Swan Dive

Arnold told you Marsh and I didn’t exactly hit it off at the divorce conference.”
    Guinness said, ”She told us more—”
    Holt cut him off. ”It goes a little deeper than that, Cuddy.” He fished in his folder, came out with a mug shot, and spun it by a corner over to me.
    I looked down at it. Front and profile of an attractive, dark-haired woman in her late twenties. She was wearing a garish red-and-white-striped blouse and an exasperated expression.
    Guinness said, ”Know her?”
    ”No.”
    ”Street name’s Teri Angel. Pimp’s name is Niño, but he says she was free-lancing last night.”
    ”And Angel’s the dead hooker?”
    ”Let’s just say she was known to blow more than kisses.”
    ”I still don’t know her.”
    ”You don’t know her.”
    ”No.”
    ”She was found dead in the Barry Hotel .”
    The Barry was a run-down joint near South Station. ”Their restaurant’s really slipped the last few years.”
    ”Yeah, only she didn’t order nothing from room service. Shot, she was. Near naked.”
    ”Dissatisfied customer?”
    ”We don’t think so. Bellhop tells us Marsh was one of her regulars. Saw him coming in that night with a suitcase.”
    ”Suitcase?”
    ”Uh-huh.”
    ”Was Marsh done with the same gun?”
    ”No, he wasn’t shot. He took a swan dive from the window.”
    ”Didn’t strike me as the suicide type.”
    ”You tell us.”
    ”Lieutenant, I wasn’t there, all right? Any marks on him?”
    Guinness laughed. ”You kidding? The guy went through the glass on the twelfth floor. Somebody hits the ground from that high, if it wasn’t wearing clothes, you wouldn’t know it was human.”
    Holt said, ”Except it wasn’t.”
    ”I don’t get you.”
    ”Marsh. He wasn’t wearing clothes. Just bandages on his feet, briefs, and a pair of those latex stretch gloves.”
    ”Lovely.”
    ”Yeah. We figure him and the Angel were doing beautiful things together when somebody interrupted them.”
    I said, ”Look, Marsh came on like a piece of shit, but I wasn’t about to kill him.”
    ”Your gun, Cuddy.”
    ”What?”
    Guinness said, ”Was your gun did the Angel.”
    ”How do you know?”
    ”Registration number, you stupid shit. Computer matched you right off.”
    ”You mean you found the gun at the scene?”
    ”On the floor, by the window. But we didn’t find Marsh’s clothes.”
    ”His clothes.”
    ”That’s right. No clothes, his or the Angel’s. And no suitcase.”
    I thought for a minute. ”If he didn’t have any clothes, how’d you ID him?”
    Guinness said, ”Thought you might wonder about that.”
    I turned back to Holt. ”Lieutenant?”
    ”We found his wallet. On the floor in the closet, like maybe it fell out of his pants when they were hanging up.”
    ”Before his pants pulled the disappearing act.”
    ”Yeah.”
    Guinness said, ”We also didn’t find his stuff.”
    ”What stuff?”
    Holt said, ”His cocaine stuff.”
    ”That’s where I come in,” said Dawkins, speaking for only the second time. ”Homicide here like to know why you killed Marsh and the fox. Me, I’d like to know what you did with a quarter-million street value of J. J. Braxley’s snow.”
    I put my head down, taking a couple of deep breaths. ”Somebody set me up.”
    Guinness said, ”Sure they did.”
    ”Think about it, will you? I get knocked out, they take my gun, kill Angel here and Marsh, and leave the weapon there to link me with a guy I already didn’t like.”
    Holt said, ”Or you fake the hit on the head, toss Marsh through the window, and lose the Angel as a witness.”
    ”And leave my righteous gun at the scene?”
    Holt and Guinness exchanged glances, Dawkins kept his eyes on me.
    Holt said, ”You don’t have a righteous gun anymore, my friend.”
    ”Meaning?”
    ”Meaning you didn’t report the loss of your gun like you were supposed to, and the commissioner has pulled your license to carry.”
    ”Just like that.”
    ”The statute says he can do it ‘for cause’ and ‘at his will.’ ”
    ”I told you why I didn’t report it.”
    ”The statute also says ‘forthwith.’ You lose it or get it stolen, you’re supposed to report it ‘forthwith,’ not when you fucken get around to it.”
    Guinness said, ”That means we catch you with a piece, you’re gone for a year, pal. No deal, no parole, no way out.”
    I said, ”Your theory is I do those things with a registered weapon instead of a throwaway, then leave the registered piece on the