and go.”
Corso felt his insides go cold. Felt so much like somebody’s palm was pressing on his chest that he actually looked down, as if to remove the offending hand.
He sighed, folded back the hinged section of rail, lifted the stainless steel boarding ladder from its place on the side of the pilothouse, and turned and hooked the steps over the bulwarks. “Come on aboard,” he said.
Corso led them in through the port door. Sorenstam thoughtfully left the umbrella on deck before stepping inside and looking around.
“Nice,” he said. “Nice setup you’ve got here.”
“It suits me,” Corso said.
“Helluva view of the city,” said Hamer, as he began to unbutton his overcoat.
Corso held up a hand. “Whoa, don’t get too comfortable. I’m going up to Harborview. You’ve got between now and when the cab gets here.”
He grabbed his cell phone from the navigation table, dialed nine, and pushed the talk button. After a moment, he recited his phone number, then his name and address. He left the phone turned on and set it back on the table.
“Car in the shop?” Hamer asked.
“Don’t own one,” Corso said.
“Not a black Mercedes?”
Corso stuffed his wallet into his right rear pants pocket. “I own a one-third interest in a Subaru Out-back. Coupla other people here on the dock and I bought it together. Parking’s a pain in the ass and none of us needs a car full time, so we went in together.”
“Pretty unusual,” Hamer commented. “Famous guy with a lotta money like you doesn’t own a car of his own.”
Corso pulled his overcoat from the narrow closet. “Guess I’m just an unusual guy,” he said. “What’s this about a black Mercedes? Was it involved?”
“We’re at an early stage of our investigation. We—”
Corso cut him off. “You guys want to stop jacking me around here or what?”
The phone rang. The electronic voice said the cab was waiting.
He shrugged his way into the coat. Stuck the phone in the pocket. They stood stone-faced as Corso grabbed a Mariners baseball cap from a hook over the door, pulled his ponytail out through the hole in the back, and settled the cap on his head.
He slid the door open. Gestured with his hand. “After you,” he said.
Corso followed the pair down the steps and onto the dock. Hamer stepped forward. Got right up in Corso’s face. “I’d think a real friend of Miss Dougherty’s would be more anxious to help bring this matter to a close.”
“I’d think a couple of cops would have better things to do on a night like this than blow smoke up my ass.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” asked Sorenstam.
“I’m supposed to believe a couple of dicks are down here on a night like this over a traffic accident?” He gave an exaggerated shrug. “What? Things have gotten so slow they’re assigning traffic cases to detectives? Is that it?”
Sorenstam reached in his pocket. Pulled out a black leather notebook and flipped it open: Corso. Sat. 7 pm. Coastal. Dougherty’s handwriting.
“There’s this,” Sorenstam said.
Hamer moved even closer, crowding Corso now. “And a witness who says he saw a black Mercedes on the scene. Says he saw a guy with a gun get in the Mercedes and drive off. He says the guy was tall and dark. Had a ponytail.”
“Now you add that to coupla fresh bullet holes in the trunk of her car,” his partner said. “And you’ve got pause to wonder.”
“Pause to wonder,” Hamer repeated.
Sorenstam read Corso’s mind. “Car was a rust bucket,” he said. “The holes are clean as a baby’s ass.”
“And that brings you down here to me?”
“You’ve got two priors.” Sorenstam said it like he was sorry it was true. “Assault one and assault with intent.”
“Against members of the press,” Hamer added.
“Meg’s a friend.”
“Her diary says it was more than friends.”
“We had a thing going for a while.”
“She dump you?” Hamer asked.
“It was mutual,” Corso said.
Corso felt his insides go cold. Felt so much like somebody’s palm was pressing on his chest that he actually looked down, as if to remove the offending hand.
He sighed, folded back the hinged section of rail, lifted the stainless steel boarding ladder from its place on the side of the pilothouse, and turned and hooked the steps over the bulwarks. “Come on aboard,” he said.
Corso led them in through the port door. Sorenstam thoughtfully left the umbrella on deck before stepping inside and looking around.
“Nice,” he said. “Nice setup you’ve got here.”
“It suits me,” Corso said.
“Helluva view of the city,” said Hamer, as he began to unbutton his overcoat.
Corso held up a hand. “Whoa, don’t get too comfortable. I’m going up to Harborview. You’ve got between now and when the cab gets here.”
He grabbed his cell phone from the navigation table, dialed nine, and pushed the talk button. After a moment, he recited his phone number, then his name and address. He left the phone turned on and set it back on the table.
“Car in the shop?” Hamer asked.
“Don’t own one,” Corso said.
“Not a black Mercedes?”
Corso stuffed his wallet into his right rear pants pocket. “I own a one-third interest in a Subaru Out-back. Coupla other people here on the dock and I bought it together. Parking’s a pain in the ass and none of us needs a car full time, so we went in together.”
“Pretty unusual,” Hamer commented. “Famous guy with a lotta money like you doesn’t own a car of his own.”
Corso pulled his overcoat from the narrow closet. “Guess I’m just an unusual guy,” he said. “What’s this about a black Mercedes? Was it involved?”
“We’re at an early stage of our investigation. We—”
Corso cut him off. “You guys want to stop jacking me around here or what?”
The phone rang. The electronic voice said the cab was waiting.
He shrugged his way into the coat. Stuck the phone in the pocket. They stood stone-faced as Corso grabbed a Mariners baseball cap from a hook over the door, pulled his ponytail out through the hole in the back, and settled the cap on his head.
He slid the door open. Gestured with his hand. “After you,” he said.
Corso followed the pair down the steps and onto the dock. Hamer stepped forward. Got right up in Corso’s face. “I’d think a real friend of Miss Dougherty’s would be more anxious to help bring this matter to a close.”
“I’d think a couple of cops would have better things to do on a night like this than blow smoke up my ass.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” asked Sorenstam.
“I’m supposed to believe a couple of dicks are down here on a night like this over a traffic accident?” He gave an exaggerated shrug. “What? Things have gotten so slow they’re assigning traffic cases to detectives? Is that it?”
Sorenstam reached in his pocket. Pulled out a black leather notebook and flipped it open: Corso. Sat. 7 pm. Coastal. Dougherty’s handwriting.
“There’s this,” Sorenstam said.
Hamer moved even closer, crowding Corso now. “And a witness who says he saw a black Mercedes on the scene. Says he saw a guy with a gun get in the Mercedes and drive off. He says the guy was tall and dark. Had a ponytail.”
“Now you add that to coupla fresh bullet holes in the trunk of her car,” his partner said. “And you’ve got pause to wonder.”
“Pause to wonder,” Hamer repeated.
Sorenstam read Corso’s mind. “Car was a rust bucket,” he said. “The holes are clean as a baby’s ass.”
“And that brings you down here to me?”
“You’ve got two priors.” Sorenstam said it like he was sorry it was true. “Assault one and assault with intent.”
“Against members of the press,” Hamer added.
“Meg’s a friend.”
“Her diary says it was more than friends.”
“We had a thing going for a while.”
“She dump you?” Hamer asked.
“It was mutual,” Corso said.
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