by Colin Conway
“He asked me to take a look her,” Garrett said with nod toward Clint. “I’m working another case where her name came up.”
The evidence technician shook her head. “Poor girl,” she said and continued down the steps.
Garrett stole a final glance at Clint who actively engaged with Officer Norton, then stepped into the house and out of the detective’s line of sight.
The woman’s body was crumpled on the floor. It didn’t take a thorough examination to determine that Skunk had done a real job on her. Her face was a mess. Blood was everywhere about her head and shoulders. That was what Skunk’s best judgment looked like.
Garrett only had seconds to see if he could find the little orange note that he’d given Skunk. More than likely it had already been found. Officers had been in the house as well as the evidence technicians. Worse, Clint had been there. He would have homed in on a handwritten note immediately.
Regardless, Garrett needed to at least hope that it had been overlooked. His eyes scanned around her body. Nothing.
Then he searched the floor of the house. Again, nothing.
Tires chirped outside, and he looked around. He thought most of the officers had already left the scene.
He noticed a slight breeze blew in from the open door. Perhaps the note had fallen out of Skunk’s pocket and had blown under a piece of furniture.
Garrett dropped to his hands and knees and quickly looked under the couch, the chair, the ottoman, the—
“What the hell are you doing!”
Clint stood in the doorway.
“Get out of there!”
Garrett sat up on his knees, his buttocks resting on his heels. “I was looking for a weapon.”
“Get out of there,” Clint repeated, this time controlling his anger.
Garrett stood slowly, then. “You know, I was only trying to help, Ward.”
Clint’s smile was crooked, as if unpracticed. “Normally, I’d get upset if another man misspoke my name.”
“What?”
“I know what you’re up to, brother. Better watch your step.”
Garrett’s ploy had failed, and his eyes narrowed for a moment, studying Clint. His face relaxed again, looking for another angle of attack. Clint had plenty of hang-ups, Garrett knew. He would keep poking at them until he found one that got a result he wanted.
He snapped his fingers and said. “Wardell. That’s right. I’ll remember that.” Garrett walked toward the front door, but Clint held up his hand, stopping him.
“What now?”
“Show me your knuckles,” Clint demanded.
“What?
“Your knuckles. Show them to me.”
Garrett thumbed toward the girl. “You think I had something to do with this…Ward?”
Clint remained poker-faced.
Garrett was disappointed. Normally, a couple jabs at Clint’s name were too much for the man to let slide. He held up his uninjured hands, showing the backs of them to Clint. They were standing very close. If Clint sensed the danger, he didn’t let it show in his eyes.
The detective examined Garrett’s knuckles, then frowned. “You’re playing a game, Garrett.”
He dropped his hands and stepped back. “I told you why I’m here.”
“I’m not buying it.”
“I don’t care if you buy it.”
Clint stepped into him. “You better care, Officer. Right now, I’m writing you into my report. It’s going to look like you tried to interfere with a crime scene.”
Garrett studied him for a moment, then said, “You might want to rethink that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Pray tell.”
“This story is right up your alley…Wardell.”
Clint’s mouth opened his mouth briefly to object but closed it slowly.
“There was a young woman—” Garrett began.
The detective’s eyes flicked to Sonya Meyer.
“Try again.”
Clint’s eyes narrowed as he thought. “Betty Rabe.”
Garrett nodded. “Who had a brief relationship with a handsome councilman.”
“Hahn,” Clint said.
“That relationship soured, and the young woman may have sent a letter to get the councilman in trouble.”
“She sent a letter to the mayor. And?” There was no surprise in Clint’s words.
This caught Garrett by surprise. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. If Clint knew more than he was letting on, he could be setting Garrett up. Clint was one of the best at suspect interrogation, it wasn’t a department secret.
His best option now was to forge ahead. Lay out the cards that he had started to play. There was no one else in the room, in case he ever had to backtrack and deny what was said.
“Not understanding how city government works, the young woman thought the mayor would have some influence over the councilman.”
“What did the letter say?” Clint’s eyes flickered with interest.
Garrett relaxed slightly. The detective knew some, but not everything. He was back in control.
“It said she was seventeen, that she was in a relationship with the councilman, and that he had raped her.”
“He raped her?”
Garrett nodded slowly.
“What happened to the letter?”
Clint’s mild interest showed he had almost sunk the hook with the lie about the rape. He hadn’t committed fully to Garrett’s story yet.
“The mayor, seeing the opportunity this letter presented, gave it to the chief of police, who gave it to his personal lap dog to investigate.”
“Stone,” Clint said, nodding. He was swimming around the hook, considering it.
“Charlie Bravo,” Garrett affirmed.
“The mayor and the chief, huh?”
“Stone investigated. He went to both the young woman and the councilman for their sides of the story.”
“That’s when the councilman called you?”
Garrett was about to agree, to take the opportunity that Clint gave him, but he saw that doing so would put him into a trap. Clint could easily knock down that story. Also, Garrett’s investigation into Betty Rabe’s suicide could be seen as opportunistic. He was walking a fine line now. The truth was still better than a lie.
