‘See you around,’ he says.
‘It’s been a pleasure.’
‘Yeah. A pleasure, man.’ He spits in my roses.
I make a mental note to call Harry, to have him talk to Laurel. Perhaps she is right. Maybe Danny would be better off someplace else for a while.
They’re down the steps, through the front gate, and across the street to a low-slung wagon, a cherry-red Impala with a sound system to rouse the dead. Around the corner I can still hear the boom-boom of base with no treble as they drift away.
‘Friends of yours?’ Dana’s up the steps.
‘Not exactly.’
Before she clears the front door, a black-and-white cruises down the street. She turns in the light of my porch lamp and waves. Then she points in the direction of the boom box, and the cruiser picks up speed, nearly taking the turn on two wheels.
A screaming visit behind red-and-blue lights from those sworn to serve and protect may not cause these guys to widdle in their pants, but they will know they’ve been tagged.
‘I hope they’re not carrying any contraband in the car.’ The way Dana says this makes me think these kids will be talking with bright flashlights in their faces for a while. The professional courtesies of the law-enforcement fraternity.
‘You look awful,’ she says. She touches the side of my face with the softness of her gloved hand, gentle, feathering, like a local anesthetic to my skin.
‘Does it hurt much?’
‘Only when I laugh.’
‘Then we’d better talk about serious things,’ she says.
‘Cup of coffee?’ I ask.
She looks at her watch. ‘Why not? The night’s shot. I have a feeling this is going to take a while.’
Twenty minutes later, over the scent of a freshly brewed French roast, Dana is studying the contents of the note written by Kathy Merlow and the envelope it came in.
The little snapshot I have left in the inside coat pocket of my sport jacket — my trump card — for the moment I keep to myself.
‘It isn’t much to go on,’ she says after reading the note.
‘It’s a lead.’
‘Still, she could have had someone else mail it.’ Dana’s looking at the postmark. ‘I mean, if this woman Kathy Merlow really wants to stay lost, she might have a friend carry the note on vacation and mail it, then wait to collect the item from general delivery and bring it back. That’s what I would do.’
‘Good thing I’m not looking for you,’ I say.
She makes a face, smiles. ‘Just telling you what I’d do.’
‘Anything’s possible. But for the moment the note and that envelope are all I have.’
‘What makes you so sure Merlow knows something?’
‘Because of what I was told by Marcie Reed.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Kathy Merlow knows who killed Melanie.’
‘This Marcie told you this?’
‘She didn’t give me a name. But she did say that it was a hired killer. That Kathy Merlow would have to give me the rest.’
A gray cast comes over Dana’s face. ‘A hired killer? How would Kathy Merlow know that? I mean, I can understand if she saw the killer she might be able to identify him — ’
‘Maybe she didn’t see anything,’ I tell her. ‘Maybe she was told something.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she says.
‘Think about what we know,’ I tell her. ‘We know that Melanie was pregnant at the time of death, and according to Laurel, Jack is not a likely candidate for father.’
‘So Melanie was getting it on with someone else. One or more,’ she says.
‘I’m only concerned about one in particular,’ I say. ‘Someone who lived close to her. Who could slip in and out of the house with apparent ease. Who might know when Jack was out. Who might have been Melanie’s principal sideline squeeze. A friendly neighbor,’ I say.
‘Kathy Merlow’s husband,’ she says.
‘Enter George Merlow.’
‘But how would George know about a hired killer?’
‘What if Melanie was getting worried, concerned that Jack was on to her and George? I know Vega,’ I tell her. ‘He would not put up a good front. Planning something like this, under stress you could read Jack like a book. And Melanie may have had more than a hint. Maybe she stumbled across a note or a phone message that put her in a panic. Not enough to call the cops, but something to keep her up nights. Who is she going to tell? Who would she take into her confidence?’ I say.
‘George.’
I nod. ‘So George is keeping watch, the dutiful lover. And that night he gets an eyeful. He sees the murder. Too late to do anything about it, the thought enters his mind, if Jack was willing to do his wife, he’d be fairly itching to do her lover. George gets scared. He’s got to tell his wife something. He comes clean, tells Kathy, she’s either forgiving or suffers from low esteem, whatever,’ I say.
‘And like that, the two of them are gone,’ she says.
‘You got it.’
‘Why not stay and tell the cops what he knows?’
“’Cuz all he knows is that Melanie had suspicions before she was killed. What can he say? “I was screwing his wife and she suspected he was getting jealous”? While the cops were investigating, if there was a contract already out, George could end up in the crosshairs. Especially if word gets out that he saw the killer. The Merlows weren’t heavily invested in the community. Smart money says to run,’ I tell her.
‘So you need Merlow as a witness?’
‘That’s it. Without him all I have is a lot of circumstance. Attempts to shine some light on another suspect. If that collapses, it’s gonna be a cold hard hunt for mitigation.’
‘If it comes to that, I don’t envy you,’ she says.
Dana’s right. Laurel’s no sobbing spouse or molested child to claim she was battered, the defense of choice in modern America. My sister-in-law is just an ex, after the fact, allegedly out for revenge.
‘There is another possibility. A reason why they might have run,’ she says. ‘How do you know Kathy Merlow or her husband aren’t involved in Melanie’s murder?’
‘I wasn’t sure until today. Think about it. The courier delivers the package. At the same time somebody asks to talk to me at the loading dock. The tooth fairy? My guardian angel?’ I say.
Dana’s a quizzical look.
‘Someone wanted Marcie Reed dead so she couldn’t tell me something. Something about Kathy Merlow. They also wanted me out of harm’s way. People who send letter bombs are not generally that considerate. If they want me alive it’s for a reason. They know I’m looking for the Merlows. I think they’re doing the same thing, and they’re hoping I’ll do their job for them. A lawyer up to his haunches in a murder trial, with access to judicial process to compel the appearance of witnesses. That’s not a bad bird dog,’ I tell her.
‘So you think they want to kill the Merlows?’ she says. ‘Why?’
‘I think whoever killed Marcie Reed pulled the trigger on Melanie Vega and got caught in the act. Somehow the killer found out that he’d been compromised. Now he’s trying to cover his tracks.’
She looks at me, big round eyes.
‘It’s Jack’s style. Trust me. He’d hire somebody to do Melanie. When we check, I’m sure he’ll have six alibis for the night of the murder. Think about it. His wife is pregnant. She’s got a young lover. Jack’s getting ready to do hard time. She wasn’t going to wait for him. A washed-up politician, no future, his money siphoned off by criminal fines. To Jack, Melanie was more of an asset dead than alive. If he could get the kids, a murdered wife, he’d make a bid for sympathy. He was getting ready to play you folks like a piano.’
‘And the bombing? You think Jack had a hand in that?’
‘No. I think matters are now spinning out of control. I think the killer panicked and tried to engage in some free agency to cover his tracks. He got desperate.’
‘And a little sloppy at the post office,’ she says. ‘If what you say is accurate, a few people saw the courier there.’
‘True. Desperate people do stupid things.’
‘And where’s Jack in all of this?’