The handshake was firm and professional, and the look she fixed me with was equally so. “Lieutenant Sam Copeland, Metro Nashville PD, homicide division. Sam to my friends. I’m Jaime’s superior, in every way that matters.”
She flicked him a look. Mendoza rolled his eyes, and Sam Copeland’s smile turned into a smirk for a moment before she added, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Good things,” I managed, “I hope.”
She didn’t answer, which could have meant any of a number of things. I decided not to worry about it, especially when she continued, “And now you’ve found another body.”
“It wasn’t intentional,” I protested.
“It never is.” Her lips twitched again, and I got the distinct impression she was enjoying this. “All right, Jaime, brief me. And make it quick—you have a lunch shift at Sambuca starting in…” She checked her watch, “an hour and seventeen minutes.”
Mendoza nodded. “I can’t be the primary on this case. The undercover work?—”
“I know. I’ll take it.” Copeland pulled out her own notebook. “But I want a full brief first. Everything you’ve got.”
Mendoza filled her in quickly and professionally—the victim’s identity, the probable time of death, the connection to the organized crime investigation, my involvement. Zach’s activities last night, along with Nick’s and Sal’s.
Lieutenant Copeland listened without interrupting, her sharp eyes moving between Mendoza and me. When he finished, she was quiet for a moment. I expected to be dismissed, but then she nodded decisively. “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. Jaime, you’ll accompany Mrs. Kelly to inform Miss Demetros of her boyfriend’s death. I want a full report on her reaction, anything she says, anything that strikes you as suspicious. Can you do that?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Get going. And Jaime?” She fixed him with a stern look. “After this, you get yourself over to Sambuca. No more bodies, no more crime scenes. This week you’re a waiter, not a detective. Understood?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, just turned to the uniformed officers who were standing behind her, waiting for direction. “Collins, start securing the perimeter. Rodrigues, I need you to?—”
I didn’t hear the rest because Mendoza had grabbed my elbow and was steering me down the side of the house, toward the curb and the fleet of vehicles.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ll have to take separate cars. I won’t have time to come back here again if I’m gonna get to the restaurant on time. You know where she lives?”
“Near Vanderbilt,” I said. “One of those brown brick buildings on Elliston Place.”
He nodded. “I’ll see you there. Call her on the way and tell her you’re coming. Don’t tell her what happened, and don’t mention me.”
No, I wouldn’t. Not over the phone.
He got into his Jeep and took off. I climbed into the seat and pulled out my phone and found Jacquie’s number. She answered on the third ring, sounding annoyed.
“What?”
“It’s Gina Kelly,” I told her as I navigated away from the duplex and down the road. “Are you at home?”
“Yes.” She sounded suspicious.
“Good. Stay there. I need to talk to you.”
“We’re talking now,” Jacquie pointed out.
“In person.” I reached the end of the road and took a right, following Mendoza’s car. A steady stream of car were going in the other direction: the coroner’s van, another unmarked sedan, a news van that must have been monitoring the police scanner
Her tone changed. “Did you find something? Is it about Nick?”
“I don’t really want to discuss it over the phone,” I said. “I’m on my way to you. Just hang on until I get there.”
There was a pause. “Is he cheating? Just tell me.”
“No. He isn’t.” Certainly not anymore. “Just wait for me. Do you still live in the same place?”
She rattled of the address, and I told her, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” And then I hung up before she could ask any more questions I couldn’t answer, and concentrated on keeping up with Mendoza as we navigated through Bellevue.
