Page 113 of Goose

“I just told you, I was getting coffee.”

“Who did you meet?”

“Did I say I was meeting anyone?”

“I assumed a nice-looking girl like you would be meeting someone for coffee. What time was that? Two am?”

“Seven minutes after one,” I said dryly.

He laughed. “Seven?”

“Yeah. Seven. After one.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sure enough to say it.” I pointed at a digital clock I’d retrofitted to the dash. “This said 1:07. I looked at it right after I saw the flashing lights.”

“So, you saw the lights, but you didn’t see the occupants faces?”

I scowled. I nodded toward the mass of cop cars that were parked a hundred yards away. “See those flashing lights?”

He glanced toward the commotion. “Sure do.”

“Can you describe the cops standing over there?”

“Point taken,” he said.

“Do you have a business card?” I asked.

He reached into his pocket. “I do.”

He handed me the card through the window. “What’s your name?”

“I’d rather not say. I try to stay out of databases and such.” I held the card under the glow of the digital clock and studied it. “Well, Detective Watson, if I think of anything I’ll have my people get with your people.”

He laughed. “You have people?”

“No.” I flashed a smile. “But it sounds cool, huh?”

“That it does.” He shoved his pad into his pocket. “Have a nice night.”

He stood with his arms crossed and waited for me to turn around. Instead of doing so and giving him a full view of my license plate, I backed all the way up the road in reverse. When I reached the first access road to the adjoining neighborhood, I was well out of sight, so I turned around.

A quick check of the rearview mirror revealed him walking away, toward the flashing lights.

Going there was an undoubted risk. I was an avid risk-taker, as long as there was promise of reward.

Detective Marc Watson’s business card was my reward.