Always A Cop

Detective Dalrimple’s voice pierced his thoughts: “Who is working with you in this caper, Wolfer? What’s your accomplice’s name?” “Accomplice! Jesus, Quincy. Accomplice? You’re so far out to lunch MacDonald’s hasn’t built there yet.” Dalrimple shook visibly as he declared, “Address me as Detective Dalrimple!” For a moment he glared, breathing heavily. “Did you kill Kimberly Raman?” Beau looked up into the one-way glass on the wall and wagged his head with disgust. “No. I did not kill Kimberly Raman. I had nothing to do with what happened to her.” He shifted his gaze to Dalrimple. “And you know I didn’t. This whole interrogation is a charade to keep the senator off your ass. You have no idea who did it, or why.” “Oh, I’ve got a pretty good idea of what happened.” The detective almost smirked. “You need money desperately. You and some ex-con you dredged up from crooks you arrested in the past kidnapped the girl. But before you could make the ransom demand something went wrong. Probably your scumbag associate couldn’t control his primal urges and he raped and killed the girl. You had to clean up the mess. Your familiarity with the tunnels downtown gave you a place to dump the body. Then you pretended to discover it yourself to throw us off your track.” “Quincy, your imagination is phenomenal; but if you try to sell that scenario to the D.A. you’d better wear a parachute because he’ll kick you half way to the moon.” Beau got to his feet. “I’m walking out of here. Even you aren’t dimwitted enough to charge me with no more than you’ve got.” Dalrimple clenched his fists furiously, then pushed his chair back but didn’t stand up. To do so would give the taller Beau a psychological advantage. He spoke with force: “A plea bargain might keep you out of jail, old man. Give me the name of your partner.” Beau walked to the door. “My partner’s name is Harvard C. Fincannon. You can reach him at the Gold Hills Assisted Living Home.”