DD Warren 00 - The 7th Month

seventy-five
thousand
dollars?”
    “At Foxwoods,” he mumbled.
    D.D. caught the distinction. “At Foxwoods? Does that mean you gambled at other casinos as well?”
    “Mmmm, maybe.”
    “Mmmm, how much?”
    “Six hundred ninety-seven thousand,” Donnie rattled off quickly. “But I got a lead on a horse—”
    “Donnie Bilger! You lost nearly seven hundred thousand dollars that belonged to Andréas Chernkoff? Are you nuts?”
    Bilger looked up at her miserably. “It’s a disease, you know. I need treatment. Maybe, I could just . . . go away . . .”
    “When did Chaibongsai find out?” D.D. pounced. Her stomach muscles squeezed queasily. She rubbed them again.
    “I don’t know—”
    “Seven hundred thousand dollars. That’s a lot of incentive to keep him quiet. Given that the moment Chernkoff gets word, your death will be long and slow.”
    “But that’s just the thing—”
    “Was it a baseball bat? Pick it up at a local sporting goods store? You might as well tell us. We’re going to find out.”
    “He knows.”
    “Samuel, of course—”
    “No, no. Chernkoff. He knows. Found out. ’Bout four weeks ago. And you’re right, I thought he was gonna kill me, but he called in a favor instead.”
    D.D. paused, dumbfounded. On each side of her, she could feel Alex and Joe grow equally still.
    “What kind of favor is worth seven hundred grand? Did you kill Chaibongsai for money?”
    Donnie paled further and looked like he was about to keel over. “No, god no. I got his girlfriend a part. Except, the part wasn’t quite good enough. She got mad. Really, really mad. And, um,” Donnie licked his lips nervously. “And maybe, um, maybe you should turn around, ’cause she’s standing right behind you.”

Stop thinking. Stop worrying, stop fearing, stop preparing, stop planning, stop reading this fucking murder blog.
    Kill. This is your final step.

Chapter 7
    D.D. turned around first. The space was small, crowded. She could feel Alex, his shoulder solid and reassuring next to hers. She could see Joe, just two steps to the side. In a space so small, filled with three trained law enforcement officers, how scared could she be?
    Then she saw the gun, pointed straight at the enormous mound of her spasming belly, and she registered the blond stand-in, Natalie, holding the gun, and D.D. nearly stopped breathing. Instinctively, her hands clasped her stomach, her interlocked fingers no match for a bullet, of course, but when you were an expectant mom, what else could you do?
    Alex took an automatic step forward, half of his body muscling in front of D.D.’s, pushing her back behind him.
    “Don’t move!” Natalie said instantly, the high, brittle edge to her voice spooking D.D. even more than the actress’s white-knuckled grip on the 9mm.
    “Hey, Natalie,” Joe spoke up. His tone strove for congeniality, but came out forced. In theory, he knew Natalie better than all of them, having worked with her these past few weeks. Better yet, his true identity remained under wraps, giving him the element of surprise.
    D.D. eased closer to Alex, trying to give Joe more room to maneuver.
    Natalie stood in the bedroom doorway of the trailer. Apparently she’d been here even before they’d arrived, giving her plenty of time to listen to their shakedown of Donnie B. Now, her pale face was grim, her blue eyes resolute.
    While they’d been talking, she’d obviously done some thinking, and D.D. had a feeling they wouldn’t like the conclusion she’d reached.
    “You,” she pointed her gun at D.D. “Gun, now.”
    D.D. made a big show of opening up the left side of her long winter’s coat. Reaching slowly, very slowly for her shoulder-holstered weapon. Not resisting, but not rushing things, either.
    “I’m confused,” Joe spoke up again, clearly trying to distract Natalie. He turned toward Alex. “You said Donnie was the killer. Right height given the blood spatter, the smear caused by the signet ring. So how come she’s the one holding the gun?”
    “I might have lied about the blood spatter evidence,” Alex replied. “It’s possible, I haven’t even visited the scene. You actors play cops, why can’t we cops be actors? Of course, there is real evidence. What’s it going to tell us, Natalie?”
    “Shut up. Just . . . shut up.”
    “You killed Chaibongsai,” D.D. stated, forcing the blonde’s attention to ping-pong between the three of them. When cornered, distract, buy time, pray for the life of