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  Emily shook her head. “I will never understand why someone would steal a car, take it for a joy ride, and then slash the tires.”

  “There are a lot of things I will never understand,” Wallace replied. The radio on his belt chirped, and a string of codes flowed from the wireless device. He listened to the dispatcher and then pulled out his cell phone. He hit a number stored in memory and then turned away from Emily. A minute later he hung up the phone.

  “We have to go. Robbery in Georgetown. Someone I know, if dispatch has the story right. Victim claims he was robbed after he witnessed an accident between a woman and a Circulator bus.”

  “Ouch.”

  “So far, the woman hit by the bus has survived. We’ll have to see if she makes it.”

  “And you say a guy you know witnessed the crash and was then robbed?”

  “That’s the story.” Wallace lowered himself into the police vehicle while holding onto the edge of the roof with one hand. He started the engine and reached for a fresh piece of Nicorette from the dash.

  “You seem agitated,” Emily said, eyeing her partner as the car lurched forward.

  “Concerned. This guy, if the dispatcher is correct on his identity, is unusual.”

  “You mean he’s crazy.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “When people say someone is unusual, they usually mean crazy and are just being polite.”

  “He’s not crazy. Well, maybe a little. At any rate, he’s a friend. Of sorts. He’s unique.”

  “Well that clears it up. What, are you two secret lovers? I mean it’s okay, if that’s your thing. Love is love, if you ask me.”

  “I’ve been married as long as you have been on this earth. He’s not my lover.”

  “Well, he’s something. You’re chewing your gum like a rabid beaver.”

  “His name is Dan Lord. He’s a lawyer. A private detective. Does legal counseling. Hard to pin down exactly. Works for himself.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “We met in the course of Detective Nguyen’s murder investigation.”

  “Your former partner?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “He helped with the investigation of Detective Nguyen’s death, though it wasn’t friendly at times between Dan and the police. Ultimately, Dan deserved a lot of the credit for solving Nguyen’s murder.”

  “And just how does a private eye solve a crime before the police? How does a private detective get the better of a DC detective with a quarter century of experience under his belt?”

  Detective Wallace didn’t smile and Detective Fields knew she had crossed the line.

  “He didn’t follow the rules,” Wallace finally replied.

  Emily looked over, waiting for more information.

  “What I’m about to tell you is entirely off the record.”

  “You mean, ‘we are partners and I got your back no matter what’? That type of off the record?”

  “Yeah, smart ass.”

  “Then it’s off the record.”

  “When Detective Nguyen was murdered, a lot of things went ass end up. By the conclusion of Nguyen’s murder investigation, there had been collateral damage and the involvement of some other federal agencies.”

  “Interesting.”

  “And Dan Lord was in the middle of it. He had lost a nephew and a sister-in-law and he was investigating certain aspects of their deaths. Detective Nguyen was handling their cases from the DC police side. The nephew’s death was initially ruled a drug overdose. The sister-in-law’s death was ruled a suicide. Both occurred the same night.”

  “But the private detective didn’t believe the deaths were an overdose or a suicide.”

  “No. And he had met with Nguyen a couple of times before Nguyen died. For a lot of reasons, I suspected Dan had something to do with Nguyen’s death. The evidence was there. The motive was not. But he was, without a doubt, a suspect. The only suspect we had,” Wallace said, his voice trailing off, as if in remembrance of a regret.

  “So, what did you do?”

  “Well, I might have thrown him in a cell with a few hardened criminals.”

  “That wasn’t very nice.”

  “In hindsight, it wasn’t very nice to the criminals.”

  “How many?”

  “Seven. There were more men in the cell, but some of them chose not to participate. A good decision as it turns out. Four went to the hospital. Two were there for a while.”

  “He took out seven men, by himself, unarmed, in a jail cell?”

  “In less than twenty seconds. After giving them a verbal warning.”

  “A man after my own heart. Did he forgive you after that?”

  “Eventually.”

  “That’s good, because you’re in no shape for an ass-kicking.”

  “Not from this guy, that’s for sure.”

  *

  Detective Wallace weaved through the residential streets and squeezed down an alley to get past the congestion. The nosedive from the sidewalk into the path of the red Circulator bus had paralyzed Georgetown traffic. The flashing lights from the sea of emergency vehicles illuminated the front of the restaurants and shops on M Street. Rubberneckers and gawkers filled the sidewalk on both sides of the street.

  Detective Wallace turned the corner, pulled half the car onto the sidewalk, and threw it into park. Twenty yards down the sidewalk, sitting on a small stone staircase, Dan held a cold-pack to the back of his head. A uniformed officer stood next to him. The madness of the accident was just around the corner, less than fifty yards away.

  Wallace and Emily approached the uniformed officer. Wallace recognized him, and flicked his head to the side, motioning for the uniformed officer to step away from Dan.

  “Officer Gonzalez.”

  “Detective Wallace.”

  Wallace introduced Emily and the two shook hands.

