You mean Marek's reporter mate, Kit thought. "That sounds like a perfect relationship."
"Good. First things first then. Have you managed to find Karen Farrell? And if not, should I be worried about that?"
"No and no," Kit said. "She allegedly has a new lover and therefore probably has no idea you want to speak to her. But I'm still looking. Do you have any clues or ideas as to why the body of Gerry Anders was left in The Terpsichore?"
"No clues and no ideas, yet. But Charlie..." Cathy stopped herself for a moment, perhaps to reconsider how much she really should tell Kit. She obviously got the go-ahead from herself, because she continued, "um, Charlie was organising for the Doggies to keep an eye, or rather continue to keep watch on a couple of Gerry's known accomplices and a foe or two. While he has been - I think jokingly - mouthing-off that 'those women' did it, Charlie does agree with the rest of us that it's more likely the murder has something to do with Gerry's hit on the Sherwoods."
"Chucky's not joking," Kit snorted. "He would just love for one, nay all of us women to be responsible. But if Gerry's demise is related to those nicely now-dead drug dealers, why would his killer leave what was left of him at Angie's?"
"I really don't know the answer to that," Cathy said. "But if I discover there's a reason that makes any sense I'll let you know - if I can. What about you?"
"Yeah sure," Kit agreed. "I've got feelers out to see if any of the regulars have connections to the Rileys or, more importantly, to anyone who hates the Rileys."
"Or just Gerry," Cathy suggested. "He did a lot of shit on his own, O'Malley. I've heard Queenie was forever threatening to squeeze his favourite bits in the nutcracker she allegedly keeps for exactly that purpose. His arson stuff, for instance, was apparently not a Riley deal. The word is that it was either a scam, or business competition over his nightclub."
"Yeah, well you can't believe every word," Kit reminded her. "That idiot reporter Carrie McDermid from the North Star claims Gerry had a financial interest in The Terpsichore."
"Yeah, I read that too," Cathy laughed. "Don't you think we should regard that as fact, given it came from the woman who also called Gerry a crime lord?"
Kit smiled. "Well, aside from the not true aspect of it, have you heard anything similar? Or, do you happen to know who McDermid's source is?"
"No idea about the source, but we have heard rumours that Anders had an interest. Not an actual financial stake, an interest," Cathy qualified. "Already, however, it seems that no one is sure whether they know this because they read it in the paper or because they know it for a fact. I've got someone working that angle just in case; the same officer who's investigating any possible links between Gerry and your mate Angie, and/or her business partners."
Kit scratched the back of her head and frowned.
"You know I have to," Cathy added.
"Of course," Kit acknowledged. "It's just that it's all too ridiculous for words. If Angie had any connection with Gerry, the Rileys or their enemies why..." Kit turned her palms up.
"Why would she kill him somewhere else, then take his body back to her own bar and call the police? You're right, it's crazy," Cathy agreed.
"So, you're sure he was done elsewhere?" Kit asked.
"Oh yeah. There were no blood splatters to indicate that someone had their most important veins sliced open on the premises, at any time, and there were zero signs of a struggle. In fact, if not for Gerry himself, there'd be almost no hint of a crime happening there at all."
"Do you know how the perp got in, post-murder?" Kit asked.
"The pantry window from the side lane. One louvre was removed and one was broken. Then he or they opened the fire door in the disco and just wheeled poor Gerry inside."
Kit foraged around in her mind for any details that could generate more questions. "What about Alan Shipper?" she suddenly asked.
Cathy looked puzzled. "He's dead, isn't he?"
"Yeah, I know he's dead. But who killed him? That could be the question, Cathy," Kit proposed. "If it was his alleged kidnapper, Gerry Anders, who did him in then the late Mr Shipper - a previously-ordinary, apart from being filthy rich, family man - may now have some understandably-angry relatives roaming the mean streets looking for payback."
"I thought Shipper was killed in a car accident," Cathy frowned. Kit reacted with her seriously dubious face, so Cathy narrowed her eyes and added, "But I'm sure we're looking into that possibility." She pulled a stack of manilla folders into the space on the desk between them and changed the subject. "Would you do me a favour, O'Malley? Take a look at these surveillance pics and tell me who you think shouldn't be there."
Kit flipped through a couple of dozen photos taken outside Angie's earlier that morning, and pointed out the religious protesters, Mr and Mrs Godsimage, a few sightseers, all the reporters, three cops, and one lone and terribly unfortunate-looking bloke standing closer to the ex-church next door than The Terpsichore, so he may not have been there at all.
"Hmm," Cathy hmmed. She did a bit of shuffling, opened another folder and tapped the top photo, in which was captured for posterity what looked like a surreptitious deal going down between two more-than-likely crooks.
Bloody hell, Kit moaned silently. With bastards like these haunting the edges of my old life and, it seems, threatening to enter my current one, it's no wonder I have inexplicable creepy nightmares, instead of dreamscape adventures with gorgeous Amazon warriors.
"It's the same guy," Cathy was saying.
"So it is," Kit said, peering at Unsightly Man, who featured in both photos. "Who is he?"
Cathy shook her head. "I was hoping you'd know."
"Sorry. I know who the other bloke is. Unfortunately," Kit volunteered. "But not him."
"You know this guy?" Cathy was surprised.
"Yeah. Don't you?"
Cathy shook her head. "It's not my file. This was one of the photos that Charlie laid out for the uniforms this morning, so they'd know which of Gerry's associates to keep tabs on."
Kit was intrigued. "Really? Which of these two did he want them to follow?"
"I don't know," Cathy said, as she examined the picture more closely. "I wasn't paying attention at the time because, then, I hadn't seen these photos from The Terpsichore. Who is he? A friend of Anders, or an enemy?"
"Either, neither, both; I don't know," Kit shrugged. "I can vouch that there's no love lost between him and a good twenty percent of the current police force, one detective in particular; as well as several retired cops, including me."
"Goddamnit O'Malley, who is he?"
"Edward Paul Jackson; affectionately," Kit sneered the last word, "known as Pauly-J. Ex cop, bad ex-cop. Taken down, and right out, a few years ago by a toecutter by the name of Graham Charles Parker."
"Charlie was internal affairs?"
"Cut his teeth and earned his dubious stripes by ridding the force of Pauly Jackson and a couple of his way-bent partners in crime."
Cathy frowned. "I wonder why Charlie didn't mention his name this morning?"
"The doggies would already know Pauly-J." Kit sighed deeply. "I've got to admit, Cathy, I really don't like it that Chucky and Pauly-J are now, and concurrently, impinging on my personal landscape when I've had nothing to do with either bastard since I left the force. It's like the bad elements in society have been regurgitated into my neck of the woods just for the hell of it." She got to her feet. "It's spooky, and enough to make a girl go home and hide."
Cathy seemed amused