Dead Boyfriends (Mac McKenzie #4)

Dead Boyfriends (Mac McKenzie #4) Page 36

“Nina? Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Just didn’t work out,” I said. “It was time to move on anyway.”

I winced at the words even as I spoke them. Weiner yawned.

“About what time was that?” Rask asked.

“Are you asking me if I have an alibi?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

Weiner dealt a black-and-white glossy from the folder and slid it across the desk. I took three steps forward, glanced down at it, and turned away. It was a photograph of Mollie Pratt’s broken body, naked except for the cast on her ankle.

“Between 9:00 P.M. and midnight,” Weiner said. “That’s a rough estimate.”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

He took another item from the folder, a plastic sandwich bag containing my business card, and set it on the photograph.

“Jesus Christ,” I said.

“Talk to us,” Weiner said. “With the minimum of hysterics.”

“I don’t have an alibi for between nine and midnight. I was home. Alone. Watching the ball game.”

“Are you willing to take a polygraph?” Weiner asked.

“Like Merodie Davies did?” The lieutenant seemed to flinch at the sound of the woman’s name. “Polygraphs are a joke.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Take it any way you want.” I stepped toward Rask and glared down at him. “What the hell is going on? Why did you bring me here?”

Rask spoke smoothly and carefully. He always did. “Mollie Pratt was beaten, raped, and murdered last night between 9:00 P.M. and midnight, when her body was discovered in an empty lot on Chicago Avenue off Lake Street in Minneapolis. That’s why it’s my case. Evidence suggests that she was killed somewhere else and her body dumped along with her belongings.”

Weiner slipped another photograph from his deck and set it on the desktop, but I deliberately ignored it.

“We began the investigation here with the assistance of the Anoka CID”—Rask gestured toward Weiner—“by searching Mollie’s home. That’s when we came across your card. Imagine my surprise.”

“You assumed from that that I’m involved.”

“I don’t assume anything, you know that, McKenzie.”

“Would you be willing to give us a blood sample?” Weiner asked.

“Why?”

Weiner dealt still another photograph. Mollie’s face had been badly beaten, and there were bruises around her throat.

“The killer left his DNA all over the victim,” he said.

“Yes, I’ll give you a blood sample.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Rask said.

I was looking into Weiner’s eyes when I said, “I’ll do it anyway.”

Weiner yawned again.

“Talk to me, Mac,” Rask said. “Tell me what you know.”

I started with Merodie Davies, explaining that I was helping her and G. K. Bonalay. I showed them the copy of the letter G. K. had given me. Both lieutenants read it without comment. I explained that Mollie was Merodie’s next-door neighbor, that I had spoken to her, and that I had left my card on the off chance that she might have more to tell me. “She was drinking beer when I left her,” I said.

“Beer?” asked Weiner.

“Grain Belt Premium.”

“She must have been warming up, then, because a preliminary drug screen says she had ingested methamphetamine.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Why doesn’t it make sense?” Rask asked.

“She wasn’t sophisticated enough to do meth,” I said.

“Any moron can buy meth,” Weiner said.

“If the moron knows what to buy, where to buy. Mollie would have had to have a connection, and she didn’t. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?” said Weiner.

“Unless she was lying,” Rask said. “Could she have been lying, McKenzie?”

“Why would she?”

“I don’t know. Why would she?”

I remembered Mollie peeking at me from the other side of her living room drapes.

“Richard,” I said. “She might have been protecting Merodie’s ex-boyfriend Richard.” I told him how Mollie had reacted when I agreed with her ex-husband that Richard might have been dealing drugs out of Merodie’s house. “Maybe she was Richard’s best customer and didn’t want me to know.”

“Richard who?” Rask asked.

“I don’t know his last name, but the Anoka city cops do. They were called to Merodie’s address enough times when he was with her. They must have his name in their incident reports.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. McKenzie,” Weiner said. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Excuse me?”

I glanced at Rask. He seemed as surprised by Weiner’s behavior as I was, but he said nothing—he was in Weiner’s house.

“That’s it?” I asked.

Weiner came from behind his desk and took my elbow in his hand. He led me to the door. “We can forgo the blood test for now.” He literally shoved me into the corridor.

“Hey.”

“Good morning, Mr. McKenzie.”