House of Blues

if nobody's there—and I'm presuming
Evie's not—I'll need a search warrant. I'll call you back when I've
got it."
    It took two hours to get the warrant delivered and
another hour for the owner to bring the key, during which time Skip
sat in her car and stared at the building as if her gaze was needed
to keep its timbers together.
    The owner was older than she'd thought, but still not
much over thirty. Her name was Belinda Carbo, and she was worried
about getting sued; for what, Skip wasn't sure.
    She went through the apartment with Carbo behind her,
finding an even mingier decorating job than she'd done herself on her
first apartment at Dee-Dee's, before he'd taken it away from her and
made the Big House big again.
    Evie's place would have been depressing in a.ny case,
but right now it was dusty and lonely and a little mildewy.
    Skip found little except some snapshots in a drawer,
of a very pretty blonde with a young man who looked like the sort who
gave white trash a bad name. He had a thick, nasty neck, too large a
head, and tiny little eyes that probably had a mean glint in them,
she couldn't tell from the photo. There was a Rolodex as well, but
only a few of the cards had been used, which struck Skip as sad. She
looked under "Hebert," and under "Foucher," but
Evie hadn't recorded the phone numbers of any member of her family.
    Skip gave Carbo a receipt for the Rolodex and
snapshots, then knocked once again on Diane Suratt's door. "Sorry
to bother you again, but do you know these people?" She
proffered the snapshots.
    "Sure, Evie and Manny. How'd you like to meet
him in a dark alley?"
    Skip went through the Rolodex in the car. A Manny
Lanoux was listed, with no address.
    She found a phone and called his number. No answer.
    She turned over the snapshot, staring at it, willing
it to release its secrets.
    The more she stared, the more Manny looked familiar.
As if she'd arrested him maybe; or should have.
    Oh, well, at least I've got his mime.
    She went back to headquarters to look him up. And
there he was, two years before—a domestic violence case with her
name on it, back before she'd been in Homicide. She remembered the
woman well, her nose smashed in, blood running down her chin. And she
remembered Manny's voice—high and whiny. The woman's jaw had been
broken, as well as her nose. She'd pressed charges, and Manny was
convicted of battery. He was now on probation, which meant it was
only a matter of calling his probation officer for his address.
    She also got a work address for him, but it was now
going on five o'clock. Better to go to his apartment and hope to
catch him as he was getting home from work.
    She marched into Cappello's office. "Well, now
I've got to see her ex-boyfriend. This time I better take somebody
with me—I know the guy. He's a creep."
    "Okay, Thuringer. But tomorrow I'll have
somebody new and kind of great—we don't have Jim's replacement yet,
but O'Donnell's getting transferred and we have his."
    O'Donnell was the other sergeant in their platoon. "I
mean, nothing against Thuringer, but this is somebody you've worked
with before."
    " Who'd we get?"
    " Adam Abasolo."
    " You've got to be kidding."
    "The movie star himself."
    He wasn't a movie star, but he looked like one—tall,
slender, and wiry, with dark hair and blue eyes. He also looked a
little like a thug. He was one of the best policemen in the
department—she'd worked with him on the Axeman case.
    "Well, that cheers me up."
    He was such a hotshot, she hadn't looked forward to
working with him, afraid he'd be bossy and superior, her two least
favorite qualities in a partner. But he was great. If she couldn't
have Jim, Abasolo would do just fine. Her only regret was that, since
he was a sergeant, she couldn't often partner up with him.
    Today she had more than one reason to miss Jim.
Thuringer, though a perfectly adequate policeman, could bore the
pants off a naked person. He was a short detective with glasses and a
kid in college, who was his only subject of conversation.
    Manny wasn't home when they got there, which meant
time in the car together; hours, as it turned out.
    It was Steve's last night in town.
 

    22
    Manny never did turn up. By the time Skip staggered
in, Steve was sleeping like a baby.
    Oh, well. I'm way too tired for a night of passion
anyway. He rolled over and put an arm around her, which was what she
did want and something she was going to miss when he left—the feel
of his body; the comfort of it.
    The