Suspect, p.5
Suspect, page 5
I am about to pop the latches when it dawns on me that TWO might have set some kind of alarm. I use the flashlight on my phone to see if there’s anything visible, like a tiny wire. There isn’t, but I’m not completely convinced. I take a deep breath and can feel my heart beating all the way to my fingertips as I lift the stainless-steel catches and then the lid. I am so freaked by what I’m doing that it takes a second or two to believe what I see.
There is nothing.
The inside of TWO’s case is lined in heavy black rubber, roughly an inch thick. He had something fragile in here. But the trunk is empty now. No dust, not even a stray thread or a screw left behind. Completely fucking empty.
‘I cannot figure this out. I must have gotten to the trunk on the wrong side of the cycle. He must be removing something from his apartment for about ten minutes and storing it downstairs. But what is it he can’t keep around? The next time I hear him leave, I’ll rush out to see what he’s carrying.’
Two mornings later, around 10:30, I hear him striding out and the thump of his door. I throw open my own door and charge to the stairs.
That’s when I see him from the corner of my eye as I rush past. I revolve in panic. TWO is standing in the recess for his front door with a hard look that can’t fully conceal his amusement.
“Clarence,” he says.
My heart is slamming. With some effort, I manufacture a cheery smile.
“I was trying to catch you,” I say.
“Oh yes? Why?”
“I’ve been thinking we should get coffee sometime. You know, just the neighbor thing.”
I can see immediately that like so often I have said the wrong thing. The amused look is still skating around in his eyes, but now he’s actually showing a little wrinkle of a hipped-up smile. He thinks he’s on to me: When I sat down with him at the diner I was tuning him, and now I’m taking the next step. Lonely girl next door seeks convenient dick. It’s all I can do to keep from laughing and saying, ‘No, not sex, I have no trouble finding that.’
“Sometime maybe,” he answers and turns back to his door, key in hand. Even though I’m pretty close to busted, I can’t resist edging forward another couple inches in the hope of glimpsing something inside, but he’s like a mouse and seems to slip through an impossibly narrow opening.
Before he’s completely across the threshold, I blurt, “And what’s your name?”
He stops, looks back, takes a beat, then says, “Clarence,” before shutting the door.
Afterwards, I am so depleted by fright and frustration that I have to lie down on my bed. This guy is way, way better than me. Clearly a pro. But what kind? A hit man or a bounty hunter or even someone in law enforcement working undercover?
What am I missing? The question circulates like a mantra as I lie there staring out the windows beside my bed with their view of my porch and the unfaced bricks of the buildings across the alley.
And then I swing up to a sitting position so quickly that it seems as if some outside force propelled me. I know.
I can barely stand to wait the additional hour until TWO takes off with his red gym bag a little before noon. From my front window, I watch him amble down the walk in the courtyard and then disappear around the corner. I’m already holding another item from the PIBOT, my binoculars—a nice pair, Nikon Monarchs, 10×42, which offer an incredible field of view, even at a thousand yards.
I rush out to the porch. The mistake I made when I was trying to peek around his back shade is obvious now—I was facing the wrong direction. About three weeks ago the trees in the yards went from naked sticks to fully leafed in a matter of days. Yet even with the sight lines partially blocked by foliage, what remains visible from our back landing is Anglia and the Tech Park—and Northern Direct, the defense manufacturer mentioned in the Wall Street Journal TWO was studying at Ruben’s. When I crouch with the binoculars, I can see Direct’s facility straight on and a maintenance guy in overalls working on the equipment on the building’s roof. The white shells beside him look like satellite dishes but with a triangular arrangement of tubing mounted over the center of the concave. They are microwave transmission towers whose signals, from what I’ve read, are more secure than cellular or landlines. Direct communicates this way with their clientele in the military or the Department of Defense and the messages going back and forth have to be highly classified.
