Free Malevolent by David Searls Page A

something. But how do I know it was the same broad when she’s laid out on the sidewalk, in the dark, surrounded by cops, paramedics and onlookers? So I didn’t mention our earlier contact until the cop did and that makes me the suspicious character. Well that’s bullshit.”
    Griffin’s face was red, his temples glistening with sweat. He stared at Tim, then broke into a sheepish grin. “You see how I panic? If someone with a badge came in here and asked me if I was in Dallas the day Kennedy got shot, I’d make something up and forget to tell them I wasn’t even born then.”
    “You’d tell them you were with me,” Tim said.
    Their eyes met and they stared each other down for several hard seconds before both burst into cackles. The hushed chatter died from behind the curtain as two nervous couples tried to decide what the sudden laughter meant. To Tim, it felt good getting it out like that. Like puncturing a high pressure zone with a rain shower.
    “Tell me about when this woman, the rape victim, visited you,” Tim said when both had sufficiently recovered.
    “I noticed her because business was a little slow that evening.”
    Tim wondered how that evening could have been any different than this, but he didn’t comment.
    “She looks normal enough. I ask if I could help her find anything, but she just keeps staring at the black curtain, frowning. And that’s when some dreg of society happens to drag his sorry ass in here on a cloud of booze and BO. He’s a semiregular, okay? I admit it. He’s the kind of guy who fits the perv description for everyone who hates adult films. Stereotype meets real life and it’s love at first sight. See what I’m saying? He stumbles straight for that curtain and leaves it flapping wide open, beavers and tits from about four dozen DVD cases on full display.”
    Griffin rubbed his face at the memory. “The woman goes ballistic, starts threatening me with Scriptures and lawsuits and cops and zoning ordinances and everything else she can think of. Scared the hell out of my perv, he slinks out of here like his bench warrants were about to catch up with him.”
    One of the guys in the back room stepped partially out, case in hand, but a manicured hand reeled him back in. “Not that one,” the feminine voice said, giggling.
    Griffin rolled his eyes. “Finally, she runs out of steam and stomps away. Which might have been the end of it, except that I accidentally threw gasoline on the smoldering flames by visiting that goddamn church on the corner.”
    He lifted his eyes heavenward and said, “No offense.” He lifted his Malcolm X ball cap, patted his damp hair and repositioned the cap. “I was just curious, you know? It’s in the neighborhood.”
    Tim picked up the story, instinctively knowing where it was going. “She was there and couldn’t believe you’d have the audacity to show up after the ball-busting she’d given you earlier.”
    Griffin’s head bobbed. “It was like Linda Blair suddenly losing her sunny disposition. Needless to say, I hustled my wide ass out of there.”
    Coincidence? Is that what had steered the dude to the church frequented by the woman who’d ragged him, or had he been goading her? Thumbing his nose. Tim could see it happening either way.
    The voices behind the curtain hushed as if they’d neared a decision.
    Tim said, “It still seems strange for her to blame you for her attack—if she was attacked—just because you peddle dirty movies near her church.”
    Griffin shook his head despondently. “I know. That’s what I—” He froze, his dark eyes fixed on Tim. “What do you mean, if ?”
    There it was, the big question. Could he answer it without taking sides? He didn’t think so. By letting slip Detective Dillon’s admission of doubt—it was an accident, wasn’t it?—Tim could no longer even pretend impartiality. And why, by the way, was he suddenly referring to Melinda as Detective Dillon.
    It certainly looked like he’d taken