Page 57 of 3rd Tango
21
Charlie
Recovering from the accident is more challenging than I anticipated.
I slept terribly, my body aching and my face continuing to swell for hours after JJ took me to his place. It was so tender, I couldn’t sleep on my left side and kept waking myself up.
On his way into the office, he dropped me off at home. I’m still in my pjs—a new set he brought me last night and insisted I wear—long after he left. In between a couple short naps, I continue to review files and notes, as well as digging deeper into bank robbers and Evelyn. When Mom calls to check on me, I fill her in on everything.
Including Al’s involvement with taking down the London Fog Gang.
I keep circling to him, the case, and what ties Evelyn and Marie might have. JJ confirmed the AG’s investigation didn’t center on Grenado, only Baez.
Something isn’t adding up, and I need to question Al, but since I’m so suspicious he might’ve been involved in the shooting, I can’t bring myself to call him.
I look down at the pink pajamas and sigh over the unicorns on them. JJ is such a big teddy bear, and under his gruff exterior, a total marshmallow when it comes to me. Normally, I wouldn’t be caught dead in something like these, but he told me I was his unicorn—that rare, unattainable woman that brings magic to his life.
Cheesy, for sure, but damn if I didn’t put them on and wear them with pride. They’re surprisingly comfortable, and, even though I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, I sort of like them.
I’m debating my next move. There’s been no word from the detectives concerning the shooting, and everyone is waiting for me to figure out whether Shock Investigations will run with the Evelyn angle or turn the DNA analysis over to the Bureau. I need to make a decision.
No point in sitting here twiddling my thumbs and rereading notes I’ve already gone over a dozen times. Nothing new is jumping out at me, and none of it is going to point an obvious finger at who shot up my car yesterday. I need a shower, some makeup, and to get out of the unicorn pajamas. Maybe then I’ll have an aha moment and everything will come together.
I leave the notes scattered across my dining room table and shut down my laptop, ready to clean myself up. My doorbell rings and I cringe, praying it’s Meg and not someone else. Even with her, I may spend the rest of my life living down these pjs.
Before I get to the door, the person on the other side starts knocking. Faintly, I hear my mother’s voice. “Charlize? It’s me, mom. Open up.”
I seriously consider ignoring her. But I know better. She has a key and will let herself in, then the alarm will go off because she never remembers how to reset it. Things will spiral downward from there. Or she’ll grab Meg and they’ll come over, because Meg knows I’m home.
When I open the door, I’m horrified that I didn’t glance out the peephole first. Not only is Mom on my front doorstep, three other people are with her.
Al, a short Asian gal with glasses and a sprinkling of gray hair amongst the black strands, and another woman who’s tall and curvy, with no makeup and a lot of freckles. All three women look excited, Al looks concerned.
Or is it worry?
Four sets of eyes sweep me from head to foot. Not only is it afternoon, but the unicorns probably don’t do much to solidify my reputation as a tough former FBI agent and serious private investigator.
“We’re here to figure out Gayle and Marie’s connection to Evelyn and that gang,” Mom says. “This is Clarice and Martha.”
That’s all the introductions I get as Mom brushes past.
Al follows, the genuine concern on his face giving me pause. “How are you doing?” His gaze lands on my stitches and partial black eye. “Have the police learned anything?”
Clarice and Martha file in, nodding at me as I reply. “Nothing yet. Whoever took the shot was a decent marksman, but not good enough to actually hit me, I guess.”
As I say the words, I watch his face for any telltale sign suggesting he was involved.
Nothing in it changes. “A warning, maybe?” He shrugs and shakes his head as if he can’t put the pieces together. “I was shocked when your mom told me what happened. Do you think it’s tied to this case?” Another probing glance. “I know you have suspects. If I can help, just say the word.”
Mom has led the other two into the dining room. They take seats and begin unloading laptops and files.
“I do have a list.” I shut the door reluctantly. How in the world am I going to get these people out of my house? “I promise you’ll be the first to know when I’m ready to share it.”
It’s not much of a veiled threat, but if he’s guilty, I expect to see something in his eyes, his composure. Nothing.
He glances over my attire once more and nods, before heading into the dining room. I reset the security system, hang my head for a moment, and consider my options for throwing my mother and her group out. There really aren’t any, and I have questions for Al.
He takes a seat at my table. I want to ask where he was yesterday at the time of the shooting, but first, there’s something tickling my brain about what Taylor told us regarding the night Sven and his buddies were discovered by Al and Mike. “I understand you worked the London Fog Gang robberies and received an anonymous tip about where they were the night you caught them,” I say to him. “Do you remember if the caller was male or female?”