That’s what TWO is doing. The smoking is just a cover to explain why he’s outside at that hour. In the darkness, he’s using some device that’s normally hidden in the trunk, a piece of equipment that allows him to intercept signals from Direct or monitor something else that’s going on inside the installation.
I have no idea who he’s working for—the Russians or the Chinese or just one of Direct’s competitors. But I’ve finally tumbled to his gig.
TWO is a fucking spy.
6. I’m Like a Lot of Women
Look. I’m like a lot of women with a little wear on them. I’m not interested in picking up some guy’s jockey shorts again. I don’t want to say there aren’t any good men out there. But you know, Ricky is taken.”
Rik gets quite a laugh from that. We are back in our cramped conference room with its harsh overhead lighting and no windows. The Chief has finally returned, but only after Rik called a number of times. We are less than two weeks from the hearing, which is when trial prep always gets super serious.
“I wish I was joking,” the Chief says. “But at my age, the guys that are unattached? Losers. Most of them. Way more than most. They get nasty after a couple of pops. Or they’re deadbeats. Or drunks. Or lazy. Or just pricks. These guys are the leftovers.”
“No relationships?” Rik asks.
“Oh, sure,” she says. “Now and then. And not every man turns out to be a jerk. But at this age, you know, there’s not a lot of flexibility. You are who you are. I have a potty mouth? Yeah, I do. I can try for a few less f-bombs, and definitely mind my manners around your children, but you need to give up this shit about how your sainted mom acted around your father. So long-term? I’ve stopped believing in fairy tales. If he looks like a frog and croaks like a frog, don’t expect a prince just because you kiss him.
“But that doesn’t mean I have to take a vow of chastity. I like sex. Who doesn’t? Well, that’s a stupid question because from what I hear, there’s a lot who lose interest, and not just women either. But I’m not one of them. So once or twice a month I get the itch and go sit on a barstool. If I come across a guy who has just a little idea of what he’s doing and isn’t going to bat me around, then I don’t worry about who is taking advantage of who. There are a lot of men who are nice enough when you and them want the same thing.”
The Chief lets her bluntness settle in for a second.
“These guys?” says Rik. He drops his index finger on the case file, referring to the three complainants. “Ever?” He has been willing to listen for a while, but sooner or later we have to know what the hell we are defending.
“Ever?” the Chief asks. “Long story or short?”
“Short to start.”
“Short? Okay. One word answer: Yeah. That’s short. Two of them, Cornish and DeGrassi. Third guy, Blanco? That’s pure fantasy. I’ll tell you right now Ritz got to him.” She points at me, meaning my job is to figure out how.
“Okay,” says Rik, trying hard to act unruffled now that we’ve got the facts. It’s not like we didn’t know this was coming.
The Chief, naturally, wants to defend herself.
“Escucha, okay. I’m the Chief of Police in this pueblito. That’s not like a great way to have a personal life, okay? Think about it. Twenty-four seven, this thing”—she lifts her cell phone—“that’s never off. If I sleep through the night, I’m ready to set off fireworks. And where do I go if I want to relax? Have an adult beverage? We got residency requirements. I have to live here in Highland Isle. Am I going to get behind the wheel when I’m half crocked? I don’t think so. So my choice of establishments is limited to where I can walk.”
“You could bike,” I say. Rik and the Chief both stare. That’s the kind of shit I say. It makes perfect sense to me until it comes out of my mouth.
“There is rideshare,” Rik finally offers.
“Uber and that? Sometimes I need to get. I can’t stand around on a corner for ten minutes if two dudes are throwing punches. I go to the places I know. I’m not some kid who gets a thrill waiting behind a velvet rope for two hours. There’s three or four spots I like. Me and a lot of other coppers. Because we all live in the center of town, since that’s what we can afford.
