They might be annoying, but they were thorough. They knew about Jimmy and me—at least what was fit to print in the records of social services.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
I didn’t bother to be nice. I rarely did—especially when the conversation involved Jimmy Sanducci.
“I believe it was right after I told him not to let the door hit him in his incredible ass on his way out of my life.”
Hammond coughed, but his lips quivered as he tried not to laugh.
“You had a relationship with Mr. Sanducci?” Landsdown asked.
“No.”
What Jimmy and I once had could by no stretch of the imagination be called a relationship. Jimmy didn’t understand the meaning of the word. In truth, neither did I. I shouldn’t be angry with him, but I was.
“Why are you looking for him?”
Hammond met my eyes. “Why do you think?”
For several beats I still didn’t get it. When I did, I straightened so fast Hammond reared back and nearly upset his chair.
“Jimmy wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“He wasn’t so particular about hurting people when he was a kid.”
My eyes narrowed. Juvenile records were sealed. They couldn’t know about Jimmy and— I cut that thought off before it could drift through my mind and show on my face. But I wasn’t fast enough.
“You know Sanducci is capable of murder,” Landsdown said triumphantly.
I did. But I wasn’t going to tell them that.
“He’d never hurt Ruthie. Never.”
Hammond shrugged. He didn’t seem convinced.
“Why are you so sure he did it?”
“Smoking gun.”
“Gun?” That definitely didn’t sound like Jimmy.
“Figure of speech,” Hammond said. “Knife. Pure silver.”
I winced. That sounded more like Jimmy. He’d always been weird about his knives.
“He fled the scene.”
“You’re gonna need more than that.”
“Fingerprints on the knife, hell, every old place.”
“Too dumb for Sanducci.”
Landsdown lifted a brow. “Why would a photographer be so savvy about evidence?”
Jimmy was a globe-trotting portrait wizard. Annie Lei-bovitz with a penis. An artiste of epic proportions. Everyone who was anyone wanted their picture taken by the great Sanducci.
“Any moron knows better than to touch everything,” I said.
“Maybe he was pissed. Maybe he’d just found out Ruthie was going to leave you all that she had.”
I frowned. “Ruthie doesn’t have anything.”
“According to the neighbors, they were shouting at each other. Then Ruthie’s dead; Sanducci’s running. Open and shut.”
Not so much. Jimmy never yelled. Unless it was at me.
“Do you know where he is?” Landsdown pressed.
“Give her the hat again,” Hammond ordered.
I held up my hand. “It doesn’t work like that. You can’t tell me what you want to know then expect an answer. I’m not a crystal ball.”
“What are you?”
Though Landsdown’s voice was neutral, his face gave him away. He thought I was an aberration, if not a con artist.
“I’ve never been quite sure of that myself,” I murmured. “I get flashes sometimes when I touch things or people.”
“But not always?” Hammond asked.
“No.”
“And not now.” Landsdown sighed. “Let’s go.”
I didn’t bother to say good-bye, just listened to the door shut behind them, then, seconds later, listened as another opened behind me.
“Why didn’t you tell them?”
The voice came out of the darkness, flowing over me like a warm summer wind, making me remember things I’d spent years trying to forget.
“You knew I wouldn’t, Jimmy. Otherwise you never would have come here.”
Chapter 3
I could smell him from across the room—cool water, tart soap, and a hint of cinnamon to his aftershave. Jimmy always smelled like he’d just stepped out of the shower. Usually because he had.
No doubt a remnant of a childhood without abundant water and scented toiletries, his teen years had been full of both. Sometimes he took three or four showers a day. I wondered that his skin didn’t peel off.
I bit my lip to keep from saying something I’d regret. I hated him, but I loved him too. Talk about a gift and a curse.
He hovered in the shadows; I reached for the light. “Don’t,” he murmured.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I couldn’t lie here any longer. I felt fine. Better than fine, in fact. Rested, jazzed, ultra-alert—not at all the way I assumed I’d feel after a four-day sojourn in the land of coma.
The tubes and wires prevented me from getting up, so I yanked them out. The IV hurt like a bitch anyway.
As I got to my feet, I flicked the switch on my bedside lamp. I never had been very good at taking orders, especially from Jimmy.
The muted glow spread across the faded tile, lending just enough light to see. He had one helluva shiner.
“Ah, Jimmy.” I lifted my hand toward his face.