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“How do you know?”
“Because for the weeks following that incident, I didn’t let her out of my sight. After that, she left for Michigan. She lined up a part-time waitressing job there, got settled, and started class at U Mich in August. She came home for holidays, but by Thanksgiving she had a boyfriend—a normal boyfriend, one her own age. There were lots of other boyfriends over the years. Bu
t she never mentioned Shore again. Why?”
“Here’s the part where you’re going to pound me. Where was Trish on Christmas Eve, 1989?”
You could have heard a pin drop in the room.
“The night of the murders?” Charlie finally responded. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m dead serious. Do you know where she was?”
“In Spain. Junior year abroad. And I’m restraining myself from punching your lights out—but only because you’re doing your job and because I’m itching to know your reasoning. Arthur Shore wasn’t out scoring with an intern that night. He was at a Christmas Eve party with his wife. At her parents’ place.”
“True. But I have cause to believe he found time for a quickie. It would help to know what time and with whom.”
“You think the ‘with whom’ in question had something to do with the murders?”
“I think she’s a new player we didn’t know about seventeen years ago. I also think we have to determine if Congressman Shore needs to supply an alibi—which he would, if he were missing from his in-laws’ party between the hours of, say, seven o’clock and eight-thirty.”
Charlie let out a low whistle. “You’re stirring up a hornet’s nest.”
A shrug. “Worse comes to worst, I’ll lose my VIP status at Lenny’s.”
“No, worse comes to worst, you’ll lose your license. Who knows how pissed off Shore will get, or what favors he’ll call in if word leaks out that you asked him to provide an alibi for the night of the homicides. Any way you slice it, you’re asking him to prove he isn’t a killer.”
“I’m asking him to do the same thing everyone else who knew the Winters did. No more, no less. This is a murder investigation. If Shore’s innocent, he’ll be offended, maybe even royally pissed, but he’ll cooperate. He’s the one who rode my ass when the double homicide first occurred, until Schiller confessed. And he’s been just as aggressive this time around. I’ll handle him calmly, privately, and unemotionally. But no matter how he reacts, I’m getting what I need.”
“Plus a whole lot of what you don’t need,” Charlie muttered.
“That’s my problem. And Denton?” Monty pinned Charlie with a meaningful stare. “Shore won’t be getting any heads-up on why I want to see him. Just like what you told me about your sister, this is confidential and off-the-record.”
“Don’t worry.” Charlie waved away Monty’s pointed message. “I’m steering way clear of this one. Any involvement on my part would be career suicide. But I’ve got to give you credit, Montgomery. You’ve got balls.”
“And proud of it,” Monty returned drily.
“Speaking of balls…” Charlie shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “That quart of soup and can of soda just hit my bladder. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“No problem.”
A grin tugged at Monty’s lips as Charlie dashed around his desk and took off for the men’s room. Bless Rhoda’s soup. It had done the trick.
He waited ten seconds. Then he leaned forward, plucked the manila folder off Charlie’s desk, and quickly flipped through it.
Lots of extraneous crap. Paperwork. More paperwork. Interoffice memos. Legal documents building Jack’s case against Angelo. Intermittent mention of his meetings with the CI in question. One bunch of xeroxed pages clipped together.
Those, Monty rapidly scanned. They referenced the original paperwork on the CI’s arrest, with all names and specifics blacked out, and only the CI number substituted.
The last few pages of the packet had the NYPD logo on them.
Those had potential.
With lightning speed, Monty ran through them. He knew these forms like the back of his hand. The final page was a poor-quality photocopy of the online booking sheet the arresting officer had supplied.
Monty held the sheet up to the light, frowning when he couldn’t see through the black marker. Damn.
His time was running out. Denton would be back any minute. There had to be something.