“Not asking anybody to feel sorry for me, but I don’t have a lot of choices. What should I do? I’m not walking around a bar with a name tag and shaking hands, waiting for some guy to ask if he can call me sometime. I’m not looking for a new adventure. Think I should go online, so every dude who’s got a case pending in HI can shoot me a hot text? ‘Mamacita. You look so good.’ I know how I look. So if I go out for a drink, I talk to the guys I know. What I’m after, frankly, goes better when there’s some familiarity, so I can relax and not worry about whether he’s a serial killer. And on their side, those guys understand they don’t need to buy me six rounds and make small talk. Everybody gets what they want. Six months later, I can’t remember who was who.”
Rik is a little impatient and gives her the side-eye.
“Are you saying you don’t remember whether you were with these men?”
“No, I remember. But it was nothing like they’re saying.”
“Is the timing right, though, as far as you remember? DeGrassi in early 2019, Cornish about a year later?”
“You know, this isn’t junior high. I don’t write down who kissed me, but yeah, in those years? Answer is yes.”
“And you never saw a problem bringing home guys who were under your command?”
“Problem? I don’t know. Not if I’m drunk enough. And we’re off the clock.” She smiles as if Rik might think she was funny. He doesn’t.
“Besides,” she says. “Check the departmental regs. You see any rules against ‘fraternization’ as they call it? The FOP won’t let you fire a cop for kicking the stuffing out of his wife or kids, or for having twelve citizen complaints in his jacket as a hitter, because each one is supposedly uncorroborated. So you think the union is gonna let a cop get disciplined cause of who he sleeps with? In this department, like most departments, there are no rules against personnel having a good time with one another when neither party is working.”
“Even for the Chief?” Rik asks. “Aren’t you management?”
“You mean it’s okay for them and not for me? Call me narrow-minded, but rules are rules. Either it’s right or it’s wrong. I’m not saying I think P&F is gonna give me a medal. I mean, the commission can make up some lesser charge, I suppose. ‘Conduct detrimental to morale and discipline.’ If they want to shake a finger at me and give me thirty days, we can talk about that. But I’m not turning in my star. I followed the rules as I understood them. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Trading sex for promotions is a crime, Lucy,” Rik says.
“And it damn well oughta be. But that never happened. Read their statements,” the Chief says, “these three characters. Lying or not, not one of them claims I said or did anything to force them.”
“They applied to be promoted,” Rik says, “and you came on to them. That’s what they say. That’s not a good pattern.”
“That isn’t even close to true. But you need some context here. You know, you’re a woman in charge, a little of that ‘boss’ stuff goes a long way. Cornish and Primo, these guys are my age. They were veteran cops when I got there, and you know, I was ‘Sarge’ on the job, but that never meant a lot, except I was the person to read their reports, pretty much like I was helping them with their homework in high school. With me, I walk into the tavern, I’ve always been ‘Lucy.’ We’re on even ground. And you know cops. It’s still thirty years ago. PC never happened. These guys were pinching my ass when it was half the size it is now, and they never stopped. And at a certain age, a woman’s learned a few tricks. Maybe I’m not gonna model for the workout videos, but nobody ever went home saying it wasn’t a good time. I didn’t have to force nobody, and I didn’t have to make the first move either.”
“Two of these guys are married, Lucy.”
“Not to me.”
Rik frowns. “Well, you know Reverend Dalrymple better than I do,” he says, referring to the minister who is chair of the Police and Fire Commission. “But the last I looked, adultery was still in the Ten Commandments.”
“The Rev’s a pretty realistic guy,” she answers. “He knows the difference between the big sins and the little ones. And look, I’m not Jezebel. Yeah, I didn’t ask anybody for his hall pass, but every married guy who shows up in your bed will tell you more than you ever wanna hear about the freaking troubles in his marriage. What’s the legal thing? ‘It speaks for itself?’ These guys are out on the prowl every Friday night. You really believe it when the missus says, ‘I didn’t know a thing?’ He’s got a hard job, and once a week he’s on his own. They’ve made their peace. We all have. Life, Rik, it’s not quite ideal.”
