Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

Silvestri?”
    “Leslie Wetzon.”
    Kaminsky said, “Who is Leslie Wetzon?”
    “I’m Leslie Wetzon.”
    No surprise on either detective’s face, just curiosity.
    “You knew that,” Silvestri said. “Her prints are on file.”
    Kaminsky gave him a reproachful look. “What kind of nickname is T.J.?”
    “She was in an accident—”
    Kaminsky interrupted. “Jesus Christ, Silvestri, will you let her answer?”
    “I was in an accident,” Leslie said. “I lost my memory and wandered around the city for a few days until I met Zoey. She took me in and was trying to help me find out who I am. T.J. stood for Temporary Jane. Zoey got me involved with her mime troupe.” She took a sip of the coffee. It was good.
    Hammond was making notes. “So when did your memory come back?” A hint of disbelief colored her comment, which irritated Leslie.
    “Look, I’m trying to tell you the truth and you’re giving me attitude. I don’t think I have to talk to you, do I, Silvestri?”
    “Guys?” Silvestri took her hand. “Go on, Les.”
    “A friend of Silvestri’s spotted me and told Silvestri—”
    “Artie Metzger,” Silvestri said.
    “Yeah? No kidding,” Kaminsky said. “Jeeze, haven’t seen him in a dog’s age. We were at the Academy together.”
    “Where were you between nine and twelve that night?” Hammond said.
    “I was at my job,
, Avenue B, near Tenth Street. Wally Dipper can vouch for me. I was the only one tending bar all night. I got there at five and didn’t leave till after two. Zoey was supposed to pick me up but she didn’t show. I thought she’d probably found something better to do.”
    “What about her midnight to six shift at the coffee place in Grand Central? Why would she be picking you up when she was supposed to be at work?”
    “She told me she was off that night.”
    Hammond put down her pencil. “You found her and made the call to 911.”
    “Yes.” She felt ashamed. “I ran away. I’m sorry.”
    “Why didn’t you wait there?”
    “I was afraid. I thought maybe whoever killed her might still be there. I didn’t touch anything. I’m really sorry.”
    “How did you get there, Silvestri?” Kaminsky said.
    “I was listening to the calls and heard the address mentioned. I saw her in the crowd and took her home with me. But I cleared it with you, Kaminsky, as you know.”
    “Okay,” Hammond said, “we’ll get your statement typed up. We’ll call you to come sign it. We may need to talk to you again so don’t leave town.”
    “She’ll be with me,” Silvestri said. “If you need her.”
    “Wait,” Leslie said. “How did Zoey die?”
    “We don’t know yet. We’re waiting for the autopsy results.”
    “She had epilepsy. Did you know?”
    Hammond made a note. “No.”
    “She was hiding it. It was very bad and she wouldn’t take the medication. She didn’t like the way it made her feel.”
    Kaminsky walked them to the door. “Thanks for coming in, Ms. Wesson.”
    “That’s Wetzon,” she said. “W-e-t-z-o-n.”
    “Right. Say hello to Metzger,” Kaminsky told Silvestri.
    “Let’s walk,” she said when they hit the street.
    He flagged down a cab. “Get in, don’t argue. It’s been a long day.”
    “I’m still going to The Big Dipper, Silvestri.”
    “You haven’t forgotten how to be a hard head.”
    The cab pulled up behind a double-parked car in front of Silvestri’s brownstone.
    “Well,” Silvestri said. “Looky here.”
    The stocky black woman in the charcoal pantsuit climbed out of the double-parked car and stood waiting.

27
    J UDY BLUE cast a dubious eye on Silvestri’s sagging sofa and chose one of the metal folding chairs. “You live like a cop, Silvestri.” She gave the sniffing Izz a pat on the head.
    “Enough with the pleasantries.” He went into the bedroom with Leslie’s coat and came back with a blanket. “Take the couch, Les. When she’s had it, you’re out of here, Blue,” he said, standing, arms folded.
    Boots off, Leslie with the immediate addition of Izz, curled up on the sofa under Silvestri’s blanket. She contemplated him, having trouble understanding why they’d split up. “What time is it?”
    “Going somewhere?” Judy Blue asked. She walked the folding chair closer to the sofa without getting up. Her abundance spilled over the seat. She adjusted her jacket.
    “My job at The Big Dipper.”
    “How’d you hurt your hand?”
    “Bartending.” She held up her hand. “The tap.”
    “Let’s