Private Dick Pt. 02: Interrogation.

Oh really? "Why'd you show me his picture?"

McIlhenny showed her a second picture. It was Filatov and dead Eric, with Liz's ex holding his arm around a tall, stunning, and elegantly dressed blonde woman having a drink at a very nice bar. They looked happy. They looked like they were about to fuck. Could she be one of Filatov's hookers? She looked a little old for that role, but her beauty was timeless.

After a brief but very pregnant pause, he added. "Eric Wyatt carried a British diplomatic passport."

That set all kinds of alarms! A British diplomat had been murdered. And not a peep of it in the news! Maybe they were covering it up, but the Brits would likely be deeply pissed that one of their own had been murdered. But there was something else. McIlhenny was probably limited in what he could say, yet he'd just told her Eric Wyatt was deep into it.

Back in the 'Stan two kinds of people carried diplomatic passports. Actual diplomats, and spooks. Important spooks too, they didn't cover the grunts. So he'd really just told me that this Eric Wyatt was also a spy. And Liz knew him and had fucked him, only if he was a spy, maybe she was as well. Maybe nothing she'd said was true. But what was a spook doing talking to a Russian pimp? Or coming into Ruby's? Unless Filatov wasn't just a pimp. Dani started to whistle but held up. It might not be smart to let anyone besides McIlhenny know what she was thinking.

"How did Wyatt die?"

"Execution style. Bullet to the back of the head."

He handed over another picture, this one of Wyatt's dead body. The bullet had exited through the mouth. Ugly, as murders almost always are. Exactly what a professional hit looked like.

"The Russians are all business when it comes to murder."

An execution-style murder of a diplomat was a very big deal. The sort of thing that might start a war in some places. This was big news, so the media silence was hard to explain. Britain and the US were allies, so maybe things were getting hushed up so the two countries could get their stories lined up, but that wouldn't hold for long. Something didn't make sense.

"I want to talk to her."

McIlhenny nodded. Likely he was hoping I would make that request. It would change the game, and tell him something he wanted to know. But he'd told me a lot with very few words. There was something here that stunk to high heaven. I grabbed my phone and called Tracey, who bitched me out for going in without her.

McIlhenny stopped on the way out, to say, "Dani, if I were you the first thing I'd ask that woman is who she actually is."

Over the phone Tracey told me to keep my mouth shut, that she was on her way.

A uniform came in and led me to a waiting area, which wasn't very full. I'd just gotten actual legal advice to keep my mouth shut. Out in the real world where ordinary people lived, that was solid advice. It's hard to learn with your mouth open. Cops made their living by tripping people up and they can't trip you up if you clam up. But keeping too quiet also can keep you from learning stuff, because you have to talk to get talking started. Still, it was easy to keep quiet in a waiting room full of anxious wives, parents, and siblings.

The cops came to get me before Tracey arrived, which probably wasn't an accident, and led me to another interview room complete with the ubiquitous two-way mirror. Liz was tall, slender, and very fit, seated at the table in tight leather pants and a long-sleeved white knit shirt that hugged her body. She had dark brown hair, green eyes, and ruby red lipstick on her full lips. She looked tired and harried and utterly beautiful.

Liz ought to have been grateful to see a friendly face. But she wasn't.

"What are you doing here? Liz practically spat out the words, surprise, anger and contempt flooding her face as she turned up her very well-shaped nose.

"I could ask the same of you," I said, mind racing, pissed at the rude greeting. But not too pissed to think. The grilling I'd gotten was minor league in comparison to what Liz had just suffered. Liz should have been really, really happy to see me but she wasn't. At least she didn't seem that way. Why?

"Of course I don't need to ask, do I? Somebody wasted your ex. Was it you?"

Liz laughed. "Is that what they told you, that I'm a cold-blooded murderer?"

"Actually they just asked me a bunch of questions. Probably trying to firm up you using me as your alibi."

"Are you denying what happened between us yesterday?"

It was my turn to laugh. "Not in the least. I told them we fucked all night long."

"So why are you here?" Liz asked. "You're free to go."

"Maybe I thought I'd offer you a rematch."

Liz broke out laughing remembering the wrestling match they'd had last night for who would wear Big Girl and who would take the strap on deep. She smiled at me, tenderly, just like in the morning before she left. In a flash it was gone as Liz hardened.

