“Did you?”
“Are you kidding, puke in his baby? He would have strangled me and thrown me off a cliff. Puking wasn’t acceptable, and I passed the test every time.”
“You liked him.”
“Yeah, I did. Loved him, too. He was career military, hard on everybody, but I have a lot of good memories of the times I spent with him.”
Melody’s face softened and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. She turned and wiped them away.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. There’s just a lot of history here. No wonder you don’t drive it, it’s like a precious jewel.”
“Cars need to be driven or they die. You can’t keep a racehorse locked up in a stall its whole life.”
“Let’s not take it out tonight.”
“Why?”
“When you take me for a ride, I want us both to be happy. This is a happy car.”
“The car could make us happy. At least for a little while.”
She turned back to him, a little mascara smeared beneath her eyes. “Maybe, but all the baggage we’re carrying won’t fit in that little trunk.”
“You might be right about that.”
“I think I should call the cops now.”
“I think you’re right about that, too.”
Chapter Twenty-five
SAM HADN’T BEEN EXPECTING THE COPS to pay a visit at midnight, but then he’d looked at the card Teddy had given Melody. Detective Margaret Nolan, Robbery-Homicide, a division that never slept. That’s when he knew the night wasn’t going to end well. Against his better judgment, while they waited, he poured himself a shot of rye, poured Melody a glass of chardonnay. Eventually the knock came.
Margaret Nolan looked young for a detective, and she was tall, almost as tall as he was. He didn’t doubt that she was strong beneath the boxy suit she wore, and her gray eyes and strawberry blond hair, pulled back in a mercilessly tight bun, suggested northern European lineage. So did the sharp angles of her face, attractive but severe. A woman from an old, storied warrior clan was his first, fanciful thought, and that would be a good pedigree to have in her situation. RHD was still an old boy’s club, and if you didn’t have the right equipment between your legs you had to have the guts to stand your ground.
Her partner was an older gent with a softening gut, wispy hair going gray around the ears, and probing, hound dog eyes. An old timer, probably all of forty-five. The picture filled out: she’d been paired with a division veteran, one who could help her navigate complicated waters, knew people, knew the politics, knew all the dance moves on a crowded, rancorous floor. He introduced himself as Detective Crawford and hung back, letting his protégé take lead.
Of course, this was all a fabrication. Sam crafted stories around everyone he met or even saw if they seemed interesting enough. Trying to read people was a habit, sometimes a hobby when he was bored. Situational awareness, they called it in the military.
After the introductions had been made, he invited them to sit. He really wanted to offer them a cocktail because they both looked like they could use one, but he didn’t think they’d appreciate the drollness. Besides, there was nothing humorous about the situation. They declined the more appropriate offer of coffee and took seats in two club chairs. Just like the braided rug in the kitchen, Yuki hadn’t been interested in taking them.
Since they’d arrived, Detective Crawford had feigned mild boredom, his eyes busy taking in details of the house, but he was paying close attention. Detective Nolan’s interest was less subtle and had been split between his scarred face and Melody’s black eye; but once they were all settled, she focused solely on Melody, which was appropriate. This was about her. “How did you get the black eye, Ms. Traeger?”
“Not from Sam, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Detective Nolan waited patiently and let the silence grate on Melody as expertly as Dr. Frolich employed the technique. Sam briefly wondered if shrinks or cops had come up with it first.
“A guy I was dating,” she finally said. “Sam is helping me, that’s why I’m here. Why are you here?”
“Ryan Gallagher. Is he the one who gave you the black eye?”
Melody’s eyes widened.
“I’ll take that as a yes. So you and Ryan are a couple?”
“No, like I said, we dated. It was casual, but it’s over now.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Last night.”
“Is that when he hit you?”
She lowered her eyes and nodded.
“Where did this happen?”
“At his apartment.”
“On Alta Loma?”
“Yes.”
“What happened after he assaulted you?”
“I don’t know if I would call it assault.”
“That’s exactly what I’d call it, Ms. Traeger,” Crawford finally spoke. “Tell us what happened next.”
“I came here. Sam is my friend and coworker and I was afraid. Why are you asking me questions about Ryan?”
Crawford delivered the news dispassionately. “I’m sorry, Ms. Traeger, but he was murdered in his apartment sometime this morning. We’re wondering if you know who may have done it.”
Melody’s mouth moved, but it took a while for her to find words. Sam knew exactly how she felt. He’d had some very uncharitable thoughts about Ryan Gallagher over the past twenty-four hours, but even a cowardly piece of human rot like him didn’t deserve this. A good beating to even the scales, maybe, but a life was a life.
Maybe he did deserve it. Did your victims of war deserve it?
The claws of a fresh headache started an exploratory rake of Sam’s brain, and he crossed his arms and tucked his hands in his armpits so nobody would see his clenched fists. It wasn’t a good time to have some kind of an episode, especially since they were getting more unpredictable lately. He didn’t ever want to see portents of doom wriggling across any foreheads ever again; and he most definitely didn’t want to melt down in front of the detectives, stumble into his bedroom, and come out waving his Colt.
“He was murdered?” Melody finally asked in a tremulous voice.
“Yes. He was shot.”
Melody covered her mouth, a strange but instinctive gesture for most people who received unexpected and shocking news. “Are you sure? Jesus, of course you’re sure, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Oh my God.” She curled into a protective ball on the sofa.
“Did he ever mention any problems he might have been having with friends, colleagues? Enemies?”
She shook her head and looked down at her hands, lifeless in her lap. “We didn’t talk about things like that. It wasn’t that kind of relationship.”
Sam cringed inwardly. She’d just admitted the guy she’d pinned some hope on thought of her as a booty call and punching bag, nothing more. Fantasy shattered. He was less sorry Ryan was dead than he had been a few minutes ago.
“So you didn’t know he was being sued?”
Melody jerked up her head abruptly. “I had no idea. Who was suing him?”
“Golden West Studios, for unpaid recording time. A hundred grand worth.”