Private #1 Suspect (Private 2)

I showed Val Kenney to the seating area. “I’m sure Cody would have told me about you, but I haven’t had a phone for a couple of days.”

“Being without a phone. That’s hell, isn’t it?”

I laughed. First time in a while.

“So what’s your story, Val?”

She summarized her life, hitting the high points. She had rehearsed it, sure, but it wasn’t too pat. Val was from Miami; her mother still lived in the Gables. She’d gone to Boston University, graduated four years ago with a bachelor of science degree.

“I took criminology postgrad at the University of Miami,” she told me. “My mom needed me at home to help her with my brother for a while. He was a teenager, you know, out of control. Do you remember when you came to Miami and gave a lecture on crime detection?”

“I do.”

“I was in the front row.”

“Sorry. There were a lot of people there.”

“Oh, that’s okay. But you really made an impression on me, Mr. Morgan.”

“Jack.”

“Jack. So how am I doing?” she asked. “Am I still hired?”

Second time I’d laughed. I guess I must’ve missed laughter if I was counting.

“Let’s see how it goes,” I said. “Keep talking.”

Val told me she’d done a stint with Miami PD in the back office, got her master’s at night, and told her mother that she was going to move to LA one day and work for Private.

“That last part’s a lie,” I said.

She grinned. “It’s what you say on interviews, ‘I always wanted to work here.’ But damn it, I did. I do.”

“Have you moved to LA?”

“Yes. I’m a big one for bold moves.”

First time she’d looked nervous in fifteen minutes, since Dewey Arnold told me good luck like he was wishing I’d get the plague.

“When Cody answered my e-mail, I got on a plane and flew out to meet him,” Valerie continued. “Speaking of e-mail, you’ve got a lot of it. Phone calls too. Three clients resigned—I cued up their contact info on your computer. And there are about five meetings I should rebook for you, if you’re ready. Mr. Del Rio, urgent. Ms. Poole, urgent. Should I go on?”

“You know what has happened to me?”

“Yes.”

“Solving Colleen Molloy’s murder—we’re going to be working nights. Weekends. You’ve got an advanced degree. Are you sure you want to answer phones?”

“Yes. And I can do anything you need me to do. This is a dream job, Mr., ah, Jack. I’ll work my butt off. That’s a promise. You’re looking at a former scholarship student. I got into the best schools on scholarship.”

Her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap. She was leaning toward me, hopeful.

I had to smile. She was smart and she was motivated, but was she as good as her act?

“When you think I’m ready, we’ll talk about me moving up to investigation,” Val Kenney said.

I had a murder rap hanging over my head. I had to take a chance that the smart and motivated Ms. Kenney could watch my back while I did whatever I had to do to save my life.

I reached out and shook her hand again.