Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [readnow TXT] 📗

glow of lighted windows touched the shadows of the trees and the lawns with warmth. Angela waved and closed the door, and we climbed into the Jaguar and sat staring through the windshield at the gathering darkness.

Dehan gazed at me. After a while, it dawned on me that I was gazing back and it struck me suddenly how absurd and intimate it was that we were sitting in a dark car in a dark street, just gazing at each other without talking. I blinked and sighed.

“So now, what I want to do, Dehan, is eliminate Akachukwu Oni from Sebastian’s murder inquiry.”

“What?”

“I want to send him down for Jack’s murder and for the attempts on Moses and Angela…”

“You think he killed Jack?”

“I’m certain of it.”

“But you don’t think he killed Sebastian…”

“No. But we need to prove that.”

“You are going to have two problems there, Stone. One, you’re trying to prove a negative, and two, I think he did kill him.”

I shook my head. “I don’t see either of those as a problem, but tell me what his motive is for killing Sebastian.”

“He hasn’t got one.”

I smiled. “OK…”

“He wasn’t there waiting for the car. He arrived with the intention of breaking in and finding out from Angela where Moses was. But when he arrived, he saw the car wasn’t there. So he waited. Maybe he thought he’d wait for her to return, or maybe he was just wondering what to do. Either way, he didn’t have to wait long, because the car turned up. In the poor visibility, he saw two people, but couldn’t make out exactly who they were. Naturally, he assumed it was Moses and Angela. Being how he is, he didn’t hesitate. He got out, walked up, and emptied his magazine. Then drove away.”

I drummed on the wheel with my fingers for a moment. “It’s possible.”

“But you don’t buy it.”

I sighed. “I am hungry, tired, and thirsty. Let’s call it a day and see how it looks in the morning. Forensics will make things a bit clearer.”

I followed Ellsworth Avenue and, at the bridge, without thinking, I turned onto East Tremont, headed north. We didn’t talk. I’d noticed she’d been odd for the last couple of days. I had half-assumed it was her time of the month, or something equally incomprehensible to men, and guessed it would pass in time. I didn’t give it a lot of thought. I’d had a crazy idea. I had no evidence as yet, but hard as I tried to pick holes in it, I couldn’t. It worked, and that’s probably why, when we came to Westchester I continued north on the Williamsbridge Road, instead of turning west onto East Tremont; probably why I didn’t take the Bruckner Expressway in the first place; probably why it never even crossed my mind to ask her what she wanted to do.

Now she looked at me with that same expressionless face she’d had for the past couple of days and said, “What are you doing, Stone?”

I gave her a blank look back. “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

She blinked a couple of times. “I have to get a cab?”

I smiled, then laughed. “Sorry, Dehan! I should have asked. I thought we could have those bison steaks and a bottle of wine. It might stimulate the little gray cells. What do you say?”

She didn’t smile or laugh. She looked away from me, out of the window, and after a moment, she said, “Just drop me on Morris Park Avenue. I’ll get a cab. Thanks all the same.”

I felt a flush of anger start in my belly and rise up to my head. I stayed quiet until it passed. I didn’t drop her at Morris Park Avenue. She turned and looked at me as I crossed over it and kept watching me as I turned into Rhinelander and eventually Haight Avenue, and parked in front of my house. There, I killed the engine and turned in my seat to face her.

“Dehan, I can cook you a bison steak on the barbeque, I can help you cook a bison steak on the barbeque, or I can drive you home. I am not, after a year of considering you more than a partner, more than a friend…” I was momentarily lost for words. “…considering you family! I am not going to drop you on Morris Park Avenue to get a cab. And frankly, I feel insulted that you would expect me to.”

She looked down at her hands in her lap. I waited, but she didn’t say anything, so I asked her, “Dehan, ever since we got back from Goa you’ve been…” Again I was lost for words. Now she raised her eyes and watched me.

She said, “What?”

I gestured at her. “Like this! Talk to me! Tell me what’s going on!”

She looked strangely sad. “Nothing’s going on, Stone.”

I shook my head. “That’s not true. Something happened in Goa. As I recall, we had a great time. Then, on the last day, you started to…” I searched for the word. I noticed her smile, but it was a smile of sad irony. I frowned, said again, “You started to go like this. What happened in Goa, Dehan?”

She reached over and took my hand, gave it a small squeeze. “Nothing.” She gave the word an odd emphasis. “Nothing happened in Goa.” She gave a small laugh and patted my hand. “You’re a great detective, Mr. Stone, but I guess there are some things you just can’t work out. Enjoy your steak. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She climbed out of the car and I sat confused, watching her tall, elegant form, on those long, extraordinary legs, walk away from me. As she passed through the dappled glow of a street lamp, under a plane tree, she reached behind her head and tied her