Free Yesterday's Echo by Matt Coyle Page A

new version better, but braced for an angle.
    â€œDid you get a hit on one of the sketches of the guys who jumped me?” I couldn’t think of any other reason, in my new life, that I’d have cops on my porch to start the day.
    Moretti’s eyes squeezed down and his lips went tight. Dan examined my welcome mat. I’d struck a nerve without even intending to. The sketch that had stopped Moretti in his tracks and sent him into his chief’s office was the nerve. How it was connected to LJPD, I didn’t know and the cops didn’t want me to. That was fine by me. Anything that kept the police out of my life was my first choice.
    But here they were, hiding their truth and wanting to know mine.
    â€œWe’re here on another matter, Mr. Cahill.” Moretti hid his obfuscation under his new tone. I changed my mind. I liked his old voice full of hate better. At least I knew where I stood.
    â€œAnd what would that matter be?”
    â€œRick,” Dan finally found his voice and then my eyes, “why don’t you invite us inside and we’ll explain.”
    I liked cops in my house even less than on my porch. But I didn’t want to give Moretti a reason to dislike me more than healready did. I waved them inside. Dan grabbed the morning newspaper off my porch and handed it to me as he passed through the door. I dropped it on the end table. Melody was still in the kitchen, quiet beneath Midnight’s huffing outside the back door.
    Moretti surveyed the living room. His pursed lips showed he was unimpressed with the maple bookshelf, mismatched furniture, department store entertainment center, and dog-worn carpet. He wasn’t in La Jolla anymore. Had to slum it in North Clairemont with the common folk. I maintained the manners of my class by not offering the cops a seat or anything to drink.
    We stood, an abbreviated football huddle, in the middle of my living room. I figured Moretti would want to play quarterback. The short ones always do. I shut up and waited.
    â€œDo you know a Melody Malana?” Moretti finally asked.
    I thought they’d come by to bullshit their way through a few questions to find out what I knew about the man in the sketch they were protecting. Not questions about Melody. And how had they linked Melody to me? The man in the sketch? Or, had the police themselves been following me? I flashed back to the cop who’d stopped Melody and me Sunday night and had hidden behind his floodlight.
    â€œWho?” I asked.
    â€œDon’t try to play smart, Cahill.” He stepped in under my chin and drowned me in his cologne. “You don’t have enough practice.”
    Now we were back on familiar ground.
    â€œRick.” Dan’s voice was calm against Moretti’s sudden agitation. “It’s important that we talk to Miss Malana. Please tell us where she is.”
    â€œWhat’s so important?” I wasn’t just going to roll over.
    Maybe Moretti was right about my level of smarts.
    â€œYou going to lie to us again? You’re just itching to wear the bracelets. Aren’t you, Cahill?” He stepped in so close that his nose almost bumped my chin. “We’ll start with obstructing a police investigation and see what else sticks.”
    â€œAren’t you a bit out of your jurisdiction to be slappin’ onhandcuffs, Detective?” I looked down my nose at him. “This is San Diego PD’s beat.”
    â€œTry me.”
    The sound of a cabinet door closing came from the kitchen before I could say something else smart. All eyes shot to the doorway into the kitchen. Melody walked into the living room. She wore the same leather shoulder bag she’d had on last night when she surprised me with a kiss at the back door. The kiss suddenly felt like a fond memory from a long time ago.
    â€œWhat can I do for you gentlemen?” She smiled, her voice calm. She made it seem like starting the day with cops in your