Free The Mango Opera by Tom Corcoran

business. Seven years later he was back.
    “When Ellen was about fifteen, she moved out of her mother’s home and into his. At that time there were two domestic dispute calls over a period of weeks with no complaints filed. Then she moved back into her mother’s house. A short while later he got nailed again with a minor. This time the judge plain fixed him. He didn’t get out of prison until three weeks ago.”
    Annie’s eyes had dampened. She took a seat at the end of the chaise, put her elbows on her knees, and rested her forehead on her hands. It took her a moment to speak again. She sat up straight. “I have a huge caseload. I missed an entire day’s work yesterday, and you allow that I am not a suspect. Can we meet later in the day, in my office, to discuss all this?”
    “That’d be fine,” said Hatch, “but one more thing. I got a call from Mrs. Embry last night. She and her husband had gone to the Olivia Street house to pack up her daughter’s belongings. She said that she found a few things that belonged to you—surprisingly few things for someone who had lived there. And she said that an expensive bicycle is missing. It had been a gift from them to Annie … Ellen, sorry. They suggested if we could find the bike, it might help us find the murderer.”
    Annie showed me a frozen expression of disgust, then spoke to Hatch with forced civility. “I borrowed the bike. It’s safe, and I’ll make sure that it’s returned to the Embrys. How about one-thirty this afternoon?”
    “Okay.”
    She ducked into the house and reemerged with freshened lipstick and her briefcase in hand. She leaned to kiss my cheek, caught my eye for an instant, but looked downward. “Hang in with me, Alex,” she whispered. “This is a tough one. I’m glad to be back.”
    She went out the porch door. Hatch and I sat listening to the VW speed through the stop sign and accelerate up Fleming.
    “I take it you’ve got a problem with Michael Anselmo,” said Hatch.
    “I knew I had a problem. I didn’t know it was another lawyer.”
    “Sometimes I think the women on this island are affected by sea air,” he said. “Been a mystery since my first piece, they all want to sneak around, give it away to geeks. Pisses me off bad. Only way to get even, lemme tell you, you knock down strange and bang it regular. Only goddamn thing that works.”
    I wanted another cup of Bustelo. I went into the kitchen and came out with a bottle of beer. Twelve ounces of self-indulgence to fend off stupidity.
    Hatch sneaked a glance at his watch. “Starting early?”
    “Not my usual routine.”
    “You don’t have a scanner.”
    “Never will.”
    “Nobody down at the city contacted you yesterday. I know because I just called and asked. With no scanner, how is it you happened to show up at Olivia Street, camera in hand, ready for work? How’d you know?”
    “She told me.”
    “She called you from Anselmo’s?”
    “She showed up right here on the doorstep with her suitcases. She was afraid you’d quarantine the Olivia Street house and keep her clothes. She put her stuff in her car before she made the first emergency call. I guess she decided to leave it all here instead of Anselmo’s. She said you were waiting for her back on Olivia. Why is this a surprise to you?”
    Hatch smiled and shook his head. “Loaded her car. That explains the delayed call to 911. Before I could start taking her statement, she had to go to the bathroom. I told her she couldn’t use the one in her house, so she said she’d be right back.”
    “She came here. But she didn’t use the bathroom.”
    “If I ever need a lawyer, I want her number.”
    Five sips into my beer, I caught myself wishing for elevator music, too.
    “Speakin’ of the bathroom, mind if I drain the dragon?”
    “All yours.”
    While I waited for Hatch, I looked again at the photograph of Julia. It could have taken me into an all-day daydream, except that a headline on the same page caught my