next second I’m awake in my car and Travers is sitting next to me, real as you are.”
“Alive?”
Spit shuddered. “Nope. He was covered in blood, his chest wide open like a butchered pig.” I fought down nausea as the image of Travers’s fly-covered body—the thing I had seen yesterday—came swimming back to me.
“But he was talking to me, see?” Spit said. “He was saying ’baby, baby, baby’ over and over, looking straight at me. Then I blacked out again.”
The hairs on my arms stood straight up on end.
“Geez, Spit. That’s awful.”
“You’re telling me.”
“You think the ghost was trying to tell you something?”
“Maybe. Don’t know what, though. Could have been the words to a rock-and-roll song. Ghosts don’t always talk sense.”
“You’re the expert.”
“Wish I wasn’t. Anyway, the cops won’t take any notice of an old drunk like me. I may not even bother telling them. But I am gonna charge Freddy. Maybe the District will give me his weekend shift while he’s in jail, eh?”
“Maybe. So he just whacked you over the head, then panicked and left, you figure?”
“I figure. Bastard.”
“And he whacked you sometime after midnight.”
“That’s right.”
I had to find out when John was shot, that was for certain. If he was killed after midnight, that made Freddy a prime suspect. I would have to talk to Freddy, too.
Just then, the door to Spit’s room opened and Becker and Morrison walked in. They were not overjoyed to see me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Becker said, striding towards me.
“There’s no need to say that every time we meet, Detective,” I said. “I’m visiting a sick friend. What does it look like?”
“It looks like interfering in police business,” Becker said.
Morrison moved in, too. “I thought I told you not to get involved,” the big cop said.
“I’m not…” I began, but Becker had grabbed my upper arm and was ushering me out of the room. When we got into the hallway, I shook him off.
“There’s no need for that, Detective,” I said. “I’ll come quietly.”
Now, I will admit this to you in private. When Becker took my arm, all sorts of lewd fantasy thoughts flashed across my mental movie screen. These thoughts had to do with handcuffs, uniforms and mildly kinky role-playing games. I don’t know where they came from and I was so shocked by my unconscious mind that I lost control for a second. When I said “I’ll come quietly,” I immediately recognized the double-entendre, and the Aunt Susan eyebrow came up, I swear, of its own accord.
That would have been okay, I could have handled that and talked myself through it later over a joint at the cabin. The problem was that Becker’s eyebrow went up as well, and a tiny, red-hot jolt passed between us that was pure, unadulterated sex. If I had been a Victorian maiden, I would have swooned.
“Quietly? I doubt it,” Becker said. Lord help us. “What were you talking to Morton about?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“It’s all of my business. Look, I know you want to clear your friend, who, incidentally, we have not been able to track down yet, but we will. I know you have an interest in this case, but you’re getting in the way.”
“How so?”
He sighed. “You know damn well. Interrogating witnesses before we get a chance to see them. You did it with Francy Travers, now with Morton. It’s got to stop. For one thing, it’s dangerous. Someone has been killed, unless you’ve forgotten, and if you happen to figure this mess out before we do, you could end up in the dump yourself. You ever think of that?”
“Which would leave you with another juicy murder to solve. Give you a chance to get promoted,” I said.
“That isn’t even slightly funny. You’re playing in a game you don’t know anything about, Polly. I don’t want to find you dead somewhere. I really don’t.”
“Me neither.”
“Well then, stop this. It’s making life difficult for me, and you’re putting yourself in danger, butting in.”
“If I don’t butt in, Mark, I’m afraid a mistake will be made, that’s all.”
“We’re professionals. You’re not.”
“Yeah, and as a citizen, I should have faith in the justice system, right?”
“Right.”
“What about Guy Paul Morin? Steven Truscott? Donald Marshall?”
“Those were…”
“Isolated cases? I don’t think so. Listen. It’s not that I don’t have faith in you, but I know what kind of pressure you guys are under when somebody’s been killed. I just want to make sure that Francy has the best chance, okay?”
“If Francy Travers didn’t kill her husband, we’ll find that out and find the person who did,” he said, smiling with an assurance I just could not accept.
“I’m not so sure,” I said.
Becker’s smile vanished. His eyes (green with little gold flecks in them) got darker.
“Thanks. Thanks a lot,” he said. “I’m glad you have so much confidence in me and in the system. You’d better just hope, in that case, that you never find yourself in court. You might, you know.”
“That sounds like another threat, Becker,” I said. “I just love your tactics. No wonder you guys get the wrong man so often. I can just see people falling over themselves in their eagerness to give you information.” I backed away from him and poked my head around the door of room 402.
“See you later, Spit,” I said. “I’m going to go save a dog, then talk to my fiancé. Mind you aim for the bedpan.” With that I headed off down the hall, pausing for a moment to glare at Becker. He was white-faced, and I figured that he’d never want to speak to me again. A pity, really, but then he was a cop.
Fourteen
I drove that ramshackle rattletrap
hellbent for elsewhere
leaving you sleeping.
—Shepherd’s Pie
When I let Lug-nut off his chain, he looked at me like I was crazy.
