troubling urge to gallop over and leap onto his lap, laughing while I covered his face with licks, but I didn't think the department would ever be the same. As I glanced back, I could see Becker giving us a speculative look while he pretended to check his "in" box.
Chapter 7
Daggett's death was ruled accidental. Jonah called me at home at 4:00 to give me the news. I'd spent the afternoon again wrapped up in a quilt, hoping to finish the book. I'd just put on a fresh pot of coffee and I was scurrying back under the covers as the phone rang. When he told me, I was puzzled, but I wasn't convinced. I kept waiting for the punchline, but there wasn't one.
"I don't get it," I said. "Does Yee know the background on this?"
"Babe, Daggett's blood alcohol was point three-five. You're talking acute ethanol intoxication, almost coma stage."
"And that was the cause of death?"
"Well no, he drowned, but Yee says there's no evidence of foul play. None. Daggett went out in a boat, got tangled up in a fishing net, and fell overboard, too drunk to save himself."
"Bullshit!"
"Kinsey, some people die accidentally. It's a fact."
"I don't believe it. Not this one."
"The crime scene investigation unit didn't find a thing. Not even a hint. What can I say? You know these guys. They're as good as they come. If you think it's murder, come up with some evidence. In the meantime, we're calling it an accident. As far as we're concerned, the case is closed."
"What was he doing dead drunk in a boat?" I asked. "The man was broke and it was raining cats and dogs. Who'd he rent the boat from?"
I could hear Jonah sigh. "He didn't. Apparently, he took a little ten-foot skiff from its mooring off the dock at Marina One. The harbor master identified the boat and you can see where the line was cut."
"Where'd they find it?"
"On the beach near the pier. There weren't any usable prints."
"I don't like it."
"Look, I know what you're saying and you've got a point. I tend to agree, if that makes you feel any better, but who's asking us? Look at it as a gift. If the death is ruled a homicide, you can't get near it. This way, you've got carte blanche… within limits, of course."
"Does Dolan know I'm interested?" Lieutenant Dolan was an assistant division commander and an old antagonist of mine. He hated private investigators getting involved in police business.
"The case is Feldman's. He won't give a shit. You want me to talk to him?"
"Yeah, do that," I said. "And clear it with Dolan, while you're at it. I'm tired of getting my hand smacked."
"Okay. I'll get back to you first thing Monday then," Jonah said. "In the meantime, let me know if anything turns up."
"Right. Thanks."
I put a call through to Barbara Daggett, repeating the information I'd just received. When I finished, she was silent.
"What do you think?" she asked, finally.
"Let's put it this way. I'm not satisfied, but it's your money. If you like, I can nose around for a couple of days and if nothing turns up, we'll dump the whole business and you'll just have to live with it."
"What are the odds?"
"I have no idea. All I know to do is pick up a thread and see where it leads. We may come up with six dead ends, but at least you'll know we gave it a shot."
"Let's do it."
"Great. I'll be in touch."
I pushed the quilt aside and got up. I hoped Billy Polo was still around. I didn't know where else to start.
I unplugged the coffeepot, poured the balance of the coffee into a thermos, and then made myself a peanut butter and dill pickle sandwich, which I put in a brown paper bag like a school kid. I had just about that same feeling in my gut too… the dull dread I'd experienced when I was eight, trudging off to Woodrow Wilson Elementary. I didn't want to go out in the rain. I didn't want to connect up with Billy Polo, who was probably a creep. He sounded like one of the sixth-grade boys I'd been so fearful of… lawless, out of control, and mean.
I searched through my closet until I found my
Chapter 7
Daggett's death was ruled accidental. Jonah called me at home at 4:00 to give me the news. I'd spent the afternoon again wrapped up in a quilt, hoping to finish the book. I'd just put on a fresh pot of coffee and I was scurrying back under the covers as the phone rang. When he told me, I was puzzled, but I wasn't convinced. I kept waiting for the punchline, but there wasn't one.
"I don't get it," I said. "Does Yee know the background on this?"
"Babe, Daggett's blood alcohol was point three-five. You're talking acute ethanol intoxication, almost coma stage."
"And that was the cause of death?"
"Well no, he drowned, but Yee says there's no evidence of foul play. None. Daggett went out in a boat, got tangled up in a fishing net, and fell overboard, too drunk to save himself."
"Bullshit!"
"Kinsey, some people die accidentally. It's a fact."
"I don't believe it. Not this one."
"The crime scene investigation unit didn't find a thing. Not even a hint. What can I say? You know these guys. They're as good as they come. If you think it's murder, come up with some evidence. In the meantime, we're calling it an accident. As far as we're concerned, the case is closed."
"What was he doing dead drunk in a boat?" I asked. "The man was broke and it was raining cats and dogs. Who'd he rent the boat from?"
I could hear Jonah sigh. "He didn't. Apparently, he took a little ten-foot skiff from its mooring off the dock at Marina One. The harbor master identified the boat and you can see where the line was cut."
"Where'd they find it?"
"On the beach near the pier. There weren't any usable prints."
"I don't like it."
"Look, I know what you're saying and you've got a point. I tend to agree, if that makes you feel any better, but who's asking us? Look at it as a gift. If the death is ruled a homicide, you can't get near it. This way, you've got carte blanche… within limits, of course."
"Does Dolan know I'm interested?" Lieutenant Dolan was an assistant division commander and an old antagonist of mine. He hated private investigators getting involved in police business.
"The case is Feldman's. He won't give a shit. You want me to talk to him?"
"Yeah, do that," I said. "And clear it with Dolan, while you're at it. I'm tired of getting my hand smacked."
"Okay. I'll get back to you first thing Monday then," Jonah said. "In the meantime, let me know if anything turns up."
"Right. Thanks."
I put a call through to Barbara Daggett, repeating the information I'd just received. When I finished, she was silent.
"What do you think?" she asked, finally.
"Let's put it this way. I'm not satisfied, but it's your money. If you like, I can nose around for a couple of days and if nothing turns up, we'll dump the whole business and you'll just have to live with it."
"What are the odds?"
"I have no idea. All I know to do is pick up a thread and see where it leads. We may come up with six dead ends, but at least you'll know we gave it a shot."
"Let's do it."
"Great. I'll be in touch."
I pushed the quilt aside and got up. I hoped Billy Polo was still around. I didn't know where else to start.
I unplugged the coffeepot, poured the balance of the coffee into a thermos, and then made myself a peanut butter and dill pickle sandwich, which I put in a brown paper bag like a school kid. I had just about that same feeling in my gut too… the dull dread I'd experienced when I was eight, trudging off to Woodrow Wilson Elementary. I didn't want to go out in the rain. I didn't want to connect up with Billy Polo, who was probably a creep. He sounded like one of the sixth-grade boys I'd been so fearful of… lawless, out of control, and mean.
I searched through my closet until I found my
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