“No,” Garrett said. “I didn’t know Hahn then.”
Clint’s brow furrowed.
“Dispatch sent me to Rabe’s suicide.”
“That was out of your district.”
“They sent me to it,” Garrett said. He wasn’t sure if Clint had followed him that night. There were some nights he definitely knew he was being followed, others when he knew he’d lost the detective, and still others where he wasn’t sure if the man was out there or not. He wasn’t about to reveal that he knew he was occasionally followed but decided to hold that card for another moment. Instead, he said, “You can verify that.”
“You know I will.”
“I figured as much.”
The game of cat and mouse continued even when they stood toe-to-toe. Garrett realized now that some of the story he was telling the detective was already old news, that Clint was letting him run his story until he caught a lie.
“While there, I met a friend of Rabe’s who told me about her relationship to Hahn. When I interviewed the councilman, he told me how he was being squeezed by the mayor and the chief. I believed him. I’ve been squeezed by them before. I think you’ve been squeezed by them, too, right?”
Clint remained silent, considering what he said.
The line Garrett walked had become thinner. He had to be more careful now. Not saying enough would make him suspicious. Saying too much would make him more suspicious. To say anything wrong would give Clint ammo to shoot holes in his story. Instead, he needed to give Clint only enough for him to look elsewhere, but he also wanted the detective’s conspiracies to wrap in on themselves.
> “Stone investigated the initial case and wrote a report. He never entered it into the system.”
Clint blinked a couple times, as if he was pulling himself back to the current moment.
“What?”
“Stone wrote a report.”
“I know that.”
“But he never entered into the system. It never got a report number. As far as the department is concerned, Officer Stone never talked with Betty Rabe or Councilman Hahn.”
“About a rape allegation? Why would he do that?”
Garrett knew he’d sunk the hook.
“Because that’s what the chief told him to do.”
As he thought, Clint made a sucking sound between his teeth. “How do you know this?”
“Stone told me.”
The detective slowly nodded, as if he were putting pieces together inside his head.
“When I pressed him during my follow-up, Hahn also told me he had a couple of other relationships. Sonya Meyer was one.”
Clint’s gaze hardened. “So, you came running when you saw her house on TV.”
Garrett met his gaze and didn’t look away.
“Who was the other woman?”
“Shelley Mason.”
“Shelley Mason,” Clint repeated.
“Yeah, Shelley Mason.”
Clint remained silent for several minutes as he thought. Garrett watched him with fascination. He would have loved to know how the man was putting together those pieces in his head.
When Clint refocused on him, he said, “Get out of my crime scene,” and pushed Garrett out of the house.
Garrett did not resist this time. When he was outside, he hurried to his car, knowing full well that Wardell Clint had bitten the hook.
CHAPTER 56
“Get that media van out of the street,” Captain Dana Hatcher told the nearest patrol officer. “Keep this roadway clear for emergency vehicles.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the uniform responded, and strode away to follow her orders.
Hatcher surveyed the scene and found nothing else that needed her attention, so she made her way toward the ambulance parked near Zielinski’s patrol vehicle. She’d been told that another unit already transported the wounded social worker, but she saw that a medic was checking Zielinski at the back of the open ambulance. She noticed Dale Thomas, the union president, standing nearby.
Oh, joy.
As she walked, Captain Tom Farrell parked his car just across the street. When he saw her, he trotted over. “I’ve got detectives and crime scene techs on the way,” he said. “I take it the scene is secure?”
Hatcher gestured toward the target house, where a pair of uniformed patrol officers guarded the front door. “There’s two more in the back,” she said without looking at him.
“Good,” he said. “We can probably drop that to one on each door once the detectives and techs start their work.”
“Fine,” she said curtly, still walking.
The two of them reached the back of the ambulance together. The medic had been checking Zielinski’s pupils, but snapped off her pen light.
“I told you, I’m fine,” Zielinski said.
“Let the medic do her work, Ray,” Hatcher said. She glanced at Thomas, giving him the barest of nods.
“I’m done, actually,” said the medic, a woman with the edges of a flowery tattoo creeping up from her collar. She kept her attention focused on Zielinski. “You’re still feeling the effect of the adrenaline. Don’t be surprised if you crash hard, and either get really tired or extremely anxious. That’s normal.”
“Is drinking Jameson normal?”
The medic shrugged. “A little wouldn’t hurt.”
Zielinski looked at Hatcher. He even gave her a tiny grin. “My kind of doctor.”
“I’m glad you’re all right,” Hatcher said.
He shook his head. “It was the craziest thing. We were just standing there, and all of the sudden—”
Hatcher raised her hands. “Ray, stop. Don’t tell me anything. We’ll talk after your interview.”
Zielinski gave her a confused look.
“She’s right,” Thomas said. “I was about to stop you myself. Don’t make any kind of statement until after the shooting is investigated and has a case finding.”
