My run-in with Len played in my head like an endless loop of film. I lived those moments over and over, but regardless of how many times I reviewed the encounter, it ended the same way. Self-preservation being what it is, I wouldn’t have handled myself any differently, but I wondered if there were options that hadn’t occurred to me. My neck still felt like it was caught in a noose. I kept putting a hand against my throat as though to assure myself of my ability to breathe.
I cut over to Chapel and took a right, driving the eight blocks to Paseo Street, where Pinky and Dodie lived. I didn’t think I’d been followed, because why would Len bother? He knew where Pinky lived or if he didn’t, it would be a simple matter to pull up the data on his computer. I wondered if he had me in his sights, playing out enough rope to see if I’d make a beeline for Pinky. But if Len had known where he was, he wouldn’t have had to jump me for the whereabouts of the manila envelope. I checked my rearview mirror, but there was no sign of an approaching car or idlers on the street.
Gamely, I parked, got out of my car, and crossed the street. The front windows in both halves of the duplex were dark. I had no idea which was theirs, but I would soon find out. It was 1:50, sunshine, temperatures in the midseventies, the scent of honeysuckle in the air. The breeze was playful, making it hard to believe there was anything going on that wasn’t purely recreational in nature. But here I was looking for a goofball who thought he was smart enough to pull a fast one on a bad cop. This was probably the same skewed reasoning that got him thrown back in prison every time he got out. It was just my bad luck I liked the guy, but that might have been what Len was counting on when he cut me loose.
The name above the doorbell on the left was Ford, and on the right, McWherter. I rang the Fords’ bell and waited. If I were Dodie or Pinky, I wouldn’t open the door to anyone. I turned and scanned the street first in one direction and then the other. I didn’t see anyone sitting in a parked car, no one slipping furtively through the bushes.
I leaned my head close to the door and knocked. “Dodie? Are you in there? It’s Kinsey, a friend of Pinky’s.”
I waited.
Finally, I heard a muffled “Show me.”
I recognized Dodie’s voice, so I moved over to the living room window that was blocked by drawn drapes. Dodie made a small opening between the panels and stared out at me. A moment later, I heard her turn the deadbolt and slide the chain back on its track. She opened the door a crack and I sidled in. I stood to one side as she reversed the locking process. If Len Priddy decided to come after her, all the locks in the world wouldn’t do any good. He’d bash in the front window and that would be the end of that. I didn’t mention the likelihood, thinking there was no point in scaring her when she was already scared to death.
In the living room to my right, the television set was on with the sound turned down. She put a finger to her lips and then gestured toward the back of the house. We tiptoed down the hall and into the kitchen, during which time I had the opportunity to register the changes in her. She’d been transformed by the weight loss. Pinky had told me she’d dropped sixty pounds and the difference was amazing. Her bright blue eyes had always been her best feature. Now she had a better color on her hair, a better cut, and better makeup as a result of her new occupation. She’d also improved her wardrobe. The outfit she wore-long-sleeve V-neck sweater, well-tailored slacks, and expensive high heels-gave her the elongated look of a fashion model, though Pinky was right about her tush.
When we reached the kitchen, I whispered, “You look great.”
“Thanks,” she whispered back.
“Why are we whispering?”
She held up a finger and wagged it, like I wasn’t supposed to ask. She grabbed a pen and a copy of the newspaper and wrote a note in the margin that said, “Bugged.”
Under her breath, she said, “You must be looking for Pinky. What’s he done now?”
“He’s pissed off a cop named Len Priddy, which is not a good idea.”
“Oh, him,” she murmured. “He stopped by a while ago and I said Pinky’d gone to see you.”
I closed my eyes, suppressing a shriek. No wonder Len had showed up. He’d already spied on Pinky at my office that morning and now she’d steered him right back.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “You know anything about the photographs he stole?”
She blinked. “Photographs?”
I waited, hoping she’d cough up what she knew. “Dodie, you gotta trust me. So far, I’m operating in the dark. I can’t help him unless I know what’s going on.”
“Promise you won’t tell.”
I wanted to roll my eyes. Instead, I crossed my heart with my index finger, swearing fealty for life.
She put a hand across her mouth to shield what she said lest someone looking on from a distance might be skilled in reading lips. As we were indoors, I didn’t see the necessity. I was forced to lean close to hear her since she was already whispering. “There were pictures of me. Mug shots from that time I was picked up for soliciting. Also, the mug shots and police reports from the drunk and disorderly arrest. That cop knows I work for Glorious Womanhood, and if my regional manager finds out I’ve been in jail, I’ll lose my job. She’s already pissed off that I’m beating her sales.”
“Len’s blackmailing you?”
“Not exactly. He’s using the photographs to keep Pinky in line, making sure he reports all the talk on the street.”
“Pinky’s a confidential informant?”
“I suppose. Anyway, he’s destroyed all the stuff on me, so he says Len can go screw himself.”
“Unless Len uses his computer to call up your criminal history and print it out again.”
“Oh.”
“That aside, I still don’t get it. From what Pinky told me, there was a second set of photographs he thought he could use to get himself out of trouble. You know the story there?”
“I do, but he doesn’t know I know so you have to promise you won’t ever let on.”
“I’m already under oath here,” I said.
She wagged a finger at me again and then opened the back door and pulled me out onto the porch. “He borrowed money from a loan shark named Lorenzo Dante and payment’s come due.”
“How much?” Her paranoia was contagious and I couldn’t bring myself to use a normal tone of voice.
“Two thousand dollars. He’s been trying to get the money together, but no luck. He sold his car and pawned the Rolex that came into his possession from an unnamed source. He also hocked my engagement ring, but then got cold feet.”
I thought back to our first meeting, remembering the band of white on his wrist where he’d once worn his watch. It dawned on me then his car hadn’t been in the repair shop at all. By the time he came to me for help, he’d already sold it.
She looked at me anxiously. “I don’t suppose you could lend him the money. He’d pay you back.” She paused and then, in the interest of full disclosure, added, “Eventually.” She had the good grace to blush.
I was offended she’d try dinging me for the bucks, but it’s tough to convey outrage when you’re whispering. “He already owes me two hundred and twenty-five bucks, which is how he got your engagement ring out of hock.”
She squinted at me in disbelief. “He took two hundred dollars for a ring worth three grand?”
“Let’s not worry about that now. What makes the second set of pictures so valuable?”
“I’m not sure. I do know that cop wants to get his hands on ’em.”
“Tell me about it,” I said drily. “Where’s Pinky now?”
“He said it was better if I didn’t know. He said if you came around looking for him you’d figure it out.”
“Oh, great. Did he say anything else?”