Divine Evil

fifteen pounds. Red hair, mediumshort, with bangs. Amber eyes. No, not brown. Amber. No scars. She could be driving a new model Nissan three hundred, red. New York license number Baker Baker Adam four-four-five-one.”
    He made the trooper repeat everything. When he hung up, Bud Hewitt was standing by the doorway. “Half the town's out looking.” Feeling inadequate, Bud glanced at the coffeepot. “Want some?”
    Cam figured his blood was already ninety percent caffeine. “No, thanks.”
    “You call the press?”
    “Yeah. They'll be running her picture.” He rubbed his hands over his face again. “Fuck.”
    “You ought to get some sleep. You've been at this for better than twenty-four hours.” Bud slipped his hands in his pockets. “I know how you feel.”
    Cam looked up then. “I know you do. I'm going to drive around some more. You man the desk?”
    “Sure. Hell of a time for Mick to get sick. We could use him.”
    Cam only nodded. “I'll be in radio contact.” The phone rang, and he pounced on it. After a brief conversation, he hung up. “The warrant came through to check Mona Sherman's bank records.”
    “Want me to take it?”
    “No. I've got to do something. I'll check in about a half hour from now.”
    In double that, he was pounding on the door of Mona's apartment.
    “All right… Christ. Wait a goddamn minute.” She opened the door, sleepy-eyed, still tying a thin, flowered robe around her waist. Before she could speak, Cam shoved the door open and slammed it behind him.
    “We're going to talk.”
    “I already told you what I know.” She dragged a hand through her tousled hair. “You got no right busting in here.”
    “Fuck my rights.” He pushed her into a chair.
    “Hey. One call to my lawyer, pal, and you can lose that tin badge of yours.”
    “You go ahead and call him. You might want to mention accessory to murder.”
    Watching him warily, she pulled the robe back over her shoulder. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
    “Ever done real time, Mona?” He put his hands on the arms of the chair and leaned toward her. “I'm not talking about a night or two in county. I mean the real thing. Ten to twenty in Jessup.”
    “I ain't done nothing.”
    “You made a couple of hefty deposits. Smart thinking to lock them into CD's. You're a real financial wizard.”
    “So?” Her tongue slid out over her lips. “Business has been good.”
    “The first one was made the day before you talked to me. The second one, the day after. Hell of a coincidence.”
    “Yeah.” She reached for the pack of cigarettes beside her. “So?”
    “Where'd you get it?”
    “Like I said—” She choked off the words when he slid a hand around her throat and squeezed.
    “I'm a busy man, Mona, so let's not waste time. Why don't I tell you how it went? Somebody paid you to throw a new scent in my path. All that bullshit about some Haitian doing Biff because he'd queered a drug deal.”
    “Biff was a mule, just like I told you.”
    “I figure he moved it, all right. That's about all he had the brains for. The rest is shit. Now tell me who paid you to talk to me.”
    “I came to you on my own. I wanted to help is all.”
    “You wanted to help.” He stood back, then kicked over the table. The lamp crashed to the floor. “You wanted to help,” he repeated, shoving her back when she tried to dart out of the chair. “They didn't tell you about me, did they? About this problem I have. I was a cop down in D.C. for a long time. Had to give it up for a nice quiet job in a small town. Know why?”
    She shook her head. He didn't look like a cop now. He just looked mean.
    “Well, I have this control problem. When someone starts lying to me, it makes me crazy.” He picked up a nearly empty bottle of Jim Beam and threw it against the wall. Glass exploded and released the ripe scent of liquor. “I just start breaking things. And if the lying keeps up, I lose it. One time I threw a suspect out a window.” He glanced over at the window behind her convertible sofa. “We're on the third floor here, aren't we?”
    “That's bull. I'm going to call my lawyer.” She scrambled up to grab for the phone. “You're crazy, that's all. I don't have to take this crap.”
    “Right and wrong.” He clamped a hand over her wrist. “I'm crazy, all right. But you're going to take it. Let's see how far you can fly.” He dragged her toward the window while she struggled and shouted. She managed to grab the sill and