Cold Case

“A MILF?”

“Mother I'd Like to Fuck. Red hot. What does she look like now?”

“She's still hot. Did her hotness get her into trouble back then?”

“Not with me, unfortunately.”

“Could there have been someone else?”

“There always could be someone else, but nothing I remember.”

“Did she owe your uncle money?”

“Decker, I didn't keep track of her. I had just moved out to L.A. and had my own problems. If she was in hock big-time, I never knew about it.”

“How about a cop named Calvin Vitton?”

A pause. “Vaguely familiar.”

“He worked the Little case. He just blew his head off this morning.”

“If I were you, I'd look into that.”

Decker made a face, although Donatti couldn't see it. “Thanks for the advice. Can you tell me anything about Vitton?”

“I recall that he was an old guy …” Another pause. “Let me think about him.”

“Fair enough. How about a guy named Primo Ekerling.”

“He's a music producer,” Donatti told him. “What'd he do?”

“Someone whacked him and stuffed him into the trunk of his Mercedes in a manner reminiscent of Bennett Little's murder.”

“This happen recently?”

“About two weeks ago.”

“Hmmm … can't keep up with everything. You might want to look into his case, too. Maybe Ekerling and the cop and Little share a common link.”

“And what might that be?”

Another small laugh. “You expect me to do your work for you?”

“You owe me one for plugging me.”

“No, no, no. I settled the score with that one, pal. If anyone owes, you owe me.”

“Bullshit. That one doesn't count.”

“Ask your sons if it doesn't count.”

Silence. Then Decker said, “Call me if you think of something.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Just because you would.”

“Why don't you call me if you think of something? 'Cause from where I'm sitting you're not only barking up the wrong tree, you don't even have a stump to piss on.”

CHAPTER 10 (#uc2e517e6-ab5a-56de-9898-d48c44832d2d)

MELINDA LITTLE WARREN was not surprised by the detectives at her door. “You should have called first. I'm about to go out.”

As the inscrutable Colonel Dunn would have said: the woman was a cool cookie. Even her blond hair was more ice than amber. She wore a kelly green silk blouse and a pair of chino pants. Her feet were housed in rhinestone sandals. Marge said, “How about giving us a few minutes?”

“If I thought this would only take a few minutes, I would let you come in. And if I thought it would help Ben's case, I'd let you come in. But I know what it's about because you've probably talked to the bastard.”

“The bastard?” Oliver asked.

“Don't play coy with me!” She was red with anger. “That man is a liar!”

“So tell us your side, because right now all we've heard is his story.”

“Like you give a solitary damn … oh fuck!” She threw open the door and walked away. The detectives took it as a sign to continue the conversation indoors.

The view from inside was lovely, but Melinda didn't notice. She was too busy pacing back and forth. “The fact that I may have had a little problem a long time ago does not impact upon what I told that tall detective. And it has zero to do with my husband's murder. But of course, you always have to look at the grieving widow, don't you? I stood to gain the most from Ben's death. No matter that I was total train wreck. No matter that I was suicidal. No, you have to look at the widow!”

Marge said, “Why did you call Phil Shriner a bastard?”

“Because that's what he is! I hired him to keep confidences, not to break them!”

“He claims you didn't hire him at all. That he was your excuse for gambling away insurance money—”

“That's a lie!” Melinda pivoted around. “I had a problem, okay? I met Phil from those problem days. The one good thing he did was to get me into GA meetings, but he only did that because he wanted to get into my pants.”

“Did he?” Oliver asked.

“Don't insult me!” Melinda hissed. “I was a compulsive gambler, not a drunk! I was clearheaded and Shriner was a pig.”

Oliver held up the palms of his hands. “We're trying to get a handle on your husband's murder. We're on the same side.”

“That's what the police told me fifteen years ago and I don't believe you any more than I believed them.” Melinda melted into her white sofa. “Incompetent idiots!”

Oliver had no answer for that. He looked to Marge for backup. She exhaled softly and sat next to Melinda on the sofa. “I'm sorry to be opening up old wounds, Mrs. Warren. It must be very painful for you.”

Melinda glared at Marge with moist eyes. “Spare me the amateur psychobabble. I've been to enough therapists to know the empty words from the real thing, okay?”

The room fell silent. Oliver busied himself by staring at the view. Melinda said, “I keep waiting … wondering … when can I move on?” Her eyes softened as tears spilled down her cheeks. “Aren't I entitled to a little happiness?”