Never the Crime

by Colin Conway

  “How old do you think she was?”

  “My age.”

  He then studied her and thought. He wondered if he was missing any questions.

  “Is there anything else? I need to get back inside so I can finish my project.”

  “No, nothing else. Thank you for your time.”

  “Remember our deal.” She turned and trotted to the door. He watched her vanish into the building.

  Councilman Hahn has a thing for young women.

  It sounded like he also had a way of charming them when he talked with them. He wondered what it was about the man that those young women found so appealing. He snapped his fingers, realizing that was a question he should have asked Shelley. He took a step toward the library but stopped. He’d already taken enough of her time and the question wasn’t going to affect the outcome of anything. It wasn’t worth further bothering the young woman.

  He jotted the question in his notebook. He would ask Sonya Meyer that when he found her.

  CHAPTER 48

  “That’s Dennis.”

  “Dennis?”

  “Yeah, Dennis Hahn,” the olive-skinned girl whispered.

  Ezekiel “Skunk” Hetzel tapped the black-and-white newspaper photo. “Somebody is gonna come ask about this man.”

  Sonya Meyer pulled back slightly and rubbed the side of her face where he had slapped her earlier. “Why? Why would they come to talk with me?”

  Skunk waved his hand. “None of that matters. What does matter is you need to keep your mouth shut. Got it?”

  She put her hands to her head. “No, no, I don’t get it,” her voice returning to its normal volume. “Why are you doing this? Why are you here?”

  “Because the cops or…or…shit. The cops are gonna be coming.”

  Sonya stared at him. “Why are the cops coming here? What did I do?”

  “I don’t know,” Skunk said and stomped his foot. He wished he’d gotten some more information from Garrett. He felt like a fool telling this woman to keep her mouth shut when he didn’t know why she had to do so.

  When he had first arrived at the small house near Deaconess Hospital, she opened the front door and looked slightly confused at the man standing there. She was a pretty young woman in yoga pants and matching sweatshirt. “Yes?”

  “Are you Sonya Meyer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is anyone else here with you?”

  “What?”

  He shoved his way into the house then. He didn’t know why he did it, but he thought it was better to conduct their business inside. It was his best judgment, as Garrett had said. He was lucky no one was home with her.

  She had screamed, but he slapped her to stop it. Then she reached for her cell phone which he took away. She lashed at him, scratching his forearm, so he slapped her a second time. Skunk felt a swell of pride that he controlled the situation so fast.

  But that pride had ebbed away as she asked questions that he didn’t know how to answer.

  “I didn’t do anything!” she yelled.

  “This isn’t about you!” Skunk hollered over her, stamping his foot several times. “It’s about him,” he said, tapping the photo.

  “What did he do?” she screamed. “I want to—”

  Skunk slapped her hard. Her eyes widened with fear, and she stopped talking.

  He stuck his finger in her face. “Keep your mouth shut when the cops show up. It’s that simple.”

  Sonya backed away from Skunk until she ran into a wall. Her hand touched the side of her face where Skunk had hit her.

  “It’s simple, lady. Why can’t you get it?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Sonya whispered.

  Skunk dropped his hands. “Listen. I’m sorry I scared you. I don’t normally do this type of thing. It’s my first time. You understand?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” she repeated.

  “I heard. Now, shut up, will ya? Or you’re gonna make me hit you again.”

  Sonya stared at Skunk.

  “All you need to do is be quiet when the cops show up. It’ll be that easy. Simple, right?”

  She shook her head.

  Why was this stupid bitch not getting it?

  “What’s your problem?” Skunk said and stomped his foot. His anger was spiraling out of control.

  “I didn’t do anything!” she screamed.

  Skunk stepped across the room. Sonya brought her hands up to her face to protect herself so he punched her in the stomach. She collapsed to the floor.

  “I heard you the first time,” he yelled.

  She was on her hands and knees, sucking for air. The punch felt good. It made him feel powerful. More than that, though, it just felt right.

  At that moment, he knew he was on the right course.

  He was using his best judgment.

  CHAPTER 49

  Officer Gary Stone pulled to the curb alongside Bishop Court. He was a couple hundred feet away from her house.

  He initially found Sonya Meyer listed in DOL and went to the address where it showed she was living. Unfortunately, she no longer lived there. The apartment manager was cleaning the unit she had vacated but he was happy to provide Stone with her forwarding address. He gave Sonya a glowing review, along with several unsolicited comments about how pretty she was and how he’d miss having her around the apartment community. Stone wondered if that was one of the reasons why she moved to the little bungalow on Bishop Court.

  Directly in front of the house was a silver Honda CRX. He ran the plate and it quickly returned showing as registered to Sonya Meyer. With her car sitting out front, he expected her to be home.

  The little brown house was rundown and the trees on the property were overgrown. It gave off a haunted vibe. It would be a great house around Halloween.

  He walked up the crumbling sidewalk, ascended the steps to the small concrete porch, and knocked on the door. He didn’t hear any noise from inside. His second attempt was more forceful as he recalled Ray Zielinski’s powerful knock from a few days prior.

