“Just friends?”
Margo knew better than to try and fool her boss. Wyatt looked like the man half the witnesses to a crime described — medium height, medium build, medium coloring, no visible scars or outstanding features. But behind the average Joe looks was the best legal mind in the state and one of the savviest observers of his fellow humans anywhere.
“We’ve dated, yes. But not … ” She stopped. But not what? Recently? Lie. Seriously? Also a lie.
“Not so you want to talk about it, apparently.”
“Thanks. That’s about it.”
“Well, good luck with it. If that’s what Kiki has her teeth into, you’re doomed.” He started back to his office. “When you have time this afternoon, I do have a couple new cases I’d like you to look at.”
She indicated the mess on her desk. “Oh, sure, Jeff, because I don’t have anything else to do.”
“Like I said, Margo, welcome back.”
• • •
“Margo, Sam Richardson. You lose a briefcase?” The phone call from across the park at Central Precinct came first thing after Margo got to work two days later.
“Has the city run out of bad guys for you to chase? Or has Chris Angel decided you’re best suited to running some bureaucratic boondoggle like the lost and found?” She considered Sam Richardson one of the best homicide detectives in the Portland Police Bureau and he returned her admiration. But as much as she respected him — and loved his wife, a well-known glass artist — giving him a hard time was still part of their relationship.
“My boss wouldn’t put me in charge of anything that challenging so I continue to serve and protect. That doesn’t usually include missing luggage. However, this morning inside a messenger bag under a body in Forest Park, I found business cards with the DA’s logo on them and the name Margo Keyes. Good detective that I am, it led me to believe that the bag might belong to someone with that name in Jeff’s office. Want to clear my case for me and confess to the deed? Or, would you rather get back to my original question and tell me if you lost your briefcase?”
“Ugh. Not exactly how I wanted my stuff found. But found is good. I guess. I didn’t lose it. It got swapped with someone else’s on the Seattle leg of my flight home last Sunday. The one I turned in to Alaska Airlines belonged to Brandy Nixon. Is that your vic’s name?”
“That’s her. And she had a boarding pass for an Alaska flight from Sea-Tac to PDX in her purse so that clinches it. Listen, since you live out by the airport, any chance you can get hers back and save me a trip out there? I’ll call and tell them to expect you.”
“I’ll see what I can do. If I get it, I’ll bring it to you tomorrow. I’m in court most of the day so it’ll be late afternoon.”
“No hurry. The owner doesn’t need it where she is.”
Chapter 11
“It took you longer than I expected to find your way across the park.” Danny Hartmann greeted Margo as she got off the elevator at Central Precinct.
“Hello to you, too, Danny. Although I don’t know why I should be pleasant to you. Thanks to you, Kiki’s on my case about Tony. At least he’s three thousand miles away and out of her reach.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? I didn’t say anything to Kiki. And what do you mean he’s three thousand miles away?” The detective looked confused.