Blood Flag: A Paul Madriani Novel by Steve Martini

you think I’m nuts? I’m gonna swallow an anonymous alibi from some bimbo who sells herself a trick at a time over the telephone? Not on your life,” says Noland. “Not a chance.”
    “What do I do?” Harry looks at me, mournful eyes, then turns to Owen and says, “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to tell my partner.”
    “It’s time to pay the piper,” says Owen. “Besides, you’ll feel better when it’s over. You know you will.”
    Harry falls silent for a moment, then looks at me and says, “I blew it.”
    “Shut up!” I tell him.
    “I’m sorry.” Then he turns to Noland and asks, “Can’t we keep this private?”
    “Her name?” says Noland. He has one cheek on the corner of Harry’s desk, pen poised ready to take notes on the little pad in his hand.
    “Her name is Gwyneth . . .” says Harry.
    Noland writes it down. “I’m sure that’s her real name. Sounds pricey. Gwyneth what? And I’ll need a phone number!”
    “Gwyneth Riggins,” says Harry.
    Noland writes for a second and then stops abruptly, as if his brain has seized. With the pen frozen over the pad he glances sideways at Harry and says, “You mean like the . . . ?”
    “Yeah,” says Harry, “like the Superior Court judge. And spelled the same way.”
    Noland has this quizzical look, wondering, I’m sure, what call girl is sufficiently stupid to be using the judge’s name—or if he’s just being jerked around.
    “I don’t know how I’m gonna break the news to her,” says Harry.
    Noland is sitting there perched on the corner of Harry’s desk looking at him, not sure if he should ask, but curiosity gets the better of him. “What news?”
    “That you think Gwyn looks like a hooker.”
    “Who are we talking about?” says Noland. “Are you talking about the judge?”
    “Who else? That’s the only Gwyn Riggins I know.”
    “I never said she looked like a hooker!”
    “Now I suppose you’re gonna ask me if I stayed there all night,” says Harry. “Whether we got down and did the big naughty. I can’t lie to a law enforcement officer,” says Harry. “I was there all night. And we did in fact—”
    “So that’s why you had to affidavit her?” I cut him off. Harry has been dropping paper on Riggins for weeks. I wondered why. He moved to disqualify her every time he found himself in front of her on the bench. Whenever I asked him why, he brushed me off. Harry told me he had a problem with her. It wasn’t serious. He was working it out. So I let it slide. Figured it was his problem.
    “OK, so I lied,” says Harry. “I never actually affidavited her. She recused herself. She had this problem, call it a conflict.”
    “You were sleeping with her?” I ask.
    “Yeah, well, that’s what ultimately caused the problem,” says Harry.
    “Yeah, I’d say that’s a conflict! Why didn’t you let me in on it?”
    “For the same reason I didn’t want to tell them.”
    “Hey, I’m your partner!”
    “What are you worried about? She did the right thing. No crime, no foul,” says Harry.
    I can’t tell if he’s talking about Gwyn’s recusals or the fact that she’s sleeping with him. He gives me a sheepish look. “We’ve been dating for a couple of months now. She didn’t want the world to know. Can you blame her?”
    “Congratulations!” I say. “But you can tell her it’s out of the bag now.”
    “Yeah. Congratulations!” At the moment Noland looks sick.
    “Thanks,” says Harry, “but we still need to work this out, the three of us, you, me, and Gwyneth.”
    “What do you mean?” says Noland. “Work what out?”
    “Maybe it’s her makeup or the way she dresses,” says Harry. “Perhaps if we get together you can give her some pointers, so next time you won’t mistake her for a hooker.”
    “I never said . . . I didn’t say that . . . I never said anything about the judge. You heard me.” Noland looks to his partner for help.
    Owen puts both hands in the air, palms out. “I’m not