Tropical Heat Read Free Page B

bossa nova way. The Orlando police have a caseload they can barely cope with. It’s a fact of life that prevents them from paying proper attention to certain odds-against cases. They call it ‘prioritizing.’ Maybe it’s necessary, but it ignores the human factor. Most cops are human, and prioritizing bothers them. Even Desoto is human. So he sent you to see me so that justice might be served, and to get you off his back.”
    “That sounds about right. Desoto explained that you’d been injured and were retired from the force. He said you were recuperating here and had gone into business as a private detective. He thought you might want to hear my story. I’m willing to pay whatever you charge to find Willis, Mr. Carver.”
    “You really should hire a bigger organization.”
    She was adamant. “Lieutenant Desoto recommended you. He said you could use the business. He also said you were tough, skeptical, had principles, and would surprise me, and you, with your compassion. I’m still waiting for the compassion.”
    Carver came out from behind the Formica counter and limped across the hardwood floor, supporting himself with his hands on furniture and the wall, then slumped into a chair opposite Edwina’s. It was a director’s chair, canvas, one he got wet each day after his swim.
    “Desoto is a bastard,” he said.
    Edwina stared at him in that blank, impenetrable way of hers. “I got the impression he was your friend.”
    “He is. I’m a bastard, too. This knee is locked tight at a slight angle for life, Edwina. I’m finished as a cop, and I don’t know any other line of work. Desoto often thinks he knows what’s best for me. Right now, he’s trying to make sure I succeed in the private-investigation business.”
    “Maybe he does know what’s best for you.”
    Carver kept silent, remembering times when Desoto had known that very thing.
    “Lieutenant Desoto says you’re a good detective,” Edwina said. “He says you think like a criminal.”
    “I do,” Carver said, “but I only think like one. It’s Desoto who fixes all his relatives’ traffic tickets.”
    Edwina shifted her weight in her chair, crossing her legs the other way. Her right leg, which had been on the bottom, was pale where its circulation had been impaired by the weight of the left. For some reason the splotchy coloring beneath her light nylon panty hose intrigued Carver. Aroused him. He hadn’t thought enough about the opposite sex for a long time. His divorce from Laura had been finalized just three days before he’d been shot. Two deep wounds in one week took it out of a man.
    “I’m going to make a guess, Mr. Carver,” Edwina said. “It’s true that Lieutenant Desoto probably doesn’t have the manpower to spare for an investigation into what happened to Willis. Or maybe he couldn’t justify such an investigation to his superiors. But he must see a lot of cases like this that he lets drift into official never-never land. I don’t think he’d have sent me to see you unless he thought it was worth discovering what happened to Willis, and unless he thought you were the one who could do the discovering.”
    “You’re probably right,” Carver admitted.
    “Which leaves us only with the question of whether you want to help me. And help yourself instead of vegetating here.”
    Carver didn’t answer. Who was she , to talk to him this way?
    “That’s what Lieutenant Desoto said you were doing out here, vegetating.”
    “Piss on Lieutenant Desoto. He wouldn’t know a vegetable if it jumped up and gave him vitamin D.”
    “But I suspect he knows you quite well.”
    “Suspecting seems to be an obsession with you.”
    “Lately it has been,” Edwina said. “I’m looking for someone to share that obsession. Shall we discuss terms?”
    Carver stood up, leaned to the side, and got his cane from where he’d left it propped against the wall. He planted it firmly on the wood floor, squeezing its burnished walnut handle hard