Free Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery by Louise Gaylord Page B

laugh reverberates off the tiles. Caro was pretty
damn smart. As I recall, the crime scene teams were composed of
men. Platón is a man. What man has ever bothered to replace an
empty toilet paper roll?
    ————
    I wait in Greene’s office while the lab scans the
cashier’s check for fingerprints.
    The detective listens to my slightly altered tale,
which includes just about everything they might have picked up on
tape starting with Jaime Platón’s assertion that he is a member of
the Colombian National Police and is on assignment to the DEA.
    Greene dutifully jots down my words in a brand-new
spiral notepad with a bright yellow cover while whistling that
boring one-note tune beneath his breath. It’s like he can’t
remember whatever follows those first few notes, and it’s beginning
to get on my nerves.
    He looks up from his notebook. “FYI, we have
everything Platón said on tape. I was interested in his reference
to a small red leather address book. We’ve been looking for it
too.”
    I swallow hard, keenly aware that I’m withholding a
vital piece of evidence. And as an officer of the court, I could be
found in contempt and probably sentenced to do some time.
    I don’t know why I can’t give it up. Maybe it’s the
power issue—possessing something everyone wants but only you have.
And then there’s the question of who? Do I give it to Greene? Or
call the number with the D.C. area code that Platón gave me?
    I’ve been through every single page of the book—just
a bunch of names and numbers. The first few pages are filled with
women’s names. Caro’s name was listed but, to my relief, not
Angela’s.
    Toward the back there are strange names like Damian,
Eagle, Firebird, Giant, Horus and Ishtar followed by a string of
numbers that don’t make sense to me but must be valuable to
someone.
    Greene’s words break through. “I’m sure the book is
still at the crime scene. Even though we did a thorough search
during the initial investigation we came up empty-handed.
Apparently, so did Platón. Any ideas?”
    I swallow a couple of times before I manage, “Not
really. After all, you’re the professional.”

Chapter 16
    THE NOTE, delivered by hand this morning, is written
in the same barely legible penmanship as the first.
    There has been a change in plans. I will pick you up
at five. As I mentioned in my previous note, I will supply your
jewelry.

    C

    Greene reads it. “This is not good.”
    My heart ratchets up to full speed. Action, at last.
Then I read Greene’s concern and remember his lecture on the one
percent. “Something’s up?”
    He gives me a vigorous nod. “Ohhh, yesss.
Something’s definitely up. And that’s the problem. As you pointed
out the other day, Jersey’s not in our jurisdiction. The only
reason we’re even slightly involved in this case is because
Carolina Montoya and the three other murdered women were regulars
at those parties. All four of them lived in this precinct—all four
died by the same MO.”
    He pulls a folded paper out of his pocket, reads it
over, then hands it to me.
    “This fax from one of my Jersey sources reports
there’s rumor of a raid tonight. But he stresses that it’s only a
rumor. And since the DEA won’t blow their source’s cover, you’ll be
pretty much on your own.”
    I ignore the uneasy feel in my gut and ask myself
what could be so dangerous? My first trip to Disney New Jersey with
Cliff was a snap. And this trip is with the Cardinal. Looks to me
like the only threat will be the amorous attentions of an old man.
Revolting as they were, I give myself a small pat on the back for
handling the situation pretty well.
    And, let’s face it. Nobody, but nobody will mess
with the Big Kahuna.

Chapter 17
    AT ONE MINUTE TO FIVE I descend the steps with
Angela’s mink draped casually over my shoulders. The liveried
chauffeur stands beside the open door of the Mercedes 500 as the
Cardinal beckons me to join him in the back seat.
    When the mink