Ignorance is Bliss (excerpt)

“I was able to get a trace on that phone number,” Dornan informed Martin as he bit into his swordfish sandwich.

“What phone number is that?” Martin wanted to know. He also wanted to know why they had to park themselves in the corner booth of one of D.C.’s finer restaurants every time Dornan had something to tell him.

“The number in the ad for the ’59 Caddy.”

“I’ll have to ask you not to refer to it as a Caddy. It’s a Cadillac.”

Dornan looked at him, obviously not understanding the difference. “It’s a pre-paid cell phone. I’ll get the owner’s name, but I’ll lay eight to five it’s a phony.”

“Just so we find the guy. I want that car.” Martin wondered to himself how many times this guy needed to be told something before it sank in. “I don’t care what his name is or what he’s done with his life to date. I want that car.”

“What’s so special about it? I’d think you’d have had your fill of old Caddys by now.” Martin ignored the detective’s impertinence and changed the subject.

“When are you going to deal with Rrina?”

“Whenever she shows up again at her place.” Dornan signaled the waiter for another sandwich.

“What are you talking about? She’s there all the time. The woman hasn’t got a friend in this world.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Dornan shot back. “I’ve been a cop for longer than I care to remember and I’ve never had anyone talk to me like that bitch.” Martin wondered if he should take offense, though he certainly couldn’t disagree with the detective’s assessment.

“How long has she been away?” Martin figured the answer would be counted in hours.

“About a week now. You didn’t kill her, too, did you?”

“To tell you the truth, I’ve thought about it. I think we’re all better off just giving her mind a retread.”
Dornan nodded his agreement.

“Soon as she shows up, we’ll grab her,” Dornan affirmed as he finished off his third single malt scotch.

Martin was glad to see that, finally, the detective seemed to have gotten with the program.

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