In Death 19 - Visions in Death

named Randall Beam, and he wasn't happy about having a cop at the door.
    "Listen, I got a thing. I'm just about out the door already.
    What gives?" "If we can come in, Randall, we'll tell you what gives, then maybe you can keep your thing." "Hell. How come a guy has a coupla assaults on his sheet, cops're always yanking him?" "It's a mystery all right." Eve stepped in, scanned the room. It was small, man messy without being revolting. There was the faintest whiff of something in the air that could get Randall a little visit from Illegals, but she'd let it pass unless she had to squeeze him.
    There were curtains at the windows, which was a surprise, and a couple of nice-looking pillows tucked into the corners of a sagging couch.
    Physically, Beam didn't fit her profile. He was about six feet tall, a solid and muscular one-eighty. But compared to a size fifteen, his feet were almost dainty. His complexion leaned toward jailhouse white, and he sported a long brown ponytail.
    Still, she'd need to take the time with him. He might have a friend, a brother, whatever, who fit her needs more closely.
    "Need your whereabouts, Randall." She gave him the nights of the three murders, waited while he stood looking put-upon and sad.
    "How'm I supposed to know?" "You can't tell me where you were last night?" "Last night? One of them's last night? Last night, after I got off work? I got gainful employment." "Good for you." "So, after work, me and a couple of the guys stopped in at the Roundhouse. Bar on Fourth? Knocked back a few, grabbed some chow, played some pool. LC works the joint.
    Name's Loelle? I was flush, so I took her up to one of the privates Roundhouse's got two for a bang. Had a couple more drinks, got home, I dunno, about two? This here's my day off." "Loelle and your buddies going to confirm all that?" "Sure. Why not? Loelle's down there most nights; you can ask her. And you can ask Ike -Ike Steenburg we work together. He was there last night. What gives?" "Let's get through the other two nights." He was clueless about his activities on the night of Napier's murder but he balked on explaining what he was doing on the night of Maplewood's.
    "I had a thing. Was there till after eleven. Went out with . . . with some people after for, you know, coffee. Got home, I dunno, maybe midnight. I really gotta go now." "What's the thing, Randall?" He shuffled his feet, stared at them while color came up on his cheeks. "Why I gotta say?" "Because I have a badge, you have a sheet, I need to know, and if you make me ask again I'm going to be a lot more interested in the Zoner I smell." "Jesus. Cops. You're always hassling a guy." "Yeah. It's the part of the job that gets me up out of bed every morning with a big smile on my face." He blew out a breath. "I don't want the guys to hear about it." Tm the soul of fricking discretion." He shifted his gaze up, ran it over her face, shifted it to Roarke, and hunched his shoulder. "You shouldn't oughta get the wrong idea. I ain't no fairy or nothing. Don't know why guys want to bang each other when there's women around.
    But you know, live and let." "That's a touching philosophy, Randall. Spill." He pulled on his nose, shuffled his feet. "Just that. . . last assault bust, they say I gotta take anger management and shit. So I stop punching people and starting fights. But I never punched nobody didn't ask for it." Eve supposed the flaw was in her, but she was starting to like him. "I know the feeling." "So they, shit, they say I should do some therapy kind of deal. Occupational, recreational, relaxational. What all. I sign up for this class in ah, crafts." "You do crafts."
    "Don't make me no fairy or nothing." He gave Roarke a steely look as if daring him to disagree.
    "Did you make the curtains?" Roarke asked, pleasantly.
    "Yeah. So?" His fists bunched at his sides.
    "It's very good work. A nice use, I'd say, of fabric and color." "Well." He eyed Roarke, eyed the curtains. Then shrugged.
    "They come out okay. It's constructive and, you know, therapeutic.
    I sorta got into it. I was working on the pillows there at Total Crafts, they got clubs and shit, and instructors. That's where I was the night you're saying. They give you a break on the supplies and shit, and you can use their machines you need to. And it's kinda interesting is all. I got a class tonight, on needlepoint. You can make all kinds of shit, you know what you're doing." "Your instructor and classmates verify this?" "Yeah. But,