pencil against the file.
Overall, he was squeaky clean. Certainly, nothing implicated him as a killer. The chief wanted a briefing on the investigation by the end of the day. And they didn't have much to report.
"You know, after we checked out Blair's apartment, I kept thinking we missed something," she muttered, looking up from the manila folder. "We found an SUV in his garage, but the man struck me as a guy with more extravagant taste in vehicles, so I checked DMV. His Mercedes was AWOL. I issued an APB on it. Maybe something will turn up."
"Yeah, good idea. It's shaping up to be a long day. After Delacorte, we talk to the ME, then update the chief. He'll wanna know about the autopsy report before his press conference at six." He knitted his brow. "Want a cup of coffee? I'm buying."
"Very generous of you, Rodriguez, considering this swill is closely related to toxic waste. They wouldn't dare charge for it. Maybe we should analyze the stuff in the forensics lab." She shook her head, declining his offer.
"Not a good idea, Mac. In this case, I'm a firm believer that ignorance is bliss."
Before making the trip to the break room, Tony called home to let his wife, Yolanda, know he'd be late. The sound of Spanish spoken softly into the phone had grown familiar. She'd even begun to pick up a word or two. After hanging up the phone, he reached for his wallet.
"Five bucks says he's late. You gonna take that bet?" Tony taunted her with money. He waved it under her nose and dropped it on her desk as he walked by. "Guy's got a lot of attitude."
When he returned, sipping his coffee, Raven replied, "Yeah, I'm gonna take that bet. I got five that says he won't be late. Let's synchronize our watches. Six till three."
"No, nothing doing. We use the bullpen clock, and according to that, he's got three minutes to—"
Before Tony finished, the desk sergeant stuck his head through an open door. "Hey, Mackenzie and Rodriguez. Got a man by the name of Delacorte asking for you two. What shall I do with him?"
"We'll come get him." She smiled, then stood and pocketed Tony's five-dollar bill. "Aha! You shouldn't be placing any bets today. That clip-on tie is bad luck."
"I think you're right. Wish I'd thought of that." He yanked the tie from his shirt collar and tossed it onto his desktop, then unbuttoned his shirt. "Not sure I've ever heard when a clip-on tie brought any other kind of luck."
With a sly look, Tony asked, "Hey, wanna bet the vampire Lestat has never owned a clip-on? Give me a chance to get my money back?" After she graced him with only a raised eyebrow, he whined, "Come on, Raven. Where's your sense of fair play?"
Christian Delacorte would have stood out in any crowd, but amidst the tangle of street riffraff lining the hallway by the front desk, the man looked terribly out of place.
Yet he didn't flaunt his difference. Hands in the pants pockets of an elegant charcoal-gray suit with black turtleneck sweater, he stared out a nearby window onto a harbor pier on Lake Michigan, lost in thought. The man looked good enough to eat with a very small spoon. But such a trivial analogy didn't fit Delacorte. He deserved better.
Alone in a crowd, he wasn't part of the world she knew. And as Raven stepped toward him, she caught the subtle fragrance of his cologne, another distinction from the smell of sweat and desperation in the waiting area.
"Guess after your shower, you're willing to accept a proper greeting." Extending her hand to force the issue, she kept her eyes on him. "Hi, I'm Detective Raven Mackenzie."
He turned and glanced down at her hand. She wasn't sure he'd reciprocate, but slowly he acquiesced. A firm grip.
"Can we get started?" The man was all business.
Tony raised his fingers in a wave. "Hey, how's it going? We got ourselves a room to talk. It's up on two. Raven will take you there. Can I get you some coffee? I'll brew a fresh pot."
Delacorte glared at them both, probably wondering if the coffee was laced with
Overall, he was squeaky clean. Certainly, nothing implicated him as a killer. The chief wanted a briefing on the investigation by the end of the day. And they didn't have much to report.
"You know, after we checked out Blair's apartment, I kept thinking we missed something," she muttered, looking up from the manila folder. "We found an SUV in his garage, but the man struck me as a guy with more extravagant taste in vehicles, so I checked DMV. His Mercedes was AWOL. I issued an APB on it. Maybe something will turn up."
"Yeah, good idea. It's shaping up to be a long day. After Delacorte, we talk to the ME, then update the chief. He'll wanna know about the autopsy report before his press conference at six." He knitted his brow. "Want a cup of coffee? I'm buying."
"Very generous of you, Rodriguez, considering this swill is closely related to toxic waste. They wouldn't dare charge for it. Maybe we should analyze the stuff in the forensics lab." She shook her head, declining his offer.
"Not a good idea, Mac. In this case, I'm a firm believer that ignorance is bliss."
Before making the trip to the break room, Tony called home to let his wife, Yolanda, know he'd be late. The sound of Spanish spoken softly into the phone had grown familiar. She'd even begun to pick up a word or two. After hanging up the phone, he reached for his wallet.
"Five bucks says he's late. You gonna take that bet?" Tony taunted her with money. He waved it under her nose and dropped it on her desk as he walked by. "Guy's got a lot of attitude."
When he returned, sipping his coffee, Raven replied, "Yeah, I'm gonna take that bet. I got five that says he won't be late. Let's synchronize our watches. Six till three."
"No, nothing doing. We use the bullpen clock, and according to that, he's got three minutes to—"
Before Tony finished, the desk sergeant stuck his head through an open door. "Hey, Mackenzie and Rodriguez. Got a man by the name of Delacorte asking for you two. What shall I do with him?"
"We'll come get him." She smiled, then stood and pocketed Tony's five-dollar bill. "Aha! You shouldn't be placing any bets today. That clip-on tie is bad luck."
"I think you're right. Wish I'd thought of that." He yanked the tie from his shirt collar and tossed it onto his desktop, then unbuttoned his shirt. "Not sure I've ever heard when a clip-on tie brought any other kind of luck."
With a sly look, Tony asked, "Hey, wanna bet the vampire Lestat has never owned a clip-on? Give me a chance to get my money back?" After she graced him with only a raised eyebrow, he whined, "Come on, Raven. Where's your sense of fair play?"
Christian Delacorte would have stood out in any crowd, but amidst the tangle of street riffraff lining the hallway by the front desk, the man looked terribly out of place.
Yet he didn't flaunt his difference. Hands in the pants pockets of an elegant charcoal-gray suit with black turtleneck sweater, he stared out a nearby window onto a harbor pier on Lake Michigan, lost in thought. The man looked good enough to eat with a very small spoon. But such a trivial analogy didn't fit Delacorte. He deserved better.
Alone in a crowd, he wasn't part of the world she knew. And as Raven stepped toward him, she caught the subtle fragrance of his cologne, another distinction from the smell of sweat and desperation in the waiting area.
"Guess after your shower, you're willing to accept a proper greeting." Extending her hand to force the issue, she kept her eyes on him. "Hi, I'm Detective Raven Mackenzie."
He turned and glanced down at her hand. She wasn't sure he'd reciprocate, but slowly he acquiesced. A firm grip.
"Can we get started?" The man was all business.
Tony raised his fingers in a wave. "Hey, how's it going? We got ourselves a room to talk. It's up on two. Raven will take you there. Can I get you some coffee? I'll brew a fresh pot."
Delacorte glared at them both, probably wondering if the coffee was laced with
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