"Look, you're a great shag. Epic actually. But that was then. Right now Shirley is back at the bar waiting for a good pounding. If you're smart you'll go give it to her and forget I exist."

That stung! Why was she pushing me away? Was I nothing to her, or was she afraid? I had already figured the Englishwoman was not the sort to show fear.

"Planning on staying here for a while then? You'd look good in orange. Contrasts nicely with your green eyes."

"What can I say? I just can't resist American hospitality."

I realized simple banter wasn't going to get me anywhere. Liz wasn't going to open up without getting hit in the teeth. Maybe that was what McIlhenny intended.

"We're known for our hospitality. We even host Russian pimps."

Liz didn't bat an eye, which kind of surprised me as for most people that would have been a shot between the eyes.

"A Russian pimp you say? Was Eric hanging with someone horrible? Did he roll me over for a ten-thousand-dollar whore? If so. I hope she cost at least that much. More, actually."

"Cost him his life, likely."

For just a second, Liz blinked.

"Get out of here and leave me alone."

Why did Liz start at ten thousand dollars? That was the high end. Russians ran plenty of streetwalkers you could pick up for a couple of tenners. The local pimps bitched about them too. Might be a coincidence, but then it might not. I had to know.

"Yeah, it seems he was a bit of cad. But I still can't see why he stood you up."

"Obviously. You're still here. You may be a bit prejudiced."

"I am," I said, "and I keep my word."

There was a scuffle outside, a man calling "Ma'am, you can't go in there" and a higher-pitched female voice telling some cop where to go. The door pushed open and a tall, broad-shouldered woman with long brunette hair and an obviously pregnant belly pushed her way inside. She was carrying a folder of papers and a briefcase.

"I'm her goddamn lawyer. Officer, if you are going to tell me I cannot consult with my client---in private---I will need your name and badge number so I can bring you up on charges."

I enjoyed watching the cop wilt and step aside. The woman pushed herself inside and set her stuff on the table.

"And I mean it, all recording devices off until I tell you I'm ready. Clear the secret room. You damned well know I have every right to privacy with my client. Don't make me get angry, because you won't like me when I'm angry."

"Hi Tracey," I said. "Meet Elizabeth Bathory."

"Hello spud," she replied. "Looking femme today are we?"

Tracey smirked and turned to Liz. "And this gorgeous creature must be Liz. No wonder you're infatuated."

"I am not infatuated."

"And I'm not pregnant. I've seen how most girls follow you around. Yet here you are with the prime suspect to a murder investigation," she turned to glare at Liz, "whom I'm told just told you to fuck off!"

Tracey was tough. But she didn't know Liz.

"Elizabeth Bathory." Liz smiled politely and offered her hand. "I assume you are to be my solicitor?"

"I am, and Barrister too in your terms. We do things a bit differently here."

Tracey shot Liz a glare. "Right now what I'm going to do is read this file, so both of you shut up for a while so I can do my job."

Tracey sat and she read. Liz and I sort of stared at each other. Finally, Tracey set down her glasses to look directly at Liz

"So where you yesterday from five to nine PM?"

"At five I was in my room bathing and preparing for a date with the recently deceased Eric. I was engaged in feminine ablutions in my room from there until about six-thirty. From that point, I was in a cab over to Ruby's, where I met Ms. Donatelli there sometime after seven. About nine I was likely pinned beneath Dani sweating and squealing."

Tracey chucked while paging through the documents.

"Colorfully put. Okay, that makes everything clear now. The preliminary time of death was between five and nine. Dani is your alibi for about half that time."

"Actually I spoke to Eric about seven-fifteen. Which Dani here witnessed while we were at Ruby's."

Tracey wasn't impressed. "Did she hear his voice? Ruby's isn't terribly quiet. And if she did hear him would she recognize his voice?"

"I rather doubt that as they've likely never met."

Tracey sighed as if she were about to lecture disappointing children.

"In other words, no one can vouch for this time when Mr. Wyatt might already be dead. You have no alibi before the time the cabbie picked you up, but there is travel time between the location of your hotel and the site of the murder. It's theoretically possible you killed him, but given the logistics, it's a stretch. On the other hand, you have a motive."

"Do you really think I would kill Eric because he stood me up?"