  “What do we have?” Wallace asked.

  “The witness says he knows you,” Gonzalez replied.

  “Is he a witness or a victim?”

  “According to him, both. But he’s a little out of it. Big knot on the back side of his head where it meets the neck. Some blood. He started speaking to me in Spanish after he heard me talk to one of the other witnesses, a dishwasher from a café down the street.”

  “He speaks a couple of languages,” Wallace stated.

  “Well, he speaks Spanish better than I do and my mother was from El Salvador. Anyway, he has no ID on him. No wallet. Claims it was stolen. He’s refusing medical treatment. Says he will sign a release against medical advice. He called it an AMA, so he obviously knows what he’s talking about. Sounds like a lawyer. Doesn’t look like one. We have an icepack on him. We were waiting for you. He says he doesn’t want to waste time with anyone else.”

  Emily fought the urge to see how her own Spanish compared. Instead she asked, “Diagnosis?”

  “Lucky. Hit with a blunt object.” The officer pointed to a place on his own head between the ear and the back of the neck. “A little farther down or back and he could have easily been killed. A whole lot of things can be injured in the neck…”

  Wallace nodded. “So we have an accident and a robbery?”

  “That’s right. The only victims are the woman hit by the bus and your friend here.”

  “What about witnesses?” Wallace asked.

  “We have a bunch of people who saw the woman fall into the path of the bus. People on the sidewalk. People in the bus line. No one saw anything suspicious.”

  “So we have two victims of two separate crimes, and one of the victims is the only witness?”

  “And if that weren’t strange enough, your friend here says he witnessed the accident from across the street. Across five lanes of traffic.”

  “And he just happened to look over and see an accident?”

  “So he claims.”

  “Did you search this block?”

  “For what?”


  “Other bodies.”

  “No, sir. Why do you ask?”

  “Because the guy sitting over there isn’t the type to be robbed quietly. Grab a couple of officers and take a look around the backside of the building again. See if there isn’t someone with a broken neck floating in the canal.”

  Wallace and Emily turned and looked in Dan’s direction. His head was still in his hands, cold-pack resting on the back of his head and neck.

  “I’ll have it checked out,” Gonzales said.

  Wallace walked over and looked down at Dan. Dan tried to turn his head and winced.

  “Dan Lord,” Wallace said, bending at the knees and trying to focus on Dan’s eyes.

  “Detective Wallace. Long time, no see. How’s the wife?”

  “Still married. How are you doing?”

  “Been better.”

  “How about a ride to the hospital? Get you checked out.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “They say you got mugged.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, seeing that you’re refusing medical treatment and you don’t have a driver’s license, wallet, or money, how about I give you a ride home?”

  Dan ignored the question and looked over at Detective Fields’ shoes. “New partner?” he asked.

  “Yes. This is Emily Fields. She’s a new detective with the force.”

  “I see you followed my lead,” Dan said. “You went out and got yourself a young white girl for a partner.”

  Wallace looked at Emily and shook his head as if begging her to ignore the statement.

  “And where is your partner, tonight?” Wallace asked.

  “Africa. She’s in Tanzania this week.”

  “Still looking for you know who?”

  Dan nodded.

  Wallace and Emily each took an arm and readied Dan to get vertical. “Okay. Here we go, Dan. Let’s get up.”

  Twenty unsure steps down the sidewalk and Dan fell into the back seat of the unmarked police car.

  “I see you haven’t changed the interior of the car since the last time I was back here,” Dan said groggily.

  Once again Wallace shook his head at Emily, silently pleading with her not to lend any credence to the man in the rear of the car. Wallace started the car and pulled a three-point turn using both sidewalks to complete the maneuver on the narrow street.

  “You still at the same place in Alexandria?”

  “Nope. I moved. Right up the street in Georgetown.”

  “You moved to DC?”

  “Yep. And I took the bar for the District this year, so I can fully practice law within the city limits.”

  “I can’t say I’m happy to hear that. I thought you had too many enemies here in the city?”

  “I do. But I’m only here temporarily. Just working a case.”

  “Address?”

  “Thirty-Third Street. Near Volta Park.”

  *

  Ten minutes later, Wallace and Emily steered Dan Lord up four flights of stairs. Dan fumbled with the key and Detective Wallace pushed the door open.

  The two guys on the sofa with their girlfriends passing the bong around looked up when the door opened.

  “Detective, these are my two roommates,” Dan said. “Ignore the weed.”

  Wallace and Emily helped Dan down to the futon on the floor of Dan’s temporary bedroom and walked back to the living room. The bong and the girlfriends had disappeared.

  “Which one of you is the least high?” Wallace asked.

  Croc raised his hand.

  “Then you’re on babysitting duty. You need to wake him up every hour. All night. Set an alarm if you have to. You don’t do it and I’m coming back here and busting your ass for possession.”

  Croc glanced down at the large bag of weed protruding from under the table, looked up, and nodded vigorously.

