“She couldn’t win with the tape,” Faz said. “I don’t think she could, but she’s no dummy—aggressive, yes, but not stupid. She had the evidence brought to her office and the prosecutor saw it there that night when they talked. If she was going to do something like this, wouldn’t she have been a little more discreet about it?”
“People do stupid things all the time,” Del said. “That’s what keeps us in business.”
“But this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment action. She would have had time to think about it. What could she have hoped to gain?”
Faz said, “If she didn’t take it, then who did?”
“And why?” Del said. “I don’t know, Tracy. Seems like she’s the one with a motive.”
“To answer your first question—who could have taken the tape, I’m assuming anyone with access to the court reporter’s office,” Tracy said.
“Which is who?” Faz asked.
“I don’t know yet, but apparently he doesn’t lock his office.”
“So anyone, then,” Faz said.
“Anyone with a reason,” Del said.
Tracy checked her watch. “I’ve got a meeting with Clarridge, Cerrabone, and Dunleavy to discuss SPD possibly reasserting jurisdiction.”
“They’re not going to do that, not without the tape,” Faz said.
“I don’t think so either.” Tracy paused, thinking. “I want to talk to her. I want to talk to Battles, find out what she knows.”
“Why would she talk to us?” Del asked. “Especially if she did take the tape.”
“Maybe she won’t. But if she didn’t take it, then we have the same goal.”
“D’Andre Miller’s family is going to go crazy,” Faz said.
“They already are,” Tracy said. “The hearing got out of control, and the mother looked at me like she’d expected something like this all along.” She checked her watch again. “I’m not looking forward to briefing Clarridge and Dunleavy. They’re going to be pissed. But I’m really not looking forward to talking with the family.”
CHAPTER 26
Jack Welch lived on a street much like Allie’s—single-family houses in a middle-class neighborhood with modest yards and foliage. Cars parked along the curbs left barely enough room for a single vehicle to pass. People in these homes weren’t supposed to have sons and daughters hooked on heroin. The junkies were supposed to be downtown, living in dark alleys and abandoned buildings, sleeping on soiled mattresses amid garbage and rodents. Del thought again of what Celia McDaniel had said, about the epidemic, about the drug cartels plowing their pot fields and planting poppy fields, and about the easily obtainable opioids. He thought about the counselor’s statement that addicts now were good kids from good families, and easy pickings for those cartels. It made him shudder.
At 5:30 p.m., dusk had descended over the neighborhood and a light wind rattled the leaves of the trees in the front yards. Faz parked the Prius to the south of a concrete walk and shut off the engine. He and Del sat watching a yellow, two-story A-frame house. Lights inside the house indicated someone was home.
Del spit a spent sunflower shell into a cup. It made him feel like he was twelve again, playing Little League baseball. A friend had told him that he’d lost thirty pounds eating sunflower seeds when he watched TV, rather than potato chips and Oreos. Del saw the pack of seeds at his sister’s and decided he’d give it a try. He was pleased to find that the seeds weren’t like the seeds he’d eaten as a kid. Those were a single flavor—salted. These seeds were barbecue flavored, but Stevie said they also had cracked pepper, ranch, and others.
Faz looked over at him. “You’re still on that diet, huh?”
“Just watching what I eat,” Del said, cracking a seed, his gaze on the house.
“Smells like barbecue in here.”
Del held up the bag. “They got ranch and dill now too.”
“Terrific. I hope the birds in the backyard appreciate them.” A moment passed. “Did you call that prosecutor?”
Del spit the shell of a seed into the cup while staring at the house. “I did.”
“So you’re going to see her again?”
“I saw her last night,” Del said.
“Last night . . . You worked last night.”
“She met me after work.”
“No kidding. How’d it go?”
“It was nice.” Del spit another shell into the cup. “She brought prosciutto and salami, French bread, a little cheese.”
“You’re killing me. Really?” Faz said.
“Really.”
“Where’d you go?”
“My place.”
Faz nodded, a grin on his face. “Good for you, Del.”
“Yeah. We’ll see where it goes.” It had gone well—easy and comfortable. Del had been worried, but Celia had made it clear she had no expectations other than his companionship. He’d been able to relax and enjoy the evening.
“What?” Faz asked.
“What?” Del said.
“Something bothering you?” Faz asked.
“No.”
“You don’t seem all that excited about it.”
Del blew out a breath. “I don’t know. It’s just . . .” He kept his gaze on the home. “It’s been a long time, you know.”
“Since you dated?”
Del looked at Faz. “Since I slept with anyone.”
“Oh,” Faz said. A beat passed. “Hey, it’s like riding a bike.”
“Yeah, but I mean, what if the bike gets a flat?”
Faz gave him a look. “Did that happen?”
Del shook his head. “No. No, nothing like that.”
“You worried about it?”
“I don’t know. I mean . . . Yeah, I guess maybe I am.” He was. He hadn’t slept with anyone since he and his wife had separated.
“Listen. They got all kinds of pills now. If it’s an issue, you talk to the doctor.”
“You ever have that happen?”
“Me? Hell, I’ve been married twenty-eight years. What’s the line from that movie? ‘I get hard when the wind blows.’”
“Eddie Murphy—48 Hours.”
“Listen, don’t worry about something that hasn’t happened yet. It hasn’t happened yet, right?”
Del shook his head. “I’m just talking hypothetically.” He set down the cup of spent seeds. “Come on. Let’s go see if Jack Welch is home.”
“Hold on,” Faz said.
Del kept his gaze on the house. He thought for sure Faz would ask for details about the remainder of his night with Celia McDaniel. She’d stayed—Del wasn’t about to send her home at four in the morning, but they hadn’t slept together, though there had been some physical contact. They’d shared the same bed.
“You’re going to let me take the lead, right?” Faz asked.
Del looked at him. “What? Yeah. No worries.”
“Del.”
“I’m good, okay? You can take the lead. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look on edge.”
“No, I was just . . . I’m fine. Okay? How long have I been doing this? Let’s go see what he has to say.” Del pushed out of the car.