Tracey turned to Liz and leaned in. "What I think isn't what matters. People have died for a lot less. Jilted love is a classic motive, and the cops would like to solve this one fast because of the late Mr. Wyatt's diplomatic status. That and you are, conveniently enough, also a Brit, which makes this a foreign affair. In fact, an affair solely for the Queen's justice. Checks a lot of the right boxes Ms. Bathory."

Tracey took a long pause to let what she'd said sink in. She was a good lawyer and good lawyers do that.

Ms. Bathory, the fact is, they already have enough to make your life hell, but likely not enough to convict unless they get a very special jury. As Mr. Wyatt was also a British citizen, it's likely they'll extradite you to England, which is still a friendly country to whom we willingly extradite suspects. That allows your own courts to handle the whole mess. Saves us a lot of money for one thing. Headaches too."

"But what if she's innocent?" I asked.

If looks could kill, Tracey would have filleted me. "Guilt, or innocence, is now a thing for a court to decide if this goes to trial, which I doubt. As a foreign citizen, she enjoys the protection of American law, but if the Feds decide to boot her they can keep her from ever coming back."

"How horrible," Liz observed as if bored.

No one said anything for a moment. Tracey looked at me and shook her head. Then she got up and went to the door.

"Okay, I'm ready now." She ran into the same cop who had tried to stop her from going in.

"Officer, are you planning to charge my client or not?"

The cop at the door shrugged. "I'll get someone," he said then disappeared.

A few minutes later McIlhenny appeared. Tracey didn't waste any time. "Lieutenant, are you planning to charge Miss Bathory?"

"That's still being decided." McIlhenny was a good hedger.

"Lieutenant, I respect your position, but it's time to decide. Charge her or let her go. I'll file the writ immediately if necessary and you know it will be upheld."

McIlhenny took his time responding but I was pretty sure he'd made up his mind long before coming into the room. He wanted certain things.

"Your client is not to leave town in case we need to talk to her again. I'm keeping her passport for now. It will stay with us until decisions are made."

"I'm fine with that," Tracey said.

"She can stay with me," I said.

"What!" Tracey practically screamed.

"That's not smart Dani," said McIlhenny. "You don't know diddly about this woman."

"No, it's a totally stupid thing to do," added Tracey. "You're under no obligation to this woman, and frankly I have a lot of questions about her. Also, it damages you as an alibi. It's not good for her and may place you under suspicion."

"Advice noted. From both of you. But you need her not to leave. I'll babysit."

McIlhenny shrugged and turned away. Tracey looked over at him, wondering. By now she'd likely figured I knew he was on my side, or at least neutral. She didn't know we'd served together. She also didn't know he had known Carolyn. Been there for me after the explosion. He may even have thought I was taking risks to get back with Carolyn. But I wasn't. I felt alive with Liz and wanted to hang onto that, at least while English was here. I had been a soldier and could look after myself.

"You ready English?"

Liz stared at me for a long second then shrugged.

"I most certainly am. Barrister, I thank you for your services. And Lieutenant, for your hospitality."

"Think nothing of it," he said. "Don't give me a reason to show you more of it."

"I will be as quiet as a church mouse," Liz said with a dry voice.

Likely no one believed her.

I certainly did not. I grabbed her and yanked her out the door, "Now, listen you're in a lot of trouble..."

Liz was not one to back down either. "I'm in a lot of trouble? You do know that Eric was murdered don't you?"

"Saw the pictures."

"Well, detective, try putting on your thinking cap. The people who didn't like Eric murdered him. Did it enter your provincial brain that I too might be a target? And that by hanging with me you might become one yourself?"

"Yep. Mind telling me why you might be a target?"

"There are things you should not be part of."

"I've been to war. Shouldn't have been part of that too, but I was. I survived that. I'll survive this. And they didn't tell me shit then either. Now let's get going."

I glared at her until Liz moved and I led her into the public parking garage, and to my truck.

The look on Liz's face when she saw Amy Ray was worth it. Amy was full-sized lifted Dodge Power Wagon with roll bar, winch, and big mudder tires. I sometimes took her fishing, when I needed to get away from it all.

"Oh my God," Liz said, covering her mouth when she saw Amy, her eyes wide. "You're kidding me. A genuine piece of Americana."

I opened the door and pointed at the handle. "Swing on up there pardner," I added in a fake western accent, grinning all the while.

"I feel like I should be wearing cowboy boots and one of those big hats," Liz commented.

