Read Drag Strip for Free Online

Lavotini, and I thought we’d clear those up before the investigation goes much further.”
    â€œWhat could be more disturbing, Detective Wheeling, than me saying I’d just heard my friend get her neck broken?”
    Detective Wheeling leaned back and ran his hand through his wavy hair. “It disturbs me that you put one of our officers at the murder scene.”
    â€œYeah, well, why isn’t he here? Why don’t you ask him what happened?”
    â€œI did, Miss Lavotini. I went to his home, woke him up, and asked him where he’d been all evening. And do you know what he told me?” I didn’t move. “He told me he’d been right there, watching the Marlins and drinking beer. It’s his night off, you see.”
    I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t.
    â€œHe said he hadn’t been to the racetrack, that he didn’t like races, and that he couldn’t imagine why you’d tell us such a preposterous story.” Detective Wheeling leaned forward, turned both hands palm up, and shrugged his shoulders. His wedding band made a small click as it hit the table. “Now, why did you tell us a thing like that?”
    I could feel tears welling up in the back of my throat, closing it off and choking me. What in the hell was going on?
    â€œWell, he was there,” I said.
    Detective Wheeling sighed. “Miss Lavotini, as I understand it, you took quite a blow on the head when you ran into that Dumpster. Maybe you saw someone who looked like Detective Nailor. Maybe you were disoriented. It was dark. Your friend was dead, lying right in front of you. Maybe you confused the person you saw with a more friendly face. Maybe you just wished it was Detective Nailor.” He was talking like he would to a child. “Or maybe you were afraid of what the police would say if you once again turned up a dead body.”
    â€œDetective Wheeling, I was not confused or afraid, and I know what I saw. Maybe you just wish I hadn’t seen Detective Nailor, but I did, so deal with it. My friend is dead and Detective Nailor was there.” I stared right back at him, daring him to try to contradict me again, but before he could, a young female officer entered the room and handed him a piece of paper. Detective Wheeling stared at it, his face an unreadable police mask.
    â€œDid you recognize the other man’s voice?” he asked, never looking up from the paper. The officer shifted her stance by the door, leaning closer as if to hear my answer.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWould you recognize the voice if you heard it again?” This time he looked at me, waiting for my answer.
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. “Maybe.”
    â€œDid it sound like anyone you know?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t know. It could have, but I don’t think so. I’d have to hear it again to know.”
    I pressed my hands to my temples, thinking. I was tired and confused. Images and voices ran together.
    Ernie stepped behind my chair and pressed both of his beefy hands down firmly on my shoulders.
    â€œOn that note, folks,” he said, “I think we’ll call it an evening. If you want to speak with us again, just phone my office and we’ll be happy to schedule a time.”
    Wheeling nodded curtly and stood up.
    â€œWe’ll be in touch,” he said.
    â€œI’ll wait for your call,” Ernie answered.
    Ernie wasn’t wasting any time in getting me out of the police station. He kept a hand securely anchored to the small of my back, pushing me gently forward, through the maze of hallways that led to the outside and freedom.
    We pushed through the glass double doors and out into the warm evening air. Ernie was still in his warrior mode, pumped up with attorney adrenaline. He didn’t say a word until he had me ensconced in his pride and joy: a ’67 Mustang, original paint job, seat covers, and radio, completely authentic and