Eight - The Early Bird Gets the Worm

Diane sat in the station coffee room, warming her hands on her cup. Just inhaling it at eight a.m. revived her. Danny and Denby came in and served themselves water and coffee, respectively, then joined Diane at the table. All eyes studied beverages as if they were the most fascinating evidence in this case, and the silence was deafening. Harry looked hung over, and he was sniffling and coughing like the morning after he first lost Don at the motel. Diane couldn’t smell any booze on him, but she was pretty sure he was out of it. As if calculated to add to Diane’s consternation, the door opened, and Bob Martinez bounced in. The air was spiced with Kouros.

“Bob, you seem far too upbeat and energetic for first thing in the morning,” Diane mumbled. In spite of her morning dreariness, she found his fragrance invigorating and sexy.

“Well, you should try an hour-long workout, some orange juice and an energy bar instead of that sludge you’re drinking, and it’ll change your life,” Bob said, and winked for good measure.

“What brings you to our little corner of the world?” Danny asked in a monotone.

Ignoring Danny, Bob looked directly at Denby. “Harry, I need to discuss your suspension hearing, which is scheduled for two days from now. Can we go somewhere?”

“Might as well talk about it right here,” Harry said in a despondent tone.

“I’m not comfortable overhearing that,” Danny said, and left the room, looking at Diane and indicating she should do the same. Diane ignored him. She definitely wanted to hear this.

“Diane, you’re welcome to stay,” Harry said, and that clinched it for her.

“Okay, it’s up to you, Denby,” Diane tried to act nonchalant.

“Harry,” Bob began, “let’s start with the body in the dumpster. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Diane felt all the air evacuate from the room. The one item that made her most disdainful of Harry Denby was this unaccounted-for body. Jill had told her that “they” had killed a guy guarding a stash of drugs and started selling the stuff out of town. Struggling to breathe calmly, Diane managed to look up at Denby as he spoke. Denby never took his eyes off his coffee. Where was that damn heart monitor when she most needed it?

“Don ripped off the stash from the guy when the guy was bagged. His name was Arturo Rivera, a Puerto Rican kid from Brooklyn. It wasn’t hard.”

“How’d the guy get dead?” Bob prodded.