Treasure Hunt

23

For all the reasons he’d elucidated to Wyatt Hunt, the only thing Al Carter knew for an absolute certainty was that he had to keep his profile as low as possible around the police. He was black, an ex-convict, the last person to see Como alive. As far as he was concerned, right there he had strikes one, two, and three and it might not be long before he was out. Strikes four and five, as if they needed them, were his easy access to the tire iron and his lack of alibis on the nights of either of the murders. The greater part of him was amazed, in fact, that the two inspectors hadn’t already braced him and brought him downtown for questioning.

Somehow he-or maybe just the circumstances-had held them off for now, and maybe what he’d told Hunt about the Thorpe girl would slow them down for a few more days as well. He hadn’t liked to do that to the girl, or to put himself into the evidence mix on any level, but realistically, what were his other options?

In the meantime, he’d been thinking about it nonstop for the past four days and he’d come to the decision that he needed some hardcore insurance. And finally, he thought he had a workable plan.

Now he sat alone in the very back booth in front of a cracked mug of steaming coffee at Miz Carter’s Mudhouse on California. The Carters who’d run this establishment for years were no relation to Al. When the door opened, he raised his hand and caught the attention of the couple who’d just come in-his younger brother Mo and Mo’s wife, Rae. They walked on back, greeting people they knew in the bustling coffee shop. They were childless, married for seventeen years, and regulars here. They were also solid citizens-a crucial criterion for Al’s purpose today-the owners of Ebony Emery, the tanning salon and manicure place a few doors down in the Laurel Center. Meanwhile, Al slid out of the booth and was standing by the time they got back to him. He greeted Mo with a warm chest- bump and a tapped fist, and Rae with a chaste hug and an air kiss by her ear.

The original Miz Carter’s daughter Penny had a couple more cracked mugs of coffee (the place’s funky trademark), small plates, and a big wedge of cinnamon coffee cake in front of Mo and Rae before they’d gotten their napkins unwrapped. Everybody made small talk, casual and loose, while Penny hovered and took orders. Al, on one side of the red leather booth, put in an order for a hamburger and a milk shake while his brother and sister-in-law on the other said they’d split the mac-and-cheese and the house salad. As he ordered, Mo was slicing the cake, giving some first to his wife, then serving himself.

When Penny went to place the order, Mo popped a bite of cake into his mouth, sipped from his mug, then put it down and raised his eyebrows. A question.

But now that the time had come, Al found his resolve weakening. He smiled to cover the sudden embarrassment-that’s what it was-then put his own mug down, twirled it a couple of times. “You’re great to come down.”

Rae, thin and buxom, gave him a kind smile that animated her face and made it a thing of beauty. “It didn’t exactly wear us out, Al.” Then, in a more serious vein, “What’s troublin’ you, brother? This thing with Dominic?”

“At least that.”

“What else?”

“Well, the Neshek woman too.”

“I don’t know her,” his brother said.

“One of Dominic’s colleagues. Got herself killed, too, this past Monday night.”

“Good Lord,” Rae said. “Two of ’em now?”

“Two of ’em,” Carter said.

Mo came forward over his coffee and cake, put his elbows on the table and his hands on both sides of his face. The ridge over his brows was pronounced, almost hooded. “They got you involved?”

Carter blew out a long sigh. “Not yet, Bro-Mo, not yet.”

“But you’re worried?” Rae asked.

Carter bobbed his head down and up. “It seems to be my constant state lately.”

“So what do they got on you?” Mo asked.

“Nothing. There’s nothing to get.” He met their eyes, one at a time. “I swear to both of you. There’s nothing to get.”

Rae reached a hand over the table and touched Carter’s. “Well, then, sugar, what you worried about?”

His throat rumbled as though he were chuckling, but there wasn’t anything funny in his eyes. “You got to ask?”

She looked down, picked at her cake with her long fingernails. “No, I guess not, I think about it. You think they do that again?”

“They did it last time,” Carter said. “Three and a half years for a crime I didn’t commit.”

His brother spoke up through his natural reluctance. “Hey, Al. Not that you hadn’t done some shit.”

