Shiver on the Sky
Page 21
Chapter Fifteen
(Tuesday Morning—Gordon)
Jon Faulkner was a hell of a cop.
Faulkner was exactly five feet tall, when he stood straight and maybe up on his toes a little. Not that Gordon challenged his claim to that last inch. He figured everybody needed some illusions.
Faulkner had an MBA from Harvard. He was the neatest dresser in the CCPD, and very black. He didn’t accept any other description—not African-American (he would point out the existence of an African-born white judge in San Antonio), but simply black.
A Homicide Detective’s pay was ridiculous for someone with Faulkner’s qualifications. He wasn’t independently wealthy, either. Gordon had no idea why he’d decided to become a police officer. Faulkner didn’t talk about it.
It didn’t matter, though. They were partners. They planned to stay that way. However odd a pair they made, they cleared their cases with a single-minded ferocity of purpose. Mostly the rest of the department left them alone.
Today Faulkner had beaten him to the office. Good. Gordon had a lot of work planned for the day. The FBI guys had helped a lot, but some things he wanted to see for himself. “Feeling better?” he asked.
“Physically? Absolutely. But some of our cases are utter garbage.”
“Yeah?” Gordon supposed it was true. The dead 14-year-old male prostitute, for instance. He’d been shot, and the body left in an alley. They’d probably never know more than they did right now, unless some creep gave up another creep for it down the line somewhere. They’d try, but the body was found in an industrial area that was nearly deserted after closing time. Nobody had seen anything. And he’d been shot somewhere else; there wasn’t enough blood at the scene. The coroner confirmed that the body had been moved. The kid was found face-up, but the body had lain face-down for a long time first. Where? Who knew? No wounds other than a single shot to the neck, maybe a .38 or a 9mm, but they had no bullet, because it had gone right through him. Worst of all for their investigation, the kid had lived on the streets and didn’t have a regular beat, so they’d probably never even know who to ask about him. Only a lucky identification had given them his profession. And even that was shaky.
Gordon shook his head. “Nothing new there. They always suck. That’s kinda the point, it’s why we try to solve ‘em. Listen, I’ve got some new stuff on the Bentley thing. You read the file?”
Faulkner nodded, pursing his lips.
“Good.” He told Faulkner about the meeting the night before at the City Diner. “I don’t know about this eco-terrorist angle, but it’s worth checking out. And Stanley seems okay for a Feeb, but he might not be telling me everything, so I want to do some looking around on this without him.”
Faulkner shook his head. “We’d pretty much have to.”
Gordon looked at him. Faulkner’s eyes usually darted in all directions, cataloguing everything he saw. Today he was staring straight ahead, at a blank wall. “Oh, shit. What happened?”
“Lieutenant Kleinman said we’re off the case as of this morning. It’s now, ah, what did he call it? Oh yes, I remember. A matter of national security. And thus beyond anything we could be expected to handle.”
“That knock-kneed son of a bitch,” Gordon said calmly. “Feeble bastard burned me. He seemed to be playing fair, so I brought him along with me yesterday. With the missing kid involved, I thought he might actually be helpful. So now he’s found out what he wanted to know, and we’re out?”
Faulkner shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I’m back, and I’m black.”
Gordon snorted. “No, that’s why I’m gonna make you drive. I’ve got some calls to make, but I’d rather do ‘em from the car. You ready?”
The first call Gordon made was to Stanley’s cell phone. There was no answer, or at his office either. Gordon didn’t leave a message. What was the point? The guy was a jerk.