Play To Kill

Chapter Twenty

Magozzi still hadn't gotten used to walking into his own house through the front door. Nothing looked right, and he doubted very much that it ever would again. He'd learned that there were a couple of life-changing mistakes it was almost impossible to undo: one was marrying the wrong person; another was - and God help any man who tried it - hiring a decorator.

He stood at the archway to his living room, knowing absolutely that he was not supposed to set foot on that stupid Oriental rug without taking his shoes off. Why the hell would anyone slap down an area rug on top of wall- to-wall carpet? There was no sense to that at all, and some very real dangers. His socks always tangled in the silly fringe around the edges, and you could see every misstep he'd made in shoes on the cream border.

Shoes, or not shoes. Funny how he could make rational snap judgments at a river crime scene, looking at a bloated body, yet found himself paralyzed at the entrance of his own living room.

His old battered recliner was gone; the big-screen TV was hidden behind the massive doors of a piece of furniture he still couldn't pronounce, and funny-colored pillows in weird shapes were scattered all over the place.

When the decorator had finished two months ago, there had been a very specific place for each pillow; something to do with contrasting colors and textures, the cohesiveness of the room design - some bullshit like that. The pillows still pissed him off. It took several to cushion his head when he crashed on the sofa that was a foot too short for his six-plus feet, and they kept sliding off the new leather massage recliner he'd insisted on buying, even when the decorator made a prune face. Someday, when he was retired from the force, he was going to hunt down that woman and slap her silly with those pillows.

The phone rang while his second frozen dinner was still in the microwave. He never looked at the picture on the box when he bought them, never looked before he nuked them, but this one smelled really weird. 'Magozzi here…'

Grace never bothered with hellos before starting a phone conversation, especially if she was tired or stressed, and tonight she sounded both. 'Wisconsin saved the girl, the perp got away. I don't know where you got your information about the location of that diner, but make sure you tell the source they saved a life. Apparently the guy heard the siren coming and bolted before he could do some real damage. He pulled out of the parking lot just as the deputy was pulling in.'

'How is the girl?'

'Pretty banged up, pretty terrified, but she's talking. He tied her up and came at her with a knife, Magozzi, just like the one in Medford last night.'

Magozzi thought about that for a minute. 'Oregon's a long way from Wisconsin.'

'If he flew, it's possible, and, God love airports, they have cameras all over the place. The girl gave a pretty good description; they've got a sketch artist with her now, hoping for some distinguishing characteristics they can start comparing to security footage.'

"Witness sketches suck, Grace, you know that. They all look like celebrities. Did the deputy get a tag on whatever the perp was driving?'

'Better than that. He put nine bullets into it. They found it at a freeway wayside four miles away. Stolen, of course. They're guessing he had his own vehicle parked there and switched them out. He could be anywhere by now.'

'Cameras at the wayside? And how about at the diner?'

'Nothing at the wayside, and get this: he backed into the door at the diner so the camera couldn't pick up his face.'

'Smart. Any more news out of Medford?'

'No. The woman's still unconscious, and the cops and Feds are still processing. Prelim reports by tomorrow morning, they think, but still no leads.'

The microwave pinged and Magozzi popped open the door, releasing an unidentifiable miasma that smelled lethal. He peeled back the film to reveal an unappetizing brown mash.

'Listen, Magozzi, I'm dead on my feet. Anything else you need before I collapse?'

'Yeah. Do you know what Indian food smells like?'

'Doesn't matter what it smells like. It's good for you. Eat it.'

After he hung up, he examined the cardboard box that had contained his latest gift to the microwave, then poked a fork into the mushy brown stuff. It wouldn't win any beauty contests, but surprisingly, it was pretty damn good. Anant would be pleased.

Between mouthfuls, he picked up the phone and dialed Gino.

'This better be good, Leo, because you just woke me out of a sound sleep,' he grumbled.

'How are you already asleep? You just got home.' 'I was already asleep before I walked in the door. What's up?'

Magozzi relayed his conversation with Grace, which seemed to perk up his partner considerably.

'Hell, that's terrific news. Way to go, Judge. Send him a fruit basket.'

'I'll do one better than that - I'm going to call him right now.'

'Whoa. You found religion in the last half hour? Since when are you into validating drunken sots?'

'Since never. But he saved a life, unwittingly or not.' 'I think the unwittingly part means something, Leo.' 'Whatever.'

'Don't trip over your skirt on the way to bed, buddy.' 'Screw you, Gino. Go to sleep.'

'I hear, and I obey.' Gino hung up instantly, which meant Angela had put her hand on him, and maybe exhaled against his skin, and in that moment, Magozzi hated him.

Judge Jim was sitting in his office, reflecting on the history of technology. Invariably, all the powerful technological tools that were invented for the good of mankind ultimately fell into hands that turned them toward evil. Dr. Richard

Gatling invented his rapid-fire weapon because he thought it would end war. The A-bomb was invented for the same reason, and now every crazy fucker had one. The people behind weapons of destruction should have spent less time in their labs and more time on the streets, observing humanity. And now, the Web…

He jumped when his phone rang and he snatched the receiver when he saw Magozzi's name on the caller ID. 'Tell me you're calling with good news, Detective.'

'I am, Judge. Law enforcement on the scene at the Wisconsin diner wanted me to let you know you saved a life.' He heard the judge take a breath, then blow it out. "You were dead-on with the location. Thanks to your info, the cops got there before the perp could do serious damage.'

Magozzi rubbed at his tired eyes while he waited for the expected thank-you-for-the-call, but all he got was silence. After five seconds of that, he started to get pissed. Just picking up the phone had been a courtesy; one the judge obviously didn't deserve.

Finally, 'And was the victim a woman, Detective Magozzi?'

'Of course it was a woman. Pink polyester, remember? What did you think? That it was a gay golfer?' Bizarrely, he heard the definitive sound of liquid being poured into a glass, and then the unmistakable noise of gulping. Jeez. What an asshole. Did the old bastard actually think Magozzi was going to stand here and listen to him drink himself to death? 'Listen, Judge…'

'Thank you for calling, Detective.' And then an abrupt disconnect.