“Recovered by the new guy I told you about.”
“The one from El Paso?”
“You can call him that. He’s using it as a nickname. Anyway, he hand-counted all ten grand out to me. I put it in the slush fund.”
“Fine,” Oz said. Then, “Listen, I don’t want anything to go wrong this week.”
Roland had been lifting his wineglass to take a sip, but at the abrupt change of topic, he set it back down. “I don’t want anything to go wrong at any time. What’s special about this week?”
“Just make certain that you’re on standby.”
“I’m always on standby.”
But, as though he hadn’t spoken, Oz said, “In case something comes up and we have to move fast.”
“Sure. But you want to tell me what—”
“No. It’s tentative. I’ll tell you on an as-needed basis.”
Roland didn’t like it, but he trusted Oz to inform him of whatever the sensitive matter was when he was good and ready. “Okay.”
“Any update on Haskell?”
Roland had been expecting Oz to ask about the bad-penny detective, and he’d dreaded it. He covered his uneasiness with a soft belch. “The Adler issue took precedence. But Haskell is on my radar.”
Oz grunted approval, then lapsed into one of his thoughtful stretches. Roland picked up the last shrimp, ate it, and waslicking his fingers when Oz said, “The heated meeting I mentioned was with my ad man. He’s trying to talk me into changing my slogan.”
“What the fuck?”
“Right? He said it’s ‘tired.’”
“Fire the stupid jerk,” Roland said. “He’s lousy. You don’t want to mess with your slogan. You are the King of Cash.”
Chapter 7
After his brief conversation with John, Mitch went to his desk and made himself look busy catching up on paperwork. Obviously John and Dylan Reede hadn’t conferred yet because John hadn’t confronted him about it. But it was only a matter of time. Something to look forward to.
Meanwhile, he was interested in learning more about the crime scene where two unidentified bodies had been discovered in the bayou. Like an itch he couldn’t scratch, it had been bugging him since Nix and Lear had told him about it.
It was almost four o’clock before the two of them returned, and by then that unreachable itch was driving him mad. They were making their way toward John’s office when Mitch rolled his chair from beneath his desk right into their path and stood up to face them. “What happened out there?”
The instant John saw them, he came out of his office and started toward them. Lear cast him a cautious glance, but Nixshowed no such restraint as she replied to Mitch. “It was grim, and that’s an understatement.”
John, who’d reached them, asked, “How’d they die?”
“Strangulation,” Lear said.
Nix added, “With what the coroner guesses was a sharp garrote, possibly a wire. The young woman was almost decapitated.”
Hearing that, a sizzling reaction like a lightning strike shot through Mitch from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. He cut a glance at John, who either didn’t see it or pretended not to.
John asked the detectives if the time of death had been estimated. Nix said, “Coroner broadly guesses within the last twelve to eighteen hours. There wasn’t enough blood at the scene for them to have been killed there. The bodies were dumped, but they hadn’t been in the water all that long.”
“Have they been identified?”
Nix shook her head. “And until they are, it’s hard to determine a motive.”
“Retribution.” Mitch had mumbled the word, but it got the attention of the other three, who turned to him for elaboration. “This doesn’t sound like a crime of passion, swiftly carried out in a fit of rage. Not like shooting two people. Bam, bam, and it’s done.” He shook his head. “Whoever did this was making a point, sending a message, wouldn’t you say?”