  Chapter 23

  Sherry Wellington slipped the key into the lock on the front door of her consignment store and turned it to the right. She stepped through the doorway. Balancing her morning coffee in one hand with the keys, she punched the four-digit security code into the keypad on the wall. The small red light indicating the alarm system was armed and activated faded to black and then began blinking intermittently.

  Sherry flicked on the lights near the front window and flipped over the sign on the door, displaying the word OPEN towards the sidewalk and the world outside As she did every morning, she slowly worked her way to the rear of the store, perfecting the displays of wares. She straightened a slightly unbalanced lampshade and paused to refold a pair of matching sarongs left strewn on a side table by a customer from the evening prior.

  She reached the back of the store and screamed when she saw Dan sitting at the large wood table. “Jesus. You scared me.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “You can’t just barge into my place of business.”

  “I was making a point.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “I picked the lock. Your security code was your son’s birthday—month and day. You should try something more random.”

  “You should try to not break the law and scare the hell out of your clients.”

  “You mean scare the hell out of clients who lie to me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sherry. Mrs. Wellington. This is your come-to-Jesus moment. Your life may very well hang in the balance.”

  “That’s why I hired you to find who killed Marcus. Find who killed him and my life won’t be in danger.”

  Dan couldn’t get around that line of reasoning and it was pissing him off.

  “Carla was seriously injured last night.” Dan watched as Sherry Wellington turned ashen. “She had an accident with a Circulator bus. Though I don’t think there was anything accidental about it. She’s in intensive care with swelling on the brain, among other injuries. They don’t know if she’s going to make it.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “It was awful. And I watched the whole accident from across the street.”

  “You were following her?”

  “I was.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you refuse to divulge meaningful information that could help me find Marcus’s killer.”

  “Marcus was murdered in Virginia. Don’t you think you should spend your time there? Just find Marcus’s killer and resolve this.”

  “I will. But you could make it a lot easier if you tell me what you’re hiding.”

  “I’m not hiding anything.”

  “Why weren’t you surprised when I said Carla was hit by a bus? Why didn’t you ask ‘Carla who’?”

  Color returned to Sherry Wellington’s face in a crimson wave. “I only know one Carla. We worked together at a restaurant in Georgetown.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “It’s been a while,”

  Dan checked his watch. “It’s been seventeen hours. But I’m curious as to the timing of your lunch meeting. I met Carla the night before last, after work. We talked for a while at the bar. She told me the two of you were not friends. Then, lo and behold, you have lunch together. And later that very same night she’s nearly killed.”

  Sherry Wellington scowled.

  “I would like to see your cell phone,” Dan said.

  “Why?”

  “I want to know if you called Carla, or if she called you.”

  “She called me.”

  “Phone,” Dan replied, extending his hand, palm upwards.

  “No.”

  “Mrs. Wellington, I can have your phone records by the end of the day, but I would rather not have to go that route. It would require calling in a favor and I’d also have to charge you for the additional cost incurred. Not to mention I have a pounding headache thanks to being mugged while chasing down the person who tried to kill Carla. So, please, just let me see your phone. I’m really not in the mood to play games.”

  “Yo
u saw who tried to kill Carla?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you catch him?”

  “No. And it wasn’t a him. It was a her.”

  Dan watched as Sherry digested his statement. “Now let me see your damn phone.”

  “Don’t speak to me like that. My husband is a congressman.”

  “File a complaint with him. But then again, you would have to explain what you’re doing with a private investigator. A legal advisor. And you wouldn’t want that, now would you? Now for the last time, give me your phone.”

  Sherry Wellington relented and handed the phone to Dan. He checked the call history and recent calls and confirmed that it was Carla who had called Sherry.

  “So tell me, Mrs. Wellington, what about my conversation with Carla was so upsetting that she called you—someone she claimed to have no contact with—for an emergency lunch date?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “And now she may never be able to.”

  Dan saw Sherry’s hand shake slightly.

  “Why did you tell me that you met your husband at The Friendliest Saloon in Town?”

  “Did I?”

  “You did.”

  “I sometimes misspeak. I told you that.”

  “You did. As a matter of convenience perhaps. Maybe it was true. But so far, truthfulness has not been one of your strong suits. So I’m going with convenience.”

  “What does it matter where I met my husband?”

  “Exactly.”

  Sherry looked over at Dan and he registered a sense of anger.

  Dan spoke, “You know, I’ve never dropped a client in the middle of an investigation. Never. But I would be lying if I said the thought hadn’t occurred to me this time.”

  “Dropping me as a client wouldn’t look good to other potential customers. Word-of-mouth reputation is a two-way street.”

  “Indeed. Which is why I’ve decided to keep you as a client.”

  “Then it’s time you got to work, Mr. Lord.”

  Dan stood and pushed in his chair. “You know, for the life of me, there is one thing I can’t figure out.”

  “There’s more than one, apparently,” Sherry retorted.