“Okay, grant that,” Carter said. “I was a dumb kid. I wasn’t an angel. Maybe I’m still not, but I keep my nose clean. And I damn sure didn’t kill Mr. Como or anybody else. Whatever I’ve done before, I’ve paid for it now. And that’s not how it’s supposed to work. You know that. They’re supposed to send you up for something you actually did. Last time, they missed that little detail. I never went near that liquor store and-”

“Yeah, well,” his brother cut in, “the problem was you shoulda remembered back then how we all look the same.”

“Problem is,” Carter said, “I’m remembering now. And there is no way I’m going back in on this.”

“So what-?” Rae stopped and started again. “Why did you need to talk to us? How we gonna help you?”

“I’m not sure you can, but-”

He stopped speaking as Penny showed up back at the booth with their orders. After she’d put the food down, she asked, “What’s a fish say when it swims into a wall?”

They all looked up at her.

“You tell us, darlin’,” Mo said.

“Dam!” And with a delighted giggle, she was gone back to the counter.

Al Carter couldn’t help himself. The absurdity of the ridiculous joke while his life was in such turmoil had him chuckling. “Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Damn damn damn. That woman’s been reading my mail.” And suddenly the chuckling turned into real laughter. Extended laughter. Finally, wiping his eyes, Carter faced his relatives across the table. “Sorry. I don’t know why that hit me.”

“Me neither,” his brother said.

Rae put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Man’s got to be under some stress.” Then she looked across at Carter with sympathy in her eyes. “You got to get out more, sugar.” She forked a bite of lettuce. “So how we gonna help you?” she asked. “But you not sure we can.”

“What’s it going to depend on, Al?” Mo asked.

“It’s going to first depend on whether you two spent either Tuesday a week ago or Monday this week alone together.”

Mo stopped his mac-and-cheese on the way to his mouth. “Either or both?”

“Either would be good enough.”

“Monday was what?” Rae asked. “Two days ago?”

“That’s it.”

Rae was already reaching for her purse, from which she extracted a small spiral calendar. She flipped the pages, stopped, flipped another one, went back to her first stop. “Last Tuesday, no. I had my book group. Went on till midnight.” She turned the page. “Monday, I got nothin’.”

“That’s ’cause Monday is Monday Night Football,” Mo said. “Raiders and Baltimore. You didn’t see that game, Al?”

“Matter of fact, I did, Bro-Mo. Home alone.” He pointed. “So you two watched it together, just the two of you? You’re sure?”

“Romantic fools that we are,” Rae answered. “So now what?”

Carter let out a breath of relief. He seemed to see his hamburger for the first time. Picking it up, he took a huge bite, sipped some milk shake, chewed some more, and swallowed. “Okay,” he said, “this next part’s where it gets tricky.”

“We’re here,” Mo said.

“I know you are.” Carter paused. “Here’s my worry. It’s all about these alibis. Last time, when they sent me down, you remember, here I was minding my own business by my lonesome, sleeping at my place-hell, it’s two in the morning, how unusual is that? And that’s what I told them. But, as we know, they didn’t choose to believe me. How could I be home sleeping at the same time I’m robbing that damn store? See? So the alibi, even though it was the truth, wound up hanging me anyway.”

Mo put his fork down. “All right. So?”

“So I’m not comfortable telling the man this time that I was home alone.”

“Haven’t you already told him that?” Rae asked.

“I did.”

“Well, then…”

“Well, no. That’s not going to do it.”

“What do you mean?” Mo asked.

“I mean, I need something else. Something stronger.”

“So you’re thinking you’re going to change what you told them?” Mo’s brows had come together in a frown. “That is no kind of a good idea. They know you lied, they all over you.”

“Right,” Carter said. “Which is why I don’t go to them and tell them anything. Everything just stays the same. Except if they come back on to me.”

Mo’s expression was pure confusion. “And then what happen?”

“Then I tell them I lied.”

The couple exchanged a glance.

“I tell them, Rae”-Carter took a tentative breath-“that I was with you. That’s why I couldn’t tell them the truth the first time when they asked. I didn’t want it to get out to Mo. I couldn’t have it get back to Mo.”

Rae’s frown matched her husband’s. “So then they ask me? Then what?”

“Then they probably won’t even ask, but if they do, you tell them, yeah, you were with me. Mo was home, having some beers and watching the game, you told him you were out with your girlfriends, your book club, whatever it was. But really you came to my place and stayed on till late.” He took another sip of his milk shake. “You think you could go along with that, both of you? Make sure your brother doesn’t have to go back to the joint?”