The Dark of Day by Barbara Parker Page B

security number through a national database. No criminal record, no traffic tickets. No record of real estate bought or sold. No record of car loans. He bought the Audi here in Florida two months ago, used. No outstanding debts. One credit card, a Visa, zero balance.”

    â€œDoes he exist?”
    Consulting her notebook, Judy said, “I talked to a friend with the Beach police last night. Marla. She’s in property crimes, but she said she’d find out what she could. The lead detective on the Martin case is George Fuentes, who I think you know.”
    â€œYes, he’s a decent guy.”
    Judy went on, “Slater lives alone. Never married. Born in Kentucky. Dad was in the military, so they traveled around a lot. He served eight years in the Army, earned a college degree, was honorably discharged, then went into private security work overseas. He applied for a job with Atlas Security, and they sent him to Paul Shelby.” Looking over the top of her glasses, Judy said, “It’s not unusual if he’s been out of the country most of his adult life. Do you want me to dig further, or do you want to just ask him?”
    â€œI’ll ask.” C.J. pushed her coffee away. The acid was giving her heart-burn. She opened the bag of potato chips she’d left on the table. They were stale, but the grease and salt made her mouth water.
    â€œDidn’t Señor Wonderful have breakfast sent up?”
    â€œStop calling him that. No, he was still asleep when I left.”
    â€œYou’re going to make yourself sick.” Judy snatched the bag away and threw it in the trash. Opening the refrigerator, she found some yogurt and looked at the expiration date. She tossed that in the trash as well. “Oh, this is pathetic. At least you feed the cats.”
    â€œI’ve been busy lately,” C.J. said. “The witnesses who allegedly saw Slater with Alana Martin. Did you get any names?”
    â€œMarla doesn’t know.” Judy came back. “I’m not giving up, but you could ask Paul Shelby to find out, couldn’t you? He has some influence, is all I’m saying.”
    â€œI do that, and we’d start hearing stories about Congressman Shelby meddling in a murder investigation. That’s how it would play if reporters like Libi Rodriguez got ahold of it.”
    â€œAnd so . . . bottom line, you protect Shelby. If not, he might pull the rug out from under your chance to get on TV.”
    â€œI deserve that job,” C.J. said. “You know I’d be good at it.”
    â€œOh, definitely, but as they say, be careful what you wish for.” Arms raised, Judy poked a loose strand of black hair into the knot on top of her
head. “I had my little moment of fame, and, honestly? It was a drag, except for the money, which went out as fast as it came in. I made a few friends, I guess, but when you’re paying the bills, everyone’s your friend. I’m not complaining. I was a featured dancer at Caesar’s Palace. I flew to Paris in a private jet.” She made a crooked smile. “Big deal.”
    â€œYou’ve done all right.” C.J. smiled across the table. “Best P.I. in Miami.”
    â€œYeah?” She winked, a sweep of long lashes. “They never suspect a thing.”
    C.J. said, “You know, I might ask Billy to find out who the so-called witnesses are. He knows the mayor.”
    â€œYou think he would lift a finger? Great. Make him do something useful. Meanwhile, I’ll keep asking around.”
    â€œJudy, you have the wrong idea about Billy. He’s not as shallow as you think.”
    â€œNow, there’s a sterling recommendation.”
    The phone rang on the other end of the kitchen counter, and C.J. glanced at her watch. Nine-forty-five, too early for Rick Slater to be calling.
    â€œAre you going to answer it?” Judy asked.
    â€œNo, it’s probably a salesman.” But the thought came to