“Shooting?” Zielinski repeated. “I didn’t shoot him. They took him into custody without a scratch.”
Farrell glanced at the shot-up car that now sat all alone on that section of the block. “Looks like a lot of ejected casings on the ground over there. So you definitely shot at him.”
Zielinski’s expression turned dark. “Is this being treated as an officer-involved shooting?”
“No,” Farrell said. “We’re investigating it as an assault with a deadly weapon. But…you should still listen to your union rep. If you want to talk to investigators, you’ll get a chance, back at the station.”
Zielinski frowned but didn’t reply.
Hatcher reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Ray. I’m just glad you’re all right.”
He looked away. “Okay. Thanks.”
“If you need anything, let me know.”
Zielinski didn’t reply.
“I’ll be sure to pass on any of my member’s needs,” Dale Thomas told her curtly.
She gave the worm another cool look but didn’t bother to answer him. She turned and walked away.
Farrell fell in beside her. “Ever since they went with a full-time, for-hire president…” he muttered.
Hatcher stopped near the shot-up sedan. “The chief on his way?” she asked.
Farrell stared back at her. “He’s already come and gone.”
“What?” She looked at him in disbelief. “How long did he stay? Five seconds?”
“He checked on his guy,” he said, defensively. “There’s a homicide on the south side he needed to see about, too.”
“One of his own guys is shot at and he can’t bother to hang around at the scene for a few minutes?” She pointed toward the ambulance, where the medic was shutting the rear door, preparing to leave. Thomas and Zielinski had moved to the rear of Zielinski’s patrol car. “They’re taking Ray down to the station for an interview soon. Is he going to spend any time with him there? Will that be more convenient for him?”
“Dana…”
“This is bullshit.”
“Christ,” Farrell muttered. “Zielinski’s fine. He didn’t kill the guy.”
Hatcher stared at him, not believing what she’d just heard.
“By policy, he doesn’t even need to take the three days of admin leave,” Farrell continued, “unless he wants to, or thinks he needs it.”
“By policy?”
“I’m telling you what his options are. This situation doesn’t meet the critical incident designation, so there’s no mandatory admin leave.”
“I’m glad you’re so concerned about my officer,” she said.
“Don’t be that way.”
“You’re right. I should start spouting policy instead.” Hatcher turned away from him and walked back toward Zielinski. She wanted him to know she cared about him. Besides, at that moment, she’d rather endure the presence of Dale Thomas than spend any more time with Tom Farrell.
CHAPTER 57
Garrett jogged through the alley, looked both ways before he crossed Haven Street, then entered the alley on the other side of the street. He continued his pace, his eyes scanning for onlookers. At the last moment, he turned and ran into the backyard of the small, dilapidated house. He burst through the back door and closed it immediately behind him. He turned on his small flashlight.
The stench of feces assaulted his senses again. He hurried down the hallway, stepped over the body of Skunk, and searched the living room. Since the windows were boarded up with plywood, no light shone inside. Slowly and methodically, his flashlight covered every inch of the room.
He covered his mouth and nose with his gloved hand.
Garrett stepped into an empty bedroom. It took only a moment to verify that the little orange note was not there.
A few steps and he was into the second bedroom. Another sweep of the flashlight and still no sign of the small orange paper.
As he breathed through his fingers, he smelled the new leather gloves. They helped mute the smell of human waste but didn’t fully cover it.
He passed the stairwell to the basement and the bathroom and checked the kitchen. No note.
One room left. He opened the bathroom door and almost retched immediately. The smell was overwhelming. The toilet was full of shit and toilet paper.
A nearly empty roll of toilet paper sat on the edge of the sink. Garrett swung the flashlight around the floor and saw the little piece of orange paper near the base of the toilet.
It must have fallen out of Skunk’s pocket the last time he used the head. Garrett reached out with his foot and ended up kicking the note further behind the toilet.
He yelled into his gloved hand.
With an inhale of air through his fingers, Garrett bent down. He held on to the edge of the sink for support and reached behind the toilet. His fingers snatched the note and he scrambled back out of the bathroom.
He slammed the door behind him, bent over, and gagged for several moments. He fought to keep the contents of his stomach inside him.
At the rear of the house, he stopped and turned back. He walked down the hallway and opened the door to the basement. He shined the light down the steps for a moment, then clicked it off. The house went completely dark.
It took a few moments for him to feel comfortable in the darkness. When he did, Garrett lifted Skunk’s body and held him at the top stair. With a shove, Garrett sent Ezekiel “Skunk” Hetzel tumbling into the basement. He turned his flashlight on again and saw Skunk’s body lying in a contorted mess on the concrete floor.
He shut the door and walked to the back of the house. Even though he was wearing gloves, he wiped off his fingerprints from the doorknob. He was fairly certain that was the only surface he had touched during his visits to the house.
Garrett wondered how many times he’d been seen going in and out of the neighborhood. A couple times he was in uniform. A couple times he was in plain clothes. It was a dumpy house in a terrible block in the worst part of town.