II.
I'm not sure how my night got to this point.
But there I was, standing outside of 52 Sterling Street, Arlington, Virginia, having heart palpations and possibly ready to vomit if the police arrived. Or worse -- Sebastian Oberlin decided to leave work early and come home. He wasn't due home for another two hours so I had a window of opportunity to clear his name as Kale's murderer. And so, there I was, Alexander Palmer will be playing the role of Dick Tracy tonight.
When I was younger, I learned how to pick a lock pretty quickly. It came in handy, well, never, but I thought it might be fun to learn, anyway. And wouldn't you know it -- twenty plus years later that know-how of mine was coming in handy once and for all. I was also fortunate that Oberlin lived in an old house. Old house generally meant an old lock and, therefore, easier to open.
The moment I stepped into his dark, warm house I paused and listened for an alarm. If it was one of those damned silent ones that sent a message to the police, then this was going to be one quick visit.
Five, ten, fifteen minutes later and no one arrived.
So I snooped, crept, and only jumped out of fright once when his black cat brushed by my legs in the dark.
Other than his feline friend, it was clear Oberlin lived alone. No wife or girlfriend would tolerate his mess and the porno magazines lying out in the open, dog-eared. I picked up a copy of Slut Puppies in his upstairs bathroom and flipped through it. Straight porn did little for me. I mean, it did something, because a male was involved, but it still did little. Oberlin had marked the pages with female couples and that, for sure, I didn't understand. But I didn't feel like I was missing out, either.
I put the magazine down and decided Oberlin may be a pervert of sorts, but he wouldn't kill somebody. Turning to go, I took one step forward and collided into a solid mass. It felt like a brick or stone wall, but that wall, it spoke to me.
"Doing some light reading?"
"Jesus-H-Christ, Diggs," I breathed. And tried to regain my nerves. If I had a full bladder, I probably would have wet my jeans.
"How long were you standing there?"
"Long enough," he replied.
Diggs was a man of very few words. He's my six foot Colombian shadow that scared me most of the times and aroused me the other times he wasn't scaring me. But I've never seen him naked or even shirtless. For the past two years, we've had this amazing ability to keep things professional. And I guess that's a good thing, considering the last guy I slept with wound up dead. Murdered.
"Were you following me?" I asked, going back downstairs.
"Great minds think alike."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, we both wanted to check on Oberlin tonight."
"Well, I'm done. The verdict is in. He's not the killer."
"Why didn't you call me?"
"You were supposed to call me," I reminded him. "For dinner, remember? I never heard from you. I figured you and that Brazilian were busy so I logged onto the MPPD database, looked up the first name on the list you gave me and here I am."
"You have access to the MPPD database?"
"My cousin, Arnie, works for them. Said he owes me a few favors, so I called on him tonight."
Perhaps Diggs had more to say, but before he could say it a third car arrived and we both froze on the spot. Oberlin's car? I tiptoed to the living room window and peered out. It wasn't Oberlin getting out of the car. It was worse.
"Detective Harrison," I breathed. "What's he doing here?"
He stood amidst the falling snow for a few seconds with his hands on his hips, looking up at the house. Had he noticed my car? It was parked across the street. Diggs's car was not in sight. I presumed he flew over Superman style.
"Out the back," Diggs said in my ears.
And we made our move for the kitchen in the rear of the house.
The winter wind blasted us as emerged out of the back door and into the fenced-in backyard. The chain-link fence was taller than my head. That didn't slow Diggs. He went up and over gracefully like he had a lot of practice at some boot camp. I climbed to the top and fell over the other side with a thud and a groan. Into the snow I went, wet and cold and suddenly very aware that Diggs was standing over me.
"So do you always top? Because I always bottom," I cracked the wry joke amidst my pain.
Diggs stretched out his hand to help me up. "Maybe you'll find out one day," was all he said.
Oh, boy.
***
Diggs had parked his Range Rover on the street behind Oberlin's house. I took a mental note from the master of craftiness and sunk into his passenger seat, allowing the vents to blast full heat on me. And because Diggs owed me dinner, we drove through McDonald's before circling back to get my car. I was the only one who ordered food. The last time Diggs had fast food was probably, well, never. And while I do love staying fit and working out and eating organic, sometimes you need a cheeseburger after breaking and entering into a stranger's home.
"If you need to take your wet clothes off, you can," Diggs offered.
I gave him a stern look that went unnoticed. "Thanks, but I'm not that wet. Maybe if you went first."
