Part 30 (1/2)
”The quality of decisiveness,” Juhle said, ”is not strained.”
”What?” Russo asked.
At that moment, the cell phone on Juhle's belt went off with a ringtone from an old-fas.h.i.+oned telephone that was so loud it made them both jump.
”You gotta change that,” Russo said.
But Juhle, already on the call, didn't even hear her. ”Yeah,” he said, and then again. ”Yeah, but we'll be in the field most of the day. Nothing so far, but if he's interested, he can catch us down at the Hall when we get back in. I'll be on this phone. Right.” He listened for another few seconds, then said, ”You could tell him that maybe he ought to be checking those himself, but I wouldn't waste too much time on it if I were him.” He rolled his eyes over at Russo. ”Because we've already got a person of interest with no alibi for that night, as he knows . . . no . . . no . . . no, we like thorough, that's fine. All right. Just a sec, I need something to write with.” Resting the phone against his ear, he pulled out his little notebook and the pen from his pocket. ”Okay, shoot. You want to spell that? All right, you're not sure, it's phonetic. Got it. We'll try. Okay. Fine. Later.”
Hitting the disconnect b.u.t.ton, he said to Russo, ”That was Hunt's girl, and-”
”You mean his secretary?”
”Yes, of course. What could have gotten into me that I said 'girl'? You'd think that after all those weeks of sensitivity training . . . what I meant to say was that was Hunt's executive a.s.sistant, is what I was saying. He wanted us to know that Turner's Communities of Opportunity, including Neshek, had a meeting at City Hall on Monday night before she was killed.”
”Okay.”
”And he wanted us to check everybody's alibi. I told her to tell him we already had Alicia's lack of one and liked it a lot, but if he got a better one, he should let us know.”
”I heard you. So what'd she have you write down?”
”A guy's name.” Juhle looked down at his pad. ”Keydrion Mugisa or something like that. He'll have a sheet somewhere. We'll find him. One of Len Turner's people. I'm thinking probably not Irish.”
”What about him?”
”I don't know. That's what Hunt's asked me to find out.”
”We gonna do it?”
”Might as well. I don't see how it could hurt.”
Al Carter was sitting in the lobby at a fold-up lunch-style table among a large group of what Mickey had come to recognize as Battalion members-mostly young men, but some young women as well, all reasonably well-dressed and well-groomed. A hum of comfortable, loose banter floated out across the lobby all the way to the door where Mickey entered.
He was here mostly to see Lorraine Hess about her whereabouts and activities on Monday night, but when he saw Carter, Mickey thought of a question he wanted to ask him and headed over that way first. They were working from boxes filled with perforated forms-pledge cards-that they were tearing into thirds, organizing in some way, and then sending the oblong mailing through a Pitney Bowes automatic postage machine. When they'd gone through that, another few of the Battalion kids packed them into a growing pile of open-topped white cardboard boxes that Mickey guessed would soon be on their way to the nearest post office, or possibly even all the way down to the main station at Rincon Annex, if the ma.s.s mailing was big enough.
Mickey got about two-thirds of the way there when Carter saw him. After an infinitesimally brief look of confusion or maybe impatience, the older man rearranged his face into its natural and neutral expression and pushed himself back from his folding chair. Closing the now-small distance between them, he extended his hand. ”Al Carter,” he said, reintroducing himself.
”Yes, sir. I remember. Mickey Dade.”
”Well, Mickey Dade, what happened to you?”
”I got hit by a car. Or rather, my car got hit by a car. It looks worse than it is.”
”I'm glad to hear that. 'Cause if it was as bad as it looks, you'd be dead at least twice. You want to sit down a minute?”
”That'd be good.”
They got over to the wall by the administrative offices and sat down where a few extra fold-up chairs had been set up. ”I met your boss yesterday at Mr. Como's memorial,” Carter began. ”Hunt. So what brings you down here to these environs again?”
”I've got a few more questions for Ms. Hess, but then I saw you and I thought I'd ask-”
Carter stopped him by replying, ”I already told your Mr. Hunt about Mr. Como firing Alicia that last morning. I don't know what I can add to that.”
”That's not an issue,” Mickey said. ”Or not the issue I was talking about.”
”All right.” He c.o.c.ked his head to one side, a question.
”Last time I was here, you told me you'd known my grandfather, Jim Parr.”
”I did. Reasonably well.”
”Well, I know there were a lot of people at that memorial, but you didn't by any chance run into Jim there, did you?”
”As a matter of fact, I did. Why?”
Mickey took a deep breath and released it. ”He hasn't come home. He didn't come home last night.”
Carter straightened up, his face now thoughtful, his frown p.r.o.nounced.
”What?” Mickey asked.
”Well, I didn't just see your grandfather yesterday. I don't know if you heard about Mrs. Como when she saw Alicia . . .”
”She kicked her out.”
”Yes, she did. Or rather, she asked that she be removed. I don't know if you'd heard that I stepped in and became the remover.”
”No, I don't think so.”
”I went over to her, put an arm around her, got her outside, and the two of us ran into your grandfather. I was surprised that they knew each other.”
”Yeah. We'd had her and her brother over the night before.”
”So I gathered.” He paused and looked sideways over at Mickey, obviously conflicted about going on. ”You know,” he said, ”when we first talked about the reward last time you were up here, I didn't want any part of it. I didn't want to make any profit out of Dominic's death. But since then . . . well, it's a h.e.l.l of a lot of money. It's life-changing money.”
”It might be. But I don't see what you're getting at.”
”I'm getting at what I told your boss yesterday, about Alicia. Getting fired. If that turns out to be what the police need, for her arrest, I mean. I'd just want you and Mr. Hunt to remember where you heard it.”
”There's no chance we'd forget, sir. But I don't see what Alicia being fired has to do with her and my grandfather.”
”I don't see that either. Not specifically. But I just have the same feeling I had yesterday when I felt like I was pointing the finger at her. I don't mean to do that. I like the young woman very much.”
”But . . . ?”
”But I know what I know.” His vision lasered into Mickey's face. ”She told Jim she'd drive him home.”
”Alicia did?”
He nodded. ”That's who we're talking about, isn't it? Jim had come down on the bus, and was going to take it home, but she said she was going by his way, and she'd take him. Wouldn't hear otherwise.” He shook his head, uncomprehending. ”And now you're telling me he never made it home. You hear what I'm saying?”