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Authors: Erica Orloff
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didn’t find myself necessarily excited by test tubes and Bunsen burners. This was different. It felt more meaningful. And if I was honest with myself, the thought of David Falco sitting across from me without handcuffs on was exciting.
“I cooked dinner for C.C. last night,” Lewis said darkly.
“What? Lewis…she’s a nun.”
“It wasn’t like that. She wanted a crash course in DNA, and I offered to teach her over a meal.”
“Lewis,” I sighed. I took a good look at him under the fluorescent lights of his office. He looked awful—dark circles, tired eyes, unshaven face. His trademark white oxford cloth shirt wasn’t crisply dry-cleaned either.
“I can’t help myself. We talk about God and chess—she plays—and childhoods spent in the country. She’s from a small town. We talk about the bayous and about New Orleans drowning. And philosophy. Nietzsche and St. Augustine and St. Francis and Buddha…”
“Buddha?”
“She’s got an amazing mind, Billie. We talk about everything and nothing. And…I’m being a good boy, of course. But it’s killing me.And even if I spend the rest of my life pining for her, just being her friend is good enough for me.”
“How does she feel about Ripper?”
“She thought he was cuddly,” he drawled.
“Lewis…you’re going to make yourself crazy. I don’t think this friendship is a good idea.”
“Of course it’s not,” he snapped. “But neither is snooping around in old cases. I don’t want the suicide king killer—if that’s who’s behind that attack on you—to harm her, or you.”
“Why don’t we have Tommy Salami watch over her? Would that make you feel better? My part is over, you know.”
“I don’t know if she would agree to having him follow her around. I mean, a nun and a…what do you call your father and his friends?”
“I call them Legally Challenged. It would just be temporary, Lewis. Come on, let’s go out to the parking garage. We can at least talk to him about it before we mention it to C.C. and Joe. Come on.” I was worried about ol’ Lewis.
“Okay.”
He stood, and the two of us left the lab. Going in and out we had to use a key card and a fingerprint match on a scanner by the door. The lab itself was as secure as Ft. Knox—or close to it. The last thing a prosecutor wanted was anO.J. mess with accusations that the lab work was tainted or the specimen somehow contaminated. Lewis was known for running a very tight ship, with reason.
Lewis and I left the building and walked to the parking garage, which was owned by the city of Bloomsbury. Employees at the lab got a discount on the monthly fee.
We walked up the ramp, and I kept rubbing Lewis’s arm. He may be the most annoying man on the face of the planet, but a depressed Lewis is even worse. When New Orleans flooded, he sank into a depression that lasted weeks.
When we got to the second floor, I made a left and then froze. “Oh, my God!”
“What?”
I pointed at my Cadillac.
The dome light was on, and there, in the front seat, was poor Tommy Salami.
Someone had shot him.
Chapter 10
L ewis grabbed me and pushed me to the ground. I landed on my elbow with a yelp. I pushed him away, rolled once and scrambled for my car. I knew Tommy was armed, and I wanted his gun. I also knew that except for the best SWAT team snipers, a moving target was pretty hard to hit.
“Billie, get down on the ground!” Lewis shouted at me.
My heartbeat raced as I dived for the cover of the car door. A bullet whizzed by my head, and I ducked inside. Then, gratefully, I saw Tommy was still breathing, albeit shallowly.“Call 911,” I screamed at Lewis. “He’s still alive!”
I felt on Tommy’s body for his holster and found his gun. I scanned the parking garage, looking for anyone running away, darting between cars—anything—but didn’t see anyone. Then, behind a conversion van, someone ducked. I steadied the gun at the van. It was a hundred feet away and I had no idea
“I cooked dinner for C.C. last night,” Lewis said darkly.
“What? Lewis…she’s a nun.”
“It wasn’t like that. She wanted a crash course in DNA, and I offered to teach her over a meal.”
“Lewis,” I sighed. I took a good look at him under the fluorescent lights of his office. He looked awful—dark circles, tired eyes, unshaven face. His trademark white oxford cloth shirt wasn’t crisply dry-cleaned either.
“I can’t help myself. We talk about God and chess—she plays—and childhoods spent in the country. She’s from a small town. We talk about the bayous and about New Orleans drowning. And philosophy. Nietzsche and St. Augustine and St. Francis and Buddha…”
“Buddha?”
“She’s got an amazing mind, Billie. We talk about everything and nothing. And…I’m being a good boy, of course. But it’s killing me.And even if I spend the rest of my life pining for her, just being her friend is good enough for me.”
“How does she feel about Ripper?”
“She thought he was cuddly,” he drawled.
“Lewis…you’re going to make yourself crazy. I don’t think this friendship is a good idea.”
“Of course it’s not,” he snapped. “But neither is snooping around in old cases. I don’t want the suicide king killer—if that’s who’s behind that attack on you—to harm her, or you.”
“Why don’t we have Tommy Salami watch over her? Would that make you feel better? My part is over, you know.”
“I don’t know if she would agree to having him follow her around. I mean, a nun and a…what do you call your father and his friends?”
“I call them Legally Challenged. It would just be temporary, Lewis. Come on, let’s go out to the parking garage. We can at least talk to him about it before we mention it to C.C. and Joe. Come on.” I was worried about ol’ Lewis.
“Okay.”
He stood, and the two of us left the lab. Going in and out we had to use a key card and a fingerprint match on a scanner by the door. The lab itself was as secure as Ft. Knox—or close to it. The last thing a prosecutor wanted was anO.J. mess with accusations that the lab work was tainted or the specimen somehow contaminated. Lewis was known for running a very tight ship, with reason.
Lewis and I left the building and walked to the parking garage, which was owned by the city of Bloomsbury. Employees at the lab got a discount on the monthly fee.
We walked up the ramp, and I kept rubbing Lewis’s arm. He may be the most annoying man on the face of the planet, but a depressed Lewis is even worse. When New Orleans flooded, he sank into a depression that lasted weeks.
When we got to the second floor, I made a left and then froze. “Oh, my God!”
“What?”
I pointed at my Cadillac.
The dome light was on, and there, in the front seat, was poor Tommy Salami.
Someone had shot him.
Chapter 10
L ewis grabbed me and pushed me to the ground. I landed on my elbow with a yelp. I pushed him away, rolled once and scrambled for my car. I knew Tommy was armed, and I wanted his gun. I also knew that except for the best SWAT team snipers, a moving target was pretty hard to hit.
“Billie, get down on the ground!” Lewis shouted at me.
My heartbeat raced as I dived for the cover of the car door. A bullet whizzed by my head, and I ducked inside. Then, gratefully, I saw Tommy was still breathing, albeit shallowly.“Call 911,” I screamed at Lewis. “He’s still alive!”
I felt on Tommy’s body for his holster and found his gun. I scanned the parking garage, looking for anyone running away, darting between cars—anything—but didn’t see anyone. Then, behind a conversion van, someone ducked. I steadied the gun at the van. It was a hundred feet away and I had no idea
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