“Oh.” His candor was refreshing. “Were you buying or selling?”
“She was selling and I was her source. When she got busted, she did me the favor of not turning me in. So I’d like to do her the favor of finding her killer.”
“And that’s why you’re doing all this? As a posthumous favor to Shanae?”
“I told you. Tina is basically a good kid. And she deserves better. Why else?”
I didn’t know, but my gut said there was more to it.
* * * * *
Sheila had taken off by the time I got to the office. A stack of mail waited for me. I hauled it upstairs, separating wheat from chaff as I went. I spied an envelope with the divorce interrogatories. Flipping through the pages, I groaned at how often the defendant refused to answer a question—and on the flimsiest of grounds. I tossed them onto the desk and rubbed my temples. Ahead lay the torturous process of negotiating with Slippery Steve—making a “good faith” effort to work out our differences—before we took our dispute to the judge. Judges enjoy resolving discovery disputes—especially in divorce and custody cases—about as much as scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush. There has to be an easier way, I thought.
On the plus side, I’d gotten a decent offer to settle the “bruised knee” case. I called Daria the Dancer, who whined that it wasn’t millions. I urged her to consider taking the more-than-reasonable amount, reminding her that she wasn’t permanently disabled, proving negligence would be near impossible and, if it went to trial, she’d end up with bupkes. The McDonald’s “hot coffee” fiasco and celebrity cases aside, I was incapable of arguing that Dancer Daria would be the next Twyla Tharp if not for her spill at Safeway. I copied the offer and sent it to Daria with a bid for her final “yea” or “nay.”
I was updating my calendar and my to-do list when the phone rang.
“Sam.” Walt sounded both discouraged and tired. I felt a pang of guilt. I was supposed to be doing the heavy lifting for him. “Brad’s been arrested for Jones’s murder.”
“When?”
“This afternoon. The cops found a gun in his apartment and they think it might be the murder weapon.”
I slumped in my chair. “What did Brad have to say?”
“He thinks someone planted it. He doesn’t own a gun.”
“Like someone planted the money in his office.” I hoped the cynicism in my voice wasn’t too obvious.
If it was, Walt ignored it. “Brad’s bail hearing is tomorrow morning. Can you come to my office in the afternoon? I want to start planning our strategy.”
“Sure.” I filled him in on the meeting with Narsh and the plan to find out who was behind the ITN transaction. Walt sounded happy to hear the news and was more upbeat when we hung up.
A few moments later, the phone rang again. This time it was Hirschbeck.
“You’re there late,” I said. It was almost 6:30 by my watch. “I always thought you corporate attorneys were strictly nine-to-fivers.”
“Meetings,” he said, tersely. “The audit’s in the works. Our Philadelphia headquarters gave us the green light.”
“Great,” I said. I decided to keep mum about the connection between the embezzlement and Fisher’s pawn shop. I wanted more information about the nature of the deal and who was handling it on Kozmik’s end.
“I’ll let you know when I hear more.” He hung up before I could ask if the computer records would be checked for tampering.
I needed to follow up with the investigator looking for Cooper. I got on the phone to Alex Kramer.
“You just saved me a call,” Kramer said. “There’s good news and bad news. I’ll start with the bad. I found a real address for Cooper, at a friend’s place. I guess he rented that cheap little room as a smokescreen. It’s a moot point now.”
“Why’s that?” I asked. My gut told me I already knew the answer.
“A young couple taking a walk by the Manayunk Canal found Cooper. Washed up on the bank. He didn’t look well.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The news of Cooper’s death took the wind out of me. I felt lightheaded. “When was this?” I murmured.
“They found Cooper yesterday,” Kramer said. “The body was a mess. He’d been in the water a week or so, and that’s just the ME’s best guess, according to my sources. He was hit on the head, but the body was so discolored, it was hard to tell whether it happened before or after he died.”
“Any call on whether this was an accident, suicide, or homicide?”