain in its center.
Rupe motioned them toward a sofa. “Have a seat.”
They sat down side by side. On the coffee table in front of them lay today’s issue of EyeSpy. The picture of them taken on the apartment-building balcony comprised one-third of the front page.
“Worth a thousand words. At least,” Rupe said.
Bellamy tried to appear unaffected by both the photo and his remark, which was difficult to do when he was wearing a hyena’s grin and bobbing his eyebrows suggestively.
“My wife is out of town, and I gave the housekeeper time off, so I can’t offer you anything except a cold drink.”
“No, thank you.”
Dent, whose jaw looked carved of granite, shook his head.
Rupe sat in an easy chair adjacent to the sofa. He said to Bellamy, “Congratulations on your best seller.”
“I doubt that you’re that happy about it.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She stared him down, saying nothing.
Eventually his smile turned sheepish. “Okay, I was a little put off that you didn’t portray the ADA as a more dashing figure, especially since I’d granted you an interview while you were writing the book. The prosecutor should’ve been the hero. He brought the criminal to justice.”
Speaking for the first time, Dent said, “Did he?”
Rupe’s sly gaze slid over to him. “I thought I did.” He leaned forward slightly. “Or are you ready to confess? Did you come here today to bring me Susan’s panties?” Dent was off the sofa like a shot, but Bellamy grabbed a handful of his shirttail and pulled him back down.
The car dealer laughed. “I see you’re still a hothead with a short fuse. Not that I’m surprised. Leopards don’t change their spots. What’d you do, lose your temper in the cockpit? Is that why you almost crashed that airliner?”
Bellamy jumped in before Dent could respond. “That you even asked Dent if he wants to confess is an indication that you weren’t convinced of Allen Strickland’s guilt.”
Rupe leaned back in his chair and placed his hands on the padded armrests, as relaxed and confident as a potentate on his throne. “Sure I was.”
“Was Detective Moody?”
Rupe snuffled with disgust. “He might’ve been if he’d been thinking with a clear head.” Looking at Dent, he said, “You should know better than me what a drunken brute he was. The screwdriver? He told me about that. And not with remorse.” Shaking his head sadly, he said, “The man was a blight on our fine police force.”