Plugged - Eoin Colfer [89]
My stomach lurches. Connie. How could she have slipped my mind even for a moment?
‘Anything I can do?’
Brandi is tapping her forearm. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I grit my teeth and focus on the handset.
‘I got some more news on the murder weapon,’ says Ronnie quietly; maybe there are nurses hovering. ‘I thought I could run it past you since we have such a special relationship; unofficially of course, as I am technically off duty for the foreseeable . . .’
‘It was some kind of a blade?’
‘No. We got some metal fragments from the wound. Too soft for a blade. Maybe a tube, like the tip of an umbrella. With some kind of glittery substance on the shaft. That ringing any bells, McEvoy?’
‘Nothing pops out at me.’
‘Me neither. This makes it a spur-of-the-moment thing. Our murderer could be anyone now. Could be staring us right in the face.’
Brandi sits opposite me and swings her legs on to the desk, crossing them at the ankles. Her boots shine like gloss paint.
‘You’ll be thinking on it?’
I don’t say anything, because suddenly there is no air in the room. More than that, the room has become a vacuum, popping my ears and expanding my brain.
A metal tube. Glittery substance.
Detective Deacon is still talking. ‘Right, Dan? Yo, Danny boy. You’re gonna work with me on this?’
My fingers paw the desktop like a blind man’s, until I find the phone and cut Ronnie off.
I hate people calling me Danny boy. My father used to do that, and sing that goddamn dirge in pubs, though no one asked him.
‘I know you want to make changes, Dan,’ Brandi is saying, doing her best trailer-trash talk-show spiel. ‘I know that and I respect you for it. But I think, if you look inside yourself, you’ll find that you’re still in shock over Connie. She never went in the booth, so now you’re gonna shut the booth down. See what I’m saying?’
Brandi’s six-inch heels are in my face. Her trademark Catwoman boots. I’ve seen her kick sparks from the pavement with those boots.
She picks at a tiny square of body glitter on her forearm.
‘I hate to speak ill of the dead, Dan. But that girl’s morals were costing us all money. Hell, we lost a dozen high-rollers last month because little virgin Connie didn’t want any hands on her ass. My tips were way down. And I need my tips. Cat’s gotta have her cream.’
The phone is still at my ear, beeping. I can’t seem to remember where it should go.
‘I ain’t missing her. None of the girls are.’
I can see how it happened. They met in the parking lot, words were exchanged. Connie and Brandi differed on how the job should be done. Things got heated. Maybe a slap turned into a tussle. Connie went down and Brandi put her heel through Connie’s forehead. She’s capable of it; God knows she’s capable.
It’s true. My gut knows it.
I stare at Brandi’s heels, mesmerised. They are shining and wicked. After the deed was done, Brandi stood at the door beside me building her alibi. Hell, she probably had blood on her if anyone bothered to look.
‘So come on, Dan. What do you say to a little action in the booth? I’ll give you a free taste.’
The heel glints, and I see in the centre a tiny perfect circle of dried blood. Could be mud, coffee, anything.
It’s blood, I swear I can smell it.
Jason puts his head around the door. He’s half apologetic, half smiling.
‘Boss, we got a lady outside, looks like Material Girl Madonna. Got a casserole for you, says she’s your wife. You want me to show her the door?’
I can’t talk. Can’t say a word. I shake my head to defer the decision.
Brandi doesn’t want her meeting hijacked. ‘So, Dan? Is the booth back in business? You want me to slide under that desk?’
I keep shaking.
Brandi killed Connie.
‘Should I bring her through? She’s pretty hot, boss. And that casserole smells amazing.’
I manage one word.
‘Just . . .’
‘What, Dan?’
‘Just throw her out, boss?’
I try again. ‘Just . . .’
Brandi is doing a few slinky dance moves. ‘Just do it, Dan. Give me five minutes.’
‘Bring her in? Throw her out? Keep the food though, right?