Page 38 of Stay Awake
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Liv Reese was a suspect. A murder suspect.”
“Was she charged?”
“The DA never charged her,” Krause acknowledged.
“Why not?” Lavelle asked.
“He claimed there wasn’t enough evidence for a conviction.” There was palpable derision in Krause’s voice.
“Maybe that’s because she didn’t do it?” Halliday suggested.
“Detective Halliday, I’ll give you a word of advice from an old-timer who has clearly done this job for a heck of a lot longer than you; absence of evidence is not vindication,” Krause said, pausing to let it sink in. “I’ll tell you something else, Detective. If Liv Reese didn’t do it, then I feel damn sorry for her.”
“Why?”
“Because that would mean she’s the only witness to one of the most cold-blooded murders that I’ve ever investigated.”
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Wednesday 1:45P.M.
Dean presses his hand on the small of my back as he guides me toward the cab that’s pulled up on the curb ahead of us.
“You’re going to love it. The food’s terrific,” he says.
The closer we get to the car, the more my body resists.DON’T TRUST ANYONE,says the message on my hand. I don’t trust Dean, but I very much want to talk to him. His is the only familiar face that I’ve encountered since I woke up in the park this morning. I’m bursting with questions, but I don’t like the idea of being bundled off in a cab with him.
“On second thought, I’m kind of in a hurry. Can we go somewhere nearby?” I ask. “There’s a place over there that looks good.” I point in desperation toward a retro-looking deli farther along the street.
“Sure. If that’s what you want.”
Dean waves off the cab and walks with me to the deli. It turns out to be an old-school deli that does lunches and coffees on cheap Formica tables. The place is noisy and very crowded. A waitress shows us to a table in the middle of a crush of lunchtime diners. She hands us each a laminated menu and runs through the specials so quickly Ibarely catch them before she’s moved away to take an order at another table.
I bury my face in the menu, but I have no appetite. A restless nervous energy has been racing through my body since the detective showed me the flyer with the photo of a long-haired woman linked to last night’s murder. I’m starting to believe that woman may be me.
“What can I get you?” The waitress’s wrinkled hands and stooped shoulders suggest she’s spent most of her sixty-plus years leaning over tables asking diners that question.
“I’ll have lemonade,” I tell her.
Dean orders a Reuben on toasted rye. “Bring me sauerkraut and pickles on the side. Oh, and I’ll take a bottle of Coke and a separate glass of ice. Ice chips if you have them. Ice blocks are okay, too, so long as they’re not too big.” The waitress takes his order with a blank expression.
“You’re very specific about your food,” I say once she’s gone.
“I’m a very detail-oriented person. That’s why I’ve been such a successful entrepreneur. It’s the tiny details that make all the difference,” he says, flashing bleached teeth that contrast sharply with his fake tan and dyed hair. Despite his obvious efforts to hold back the tide of time, Dean’s aged since that lunch with Marco and Emily. For one thing, he’s packing a lot more pounds.
I remember how he stiffed our waiter on his tip when we ate at Café del Mar that day. What was the waiter’s name? Kevin. He’s the one who started calling me at work. For days in a row, I’d come into the office to find a fresh Post-it note slapped on my computer screen.KEVIN CALLED. AGAIN.
It feels as if it happened yesterday. I shake the thought away. I know now that it happened more than two years ago. Two years that I inexplicably can’t remember. That’s why I’m here. This lunch is my chance to get Dean to tell me everything he knows.
I try to build a rapport by asking about Emily’s handbag design business. He immediately shuts that conversation down.
“We broke up last year. Turns out the marriage game isn’t for me,” he says. “Tell me about you. How are you managing?”
“Fine. Fine,” I say, dwelling on his use of the word “managing.” It strikes me as an odd phrase, filled with a meaning that I don’t grasp. “What about you?”
