The Guilty One by Bill Schweigart

Author:Bill Schweigart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

CHAPTER

44

CAL ASKED TO stop for coffee and Sydnor didn’t argue. They had spent days ferreting out Dailey’s under-the-table financial transactions and untangling money laundering schemes with IRS Criminal Investigations to build an airtight case. Cal remembered Irina’s naked fury and couldn’t believe it was the same investigation. Though it had seemed disastrous on the day, he was almost wistful about the jolt of adrenaline it provided. She had been the only anomaly of an otherwise mind-numbingly tedious financial investigation.

They pulled over at Misha’s Coffee House on King Street, several blocks up from City Hall. The café was a stalwart staple of Old Town, catering to old-timers, young hipsters, and everyone in between. There were large glass jars along the counter containing whole beans from around the world, pictures on the walls of people posing on vacation with their Misha’s Coffee merch—Misha’s clientele was nothing if not loyal—and jazz played from the sound system. It was a place both Cal and Sydnor could agree on.

Cal approached the barista, a striking young woman with braids twisted into a bun, piercings running up both ears, and eyes that could knock a man down. Cal had never seen her before. He would have remembered. She exuded nonchalant cool, and Cal felt incredibly conventional by comparison. Square. Even my references for being outdated are outdated, he thought. But when he stepped to the counter she looked him up and down and raised her eyebrow.

Suddenly Cal had no need for coffee.

“Hey,” she said, smiling.

Don’t say ma’am.

“Morning,” he said back. He ordered two City Roasts. She turned to pour and he tried not to notice Sydnor at his elbow, smirking. When she returned with the coffees, she said, “You’re that cop, aren’t you? The one … you know …”

It happened occasionally. Getting recognized on the street. Conway, the PR flack, had done his job well. Cal never got used to it.

He gave a quick nod and an awkward smile. He handed over the cash, suddenly eager to complete the transaction, but she held up her hand.

“No, man. One of our regulars worked at ATMA.”

“I’m sorry,” said Cal.

“Yeah.” The barista shook her head. “You going to catch the guy who killed that girl?”

“The task force is working on it.”

“Are you on this task force?”

He could practically hear Sydnor’s eye-roll behind him.

“Afraid not.”

“You should be on it.” She looked over at Sydnor. “He should be on it. My man gets the job done.”

Sydnor grunted something, plucked his coffee from the counter, and walked off.

Cal jerked his thumb toward his retreating partner.

“He’s cranky until he gets his coffee.”

“Cranky to the very one dispensing his medicine.” She spread her arms wide. “The barista’s paradox.”

He hoisted his coffee toward her. “Thanks again …”

“Nora.”

“Thanks, Nora. I’m Cal.”

“Stay cool, Cal. And catch that motherfucker, feel me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Damn it.

All the small tables were taken, but there was a large community table toward the back. Sydnor claimed one end, ignoring the couple sitting at the other end. There was a look like indigestion on his face.

“You bring me here on purpose?” he grumbled.

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