One-Night Alibi

“You mean Hudson.”

“I know he was your partner, but we have to talk to him.”

“I know.” Carla and Hudson had been partners for a couple of years, and she knew him pretty well. He was smart, and he closed a lot of cases, but he was way too casual about rules like dress codes and properly filling out paperwork. And he was constantly on the prowl for women.

Okay, prowl wasn’t the right word. He was just...aware. He flirted with every female he encountered and made conquests where he could.

Carla was one of those conquests.

After their one night together, he’d been ready to move on. She’d acted as though it was no big deal, but he’d hurt her feelings more than she would ever admit.

Yeah, she knew him pretty well, and though she pretended reluctance, she actually relished the thought of seeing him wiggle helplessly like a worm on a fishhook.

“I hate to even consider a fellow cop,” Knightly said, “but we have to. Two weeks before Mandalay’s death, Vale beat him up. The incident became very public and Mandalay was pressing charges. They go away with him dead.”

“I won’t argue with you.”

Carla well remembered when she’d first met Hudson Vale. She’d been still in uniform. He’d been a green recruit. She’d thought he was the most charming man she’d ever met, not to mention sexy. Drinks after work had led to a crazy backseat encounter. But after that, he hadn’t looked at her twice. She’d watched as he’d moved on to conquest after conquest—that blonde skank from Dispatch, then a stacked redheaded lawyer, then others.

Carla had no longer interested him.

She’d learned to work with him, even considered him a friend. But she hadn’t forgotten.

“We might as well go question him now,” Knightly said.

“Not if you’re going soft on him. I don’t want anyone accusing us of taking it easy on him just because he’s one of us.” She tried not to smile.

“Not soft, but I hope he has an alibi.” Knightly opened his window. “Damn, Sanchez, you got it like a meat locker in here. You know that air-conditioning dries out my contacts, right?”

“Not too many people have an alibi for the middle of the night. I mean, most people go home and go to sleep, and who can verify that?”

“Huh. When was the last time you think Hudson Vale spent a Saturday night alone? Sleeping?”

“Good point,” Carla conceded. “Guess we’ll find out.”

“Exactly,” Knightly agreed.

* * *

HUDSON WASN’T USED to having so much leisure time. His first two weeks on suspension, he’d painted his house, sealed his deck, washed his car twice and made repairs to the dock.

Yesterday, Sunday, he’d been in a blue funk. Between thinking about the burglar he’d almost shot, and the abrupt disappearance of Liz early that morning, he hadn’t summoned enough energy to do more than stare out at a great blue heron fishing along the lakeshore.

That Monday morning, he’d started in on gardening.

Not really his thing. Usually he trimmed a few bushes, kept the lawn mowed, raked leaves in the fall, and that was it.

A car had turned down his street; Hudson recognized the growl of a powerful engine, and knew almost before he turned his head that a police vehicle was coming his way. A silver LTD. Were they coming to arrest him?

Hudson’s stomach whooshed even as he straightened and arranged his face into a neutral expression. He’d known this might happen. His word against that of a powerful, rich attorney, and the only witness to the incident, Jazz the prostitute, couldn’t be found.

He relaxed slightly when he recognized his partner, Carla Sanchez, get out of the passenger side. He and Carla weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy with each other. They would never be drinking buddies or confidants. But she was smart, and he felt certain she had his back.

He tensed when he saw whom she was with. Todd Knightly, Mr. Rules-and-Regulations. Were they partners now? Did that mean Knightly was working Major Crimes?

Hudson tried to read their faces. Sanchez had her best poker face on. She wasn’t giving him a clue. Knightly had a determined glint in his eye, but also appeared slightly worried.

“Mornin’,” Hudson greeted them in his best good-old-boy demeanor. He stood up and brushed the dirt from the knees of his jeans, expecting Sanchez to make some crack about his disreputable appearance. She was always giving him grief about the way he dressed. She thought his loud Hawaiian shirts were juvenile.

She said nothing.

Last he heard, Carla hadn’t believed Mandalay’s story about an unprovoked assault. Had something changed her mind?

“I’m guessing,” he said, “this isn’t a social call.”

Knightly didn’t engage in any small talk. He never did. When he was on duty, he was all work, all the time. “Vale, where were you Saturday night between 10:00 p.m. and 5:00 a.m. Sunday morning?”

The question actually brought to mind a series of very pleasant memories. “I was here. At home.” Though the evening hadn’t ended as he’d wished, he couldn’t help a slight smile as he recalled the beautiful siren who had shared his bed two nights ago.

“Alone?” Knightly said.

“As a matter of fact, no.”

Knightly cut his eyes toward Carla and nodded, as if saying, I told you so. He took out his notebook. “Can you give me the name and contact information of the person or persons you were with?”

“Come on, what is this?” Hudson asked impatiently.

“Just cooperate, for once,” Carla said.

Perspiration broke out on Hudson’s forehead. Something was really wrong here. “Liz. Her name was Liz.”

“Last name?”

Hudson rubbed his chin. “Ah, there’s the problem. I didn’t get a last name.”

“Typical,” Sanchez muttered.

Knightly ignored her. “How can we find this woman?”

“She’s a friend of a friend. Of a friend. I’m sure I can track her down if there’s a need. But might I ask why there’s a need? Last I heard, I was off duty Saturday night. A guy is allowed to have a little fun, isn’t he?”

“Franklin Mandalay.” Knightly watched Hudson carefully, as if expecting some kind of reaction.

“Jeez, what’s that bastard accused me of now?”

“He didn’t accuse you of anything,” Sanchez said. “He’s dead. From a bullet through the heart.”

“Dead?” He waited for someone to burst out laughing. Nobody did. “Holy crap, you’re serious.”