At Rope's End (A Dr. James Verraday Mystery #1)(60)
When he arrived at the liquor store, the parking lot was deserted. So was the store, and he was in and out with his brandy in less than two minutes. The thunderstorm was so intense now that Verraday was obliged to open his umbrella just to make the ten-yard dash from the store to his car without getting soaked. Even with his umbrella held close above him, the rain pelted his shoes and jeans from the knees down. When he reached his car, he set his brandy on the roof and slid his free hand into his jacket for his keys. Still holding his umbrella in his left hand, shoulders hunched, he fumbled around for them, finally locating them wedged crosswise in a corner of his pocket. He was prying them loose when he was suddenly blinded by an intense white light.
He looked up to see a Seattle Police Department SUV parked across the lot, partially hidden behind a dumpster, with its high beams trained on him. With the whoop of a siren and a flash of red-and-blue lights, the SUV crept toward him. Verraday couldn’t make out the driver until the vehicle had pulled up close enough to him that he was even with the door. The rain-slicked driver’s side window slid down, revealing the officer within: Bosko. Verraday gave him a sour look.
“Nice of you to come out in such lousy weather just to pay me a visit, Officer. But then again, you’ve been spending so much time hanging around my house you must be getting used to it by now.”
Bosko returned Verraday’s disapproving expression.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just here doing a routine stakeout for the Drunk Net program, looking for DUIs. Liquor store seems like a logical place for it, don’t you think?”
“Are you kidding me? On a night like this?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised at what kind of lowlife come out in this kind of weather. You know, pissheads who’d rather get drenched than go a night without booze.”
“I should have guessed it was you who’s been following me around, Bosko.”
“I’m not following you around. I’m just here in this parking lot doing my job.”
“Do you really think you can get me to drop my lawsuit by fucking with me, leaving my gate open all the time, putting a dead rat on my doorstep?”
“Doc, I don’t know anything about your gate or any dead rat. And I don’t know how much time you psychologists spend around crazies, but I’d suggest you cut back on your hours. I think the nut jobs are starting to rub off on you.”
“Oh yeah. Deny, deny, deny. It’s the oldest trick in the playbook.”
“Have you consumed any alcoholic beverages this evening, sir?”
“Yes. Two glasses of wine. If you have reason to suspect I’m lying, I’ll be happy to blow into a Breathalyzer. Otherwise, I’m a free citizen going about my lawful business, and if you want to continue this conversation, I’ll go ahead and call my lawyer.”
“Two glasses of wine, huh? Okay. You’re free to go. Have a good night.”
Verraday was completely soaked from the knees down now. He pulled out his remote and unlocked his car, fighting a losing battle against the pelting rain. As he lowered himself into the driver’s seat, he closed the umbrella, then cursed as a cascade of cold rainwater ran down from it onto his crotch. Fuming, Verraday put the key in the ignition and started the car.
He looked out the window to see Bosko gazing at him quizzically, motioning with his chin to get his attention. Verraday lowered his window.
“What is it now?” he snapped.
Bosko gestured to a point just above Verraday’s head.
“Don’t forget your bottle, Doc.”
“Fuck,” whispered Verraday as he realized that, rattled by the confrontation, he’d left it on the roof of his car.
Bosko raised his window and backed the patrol SUV across the parking lot into its lair beside the dumpster so that it was invisible from the street. As Verraday climbed out to retrieve his bottle of brandy, even through the rain, he could see Bosko shaking his head, a derisive smirk on his face.
CHAPTER 30
At Verraday’s request, he and Maclean met in his office at Guthrie Hall instead of at the café to review the evidence. Between the previous evening’s confrontation with Bosko and the photos of the trophies in North’s apartment from the murdered women, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with anybody’s bullshit. He was feeling pretty jangled, though he took pains to hide it from Maclean.
He poured some strong dark roast coffee and milk from a thermos into two cups and handed one to Maclean. She took a sip. He noticed that she closed her eyes for the briefest instant as she tasted it. This was a woman whose life only allowed for fleeting pleasures.
“Mm, this is good. Thanks.”
“So? What’s the score?” asked Verraday.
“They’ve got the champagne chilling down at headquarters, all set to pop the corks. The captain of homicide and the chief say they’re both ready to hand the case over to the DA if I am.”
“What do you think?”
“I think it would make a lot of people happy. But we never did turn up any evidence connecting Cody North to Alana Carmichael. So it doesn’t get Cray off the hook. And it doesn’t expose Fowler as the fraud that he is. Unless I’m wrong, and the Alana Carmichael case isn’t related to this one.”
“Why are you suddenly doubting yourself?”