that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I can tell ’em, get the word out, don’t nobody be talking. We all just hang in there and say nothing, and pretty soon it all blows over and we get back in business.”
“You’re saying for now we close up shop? That ain’t happening, girl. It does, what do we do for scratch?”
“Couple of weeks is all, I’m thinking. We’d get by.”
“You’d get by, maybe. Me? What am I supposed to live on?”
“You get by, darlin’. What I’m sayin’ is the main thing, we don’t want no police thinking we had troubles with Anlya. They start thinking that . . .” She shrugged. “It wouldn’t be good. They start lookin’ at you, they see maybe you got a reason, you already on strike one . . .”
“So they ask, we tell ’em we was together the whole night.”
“Which, you know, we weren’t. What if that comes out?”
“How’s it do that?”
She shrugged. “All I’m sayin’ is layin’ low awhile can’t hurt. We don’t even want ’em lookin’ this way. You know we don’t.”
“So whatabout the girls? If they go out on they own, they never come back to me, then what?”
“That won’t happen. I see to that. Plus, you take care of them, and they know it.” She reached over and put her hand over his. “It’s just better nobody’s lookin’.”
• • •
A FTER D EVIN J UHLE had gotten the call from Dismas Hardy at the Shamrock and located Eric Waverly, he’d told his inspector to report back to him that night if it turned out that the new witness had anything important to say. Or even not so important. Foolish though it might seem, Juhle wanted to make sure that this investigation, wherever it led, was going to proceed with a greater than usual sense of urgency.
Whatever that meant.
As if there weren’t always a sense of urgency about trying to identify and apprehend a suspect in a murder case. But Juhle wanted something he could point out in his defense if the criticism came up. No, when the criticism came up. He and his inspectors would be working around the clock if need be.
So when he finished the interview with Greg Treadway, Waverly called Juhle, as instructed. He did have something provocative to report. He hadn’t been positive until he’d gotten back to his car and dug out the framed photograph of the guy on the beach from Anlya’s room, but after he’d checked it, he was certain. “G.,” the man who’d signed his picture with the inscription “All my love,” was Greg Treadway. So there was undoubtedly a personal relationship between him and the victim.
When Waverly arrived at the lieutenant’s house, his partner was already down in Juhle’s finished basement, a comfortable low-ceilinged room with a pool table, a television, sagging shelves of paperback books, a coffee table, a leather couch, and upholstered chairs that had seen better days. Earlier, Juhle had tried to contact both partners, but Yamashiro hadn’t been reachable on his cell phone—it turned out that one of his daughters was in the school play. But now here he was.
Urgent, indeed.
Connie Juhle made sure the men were happy with their coffees, and after she closed the door behind her, Waverly started right in. “I don’t know if there’s too much real information to analyze. Okay, he knew thewoman, but he never pretended he didn’t. I didn’t pick up any sense that the guy—Treadway—was hiding anything. If anything, he seemed like he really had just found out about it. In shock, almost. And he called us, remember? He came forward on his own.”
“And yet,” Yamashiro spoke up, “Devin says he was accompanied by his lawyer.”
“ A lawyer, but not his lawyer. She told me they’d just met, but I got the impression maybe she wouldn’t mind being his girlfriend. Dismas Hardy’s daughter.”
“Nevertheless,” Juhle said, “a lawyer. He calls us and we show up and he’s next to a lawyer.”
“I was there, guys,” Waverly
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I can tell ’em, get the word out, don’t nobody be talking. We all just hang in there and say nothing, and pretty soon it all blows over and we get back in business.”
“You’re saying for now we close up shop? That ain’t happening, girl. It does, what do we do for scratch?”
“Couple of weeks is all, I’m thinking. We’d get by.”
“You’d get by, maybe. Me? What am I supposed to live on?”
“You get by, darlin’. What I’m sayin’ is the main thing, we don’t want no police thinking we had troubles with Anlya. They start thinking that . . .” She shrugged. “It wouldn’t be good. They start lookin’ at you, they see maybe you got a reason, you already on strike one . . .”
“So they ask, we tell ’em we was together the whole night.”
“Which, you know, we weren’t. What if that comes out?”
“How’s it do that?”
She shrugged. “All I’m sayin’ is layin’ low awhile can’t hurt. We don’t even want ’em lookin’ this way. You know we don’t.”
“So whatabout the girls? If they go out on they own, they never come back to me, then what?”
“That won’t happen. I see to that. Plus, you take care of them, and they know it.” She reached over and put her hand over his. “It’s just better nobody’s lookin’.”
• • •
A FTER D EVIN J UHLE had gotten the call from Dismas Hardy at the Shamrock and located Eric Waverly, he’d told his inspector to report back to him that night if it turned out that the new witness had anything important to say. Or even not so important. Foolish though it might seem, Juhle wanted to make sure that this investigation, wherever it led, was going to proceed with a greater than usual sense of urgency.
Whatever that meant.
As if there weren’t always a sense of urgency about trying to identify and apprehend a suspect in a murder case. But Juhle wanted something he could point out in his defense if the criticism came up. No, when the criticism came up. He and his inspectors would be working around the clock if need be.
So when he finished the interview with Greg Treadway, Waverly called Juhle, as instructed. He did have something provocative to report. He hadn’t been positive until he’d gotten back to his car and dug out the framed photograph of the guy on the beach from Anlya’s room, but after he’d checked it, he was certain. “G.,” the man who’d signed his picture with the inscription “All my love,” was Greg Treadway. So there was undoubtedly a personal relationship between him and the victim.
When Waverly arrived at the lieutenant’s house, his partner was already down in Juhle’s finished basement, a comfortable low-ceilinged room with a pool table, a television, sagging shelves of paperback books, a coffee table, a leather couch, and upholstered chairs that had seen better days. Earlier, Juhle had tried to contact both partners, but Yamashiro hadn’t been reachable on his cell phone—it turned out that one of his daughters was in the school play. But now here he was.
Urgent, indeed.
Connie Juhle made sure the men were happy with their coffees, and after she closed the door behind her, Waverly started right in. “I don’t know if there’s too much real information to analyze. Okay, he knew thewoman, but he never pretended he didn’t. I didn’t pick up any sense that the guy—Treadway—was hiding anything. If anything, he seemed like he really had just found out about it. In shock, almost. And he called us, remember? He came forward on his own.”
“And yet,” Yamashiro spoke up, “Devin says he was accompanied by his lawyer.”
“ A lawyer, but not his lawyer. She told me they’d just met, but I got the impression maybe she wouldn’t mind being his girlfriend. Dismas Hardy’s daughter.”
“Nevertheless,” Juhle said, “a lawyer. He calls us and we show up and he’s next to a lawyer.”
“I was there, guys,” Waverly
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