sup with the devil

Chapter 1

"The gun has your fingerprints on it!"

"I imagine it would since I picked it up."

"Why would you pick it up?"

"I saw it before I saw Roger. It was just lying there and I picked it up. Instinct. I've told you all this already. I never fired it; your tests showed that."

"GSR can be washed away, that proves nothing. Why were you there?"

"I had an appointment with Roger to go over some financial business; he was my... financial advisor."

"Didn't you like his advice?"

"I told you, I did not kill Roger."

"I never said you did."

"You implied."

"And you lied, Mister Hargrave. We have an eye witness that puts you in Roger Cullen's apartment around the time of death as established by the coroner."

"Who?"

"Do you still deny it?"

"If it meaning, did I kill him, yes and who is this eye witness?"

"Do you know a woman named, Rita Cornell?"

"No. Is that your witness?"

"You never had any occasion to meet or do business with this woman?"

"Detective, that is a photo of Hatti Ambrose, and I do know her... from my club."

"Interview suspended at five-fifteen. Detective Ward Bettmeir exiting interview room."

******

"Jesus! Why didn't we know that this Rita Cornell was some broad named Hatti Ambrose?" Bettmeir flung the picture across the desk in frustration and leaned against the dull painted wall. His fleshy cheeks puffed out with a tinge of pink and his mouth worked in silent anger as he glowered at his partner.

"It came up as this Rita broad on the system search so why would we know?"

"We're friggin' detectives, that's why!" Bettmeir pushed off the wall and slumped to his desk. "They were the only prints at the scene we couldn't peg and we don't even do that right."

"Hey, Ward, fingerprints don't disclose aliases okay?"

"But is Hatti Ambrose the friggin' alias? Maybe it's Cornell." Bettmeir moved away from his desk and chose another position, leaning on the windowsill and staring through the wire mesh into a dingy, garbage-strewn alleyway. "I looked like an ass in there!"

"Shouldn'ta said we had a witness when we don't."

"Oh right, Mister all wise, suddenly. Force his hand you said. Make him think we've got him cold you said. Now we have bugger all and the guy isn't even asking for a lawyer; he knows we have nothing."

"Doesn't mean he didn't do it. He was there. He handled the weapon and he does know whose picture that is. Doesn't matter if it's Cornell or not. Maybe they're in it together."

Bettmeir heaved his shoulders in a shrug and turned wearily toward his partner. "He says he knows her as Hatti Ambrose because she's been at his club, Jer".

Jerry Asper squared the photo on his desk and studied the image. He pulled at a spongy earlobe and curled his lips inward. Frustration showed on his face like a Halloween mask. His thick frame hunched forward as he studied the head shot of the woman whose fingerprints had been lifted from among several in the victim's apartment.

They were the only set the detectives had no background on until the system search spit out Rita Cornell. He and his partner had cheered when they caught the homicide; their Captain was on the verge of hiring a hit man for the both of them because of their dismal record in the department.

Even the other members of the squad found them royal pains and were getting tired of taking over their failed investigations. They were known as "The Blister Pack" around the squad. This was to be the redeemer. The slam bang, open and shut, quick to bed case that would reinstate them; the one that would let them give their fellow detectives a great big-so there!

"Doesn't mean she couldn't have been a witness."

"Except she isn't our witness. We don't have a witness."

"He doesn't know that for sure."

Ward Bettmeir stared for a minute, realizing that he had cut short the interview when he didn't have to; Jerry was right.

"Shit!" He ran a rough hand over his short hair and down one side of his long face.

Ward Bettmeir, like his partner, was a twenty-year man with eleven of them in homicide. For the past three or so like his partner, his record of achievement had slid into what he termed disrepute while his superiors called it the worst shit-for-brains performance in the history of the force. The only thing keeping them both employed was their remaining year of service before retiring on a meager pension. Even the department heads couldn't bring themselves to tear away the last vestige of hope for the two partners.

"Want me to take over?" Jerry asked.

"Be my guest. What are you gonna say?"

"Make up some gobbledygook shit about checking his statement and cut him loose for now. If the skipper sees him still here and we haven't nailed him down, we'll be road kill."

"Goobledygook. Thanks." Bettmeir watched Jerry go into the interview room and put on his "I'm wise to you" face.

Hargrave tweaked a cufflink and straightened the crease in his pants as he awaited Jerry's remarks.

"We're letting you go for now Hargrave until we check further on this so called Hatti Ambrose. Keep yourself available. Don't be taki-"

"I know, Detective. No trips." Chester Hargrave pushed back his uncomfortable chair and stood, shooting his cuffs and adjusting his jacket.

"As for this witness of yours, you might look at the gentleman's club, Bootheel. Hatti was an employee I believe." He smiled tightly and stepped around Asper and out the door.

Why an alias, Bettmeir wondered, watching the exchange through the glass. "Cool customer, eh, Jer?" His thought came out aloud.

Asper thunked to his desk and slammed the file down. "You might look at the gentleman's club, Bootheel," he aped in a sneery voice. "Never heard of it. Where is it?"

Bettmeir tossed a phone book at his partner and snarled his impatience. "Detect for Christ's sake, Jer."