Free More Perfect Union (9780061760228) by Judith A. Jance Page B

you’re not fully occupied. I figured a Jacuzzi and an early out would do me a world of good. That was not to be, however, at least not as early as I would have liked.
    The phone started ringing as soon as I put my key in the lock. It was Captain Powell, boiling mad and ready to chew ass, mine in particular.
    â€œJust who the hell do you think you are, Beaumont?” he demanded. “Ten minutes ago I had a call here at home from the Chief who had just spoken to the mayor. It seems the Dawsons had dinner guests tonight—Mr. Goldfarb and his assistant as well as some other friends of the mayor. It was supposed to be a small reception to celebrate finishing the location shooting.”
    I had some idea of what was coming, but I decided to play dumb. “What does that have to do with me?”
    â€œThey’re not done, goddamnit. According to Goldfarb, you’re the one who held them up.”
    â€œMe?” I couldn’t believe I had heard him right. “I held them up?”
    â€œThat’s what Dawson said. That you screwed them around all afternoon on Saturday and then walked off the set today. They’re going to have to pay a king’s ransom to rent Lake Union Drydock for a half-day tomorrow.”
    My first instinct was to fight back, to tell the captain to cram it, but something told me that maybe Powell wasn’t playing with a full deck. “Wait just a damn minute here, Larry. Did anyone happen to mention the body?”
    â€œBody?” Larry echoed, sounding surprised. “What body?”
    â€œNobody told you about the corpse we fished out of the lake Saturday afternoon?”
    Powell exhaled a deep breath. “No, they didn’t. I’ve been out of town, haven’t had a chance to glance at the paper. Maybe you’d better fill me in, Beau.”
    By the time I finished telling Powell about Logan Tyree making an unscheduled appearance on the set of Death in Drydock , the captain was already apologizing.
    â€œSorry about that, Beau. Either His Honor failed to mention it, or the Chief neglected to pass the word. I don’t know which. Excuse the fireworks. Who did you say is handling the case—Davis and Kramer? I’d better get in touch with them and see if they can tell me anything more before I get back to the Chief. Thanks for letting me know.”
    He hung up the phone. I sat there looking at it, aware that I hadn’t told Powell everything he ought to know. I hadn’t mentioned my misgivings, that maybe Logan Tyree’s accidental death wasn’t. But then, aside from the vague ramblings of a talkative old man and my own gut-level hunch, I had nothing solid to tell him. Captain Powell has reamed me out more than once for what he calls my “off the wall” hunches.
    I was still staring glumly at the phone when it rang again, making me jump. I picked it up. “Hello.”
    â€œGuess who?” There’s a good deal of interference on the security phone in the lobby. I couldn’t quite make out my male caller’s voice.
    â€œI give up,” I said.
    â€œIt’s me. Derrick. Guess who’s with me?”
    If I still owned a television set, I could have tuned to the building’s closed-circuit channel and had a bird’s-eye view of whoever was down in the lobby, but I didn’t have one and I was far too tired to play games.
    â€œI haven’t the foggiest, Derrick. You tell me.”
    â€œMerrilee,” he said. “Remember her? We’re having a little party. BYOB. Can we come up?”
    I could have said no. I didn’t. When I opened the door it was clear neither one of them was feeling any pain. Out of uniform, Merrilee Jackson was more than moderately attractive. Her regulation shirt and trousers had concealed both her figure and her legs. The clingy knit dress she was wearing accentuated both.
    Derrick made his way to the bar and poured three drinks, two from one bottle and one