“Who do you know over at the Sheriff’s Office?” I asked after we were on the road again. I was on a first name basis with quite a few of the detectives there, but at the moment that meant absolute zilch. Even if I wasn’t currently a person of interest in a very high-profile active investigation, I was no longer a cop and therefore had no pull.
“I know a few guys over there,” Pellini said. “I think I can get a copy of the recording without too many questions asked. I’ll say it might pertain to the Amber Gavin case.” He scowled. “Not that it matters, right? If I try to build a case against the shitholes who raped and murdered her, it’d draw too much attention to the arcane side of things.”
I sighed. “Yeah, it would be risky. I’m sorry,”
He echoed my sigh. “It fucking sucks shit.”
Led Zeppelin came on the radio, and I waited for them to finish singing about the land of ice and snow before I spoke again. “Probably doesn’t help much, but Amber was murdered outside of Beaulac. Wouldn’t be your jurisdiction anyway.”
“Where?”
“Austin, Texas.”
He made a disgruntled noise. “Yeah. I hate working with out-of-state cops.”
We both knew it would never come to that, but I didn’t press the point.
“What do you know about Rob O’Connor?” I asked after another few minutes. “He’s the detective investigating me.”
Pellini considered carefully. “He’s a real straight arrow,” he finally said. “The Farouche case is a huge deal to him for obvious reasons.”
I understood that. This area didn’t get many murders, especially not one this meaty—prominent local businessman gets murdered execution-style and turns out to be involved in who-the-hell knows what. Any detective worth a shit would love to sink their teeth into an investigation like that.
“He’s a good detective,” Pellini continued, frowning.
“But?”
Pellini shook his head. “There isn’t a ‘but.’ Sorry.” He offered me a sympathetic look. “O’Connor really wants to close this case and find the shooter.”
In other words, the dude wasn’t going to give up simply because I refused to talk to him. Wonderful.
“Guess I should put his number in my contacts.”
Pellini snorted. “Not a bad idea.”
Chapter 22
Pellini paced near the tree line with his phone to his ear and Sammy trotting happily beside him. Back and forth. Back and forth. Every third round or so, he would pick up a stick and chuck it across the yard without a break in his conversation. Each time, the dog rocketed after the stick, brought it back to drop at Pellini’s feet, and resumed trotting at his side.
Fuzzykins lay draped over the porch railing, regarding the dog with the utmost disdain. Me, I lazed on the back porch and watched the dog and his man, unable to keep from smiling at Sammy’s antics. It was on Pellini to pull strings and get us a copy of the McDunn phone call recording, so all I could do was wait and see. And relax.
After several minutes Pellini clipped his phone to his belt and returned to me with Sammy gallivanting in circles around him. The triumphant smile on his face told me the outcome of his calls. “Man, I had to call in a lot of favors for this one,” he said. “But the guy who has the case is emailing the recording to me right now.”
“Sweet!” I stood and stretched then gave him a rueful smile. “I hate to admit it, but I wasn’t sure you’d be able to pull it off.”
Pellini twitched his shoulders in a shrug. “I have a few connections.”
“As long as it gives us a lead, I don’t care if you sold your soul to the devil.”
He made a noise in the back of his throat. “Pretty sure I did that a long time ago.”
“Dude, I hear you.”
We proceeded inside to the dining room. Pellini retrieved his laptop, flipped it open, then drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for his email to load. “There it is,” he said. He clicked on the file and adjusted the volume. I pulled up a chair beside his and leaned close to the speaker.
A series of clicks.
“Hello?” Catherine McDunn’s voice.
A pause. Silence.
“Hello?” Catherine again.
A man spoke. “Catherine.”
Her sharp intake of breath. “Angus.”
“Oh god, I’m sorry. Sorry for everything.”
“You’re sorry? And that’s supposed to fix it? How could you do this? To me. To Marcel.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I swear.”
“But it is like this, Angus.” Pain threaded through her words.
“Baby, please.” His breath shuddered. “Please, just hear me out.”
“Why? So you can ask me for money again or something else that puts me in danger?”
“No! God, no, I never wanted you to be in danger. Catherine, I love you.”