Read Online Judging Time by Leslie Glass - Free Book Online Page B

car. Yes, he knew the car well. He knew the driver. Sometimes they gave coffee or food to Mr. Petersen's driver. The driver's name was Wally Jefferson. Patrice said he didn't know why Wally Jefferson hadn't been outside the restaurant waiting for them last night.
    "Didn't you wonder where the driver was?" April asked.
    The question renewed Patrice's weeping.
    "I didn't know he wasn't there so I didn't have any reason to think about it," Patrice replied. And no, he hadn't known how bad the weather was. How could he know? He was busy taking care of customers. That's why he wasn't at the door with them. He'd been very busy. It must have been a mugger crazed for dope money, he insisted to April.
    A few things the maitre d' said didn't play for her. Restaurant people always knew the weather. The weather accounted for the number of customers. Not only that, rain soaked people's shoes and made tracks on the floor. People wore raincoats when it rained, carried umbrellas. They dripped all over the place. Coats were wet or dry. No way Patrice could not have known. When a person lied about one thing, it was hard to believe anything else he said.
    And as for his crying, you couldn't tell anything by tears. Sometimes people screamed, really shrieked. In Chinatown, relatives of victims sometimes went nuts, made enough noise to bring the house down. But one woman she'd informed of the suicide of her last living child, a son of twenty-six, had gone to the gym that very afternoon because she didn't want to change her schedule and disappoint her trainer. And of course the big-breasted widow of Tor Petersen might now be sobbing brokenheartedly over her loss. You never knew.
    "You didn't answer my question," she said.
    "What question? I forgot." Mike was working on the ketchup-laden hash browns.
    "Are you keeping me company for the food, or are you in on this? I have to go back and get organized."
    "What makes you think I know?"
    "Back at Liberty's you went to the men's room more times than you had to go. The phone is back there. I figured you were making some calls."
    He dabbed at his lips with his paper napkin, crumpled it, and dropped it on the table. "Very good. Watching me like a cat. I like that."
    April shook her head. Her hair had grown out into a bob that framed her face and sometimes got in the way of serious conversation. "Uh-uh, it's my job."
    "Gee, and I thought you loved me."
    "I don't do work-and-play combinations, Mike, you know that." In their last case Mike had almost killed a suspect who'd insulted her. Later he told her that was when he realized he loved her. It was also when she realized he could be dangerous. But he was still more powerful in the department than she was, and if he wanted in on a case in her house, there was nothing she could do to stop him.
    She smiled, had to be smart about this. "You drove through a blizzard to help me out. Thanks, chico."
    "Ab, it's my job." He smiled back.
    "Uh-huh. I get the feeling you don't like the ADA on the case. What's the problem there?" She reached for the shoulder bag by her feet. Time to go. The lieutenant would be in. She didn't want to anger Iriarte by not reporting everything right away. She put the bag on the table and reached for her coat.
    Mike caught one of her hands and held it with both of his, squeezing her fingers just enough lo give her the shivers. "You like him?"
    "He seemed to know what he was doing." She did a quick suvey of the diner, looking for a spy from the precinct who could make something of this. No one she knew was around. She suddenly wished Mike's hand would travel down her neck and into her sweater. Weird. She figured she was overtired.
    "Uh-huh, and your lieutenant, he know what he's doing, too?" Mike was asking.
    "Iriarte? He dresses well, wants women to be women. Has a short mustache like your mother's boyfriend." April was distracted.
    "Is this a professional assessment of his competence?" Mike brought the tips of her fingers to his lips,