Peter Decker 2-Book Thriller Collection: Blindman’s Bluff, Hangman

Decker smiled. “He hasn’t seen me yet. How would he know that?”

“There’s a stereotype that goes along with being a cop. You may just be too macho for his blood.”

“Then he’d be prejudiced,” Decker announced. “And that would be too bad for him because he’d never get to know my sensitive side.”

19 (#ulink_602af4d0-0c00-50f2-92a5-a15c3d6d3b35)

Rina recognized the sunglasses first: chic, dark, expensive. Wearing a blue jacket, khaki pants, and a red tie, Harriman leaned against the wall, eating a power bar, his stance relaxed although his jaw suggested tension, muscles bulging with each chomp. Rina knew the reason why. He was eavesdropping on the same two cholos. Now that she knew what was going on, his actions seemed heroic and reckless at the same time.

It took all of her willpower not to stare at them.

No, that would not be smart.

Instead she blended into one of the nearby crowds. With only around five minutes before the courtrooms opened after lunch, she racked her brain to form a plan, weighing her options. Harriman’s face was leaning slightly in the men’s direction, and one of them glanced up at him. She thought about going over and leading him away, but that might draw more attention to him than if she just left him alone.

One of the bailiffs was already calling roll for the jury in the courtroom next to hers. She figured she had a couple of minutes left. At a standstill about what to do with Harriman, she spent the time trying to memorize the men—their size, their features, their distinguishing marks. The tattoos were her best friends—a snake, a tiger, a shark, the B12 and the BXII and XII in Roman script. The smaller man, the one who was doing most of the talking, appeared to have a scar next to his left ear. Without warning, he turned his head, looked upward, and glared at Harriman.

Then he said something to him.

Harriman’s face darkened. He spoke a few words, then walked away without exhibiting any nervousness. The smaller man with the scar kept glaring at him, watching Harriman go inside the men’s room. Rina’s heart started racing when the smaller man got up and headed in the same direction.

But then someone called out the name Alex and the man stopped.

Rina thought to herself: Alejandro Brand—the guy with the scar.

Alex, aka small man with snake and tiger tattoos, turned and came toward a man in a wrinkled suit and a comb-over—probably a P.D. The two of them, along with the bigger man whom Alex had been talking to, walked into one of the courtrooms.

She intercepted Harriman just as she heard her own group being called to order by the bailiff. She whispered to the blind man. “You must be careful. He was glowering at you when you went into the bathroom.”

Harriman took a half step back. Without missing a beat, he said, “Which one?”

“The shorter one.”

“That does me no good. The Mexican or the El Salvadorian?”

“I have no idea. I don’t speak Spanish. I think someone called him Alex.”

“Then you know more about his identity than I do. You should talk to the police.”

“I do on a daily basis. I’ve got to go. I’m keeping my jury waiting.”

“So Decker is your husband?” Harriman said.

“You shouldn’t be asking personal questions. But I do know that Lieutenant Decker speaks fluent Spanish. So maybe he can help you out.”

“We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t. If you’re needed, Lieutenant Decker will call you.” Rina hurried off to her proper line. She wasn’t the last one to show up, so technically she didn’t hold up anything, but she was late enough and breathing hard enough for Joy to make a wisecrack.

“You look disheveled.” She lowered her eyes and stared at Rina. “Just what did you do during your lunch break?”

Cheeky girl. “I wish.” Rina hoped she was being casual. The case would probably conclude this afternoon and she would never see any of them again anyway. She hoped this would end the conversation, but Ally had been more observant.

“She was talking to Smiling Tom,” she remarked.

“You were?” Joy’s eyebrows arched. “What were you and Smilin’ talking about—again?”

“Since he can’t see, he asked me the time.” Rina rolled her eyes and tried to act annoyed. “Ah, Chronically Late Kent is here. I think we’re ready to go into the courtroom.”

Ally asked her, “Do you know him?”

“Who?” Rina asked.

“Mr. Smiles.”

“No, I don’t know him.” She turned to Ally. “Why would I know him?”

“I guess you wouldn’t,” Ally told her. “Too bad. I thought maybe you can introduce him to me.”

“What?” Rina said.

Ally pinkened. “It’s hard meeting people these days and I think he’s kinda cute.”

When Decker saw his wife’s cell number flash, he picked up immediately. “It’s over?”

“It’s over.”

“Thank God. Did you fry the guy?”

“How do you know it was a guy?”

“Fifty percent chance of being right. More than a 50 percent chance. Most of the defendants are men. I don’t really care about the case, but I do care about who hangs around the halls of justice. Did you see them again?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Shit! Sorry. Tell me they didn’t notice you.”

“This time I made myself very scarce. I was well hidden.”

“Thank you, Rina, for saying that.”

“But there’s more. Harriman was eavesdropping again. This time one of the cholos caught on and the two of them exchanged words. Harriman went to the men’s room and the cholo started in that direction, but someone called him back before anything happened. Peter, I’m a little concerned.”

Decker felt a sour taste ride up in his mouth. “I’ll give him a call.”

Rina took a deep breath. “The cholo had a scar and a snake tattoo. Someone called him Alex.”

As in Alejandro Brand. Decker said, “Thanks.”