The motor turned over with a rumble and started forward with a lurch when I pressed the gas. Nothing subtle about Amy Ray, she rode like a truck, looked like a truck, and was truck in every possible way.

"Well, this is even more butch than I imagined," said Liz.

"Suits me. Do we need to go to the hotel to get your clothes?"

"The police have everything. My room is likely sealed. Tomorrow I shall have to go shopping."

"We," I said, "shall have to go shopping."

"I'm not a child. Do you have any idea how completely stupid you're being? Your Lieutenant is not an idiot. Eric had enemies willing to kill. I may have inherited a few. You're placing yourself at risk being near me. Let me go, I can fend for myself."

I slammed on the brakes and stopped right in the middle of the street, setting off a cascade of car horns. I looked English right in the eye.

"Listen here, I don't break promises. And you better not break any either, English. You promised you'd stay with me and you're damned well going to."

After a minute or so of angry honks and insults, Liz nodded. I pressed the gas and got going.

"Death is a high price to pay for a shag," she replied. "Even if I am absolutely marvelous," she added with a grin. "and I am. Do you have any weapons?"

"I have a pistol."

"Get it out, load it, and keep it close," she said, looking out the window. "You really are an idiot. Cute, but an idiot." Liz's eyes dropped to my legs, and there was some appreciation there. "Never expected to see you in a skirt."

"I don't wear one often."

"You wear it well, and I'd keep wearing one for the time being. It's best if they don't know what sort of person you really are. The man you mentioned, Filatov, is not exactly feminist. Bits of fluff tend to get underestimated. Being underestimated may save your life."

"I think you just like my legs."

"Oh, I do. I like all of you," she added with a lick of the lips.

"Are you a spook like your late buddy Eric?"

Liz paused before answering. "I" she began, "am in exports. Here on a business trip with some pleasure tossed in. You'd be wise to remember that."

"Does any of this business include Artemi Filitov?"

Liz dodged the question, which meant it hit. If I was going to get anything out of Liz, it would come out in dribbles, and only when she had complete trust.

Finally she spoke. "I'm hungry. Is there a place on the way where we can pick up some food?"

"There's an Indian place near the harbor."

"Probably rubbish, but it will do. Order to go. You want to be seen with me as little as possible. We don't want to be found or followed. Do you know how to spot a tail? It won't help if they have enough people, but no point in making it easy for the baddies."

"I've tailed people before, and yes I can spot a tail. I survived Afghanistan."

I fished out my cell phone at the next light, found the number, and hit dial before handing it over to Liz. "Order what you want. You're buying."

"I am?"

"Might as well enjoy some sweet expense account money while I can," I said.

Liz called while I checked six. If we had been tailed, I couldn't see it. If Filatov, and he was the most likely killer, had a big enough crew, or a drone, no one could detect a tail. But that wasn't very likely. I was careful driving home. After stopping to pick up the food Liz had ordered, I took an oblique route. Instead of the usual, I slid my truck into a spot behind Morrison's garage. One tit flash and Old Man Morrison would let me hide Amy there for a week, and while it didn't make my truck invisible, you couldn't see it from the street and that was half the battle.

They climbed the back stairs. Once inside I went to the kitchen to put out food. I could hear Liz inspecting my apartment.

"This place is terribly insecure, the windows are unlocked for one..."

"And on the third frickin' floor. Besides I like fresh air."

"Like your breeze a little less for a while. The people who killed Eric aren't above pretending to paint a house to break in. Common thieves won't get on an extension ladder to pilfer your place, but Eric was killed by professionals. Professionals do what they have to."

"Do you know who killed your ex?"

"I have a guess and from what you've said so, do you. The Russians don't mess around; whether they're the FSB, the GRU, or the mob."

"Sit down and eat."

I took a piece of onion kulcha before passing the food over. The Russian mob was bad news, the Russian secret service and their army intelligence were not known for bearing sweetness and light. Liz had just told me she was a spook in a way she couldn't deny. I took a bite then went and got my gun from the safe, along with the three magazines.

Liz picked it up and immediately checked the weapon like a trained professional might.

"A Colt Army Commander? Now there's a classic! Of course, the 1911 in the DOD model number is not there for style. Your pistol is big, heavy, and only carries eight rounds per mag."

"It's a .45. One hit will knock you flat even if you're big and on major drugs. And I like it."