A Body to die for

Washington. It added just enough lilt to her cigarette scratch to charm. I smiled and took the hint. I turned to leave and wait with Jack in the white room. “Oh, Mallory, one more thing,” Falcone called after me. “You dance around the issues divinely.”
    I walked out, wondering if Falcone was flirting with me. It wouldn’t be the first time I was hit on by a cop. My stomach growled. Police investigations always lasted at least two meal periods. I’d missed dinner. Breakfast would be next. I ignored the rumblings. It was a struggle at times, but I try never to let my clients see me sweat (metaphorically, I mean).
    I wiped my dewy brow. Jack and Janey were huddled together on the couch, comforting each other. I needed to talk business with him alone. “Hey, Janey, go take a hike.” I thumbed behind me at the treadmill. She clung to Jack, but he nudged her away. She actually went over to the machine and started hoofing. These people were like robots whose batteries constantly needed recharging. “Jack,” I said, “Falcone wants to nail you.”
    “Oh, God! For murder?” he asked.
    “No, for being too damn handsome,” I joked. Jack seemed concerned. His face got slightly red. His jawbones clinched and released. I thought he might bite his tongue.
    “This is horrible,” gasped Jack. “If Ameleth thinks I killed her lover, she’ll never talk to me again!” With a sudden whoosh and kerchunk, the elevator doors flew open. I couldn’t help but look. A woman stood in the center of the car, her wild brown and gray hair frizzed out from the humidity. She wore white cross-trainers, a sports bra and brown leggings. Ameleth Bergen couldn’t have been more than five-foot-one. The proportions were sublime, but in miniature. Her gray eyes scanned the room with a wild panic. “What the fuck is this?” she asked no one in particular. “Cops at the front door. No one at the front fucking desk.” She spotted Janey on the treadmill and glared.
    “Ameleth,” Jack almost begged. “Barney was murdered, but I didn’t do it.” He didn’t mince meats. Nor words. I liked that in a client.
    Ameleth’s tan face froze. Except for her lips. “Bastard,” she snarled. To one of the uniforms, she said, “Where’s Barney?” The man pointed toward the Jacuzzi room. She sprang at the door and flung it open with a tiny grunt. I jogged gracefully over to the open doorway to watch. I didn’t see much. Ameleth walked over on the wet wood planks and stood over Barney’s corpse. He was still on his stomach. Despite the protests of the cops, Ameleth flipped him faceup. His shiny head lulled to one side. His mouth hung open.
    “He loved to sit in the Jacuzzi for hours,” Ameleth recounted. “And he loved when I rubbed his head with energizing oils. Now, he’s dead. Fuck.” Ameleth began to cry.
    “Mrs. Bergen, why don’t you step outside?” asked Falcone. She stood at my side in the doorway. Jack was behind me. I hadn’t realized we were gawking. Ameleth looked up. Her gray eyes settled on Jack.
    “Step outside?” Ameleth asked. “Are you calling me out or something? You want to start a fight with me, broad?” The double meaning was intentional. Falcone took the insult like a man, but I could tell it bothered her. I wondered if Ameleth wouldn’t rather scrap with me. Regardless, she didn’t step outside. Instead, she gently rubbed Barney’s cheeks like she wanted to know if he’d crumble or flake. Her leggings were straining against her knees from kneeling so long. Her tiny thighs began to shake slightly. Suddenly, she jumped out of the kneel and began stretching her legs. She leaned to one side.
    “This stinks,” she said while touching her toes. I didn’t know if she meant the situation or the body. I She shook out each leg and then pushed past Falcone and me in the doorway.
    Jack waited just outside with a fresh Virgin Mary and arms outstretched for a hug. I found it to be a particularly inappropriate beverage choice. Ameleth agreed and threw the drink across the room, decorating the white carpet with a spin art splatter of tomato juice. As for the hug, she wasn’t interested. “How much attention do you need?” she asked Jack. “You must really miss the big time, don’t you, Tennis Star?” A low blow. “Now it’s just us two, Ameleth,” Jack f said. “It’s just me and you again, honey.”
    I heard a tsk in my ear. Falcone revved up her Newton and started punching keys.
    I said, “Jack,