Rik goes on to question her closely about what she remembers occurring with DeGrassi and Cornish. As she claimed, her story is different than theirs on several key points, but this is what they mean by ‘he said/she said.’ It’s up to me, of course, to find evidence to support the Chief’s version of events, now that I actually know it, but I truly have no idea where to start. For a second I sit there feeling bad for both of us.
7. I Ring Tonya
As soon as the Chief is gone, I ring Tonya. I was miserable enough when I finished up with her last time that I’ve been in no hurry to get in touch.
“I actually have that stuff you asked for,” she says.
I tell her again she can slide it in an envelope with no return address.
“Easier to hand it over. Six at Mike’s?” She doesn’t give me time to answer.
When Pops went into assisted living, he gave me his car. There’s nowhere to park it over at Aventura Center for Advanced Living, as the place is called, and he shouldn’t have been driving anyway. Everybody in the family reduced their Xanax intake when he handed me the keys, and I took them pretty much for that reason. But it’s not the ride I would have picked for myself. A girl with big-time tats and a nail in her nose gets some looks climbing out of a late-model Cadillac CTS. Tonya, who’s walking up to the door at Mike’s as I slide out from behind the wheel, is like everybody else and stops in her tracks.
“No way,” she says. “You seeing a gangster?”
“It’s mine,” I answer. “Sandy gave it to me.”
“He pay you to take it?” she asks. We head in together. “Who are you seeing anyway?” she asks as we come through the door, like there’s nothing more to the question than how I think the Trappers will do this season.
“There’s a guy in my building,” I say, “but I don’t know where that’s going.” I need to lie, just to keep her at a distance, and I have to say a man since she thought that was what I wanted, and I know it turns her off. But ‘a guy in my building’? How the fuck did I think of that? Truly. The shit that comes out of my mouth.
To escape any follow-up, I go to the knotty pine bar to order our beers. A guy on my softball team, Slim Norris, is in front of me and we bump knuckles and joke. I always like being at Mike’s, mostly because, for good and bad, I basically love cops. I love what they do and the truth they tell and the fact that there’s never any hearts and flowers. The world they live in is tough and kind of ugly, and it requires some bravery to face that every day. Basically, I’ve tried to absorb their attitude and just get on with stuff and stop whining or wishing things were different.
When I get back to our high-top, Toy has just pulled a 9 × 12 envelope that was folded in half from the inside pocket of her jacket.
“There’s your screenshots.”
“Anything interesting?”
She shrugs. “They’re both supporting Steven. That means they’re not supporting Amity, which means they’re against the Chief.”
I look furtively at the papers inside, but there’s pay dirt with just a glance. In DeGrassi’s profile, for ‘Employed by’ he lists ‘Vojczek Management.’ Even better, Cornish’s says the same thing.
“The Vojczek stuff?” Tonya asks, noticing my expression. “I thought you’d like that.”
“I do.”
“That’s the good news.”
“What’s the bad?”
“Paulette Cornish won’t talk to you.”
“She forgave her ex?”
“Hardly. If Godzilla ate him alive, she’d give half her life savings for the video so she could watch it again and again.”
“So why not help us make him look like an ass on the witness stand?”
“She doesn’t like the Chief any better.”
“Why’s that?”
“She didn’t say. It was just, ‘Damn if I’ll help her.’”
“You think maybe she believes what her ex is saying?”
“You kidding? As far as she’s concerned, with him it’s pictures or it didn’t happen. How she sees it, the snake in the Garden of Eden could take lying lessons from Walter.”
“So what’s her problem?” I ask.
“I asked but she didn’t explain. Lots of people don’t like to get in the middle of somebody else’s battles. Figure they can end up as collateral damage.”
I shrug and fold the envelope in fours and shove it into my back pocket. There is an uncomfortable silence. The place is filling up and people are starting to shout over the music.
When I first met Tonya, there were a lot of awkward moments like this, but she actually talks now, so I don’t know exactly how to read her. But something’s brewing, probably whatever made her want to deliver these papers in person.