  Charlie Bravo.

  Fuck Ray.

  No, that wasn’t right. He shouldn’t think like that. He needed to be positive regardless of how people like Ray treated him. For a brief second, he wished he could take back his negative thought. I should be like the bison in the snowstorm. The bison didn’t worry about what others thought of him. He tried to picture the scene again but still couldn’t.

  Sonya Meyer hadn’t come to the door. Stone pounded once more. He then stood on his tiptoes and looked through the little window at the top of the door.

  There was a body lying on the floor in the living room. His heart suddenly began racing and he reached for his police radio, a response that would have been normal while he was on patrol. Unfortunately, he didn’t have his radio with him.

  He took a step back and kicked the door. It didn’t budge.

  Another attempt and the same result.

  No way Stone was going to call for backup to come and kick the door open for him. He was a cop, for Christ’s sake, and he needed to get in that door.

  He set himself again and kicked near the doorknob. The door started to give. The movement energized Stone and he quickly returned to his starting position.

  The next attempt worked, and the door swung open and banged loudly into a wall.

  He ran into the house and checked on the woman. Her face was bloodied, and he felt for a pulse. There was none.

  He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed dispatch.

  CHAPTER 50

  Clint stopped in front of the bungalow. He noticed a pair of uniformed officers, one standing at the door, one at the sidewalk. Officer Gary Stone, with his blue slacks, checkered shirt, and solid yellow tie, stood next to the door as well.

  Prior to arrival, Clint had been interviewing a peripheral witness to close out a weak-ass robbery case that Lieutenant Flowers laid on him at the end of shi
ft yesterday. The lieutenant obviously hadn’t deemed it difficult enough to budge Clint from being next up on the wheel, because he’d gotten called to this homicide. It was further evidence Flowers didn’t run the case assignment system fairly.

  The officer at the end of the walkway looked barely out of the training car. Her dark hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. She was of some Asian descent, but Clint refused to speculate on the exact origin. Her face showed a look of mild trepidation when he approached. Clint was fully aware that he had a reputation. He even knew that some people called him the Honey Badger, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was for people to do their jobs with some degree of skill and alacrity.

  “Why is there no crime scene tape up yet?” he barked at the female officer.

  She glanced toward the front door. “Sir?”

  “String some tape,” Clint ordered. Since the rookie probably didn’t know what she was doing, the detective pointed to a couple of anchor points. “From there to there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then get out your notebook and start a log.”

  The rookie stared at him, blinking nervously. “A log?”

  “Didn’t your FTOs teach you anything?”

  “Yes, sir. They did.”

  “Well then, string some tape,” Clint told her brusquely. “No one gets past you without checking with me first.”

  “Yes, sir.” The rookie ran to the nearby police cruiser.

  Clint stayed where he was. Someone had to hold the outer perimeter. Besides, he always liked to stand back and take in the whole scene, working his way slowly toward the victim.

  The bungalow was old, probably built close to a century ago. He could see signs of modern updates, but they did little to counterbalance the wear and tear on the place. Maintenance of the vegetation was overdue. The walkway was cracked and crumbling, but for that matter, so was the city sidewalk on this block.

  The place had a dark and foreboding look to it, but Clint noticed that a cheery shade of yellow curtains hung in one small window. The curtains in the other window, nearest the door, were open. His eyes went back to the curtains then to Officer Stone’s yellow tie.

  His observations were cut short as the other patrol officer walked over. Clint didn’t recognize the man, so he glanced down to the silver nametag above his breast pocket. K. Norton. A SWAT pin resided just above the nametag.

  “Why are you yelling at my rookie?” Officer Norton asked him, his voice challenging.

  “I wasn’t yelling. I was instructing.”

  “I’m her FTO. Instructing her is my job.”

  “You didn’t do your job, so I had to.”

  Norton scowled. “Look, don’t think just because you’re—”

  “I don’t have time for this, Officer Norton. This is a crime scene. There should be an inner and outer perimeter already established, with those lines of demarcation clearly indicated with crime scene tape. That’s your job as a patrol officer on scene, and it’s your job to teach that to your probationer.”

  Norton hesitated. “We’re holding those perimeters. But I didn’t think there was any rush.”

  “No rush?” Clint asked. “Dispatch said there’s a dead white girl in there. You don’t think the news and the lookie-loos aren’t going to start showing up soon? I’m surprised I beat them here.”

  The officer looked uncomfortable. Then he said, “She’s never been to a homicide scene before. I wanted to see how’d she would do.”

  Clint stared at him, a common tactic he used in these situations.

  “You know,” Norton said, “to see if she remembered her training from the academy and her other FTOs. This is her last week in the training car. She’s got to get her shit right.”

  The detective continued to stare, waiting for Norton to fill the silence.

  “I didn’t forget,” Norton told him. “It was supposed to be a teaching moment, and you blew it.”

