Heads You Lose - Lisa Lutz [84]
“Stay safe,” said Paul. He started for his truck, then stopped and turned. “Hey, about that plane—” he started.
“No idea,” said Wanda.
Back in his truck, he took a look at the suspect list Lacey had assigned him, then crumpled it. He wasn’t doing this just for Lacey. He was also doing it so he could start his new life—just him, Brandy, Irving, and either a valuable new property or a suitcase full of Babalato cash. In a pocket notebook, he made his own list of the poker players:
POKER NIGHT
Betty
Candi
Deena
Tate
Wanda*
Yolanda
The poker game gave all six a strong alibi for the night Hart’s body was moved back to their property. The star after Wanda’s name indicated an additional alibi, for Wednesday’s Harry Lakes shooting, during which she would have been at the airport. It wasn’t exactly watertight, but he reminded himself that he only had to satisfy his sister’s Scooby-Doo–caliber investigative standards, not his own.41
And by anyone’s standards, all the women on the list were extreme long shots anyway. Only Wanda would be strong enough to move a large body on her own, and none of them, with the possible exception of Candi, had a shady past or an imaginable reason to mess with him or Lacey. They also lacked a motive to kill Hart, Terry, or Harry (though that trio was hardly known for smooth relations with women). His friend and colleague Rafael also seemed beyond suspicion.
Among the poker players, that left only Tate for the Jakes–Lakes killings. Paul had arrived at the Timberline around four p.m. on Wednesday, just as Tate was getting off his shift. That meant Tate had been on the afternoon shift and would have been seen by at least a few customers. So Tate, too, was in the clear for both finite windows. The sky was still brightening, and Paul had already knocked off a half-dozen suspects. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all.
Paul drove back home to pick up his remaining stash. It was Senior Circuit Friday, and he still had bills to pay.
Irving came jogging up to his truck with a sorrowful look on his face and, as usual, something in his mouth. When Paul got out of the truck, Irving dropped the grisly item at his feet. Paul picked him up.
“What’s the matter, mister?” he asked.
Irving meowed.
“Senior Circuit today. Want to come?”
No response.
“Suit yourself, but it might be the last one ever.”
Paul looked down at the stringy offering.
“What’s that boy, a clue?” he said, his standard Lassie joke.
The bloody little pile didn’t look like something Irving had brought him before. The digestive tract of a bird, maybe? Did birds even have digestive tracts? Paul put Irving down and poked it with a twig. It wasn’t animal at all. It was medical thread and blood-soaked gauze.
Two thoughts crossed Paul’s mind: 1. Lacey had lied about her stitches. She’d removed them here, not at Doctor Egan’s office. Which made her visit to his office Wednesday afternoon suspicious. 2. Irving had brought him the one item on their property that was tied to Doc Egan.
Paul didn’t believe in assigning human traits to animals, but Irving was a highly intuitive cat. And didn’t all animals have incredibly sensitive mechanisms for sensing danger? As Terry liked to point out, almost no wild animals had drowned in that massive flood in Indonesia a few years back. They’d all headed to higher ground. Maybe Irving was just trying to help Paul do the same.
“Good boy,” said Paul.42
Paul called Rafael and explained his alibi project. Rafael promptly offered up his Wednesday whereabouts.
“For lunch I had a burrito up at Taco Bout Delicious in Emery. Hang on a sec,” he said. “Yep, I still have the receipt in my wallet. Buck-fifty for extra guacamole. Time stamp says 13:12.”
“Awesome,” said Paul. “So how about late Saturday night two weeks ago, say two to three a.m.?”
A long moment passed.
“Shit,” Rafael finally said. “I hate to kiss and tell.”
“Who is she?” said Paul.
“Oh boy,” said Rafael. “This