Chapter 11
“So she was just down the street,” I tell Drew as I sit across the desk from him at the precinct who I drop in to see after the kids have left for school. “And Jesse was so distraught I couldn’t even yell at him. He kept Lys on his lap all night while they watched TV and he insisted he be the one to put her to bed. And then he went to bed himself, so punishing him felt like overkill.”
Drew nods like he’s waiting to hear why I’m really at the station. Have I mentioned how the rest of the world seems to read me like a book? Sometimes that’s a blessing–like when four cops find you buying pot from a stranger and actually believe it when you say you came to buy a lamp–despite holding baggies when they find you. And sometimes it’s a curse–like when you’re sitting at a detective’s desk talking about your kids and you know something important and you don’t want to tell him.
“My parents finally went home,” I say.
He nods, as if to say “that’s nice.”
I decide I have to give him something. “And I talked to Dana about Halloween night,” I say.
“She was with a boy,” Drew says, and it’s only half a question.
I ask how he knew that.
“Squeezed her knees together when I asked her where she was,” he says. “Women do that when they talk about – ”
I look down and my knees are pressed together.
“And you came to talk about. . .?” he asks, and I force my knees to relax. “Too bad,” he says with a smile.
“I came to talk about the murder,” I say, and he doesn’t seem surprised.
“You have information?” he asks.
I tell him I don’t. Well, I don’t exactly say that, because the lying meter that lights up on my forehead would tell him otherwise. So I just say I came to see how it was progressing and if they had any more information about where it might have happened or who might have done it. Or even who the victim was.
“We know the ivory figurines represent characters from Dungeons and Dragons, and that they are part of a set, the whole of which is worth about six figures. They’re black market–too new to be classified as antique ivory, and therefore illegal.” Then he tells me that what happened to me at Martin-three-names’ house got him thinking about this case. “It’s possible,” he says, “that someone was trying to sell the figurines on e-bay and this guy was somehow involved.”
I tell him they should be thinking Craig’s List, since it’s local. An e-bay seller could be anywhere.
He says that the figurines could be shipped anywhere easily, and I agree, but say that buyer and seller – or owner and thief – must have met up since the victim couldn’t have been shot long distance.
“Point well taken,” Drew says, like of course they knew that. I hate when he makes me come up with what they already know.
“Who was he, anyway?” I ask.
Drew gives me a name that means nothing. “Petty thief. A few charges that didn’t stick involving receiving stolen property.”
“So you really think it’s about those figurines?” I ask.
Det. Drew Scoones isn’t the only one who can read body language, and the fact that he is no longer leaning back in his chair but sitting forward broadcasts loud and clear.
“What do you know, Teddi?” he asks me.
“I know a second one was found,” I say, but, of course, he knows that, too.
“And?” he asks and he reaches out his hand as if he expects me to hand over something. Just hand it over.
“And I may have found another one,” I say.
He waits patiently, a trick that always, always gets me to give up what I’ve got. Only this time I have a reason not to.
“I’m not sure if it is one or not,” I say.
“How about if I take a look?” he says, like it’s not that important to either of us, which my nonchalance is telescoping to him that it is.
“Promise not to ask where I got it?” I ask, reaching into my handbag to fish out the little felt bag I found it in.
He reaches out his hand and as I am putting it in, he answers me. “No.
