Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (types of ebook readers txt) 📕

“You think he has the laptop?”

She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. That doesn’t make sense. Because the only person he would give it to would be Bob. Bob hasn’t got it, so it was stolen by whoever killed him.”

I frowned like she was contradicting herself. “If you’re right, that points to Hennessy.”

“No. You’re assuming the article implicated Hennessy. But what if it exonerated her? What if it pointed at somebody else?”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know. I just know that Carol Hennessy is not a killer or a criminal. She is a woman driven by her ideals.”

I grunted and we finished our main course and the wine. The conversation drifted to more general subjects. She was good to talk to. She was intelligent and well informed. Most of the time we disagreed, but she was good to disagree with. Over the Coppa Antica she went quiet for a bit. As she was finishing, she said, “So how long have you and Detective Dehan been partners?”

I was surprised by the question. “Better part of a year, why?”

She shrugged. “She’s a looker.”

I thought about it and smiled. “She is that. Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to know it.”

“And she’s smart, too.”

“Yeah, what are you getting at?”

She laughed and called over the waiter. “Bring me a Courvoisier, and a black coffee.” He went away with her order. “You’re driving. No spirits for you, Mr. Dinosaur.” She stopped, watching me, a little sad. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“I’m not sure whether to tell you or leave you in your primeval darkness of blissful dinosaur ignorance.”

“Cut it out. Stop playing games. What are you talking about?”

“John, that girl is hopelessly in love with you!”

I laughed out loud. “Don’t be absurd! Dehan? That’s ridiculous!”

She smiled. “Is it?”

“We’re partners, pals, we’ve been through a lot together. We’re solid. She’s the best partner I’ve had. We have a good rapport…”

I was vaguely aware of talking too much and let the words trail away. She was watching me with one eyebrow raised high.

“Ridiculous. About as ridiculous as you being in love with her.”

I made a face that said she was being stupid. “Come on, Shelly. That’s crazy. Cut it out.”

“You already said that.”

“Like Batman and Robin, we are just good friends.”

After that, the conversation kind of petered out and I called for the check and drove her home to her apartment in Manhattanville. When I pulled up outside her block, the rain had stopped and the blacktop had a silver sheen to it. I went to get out but she put her hand on my arm to stop me.

“You want to come up for that cognac?”

“You know I can’t, Shelly.”

“I know. I thought I’d ask anyhow.” She kissed me on the cheek. “See you around, Stone.”

I watched her cross the sidewalk and let herself into the lobby. She didn’t look back.

On the way home, I drove past Dehan’s block on Simpson Street. My watch said it was twelve midnight. She’d probably still be awake, and I could tell her about Jackson Lee, and Shelly’s view of Hennessy. I slowed for a moment, then for some reason I couldn’t define, I dismissed the idea and headed home.

Eight

The rain returned overnight, heavy and steady. I picked Dehan up outside her apartment at eight. She had her absurd Australian hat and long coat on again, and I tried not to think about what Shelly had said the night before, as I watched her dodge through the cars to get to the passenger side and climb in the car. As she pulled the door closed, I said, “G’day, Sheila.”

She took off her hat, set it on her knees and tied her hair up behind her head. “Yeah? What’s good about it?”

“It could be worse. That’s good.”

“How was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date, Dehan.”

“How was your whatever-it-was?”

“Odd. We have much to discuss.”

“Like?”

“Like, Jackson Lee, David Thorndike’s attorney. Like Shelly Pearce’s admiration for Carol Hennessy.”

“Seriously?”

I nodded. “I detected a pretty strong political affiliation there. So much so, Dehan, that I think the whole reason for getting me to take her out was to see if Hennessy was a suspect.”

“Wow. So she wasn’t after your body? That’s hard to believe.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. But yes, that is the way it looks.”

“Tough break.”

“Not really, Dehan.” Then I added, without really knowing why, “She’s not my type.”

“Oh.”

Then, as we moved through the hiss and the spray of the sodden city, under the bellying lead skies, I told her about our conversation over dinner. Though I left out her final observations, which I knew, in any case, were absurd. She was very quiet throughout, and as I pulled into Fteley Street and parked outside the station house, she said, “We’re getting into some pretty deep water here, Sensei.”

“We need to run this by the captain—sorry, inspector! If we go after Hennessy there will be consequences.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “We also need to find this Jackson Lee. My gut tells me he knows where the laptop is.”

“I think your gut is right.”

We climbed out and crossed the road, me hunched into my collar and her striding like a scarecrow turned galactic bounty hunter. We found Captain John Newman, now promoted to inspector, peeling off his hat and coat in his office. He smiled his urbane smile, like he really was pleased to see us at eight-twenty AM, and said, “Stone! Dehan! Come in, come in, please, sit. You’re mighty early. What can I do for you?”

He went behind his desk and we all sat at the same time.

“Sir, do you recall the