  Clint looked over to where the rookie was rummaging through the trunk of the patrol car, looking for crime scene tape. Even from this distance, he could see the bright yellow roll attached to the trunk lid in a netting pouch. “She’s never strung tape for a crime scene before so she needs guidance,” he said. “That’s why you’re here. To train her.”

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

  “Then do your job,” Clint snapped. “Amateur hour is over. Get an inner and outer perimeter set, and you start a crime scene log. Anyone wants to enter the scene, send your rookie to find me and get permission. Got it?”

  “Don’t talk to me like you’re my boss,” Norton said, his voice low. He puffed out his chest and took a step closer to Clint.

  “This is my crime scene, and you’re assigned to it. I am your boss right now, and if you don’t get your ass moving, I’m going to put you on it in front of your rookie. And then I’ll be sure to detail your little fuck up here to your sergeant. You get me?”

  Norton thought about it for second. Clint wasn’t sure which threat would get him to back down, but he was confident one of them would.

  After a few moments, Norton shook his head in disgust, and started walking toward the patrol car, muttering to himself. “Homicide, step aside, huh? Fucking Honey Badger.”

  Clint remained in his position until the two patrol officers strung the outer perimeter tape. Then he walked to the front door, where Officer Stone stood guard.

  “You first on the scene?” Clint asked him without greeting.

  Stone nodded. He looked a little nauseous.

  “Got an ID on her?”

  “Sonya Meyer,” Stone said. “Her name is Sonya Meyer.”

  Clint looked at the door jamb, which was broken inward. Multiple black scuff marks were on the door near the knob, with one in the center of the door as well.

  “Was this already kicked in when you got here?”

  “No,” Stone said. “I did it.”

  Clint pointed at the marks on the door, making a circular motion with his pen. “All of them?”

  “Yeah. It…took a few kicks to get it open.”

  “Uh-huh. Why’d you kick the door?”

  Stone took a deep breath and let it out. “No one answered when I knocked, even though I gave it a power shift knock. Her car’s here, so—”

  “Which is hers?”

  Stone pointed. “The silver Honda there.”

  Clint made a note. “No one answered and…”

  “I looked through the window. That’s when I saw her on the ground, so I booted the door.”

  The detective pushed the door open with the tip of his pen. The victim’s body lay inside. He saw signs of head trauma.

  “I checked her pulse, but there wasn’t one. Then I called it in.”

  “Was she warm to the touch?” Clint asked.

  “What?”

  He didn’t repeat the question, just waited.

  Stone seemed to process the words, then considered the question. “Yeah,” he finally said. “I mean, she wasn’t cold or anything.”

  “Did you move her?”

  “No, I only touched her throat.”

  “No one else was here, I take it?”

  “That’s right. Norton and I swept the house when he arrived, but it was empty. Hey, what was going on with you and him?”

  “Education,” Clint said. “Did you see any sign of forced entry when you got here?”

  “No, none.”

  “Why were you here in the first place?”

  Stone shifted uncomfortably. “To interview her.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s…complicated.”

  “Then use small words.”

  Stone hesitated, then sighed. “What a mess.”

  “Details, please.”

  “I was here to talk to Sonya about her personal relationship with a councilman.”

  “Which councilman?”

  “I…I don’t know if I should say
.”

  Clint peered closely at him. “You’re at a homicide, son. Talking to a homicide investigator. You really think you want to withhold information?”

  “No,” Stone said slowly. “But I don’t know if it’s relevant.”

  “Relevancy is my job. Yours is to tell me what you know. Considering there’s a dead girl in there, and people are frequently killed by people they know, I’m going to say it’s relevant. Now, which councilman?”

  Stone swallowed, not answering.

  “There’s only six male councilmen, Officer Stone. One is openly gay, another is in the closet. That leaves four possibles. Now, are you really going to make me play a game of city hall Clue to figure out what you can tell me right now?”

  “No,” Stone said. “I guess not. It’s Dennis Hahn.”

  “It figures. And?”

  “He was fooling around with Sonya Meyer. And Shelly Mason before that. She’s the one who gave me Sonya’s name.”

  Clint made notes. “How did you get Mason’s name?”

  Stone paused. “A friend tipped me off.”

  The detective didn’t like how Stone was hanging onto his secrets, but he could see in the man’s demeanor that this one seemed to matter more than outing the councilman. He decided not to push the issue, for now.

  “Why are you investigating the councilman? Is this some kind of secret police political shit, or was there a crime?”

  “There was an allegation,” Stone said. “A letter to the mayor’s office that hinted Hahn may have sexually assaulted a girl.”

  “Sexual assault?” Clint gave him a dubious look. “That should have gone to the Sex Crimes Unit for detectives to investigate. You’re not qualified.”

  Stone hesitated before answering. “The chief wanted to be sure there was something to investigate first. So he asked me to look into it.”

  Clint wrote that down, feeling a small surge of adrenaline. This was proof of the collusion he’d long suspected between city hall and the leadership of the police department. Either the chief and the mayor were looking to protect Hahn, or they were looking to have something to blackmail him with. He was sure of it. It was typical politics around this town, and probably only the tip of the iceberg.