Page 67 of Sinful Memory

“Nah.” He flicks something on his end of the line and sucks in a long breath.

He’s smoking.And damn my former nicotine craving for jumping to attention.

“By the time I got to work, the block was already cordoned off, and cops were everywhere. Folks were in the street, and Mrs. Perry was across the road making a statement. I got to talking to some of the looky-loos, though, and heard that some dude was holding the place up. But it’s a bad neighborhood, Detective. This wasn’t the first time that store had been hit.”

“You weren’t called upon to make a statement?”

“Nah. I didn’t see anything. And soon after, Mrs. Perry came back and paid for her repairs. Tapped a shiny black credit card, and tried real hard not to let me see the red in her eyes.”

“Red how?”

“I’ve had a live-in missus in the past, Detective. So I know when a woman has been up all night crying. I printed out her receipt, told her to take it easy and not drive too fast. Then I watched her pull that shiny SUV outta my driveway and out of my life. I haven’t seen her since.” He stops for a pause, and swallows so I hear his throat move. “Did she die painfully? Was it quick?”

“Misty?”

“Yeah. She seemed really nice, ya know? Vulnerable and alone. It sucks if she got killed after already being so sad.”

“She’s not dead.” I writeattempted murderin my notebook and circle it for Fletch. “Mrs. Perry is alive and well, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Aw, really?” His voice lightens. “Shit, man. That’s great. You think she’s gonna be single anytime soon? Because sad eyes like what she had says trouble with her man. I’d be willing to step in and become her permanent mechanic, if you get my drift.”

I choke out a soft laugh. “I don’t know, Garry. Maybe. Maybe not. I know she deserves someone good, though. Thanks for your time, okay? You’ve been helpful.”

“Oh, sure thing,” he quips. “Easy enough. If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

“Sure do.”

I bring the phone from my ear and kill our call, then I dial the next on my list as I say, “Her brake lines were tampered with, Fletch. Not all the way through,” I amend. “But someone took a spin with them and tried to fuck her up.”

“This is Officer Branton.”

“Officer.” I bring my attention back to the phone and turn the page in my notebook to write his name down. “My name is Detective Malone, outta Copeland PD. I just wanted to check in with you about an armed robbery last week.”

“Oh yeah?” He sits back in his chair so it squeaks on its frame. “I closed that one already, Detective. It was my easiest of the week.”

“Yeah, I heard it was closed. I just wanted to talk to you about the perp for a sec. Can you give me a rundown on the dude? He’s connected to one of my currents, I think.”

“Sure.” He sips a drink and makes my tongue water for caffeine. “Daniel Jeffries. He’s been in and out of custody all his life. Forty-two years old, he’s spent some time in prison every single year since he was old enough to be put away. Longest stretch was five years, shortest, a month or two. He’s always stealing things, and often, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s the product of a shitty home life with junkie parents who never gave a shit. He’s a regular around here, so I know plenty about him. Jeffries was hungry for more, started lifting wallets and jewelry. Turned it up when he was about seventeen, and added weapons. He’s never far from his friends in prison.”

“I have a witness who claims he was tagged because of his tattoos?”

“Yeah.” He sighs and sniggers in the same breath. “Dumbass didn’t take the lesson in remaining inconspicuous. He’s got prison ink all over his body. He covers most of it when he’s working; face, arms, shoulders and whatnot. But he’s a Condors fan, and inked their logo on the top of his right hand. It’s not good work,” he adds as an aside. “But it’s distinctive as hell, so as soon as our witnesses gave that detail, we knew who we were looking for.”

I writeDaniel Jeffriesin my book, and nod when Fletch runs his name using the laptop sitting on the table. “Jeffries sitting behind bars already?”

“Yep. We’d put him in within hours of the robbery. He was screaming some shit about how his girl owes him money. He ‘did the job,’ he said. Now she owes him.”

“That’s all I needed to know, thank you, Officer.” I pull the phone from my ear and smile as Fletch pulls his rap sheet up on the screen. “Bet you my left nut Gina bribes this dickhead with season passes whenever she needs a job done.”

“Alright.” He sits back and acknowledges my point. “But why? Why’d she kill Anna? And why’s she going after Misty?”

I click my tongue and push up to stand. “Common denominator is Vance. She wants him, and these other women were in the way. Let’s go.”

I grab my notebook and slap the laptop closed, then I circle away from the desk and head through the door. “We have her lipstick and fingerprints on the wineglass at the crime scene. We have her screwing around with Vance in secret. She’s Anna’s publicist. She was on the phone to Misty while she was traveling, and knew where she would be. Oh,” I stop by Misty’s interview room and poke my head in again, startling the poor woman until she jumps in her seat.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” I don’t even walk all the way in. “Just one quick question before you can go.”

She wipes her tissues across her face and watches me. “Yes?”

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