Private Dick Casefile 01 - Lily White Rose Red

meeting Big Billy and Lieutenant Steele, I’m sure I’d rather not deal if I’d found a dead body, so I’d call from a pay phone too.
    “And who was first on the scene? Captain Woods?”
    “No, Sergeant Guthrie, his shadow. The Captain didn’t show till after the meat wagon took her away. Couple hours later.” That turned all my ideas upside down, but you have to make the theory fit the facts, not the other way around.
    “What time?”

    154

    CATT FORD

    “Shouldn’t you have asked all these questions when you first got the case?” Reggie asked nastily.
    “Would you have told me?”
    “No.”
    “Why are you telling him now?”
    We both turned our heads and stared at Phil Martin. I think we’d forgotten he was there, which is quite a feat when you consider he was the most gorgeous man in the room. I shook my head at him and growled softly, “Shut up and stay out of this.” Phil Martin couldn’t have realized the only reason Reggie was answering my questions now was that I’d lit the fire of hope for him, but he would never be able to admit that out loud, especially to me.
    Mr. Martin stared at me for a second and then trotted out those disarming dimples. I swear, I could have hidden a dime in each one of them, and I wondered if he had a matching set down lower, on his ass—but this wasn’t the time for monkey business.
    “Time of death?”
    “She was still warm when we got there at two a.m.”
    “Did she have any marks on her body? Something the paper didn’t mention?”
    Reggie stared at me, his dark eyes almost black. “How did you tumble to that?”
    “A scratch on the back of her neck?”
    “Like someone yanked a chain off,” Reggie said as if he hated to admit it.
    “Keys?”
    “In her handbag, with a hanky, makeup, and her coin purse.” I let go of his wrist and dug out the pendant, tossing it to him like a coin. “Here’s a hot potato for you to hang onto. Don’t let Jazz have this back till I say.”
    “Burning your fingers?”
    “All day, ever since I pulled it out of the broad’s apartment from Lily White, Rose Red: Grey Randall, Private Dick Casefile #1
    155

    under your noses.” I rubbed my side until I realized I was doing it and stopped. “And whatever you do, don’t let Woods cop that you have it.” I stood up to go.
    “Don’t you even want to hear about the blood?” Reggie asked, as if he wanted to get one back on me.
    “It was on the heel of her shoe,” I said.
    “So you’re grilling me to see if what I tell you matches up with what you already know?”
    “You’re a tough nut to crack. I just wanted to see if I could.”
    “Listen, Grey! Those photos I gave you—the ones from the crime scene, you still have them?”
    “Yeah, why?”
    “Because the file got lost—somehow.” Reggie looked furious and fearful at the same time. “Including all the negatives.”
    “And I have the only copies?”
    “Be careful, Grey.”
    I nodded. I could see the wheels spinning behind Mr. Martin’s beautiful blue eyes and Reggie’s dark ones. I probably wasn’t alone in drawing certain conclusions.
    I had to make a conscious effort to straighten up without groaning. If there was a time not to be seen waddling in pain, in front of Phil Martin was it. I didn’t realize he was following me until I was almost to the door, when he grabbed me. I grunted and coughed.
    “You all right?” he asked.
    “Fine. Thanks for a swell evening. I’m busy.” He laughed at my less than gracious exit line and said, “Aren’t you even going to corroborate Jazz’s alibi before you go?”
    “Is there any point? You think anybody in this club is willing to stand up in public and say they were here and they swear Jazz never left his piano?” I looked around the room and grinned. “They probably wouldn’t even give me their real names.”
    “You’ve got a point, but what about me?”

    156

    CATT FORD

    “Who says you wouldn’t lie for him? It would be easier than finding a new piano player.”
    His brows knit together, and I felt the palpable force of Mr. Big’s personality. “It’s not about the club, he’s my friend.” Somehow I got the feeling he’d be a good friend too, the kind you could depend on—but that line of thought wasn’t going to get me anywhere.
    “All the more reason to lie, then,” I pointed out, even though I was kind of impressed that he, a white guy at the top of the heap even if he was a crook, would claim friendship with a black piano