s [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Before I could reply that I was not his girlfriend, Dylan popped out the backroom
with a wide smile when he saw me.
 Hey, Dani, what are you doing here? He seemed happy to see me but a little
confused. He probably thought all of his flirtatious advances had finally paid off.
 Did you come for lunch? I can make a great salami sandwich& .
 Can I talk to you for a second? I gave a nervous look at the lady and she moved
away to clean off a table out front of the deli case.
 Sure, we can talk in here. He led me into the back room.
 I need a huge favor. Can you help me?
 Sure. What is it?
 Something bad happened last night. A guy died at my work, you know at the hotel
I work. Now the police are bringing me in for questioning. I totally forgot that I have two
ounces of weed in my bag, and obviously I can t bring it to the station. They are going to
X-ray the bag. Can I get you to hold it here for a couple of hours?
His eyes widened and his mouth arched into a smile.  Of course. No problem, but
you ll owe me. How about a date Friday night?
I would probably not even be in town Friday night. He was a nice guy and I felt bad
for leading him on like this. But I had no other choice. I promised myself to make it up to
him, someday, somehow.  Absolutely. Thank you so much. I started to unzip the
backpack but stopped.  Maybe I shouldn t take it out here. I nodded in the direction of
the door and his co-worker.
 Right. My boss is quite the curious lady. Give me the whole backpack, and I will
keep it with my stuff here.
 Thanks. Just promise me that you won t go through my shit. I looked at him with
narrowed eyes.
 Hey, I might be a guy but I m not a douche. I would never do that. I promise.
I handed him the bag and he stashed it in his work locker and pushed the door shut.
I gave him a big hug and was on my way out of the deli when I realized I forgot to
get a sandwich. In the corner of my eyes, I spied a couple of sandwiches sitting behind
the deli case on the counter as if Mamma Spumoni had just made them for a takeout
order. It must have been a phone order, there was no one in the shop, yet they were
wrapped and ready to go. I left a twenty dollar bill in their place on the cutting board as
payment and hurried out to the patrol car.
 What took so long? the officer asked.
 I couldn t decide what to get. Here, I got you one as well.
He looked at me with bewilderment as I thrust one of the sandwiches in his
direction.  You re a weird one, you know that?
 I know. I get that a lot from people.
He shrugged and took the sandwich.
Chapter 7
There was no question about it. She was  the hooker . I felt awful referring to her in
such a crude way as she laid dead on the gurney. It would have been nice to know her
name. I could have called her by it every time I saw her come in the lobby of the
Greymore. She deserved that much. Look at her there, so skinny, so frail. What a pity.
What a wasted life. I had seen her come to the hotel many nights with different
customers, always sniffing and wiping her nose, the telltale signs of cocaine abuse and I
never even knew her name.
Her head was severely damaged and her blonde, fake doll hair was gone now,
probably removed by the coroner. Or torn off her head in her last struggle& she was really
a brunette. I could see her true color now from little tufts of hair protruding in an
undignified manner from her scalp. From all the bruises on her body, I concluded that she
had been beat up badly before being killed. I turned my head away to stare at the sterile
white tile floor.
 That s the woman from last night, I confirmed.
 The one you saw with Mr. Gianni?
 Mr. Gianni? My head popped up.  That wasn t the name he gave at the front desk
when he checked in.
 No, I realize that, but his real name was Franco Gianni, Detective Anderson
informed me.
Gianni, that name sounded familiar. It reminded me of those old Gangster movies
but then maybe it was just because it was an Italian name.
 Who was he? I asked.
 I am not at liberty to discuss the case, but I can tell you that he was involved in
illegal gambling affairs. Let s go back to my office. I just have a couple of questions, and
then you ll be free to go.
His whole demeanor and this entire place made me feel uneasy.  Do I need a
lawyer here?
 Why would you need a lawyer? You re not a suspect, you re a witness, he said
with a suspicious stare.
 Oh, of course, yes, me& the witness, that s me. I ve just never been questioned
before by the police. The dryness in my mouth made it hard for me to swallow. I glanced
down at my hand in my lap. I fought the urge to twist and wring them.
 You ll be fine, he assured me.  I just need to know a couple of details from last
night. Please, come in.
As we entered his cramped office, he pulled out the chair for me then took a seat
behind his desk. He flipped open a file folder, the color of mud, and scratched a few notes
on one of the papers within it. In the few moments of awkward silence, I peered over the
desk, straining to see what he was writing. Was it about me? Maybe he was just
documenting the time and date of the interview.
 Tell me, do you remember seeing Mr. Gianni carrying anything with him last night?
My heart jumped. I struggled to keep from biting my lip or averting my eyes. At
least I had learned in my Psychology class in college, that people avert their eyes if they
are stressed& or lying. With a straight face, I answered,  No, he wasn t carrying anything
from what I recall.
 You are absolutely sure about that? Wrinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes
as he narrowed them.
 Absolutely, I said. I pressed my sweaty palms to the fabric of my jeans and
pushed them slowly down my thighs when the detective lowered his eyes to jot down
more notes. His eyes flicked up again.  His hands were too busy groping the hooker to be
carrying anything. I looked Detective Anderson straight in the eyes without blinking.
He seemed annoyed but satisfied with my answer as he continued to ask more
questions. I replied as truthfully as I could, avoiding any further mention about items Mr.
Gianni might have been carrying.
 Okay, that s about all I need, I think. Thank you for coming down to the station,
Miss Carrington. I appreciate it. Let me get Deputy Cunningham. He ll drive you home.
 Do you think whoever killed the woman might still be hanging around the
Greymore Hotel? I mean, I don t want to work somewhere that s not safe.
 I don t think the two cases are related, so I wouldn t worry if I were you. But having
said that&  He leaned across the desk and softened his voice.  If you were my daughter,
I wouldn t let you work there. It s not a safe neighborhood, if you know what I mean.
I swallowed hard and glanced down at a mayonnaise stain on my jeans. It must
have dripped off the deli sandwich.
He stood up and shoved his desk chair back.  Look, if anything comes up that shows
otherwise, I ll let you know first thing. He held out his hand and I shook it, knowing that
he was wrong. Dead wrong. That money in the briefcase, fucking gambling money, dirty
money, and the two cases were very much connected. And now I was connected to the
money. Guys with guns had been asking for me at the hotel. As I stepped out into the
hallway, I wondered if I would be the first grown woman to piss herself in a police
station. I was scared shitless.
*~*~*
 You can just drop me off here, I said to Deputy Cunningham.  I need some air. If
you don t mind, I ll just walk the rest of the way home.
The three hundred pound deputy glared at me like I was a crazy person for wanting [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]