Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set) Blake Banner (read out loud books txt) 📖

I went to stand, but stopped. “One last question, D’Angelo. Were you Hennessy’s private secretary back when Shelly Pearce interviewed her about the Thorndike murder?”

He frowned. “Yes. I have been with the senator for twelve years.”

“Right.” I smiled wolfishly at him. “But I bet you get to see Pearce often now, huh? Tell me something, is she as good-looking in person as she is in her pictures?”

He looked at me in mild disgust. “I am really not qualified to answer that question, Detective Stone. Now if there is nothing else…”

“C’mon! We’re guys. Don’t be so uptight! Is she a looker? Huh? I heard she likes to drink! Did she ever come on to you?”

“Ms. Pearce is a perfect lady, Detective Stone, and her behavior has always been exemplary. Now I am really going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Fine! We’re going!” I stood and pointed my finger at him like a gun. “But I’ll be waiting for that call. Don’t make me do anything your boss will regret. You got me?”

“I understand! Good day, detectives!”

We rode the elevator down to the lobby. All the way I was smiling. When we got to the big doors it was already getting dark and the headlamps and the traffic lights were spilling over the wet blacktop like broken Jell-O.

“Come on, Dehan, let’s beat the rush hour. We’ll check in at the station, then do some shopping and head to my place. Whaddya say?”

She nodded and we ran through the rain to the car and clambered in. As she closed the door, she said, “You want to tell me what all that sexist misogynist crap was about?”

I smiled. “Sure, I thought you’d get it. I wanted to know if Shelly Pearce was a regular visitor to Hennessy’s place. She said she only knew her in passing because they moved in the same social circle. Seems, according to D’Angelo, that it’s a little more than that.”

I turned the key and listened to the comfortable rumble of the big old engine. “Rittoo Glasshoppa must rearn to trust ancient Sensei.”

“You’re deep, Sensei. I have to hand it to you. You are one deep son of a bitch.”

I chuckled and pulled out into the dark, wet flow of cars. “Well, gee, Dehan! Thanks!”

Her face suddenly lit up. “Say! You want I should make moussaka? We have time today!”

“Sounds good to me!”

“Yeah! We’ll make moussaka!”

And we moved off, toward the Bronx.

Twelve

Back at the station, I was half expecting Inspector Newman to call us up to his office and chew my nuts off for giving the senator a hard time. The chances were pretty good that Hennessy’s attorneys would make an official complaint. I had rattled her cage and I had to expect her to spit at me a bit. But when we went up to report to him, Newman listened quietly to our slightly edited story and nodded when we’d finished. By the looks of it, the mighty Hennessy war machine had not rolled into action after all. That was interesting in itself. He shrugged and said, “Well, as long as you are doing it by the book and there is no serious comeback for the precinct, that is fine by me. What is your take on it?”

I thrust out my bottom lip and stared at Dehan, who raised her eyebrows. I let her answer. “It’s hard to say at this stage, sir. Until we get a better idea of what happened to the article and the laptop, it is all conjecture. We are hoping that Senator Hennessy can cast some light on that for us.”

“Yes, admirably sensible approach. I applaud you both. Keep me posted.”

We thanked him and made our way down the stairs. At our desks, as we were closing down our computers and collecting up our stuff, Sergeant Maria Lopez came in carrying a manila envelope.

“Detective Stone. A letter came for you while you were out.”

I took it, thanked her, and stuck it in my pocket. Dehan glanced at me as she stuffed her laptop in her bag. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

I shook my head. “I’ll look at it at home, while you’re cooking, darling.”

She spluttered. I grinned at her and wondered what the hell I was doing. A couple of the guys glanced up as we left and I heard laughter behind us as we stepped back out into the evening.

We stopped at Kmart, on Bruckner Boulevard, to get some wine and some ingredients, then drove on to my house on Haight Avenue.

I lit a fire and poured two martinis while Dehan went upstairs to dry her hair and change into dry clothes. Over the last year we had slipped into a routine. Once or twice a week, sometimes it was a bit more than that, she would come over and stay. We’d make a meal and have a few drinks and discuss whatever case we were on. At least, it started out with cases, but lately she’d been coming over to see the fight too, and we’d spent Christmas together. It had only been about a year, but in that time she’d kind of taken possession of my spare room, and always had a change of clothes there. In fact I had come to think of it, unconsciously, as her room.

It was a comfortable feeling that I enjoyed. It was the closest thing I had to family now, which was why Shelly’s comments had unsettled me. If she was right, it would change everything. I knew she wasn’t right, the idea was absurd, but it’s like when somebody tells you not to think about cockroaches. After that, it’s all you can think about.

I heard her coming down the stairs, talking, and smiled.

“I was going to have a shower,