Page 22 of Justice for Francesca

Francesca sat forward, picked up her pencil, and turned her attention back to the reports rather than meet Cruz’s scrutiny.

“So… you and Tripoli Evans.”

“There’s no me and Tripoli Evans.”

“That’s not what I’m seeing.”

“Well, you’re seeing wrong, so I’d make an appointment with your optometrist.” She looked up at Cruz. “I was undercover at The Library for almost three months. We got nowhere. Evans and I spoke regularly, but we had no contact, physical or otherwise, outside of the club.”

“Thought you agreed to use his club name so I don’t get confused.”

She heard the zing in his comment, although he did everything he could to keep a straight face. “Fine.Tripoliand I spoke regularly, but we had no contact, physical or otherwise, outside of the club. And nothing physical inside the club either,” she emphatically added.

“Seems like he wishes it were otherwise.”

“He’s a suspect, Cruz.”

“He’s clear of suspicion, Frankie. His alibi has been verified. First thing I did.”

She huffed. “He’s still connected to the investigation.” She threw her pencil on the desk and sat back in the chair again. “He’s refusing to answer questions.”

“What? He’s given us unlimited access to everything here so that we don’t go get a warrant. Why would he refuse?”

“I have no idea. I take that back. He didn’t refuse outright. He actually had the nerve to give me an ultimatum. Said he’d answer questions if I had dinner with him. Otherwise, I’d have to get a subpoena to haul him to the office to question him, and then I’m guessing he’ll lawyer up. That means hours, possibly days, of work to get simple answers. Colossal waste of time and resources.”

“So… have dinner with him.”

Francesca felt her mouth fall open. She could only imagine the shocked expression on her face. “Are you fucking nuts?”

Cruz smiled; she assumed because of the swear word. She never swore on the job. “Knew there was a human being in there,” he teased.

“That’s crazy talk. Why would I have dinner with him?”

“You need to eat. We have questions. Why waste time bothering a judge?”

“Exactly what he said,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead.

“Smart man.” Cruz leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them. “Seems like a no-brainer to me. If it makes you feel better, if Ortiz or anyone asks, I’ll vouch for you and say I approved for you to have dinner with him. I’ll tell her we decided it would be a good way to lull him into a false sense of security and see if we could get him to slip and tell us something.”

“You just said he was clear of suspicion, so that won’t work. Why can’t you talk to him?”

Cruz’s eyebrows raised. “I don’t think the dinner invitation was extended to me, Frankie. Just you.”

“You know, just because you met your girlfriend Mickie on a job doesn’t mean everyone else should flout convention and rules to do the same. Maybe if I’d met him somewhere else?—”

“Ah-ha! You are interested in him!” The smile on Cruz’s face was from ear to ear.

“St. George and the dragon?—”

“Don’t even bother to deny it.” Cruz stood up. “Enjoy your date.”

“It’s not a date, Cruz.”

Over his shoulder, he threw back, “Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep tonight.” He looked at her after he opened the door. “Relax, Frankie. You’re not breaking any rules. You’re going to be questioning him, so it qualifies as work even if someone thought you were fraternizing. I know you’re a rule monger, and I understand why. It’s time you realize the only one who thinks you’ll ever succumb to the ‘McCabe tendencies’ is you.”

Cruz shut the door. Frankie threw Tripoli’s stapler at the closed door.

9

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