The Hunt Club

"And somebody else showed up while they just happened to be there? In other words, a coincidence." Juhle shook his head. "I don't believe in them. Not at murder scenes."

"Maybe this is the exception."

"It isn't. Somebody else was there because they knew Palmer and the girl were there. Count on it. Or, thinking out loud now, Palmer might have been seeing somebody else, too. He invited her over to his house, but the dead girl-Staci-found out about the new one and came by to confront them both." Juhle savored a bite of pork bun. "So Staci brings the gun with her, shoots Palmer…"

"Out around the front of the desk?"

"Sure. Why not? There's a struggle. The gun goes off-the extra round in the book. In the scuffle, the other woman grabs the gun away from Staci and shoots her, then sees what she's done and takes the gun and splits."

Hunt waited for Juhle to take his beer from the waitress and pour it into the chilled glass. "So what actual evidence do you have?"

Juhle drank half the glass. "Damn little. Shiu thinks the shooter might have been short, as in not tall, so as you can see, we've really narrowed things down there. I personally favor the midget-standing-on-a-box theory. Nobody in the neighborhood heard or saw anything, except for a sports car that might have been a BMW Z4 or some look-alike. But there's no co

Hunt picked up a shrimp. "I heard a rumor the judge was thinking about messing with the prison guards' union."

"Where'd you hear that?"

"A source who, alas, must remain u

When Hunt finished, Juhle was sitting back again, beer and food forgotten. "The wife, Jea

"A lawyer friend of mine. Her firm, Piersall-Morton, represents the union."

"Great. You can save me a phone call. You got a co

Hunt said, "Of course. Co

Juhle had to take it. "All right, all right," he said. "Piersall. Why is that name familiar?"

"It's a huge law firm?"

"No, that's not…wait." Juhle went to snap his injured fingers and winced against the pain. "Ah. The brain comes alive and it all comes back. I've been meaning to ask you. Andrea Parisi?"

Hunt's frown was pronounced. "What about her?"

Juhle came forward and leaned into the table. "What about her is that as I believe I've mentioned, there are no coincidences, and we found her business card at Staci Rosalier's place last night."

"At the victim's place?"

"In her wallet. So if she's in this somehow, Parisi, I mean, I need to know about it."

"How would she be in it?"

"I don't have any idea, but maybe you do."

"Nope."

"But you've been going out jogging with her."

"Occasionally, Dev. Only occasionally. And so what?"

"So did she ever mention Staci."

"No. Never."

"But Staci had her card."

"Wow. That really narrows it down all right."

"All right. How about the judge?"

"Yes. She mentioned the judge."

"In what context?"

"In the context that Andrea and I were talking today, and Palmer got himself killed two days ago. The topic's come up with just about everybody I've seen in the past couple of days, Dev. Now including you. What exactly are you thinking?"

"Just that if Parisi's with Piersall, that puts her around the guards' union, right? It's a lead. It's something." He snapped his fingers again. "She's your co

Hunt forced a smile. "No comment. Except to say that it's a matter of public record that I bill out some reasonable hours to Piersall. So what? I think I've already told you I didn't kill Palmer. I'm pretty sure Andrea didn't, either. Although you could always ask her."

"I'm not saying she did. But I'd like to know why Staci had her card."

"Coincidence?"

"I hate that."

Hunt shrugged. "It happens. Maybe she saw her at MoMo's and is trying to break into TV."

Juhle shook his head. "That's what Shiu said, too, so it can't be right."

"Okay, so how about the next time I talk to Andrea, I ask her about how Staci might have got the card? If she even remembers at all."

Their waitress arrived with another raft of selections, but after forty-five minutes of continuous eating, both men were done. Juhle asked for the check and came back to Hunt. "So one last question: Who stood you up?"

Hunt decided to tap-dance. "I haven't yet decided if, technically, it was exactly a stand-up. She just decided not to have di

"You're making excuses for her? Do you have any idea how pathetic that makes you? Are you in love?"

"Marginally, maybe a little more."

"Co

"She's had a tough week."

"Maybe we should start a Tough Week Club. Now who are we talking about?"

Hunt sat back, drained his teacup, shook his head, put on a smile. "You know me better than that, Dev. I don't kiss and tell."

"But you didn't kiss her. You couldn't have if she stood you up."

"As I said, that point is technically unresolved. I may have kissed her before tonight, in which case I still wouldn't tell."

"You moved on her last night when she was wrecked?"

"That would have been ungentlemanly, so we can rule it out."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"See. That's what makes you so good at your job. The trained inspector sees things other people would clean miss."

Hunt drove by Andrea's house on the way home. It wasn't on the way, and he didn't really plan for it. He pulled up across from where he'd parked that afternoon. The house was completely dark. It was still early, a little short of ten o'clock.

He wanted to see her again. It was as simple as that.

Hunt pulled into her driveway, turned off his ignition and lights, and got out of his car. Her garage door had small windows at eye level and Hunt looked in. Her car was gone. Nevertheless, he walked over to the stoop and peered through the glass panes in the top of her door into pure darkness.

Back in his car, he sat behind the wheel with the motor off for the better part of another half hour, until the cold had eaten through him. If she came home and found him sitting there, what was going to be his pathetic excuse? He'd come across as clinging, needy, lovesick, maybe even a potential stalker.

He turned on the ignition. He'd catch up to her tomorrow. Backing out of her driveway, he drove half a block down to Bay Street and turned south, heading for home.

Alone in the front of his warehouse, Hunt shot hoops.