LITMIR.BIZ

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down a prawn, trying to spit out the tail without looking crass. “What’d you talk about?”

      “Nothing that would shed any light on the case.”

      “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” Oliver frowned. “What’s going on, Cindy? Why are you acting so squirrelly? Knowing you, I think you’d jump in head-first to help crack a major homicide. At least, you’d tell your dad—”

      He stopped talking.

      “Okay. Now, I get it. You did tell your dad. You told him, and Big Deck told you not to talk about it. You want to tell me the details? Or should I just ask your father?”

      Cindy smiled, wickedly. “Exactly how do you intend to bring it up with him? ‘Uh, Deck, I happened to be having dinner with your daughter and—’”

      “Oh, fuck you!” Oliver threw a prawn tail at her. “Cindy, fill me in. Pretty please?”

      Cindy hesitated, then said, “Our acquaintance was never any big deal, Scott. Our conversations were strictly lightweight—buffing up our bods, how our workouts went. Stuff like that. Once in a while, he mentioned a hot business deal he was doing. I think he was trying to impress me.”

      “Sounds like it.”

      “Well, it didn’t work. Usually, when he started his business-speak, I zoned out. It wasn’t our conversations that alarmed my dad.”

      “Go on.”

      “It was one of those extremely bad cases of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. After one of our juice encounters, we were walking back together to our respective cars.” Cindy picked up her wine but put the glass down without drinking. “Someone took some potshots at us—”

      “Jesus!”

      “Yeah, it was frightening.” She looked away. “This was several months before he was murdered. I was in the academy by then, so I had my gun. But I didn’t use it.”

      “That was very smart.”

      “Yeah, that’s what Dad said, but I felt like …” She blew out air. “I felt that I should have done something.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Oliver, it scared the shit out of me.” She felt her eyes moisten. “Not the gunfire, although that was very scary. But the fact that I froze—”

      “Why? What’d you do? Just stand there?”

      “No, I ducked behind a car.”

      “That’s exactly what you should have done.” Oliver sipped wine. “Sure as hell what I would have done.”

      She was quiet.

      Oliver said, “Cindy, what do you think you should have done? Turned the parking lot into the O.K. Corral?”

      She swiped at her face. “I don’t know. I keep thinking what if this had been the streets and—”

      Oliver interrupted her. “If, God forbid, something like this happens on the street, you’ll know what to do. You’ll have your mike, you’ll have your gun, and, going back to our original discussion, you’ll have backup. The potshots took you by surprise. Don’t worry about it.”

      “Doesn’t shooting always take you by surprise?”

      “Sometimes, sure it does,” Oliver said. “But when you’re working, you’re looking out for it.”

      She looked away. “Maybe.”

      Oliver said, “So you told your dad about the shooting?”

      “Yes.” She paused. “But only after Armand Crayton died.”

      “So you didn’t tell him when it first happened?”

      “No, I didn’t. Because I didn’t want to freak him out. Also, I didn’t want to admit that I froze. I was embarrassed.”

      “Cindy, you didn’t freeze, you ducked! Ducking is different from freezing.” He ate another prawn. “Okay, so you told your father about the potshots after Crayton was kidnapped and murdered. And your dad told you not to say anything to anyone.”

      “Yes.”

      Oliver analyzed what might have gone on in Pete’s head. “Did the shooter get a look at you, Cindy?”

      “I … don’t know. I was really scared when it happened. My initial thought was that the shooter was his wife. That she wrongly assumed that Armand and I were having an affair. But after he was killed, and all the stuff about him came out, I actually stopped worrying. Armand had a very long list of detractors. The shots weren’t meant for me. They were probably a gift from some disgruntled investor.”

      “You’re not holding back? You never dated him?”

      “No, never. We were gym buddies. That’s it.”

      “You told your father all this.”

      “Yes. And I’m sure that if Dad thought that my involvement was important, he would have told you and Marge and the rest of you guys everything.”

      “He never said anything to me about it.”

      “So he didn’t think it was important.”

      “More like he was more concerned with your safety.”

      “He wouldn’t jeopardize the case, Scott. Even for my sake.”

      Oliver laughed. “Sure, dear!”

      “I’m serious. Dad has principles!”

      “Dad also loves his family. Between work and your safety, hell, it isn’t even close.” He waved her off. A bus-boy thought he was waving at him, because he immediately cleared the plates.

      To Cindy, Oliver said, “Do you want dessert?”

      “No, I’m pretty full. Thank you, dinner was delicious.”

      “No prob.” Oliver scratched his face. “So you and Craig Barrows were talking about the Crayton case?”

      “Just in generalities.” Cindy wiped her mouth.

      “What kind of generalities?”

      “We got on the discussion of follow-home shootings.” She perked up. “You know, I think Barrows told me that he and Osmondson were working together on a follow-home that sounded similar to the Crayton case.”

      Oliver felt like pulling out his notebook, but restrained himself. The conversation was too chockablock. He’d have to grill her in a quiet setting. Take her through the entire thing from start to finish. “Do you remember anything about the case he was referring to?”

      Cindy tapped the tabletop. “For some reason, a red Ferrari comes to mind.”

      Elizabeth Tarkum. Oliver said, “You know what we’re working on in Devonshire, don’t you?”

      “Of course—the carjackings and follow-homes. You think the Crayton case is related to them?”

      “Maybe.”

      Cindy said, “You want to interrogate me, don’t you?”

      “We call it interviewing.”

      “Okay,” Cindy said. “Suppose I say yes? Do you want to do it behind my dad’s back?”

      “It might be simpler.” Oliver was not at all happy. “How about if I come to your apartment tomorrow evening. You tell me everything you know about Armand Crayton and your conversation with Craig Barrows. If it becomes clear to me that your relationship with Crayton is important to his murder case—or any of our current jacking cases—I’ll tell your dad about this dinner … which won’t be a pretty scene! But if you can shed any light on what’s going on with these horrible jackings, I’ve got no choice.”

      “You’re

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