Detective Head dug in his pocket and pulled out one of the mint toothpicks. I held off on any remarks about comparative phallic symbolism here.
“You just don’t realize what shit you’re really in, do you, Dodd?” he said.
I snorted. But actually I did fully understand the severity of the situation.
I was being framed for murder.
And well, even on the best of days, that sucked.
“You all right, Dix?” Dylan asked.
“Fine.”
Detective Head did a dramatic double take. “All right? You want to know if she’s all right? Let’s see what we got here. Obsessed, love-sick stalker who not only followed the husband of the murder victim around for a week taking pictures, taping conversations, crying herself to sleep, wringing her hands and moaning ‘why me’—”
I growled. I mean, I growled. This guy was pulling my chain and it was working. I would have liked nothing better than to rip a strip off him. And unfortunately that just would not do. Not now, at least. Beside me, Dylan tensed. I could tell he wanted to rip something off Detective Head himself. I shot him a look that said ‘wait’, and thankfully, he picked it up.
Detective Head continued, “And now what do we find in the possession of this lonely spinster? The very same gun that killed Jennifer Weatherby.”
“We don’t know that it’s the gun that killed Jennifer, Detective. That’s merely what I’ve speculated. And as I told you, that gun was left in my car by the woman who came into the office posing as Jennifer Weatherby. That’s the woman you should be harassing, not me.”
“Right,” he said sarcastically. “And you just happen to be the only one to have seen her.”
“I saw her,” Dylan answered.
“Today?” Detective Head asked, but he knew the answer. “You saw this blond today as she put the gun in the car? As she tried to run down your boss?”
Dylan shook his head. “No. Not today. I saw her the day she came into the office. But, holy hell, just look at—”
Dickhead’s lip curled. “Let’s move this party along, shall we? We’ll get to the bottom of this downtown. I got a nice cozy interview room I can house you in until we get around to asking you a few questions.”
Downtown? This I couldn’t allow.
If Detective Head got me locked up, I could be there for days. As long as he could possibly keep me. And I had no doubt that during my detention, the Flashing Fashion Queen would keep her blond self busy planting more evidence against me. If this woman was to be caught, it was going to have to be by me.
Thus there was no way in hell I could go downtown. I sent a sideways look at Dylan, who, with an almost non-existent flash of eye contact and a barely perceptible nod, signaled his understanding.
“Okay, fine,” I said. “I’ll be thrilled to ride downtown with you and answer your questions. But first, I have some business to take care of in the office, some stuff I need to hand off to my associate before I go. It’ll only take a few minutes. So if you’d take the bracelets off….” I angled myself to present my cuffed hands to Detective Head.
He raised an eyebrow. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because no one’s arrested me yet?”
The toothpick bobbed. “I could rectify that. Hell, I probably will.”
“Come on, Detective,” Dylan interjected. “I appreciate you guys felt you were coming into a potentially hairy situation, so I understand cuffing her until you secured the scene. But everything’s under control now. No firearms, no resistance. Dix consented to the search of her car, and has said she will answer questions. You don’t need to arrest her and you sure as hell don’t need handcuffs.”
“Whether to cuff or not is my call, and mine only.”
“Precisely,” Dylan agreed. “But you’re supposed to use the minimum force necessary to accomplish the mission. Do you really think you need handcuffs to get Dix downtown?”
“Huh!” I put in. “He probably figures he has to cuff a woman to get her in the car with him.”
“Dix,” Dylan warned, putting me behind him.
Detective Head’s eyes bulged, and his jaw clamped so tight, I’m sure I heard his molars cracking. But after a few seconds, he produced his keys and removed the bracelets. “Ten minutes, Dix. If you’re not back down here by then, I’ll drag you out.”
“Okay, ten minutes.” I grabbed Dylan’s arm and we headed for the office. “See you then.”
“Hold your horses there, Dixiepicker.”
I stopped in my tracks. “Oh, what now!” With a huff of exaggeration, I turned toward him again.
Detective Head took the toothpick out of his mouth long enough to bark an order at one of his junior boys in blue. “Go with them. Make sure she comes back out.”
“Come on, Detective,” I said. “You can trust me.”
He couldn’t of course, but that wasn’t the point.
“Not as far as I could throw you, Dodd.”
I chose to make that statement a reflection on his manly strength rather than my size. “Fine!” I shouted at the young officer. “Just hurry up, Junior, I have work to do.”
I felt half bad when the young guy paled.
“On second thought,” Dickhead said. “Why don’t I escort you myself? Yeah, that would work much better.”
Damn.
I’d left the office door open, but pretended to fumble with keys in the lock so I could cast another look at Dylan. This is where a smart employee would start rethinking his commitment to his employer and start thinking about covering his own ass. But what I saw in his eyes was a clear, steady message. I’m with you, Dix. And oh, Jesus God, my throat got all tight and painful again.
While Detective Head waited behind us, I winked at Dylan in what I hoped he would interpret as an I-have-a-plan message.
The moment we walked into my outer office, I turned to Dylan. “Get my lawyer on the phone.”
“Now wait, Dodd—”
“I know my rights, Detective. And yeah, I know yours too. You can take me downtown and I’ll go. I’ll answer any and all your questions, but be damned if I will be downtown without my lawyer waiting there. I have the right to call her, and I’m calling her now. Dylan’ll get her on the phone.”
I didn’t have a lawyer. And of course Dylan knew this too.
“Sure thing, Dix.”
Dylan sat down at his desk, picked up the phone, and starting pushing buttons — to nowhere.
I walked from the outer office into my own.
Dickhead had never been into my office. I didn’t care about the dust in the corners, or the clutter on my desk. I didn’t give a rat’s ass what he thought about the one aloe vera plant dead in front of the window. But I knew that his presence, rather than one of the junior officer’s, would make my disappearing act harder.
“Geez, Dixie,” he said, “what stinks in here?”
“Funny,” I answered, crinkling my nose. “Didn’t smell a thing till you walked through the door yourself.”
He chuckled. Which meant he felt he could afford to chuckle. “You got ten minutes, Dodd,” he said. “Then it’s downtown with me.”
He studied my desk. As I’ve said, I didn’t give a rat’s ass about the mess left there, but I didn’t want him to see my notes. As if reading my mind, Dickhead picked up the yellow legal pad off the desk. He snarled/laughed/made some guy guttural sound. “What do you do here all day, Dix,” he asked eyeing the pad, “draw dirty pictures?”
He truly was an asshole. I ripped the pad from his hand. “These notes are none of your business.”
“If it concerns this case, it is.”