Once they were alone again, Morrie said, slouching back in his chair, “Now, big shot, give me the money before I say another word.”
Simon rose, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, and laid out the entire wad. There were eight one-hundred-dollar bills and a single twenty. “Glad you didn’t wipe me out completely, Morrie. I appreciate it. That twenty will buy Lily and me a couple of tacos.”
Morrie smirked as Simon started to slide the hundred-dollar bills through the space beneath the bars. “Tell me a story, Morrie.”
“I don’t exactly have a name. Hey, no, don’t take the money back. I got just as good as a name. Look, she called me. It was this woman and she had this real thick accent, real Southern, you know? Smooth and real slow. She didn’t give me her name, just Lily Frasier’s name. She described her, told me where she was staying and to get it done fast.
“I went right over to the bank, picked up the money, then I went to work.” He slid his eyes toward Lily. “It just didn’t quite work out the way I wanted.”
“That’s because you’re a wimp, Morrie.”
Morrie half-rose out of his chair. The jail guard standing against the wall immediately straightened. Simon raised a hand. “How much did this woman pay you to kill Lily?”
“She gave me a thousand for a down payment. Then she was to have five thousand to me when it was done and on the news.”
“This is not a good business, Simon.” She stared at Morrie. “I was only worth six thousand dollars?”
Morrie actually smiled. “That’s all. You know, I would have done it for less if I’d known you then.”
Simon realized that Lily was enjoying herself. She was having a really fine pissing contest with this young thug. He pressed his knee against her leg.
But she had one more line. “What I did to you I did for nothing.”
Simon just shook his head at her. “Morrie, which bank?”
“Give me the money first.”
Simon slid the money all the way through. Morrie’s hand slid over it, presto. He closed his young eyes for a moment, feeling the money like it was a lover’s flesh. “Wells Fargo,” he said, “the one just over on First Street and Pine. The money was there in my name.”
“You didn’t ask who had left the money waiting there for you?”
Morrie shook his head.
“Thanks, Morrie,” Lily said as she rose. “Lieutenant Dobbs thinks you’ll be out sometime this afternoon. He’s agreed not to tell your lawyer. My advice to you—get the hell out of Dodge. This time you don’t have to be afraid of me. The woman who hired you—chances are good she wants you dead, and she’s capable of doing it herself.”
“You know who she is?”
Lily said, “Oh yeah, we know. She’d eat you with her poached eggs for breakfast. Hey, what happened to the thousand bucks she gave you?”
Morrie’s eyes slid away. “None of your damned business.”
Lily laughed, shook her finger at him. “You pissed it away in a poker game, didn’t you?”
“No, dammit. It was pool.”
Clark Hoyt was waiting for them in Lieutenant Dobbs’s office. His arms were folded over his chest. He looked very odd. “I got a call from Savich. He was calling from Saint John’s, in Antigua, of all places, said to tell you that all hell will break loose in the media really soon now, but that he and Sherlock are okay. It seems that Tammy Tuttle got ahold of Marilyn Warluski and they’re gone. There was a big situation there at the airport. Savich called it a fiasco.”
“Antigua?” Simon said. “I guess he couldn’t tell us he was there.”
Lily said, shaking her head, “Dillon will not be a happy camper about this.”
Hoyt himself wondered what had happened, but he said only, “Savich didn’t give me any details, said he’d call again this evening. I told him where you guys are staying now. Okay, tell me who hired Morrie.”
“Yeah,” Lieutenant Dobbs said as he came into his own office to see the two civilians and the Fed. “Who was it?”
“It was my mother-in-law,” Lily said. “No doubt at all that it was Charlotte. She didn’t give Morrie her name, but that accent of hers—it has so much syrup in it, you could sweeten a rock.”
Lieutenant Dobbs shook his head. “So now you know, but there’s still no case. Both Hoyt and I interviewed the Frasiers—all three of them—separately. In all three cases, their lawyer, Bradley Abbott, a real son of a bitch hardnose, was present. The Frasiers refused to answer any questions. Abbott read a statement to us. In the statement, the Frasiers claim all of this is nonsense. They are sorry about Mr. Monk, but it has nothing to do with them, and this is a waste of everyone’s time. Oh yeah, then their lawyer told us that you were nuts, Lily, that you’d do anything to get back at them, for what reason they don’t know, but no one should believe a single word you say. We need more evidence before we can bring them to the station and put them in an interview room again.”