Page 42 of Justice Delayed

“Appreciate it.” Back at his desk, Brogan sipped his coffee. Ambushing the detectives at a restaurant might not put him in their good graces, but since he didn’t want to officially request an interview, it might work. The fact of their visit to Melender already told him the money had indeed been traced to the ransom bills. He’d have to get her side of the story later, but for now, a chat with the detectives might prove fruitful. If nothing else, it would alert them someone was seriously looking into the case again.

* * *

At Anita’s Mexican Restaurant,Brogan settled into the booth with a clear eye of the door. At one o’clock, the small eatery on Fairfax Boulevard was fast filling up with the lunch crowd, which included numerous members of law enforcement. He counted several police officers and fire personnel among the uniformed patrons. By 1:15, not a seat remained open when Detectives Lauren Collier and Mark Livingston walked in.

The hostess greeted them, then pointed to Brogan’s booth. He’d slipped her a twenty to seat the pair with him should the restaurant be full when the detectives—who ate at Anita’s every Friday like clockwork—showed up. Brogan raised a hand in greeting.

The detectives exchanged glances, then Livingston shrugged, and they walked to his booth. Brogan stood as they approached. “Detective Collier, Detective Livingston. I’m Brogan Gilmore with theHerald.”

At the mention of his affiliation, Collier firmed her lips.

“What a coincidence to run into the two people I had on my list to call today.” Brogan smiled.

“A coincidence.” Livingston glanced around the restaurant that had no empty tables. “What tune do you expect us to sing for our lunch?”

Brogan raised his hands. “I just need some background. Strictly off the record, I promise.”

“In that case, let’s order.” Livingston slid into the booth opposite where Brogan had been sitting. “I’m starving.”

His partner eased in beside him, her demeanor that of an animal not sure if the situation warranted fight or flight.

Brogan retook his seat as a waitress approached.

“What can I get you to drink?” She addressed the question to Brogan, who gestured toward the detectives. “I already know what they want. Iced tea and a Diet Coke.”

“In that case, I’d like a bottle of Perrier poured over ice, please. I’m guessing you two don’t need a minute to look over the menu.”

Collier smiled. “Benita knows our orders.”

Brogan handed Benita his menu. “I’ll have the carnitas enchilada with a side of guacamole.”

“Now tell us what you want to know, ‘off the record.’” Livingston made air quotes as he spoke.

From Seth’s source, Brogan had heard that Livingston, a twenty-year veteran on the force, had a no-nonsense style, while his partner of five years had a reputation of being thorough and fair. As a team assigned to Fairfax County’s homicide division, Collier and Livingston had racked up an impressive record of closing hard cases.

Benita set down their drinks, two complimentary salsa dishes, and a large basket of warm tortilla chips.

Brogan slipped a straw into his drink. No sense beating around the bush. “I heard you found some of the ransom money from the Thompson kidnapping on a murder victim.”

“Where did you hear that?” Collier said, her eyes spitting fire.

“He’s a reporter, so he’s not going to reveal his sources.” Livingston dipped a chip into the salsa and ate it, as calm as if they were all relaxing poolside with frozen drinks in their hands. “Let’s go on the assumption that what Gilmore heard is correct. What is your interest?”

“Melender Harman’s out of jail and in the area, but you already know that because you visited her this morning to ask about the money.” Brogan resisted the chips, concentrating instead on trying to get a read on the detectives sitting opposite him. “What you might not know is that her aunt, Ruby Harman Thompson, accosted Melender last week.”

“Accosted?” Livingston sounded only mildly interested, but Brogan sensed tension coiling inside the man.

“Mrs. Thompson screamed at Melender and tried to physically attack her while Melender was working.” Brogan sipped his sparkling water.

“And you know this how?” Collier’s turn to ask a question.

“Because I witnessed the exchange.” Brogan succinctly recapped that encounter.

Benita returned, balancing a tray with steaming plates of food, placing Brogan’s enchilada and side of guacamole on the table, then putting down a trio of tacos in front of Livingston and a massive chimichanga in front of Collier. Service was quick at Anita’s, which added to its popularity with law enforcement. With a quick glance at their still-full beverages, Benita left.

Livingston picked up a taco and took a bite. Brogan followed his lead and dug into his enchilada after adding a large dollop of guacamole on top. For a few minutes, nobody spoke as they ate.

Two tacos down, Livingston wiped his mouth. “You’re looking into the Thompson case.”

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