“Well?” Wadsworth wouldn’t let go of my hand.
“Well?” I repeated, and quickly interrupted myself. “Oh. Of course. Kentucky is lovely. And the mountains. I can breathe out here that’s for sure.” I noticed he was holding a case file under his arm. The word “active” was marked on the sleeve.
The Chief let go my hand and a new seriousness crossed his face. “The Cumberland mountains here in Kentucky are nice indeed. But that wasn’t my question. I asked you what do you think of our town?”
I cocked my head and shifted on my feet uncomfortably. Luke kept up his fake conversation with Debbie, blotting me out. He wanted no part of this. Wadsworth was fishing for something and I think I knew what. “Well,” I nodded my head at the floor. “Everything is slower out here.” Then I looked right at him. “And clearly drugs and violence aren’t just popular in Chicago.”
He fixed his eyes on me with some intensity. “Speaking of violence, did you see that incident unfold yesterday? On Exodus Avenue, right in the center of town?” He didn’t move a muscle.
“What?” My throat wanted to swallow but I held off. That kind of action implied guilt.
Wadsworth didn’t blink. “Those three young delinquents speeding down the center of town yesterday on motorcycles? Trying to rough up some old ladies? Did you see that?”
Shit. I almost shook my head in disbelief, but refrained. So I got my hands on those three street pukes. Guilty. He had me. Somebody saw and reported it. Or he saw it. I played dumb. “I’m not sure I follow what you’re insinu…”
He flung an open palm at me, and sighed. “Stop.” Holding the pose like a cross-walk guard, “Detective, there are cameras all over this town. Recently installed thanks to hardworking tax payers of Story Mount. Exodus Avenue is like one giant lens that never sleeps. If you ever see an incident unfolding like that, what does a citizen do?” His eyes widened and his palm stayed up. A citizen. Nice. He was working me. Emphasizing that I no longer had a badge. I looked at the floor, gave in to the feeling, cleared my throat, and swallowed.
“The citizen,” I began. “I mean, if it were me? I would inform law enforcement. Right away. Sir.”
He dropped his hand by his side. “Precisely.”
I nodded. He gestured to the door with the files. “If you don’t mind, may I have a moment of your time in my office? I have something that requires your attention.”
I nodded. “My professional attention or just as a citizen?” He threw me a deadpan glance. Thinking better of it, I held back my smile.
Wadsworth fell into his office chair behind his desk, the springs creaking against the force as he slipped on a pair of silver reading glasses and slapped the folders on the desk. With tightened focus, he looked simultaneously old and yet quite hearty and muscular, like he was too stubborn to go all geriatric, instead grabbing the years by the throat and holding them at arm’s length. A Colt .357 Magnum hung in a leather belt holster draped over the top hook of a brass coat rack behind him. The revolver, covered in gray dust and missing the rainbow carbon burns of exploded gunpowder, gave the impression of never having been fired.
“That .357 have much recoil, Chief?”
The Chief flicked his eyes at the gun, then at me. A thin smile curled at the corners of his mouth, the crow’s feet stretching out over his cheekbones. I noticed he was missing an incisor in the top row of teeth. “Just call me Jim.”
He ignored my question. He knew I knew that gun had never been fired. See, there were murmurings that some old cops in the rural countryside prided themselves on a lifetime of law and order- without ever carrying a gun. Akin to some form of angelic purity, maintaining peace like a virgin. America and the wild frontiers were purchased on black powder, settled in a hail of bullets and the mud soaked with spilled blood. So I never believed the myth about old time sheriffs and no guns carried. Except until maybe now. The old man placed his elbows on the desk, folded his hands and hesitated.
“Before we get into this,” he stirred in his seat. “I want you to know I’m sorry about your loss.” He waited for me to respond. I didn’t. “Luke and Vanessa were broken to pieces. It’s such a damn shame. Tragic. When we heard the news about her...” his voice trailed off, low murmurs going into mumbling, flitting his fingers at the air, lost.
I took a fast breath. “Thank you, Chief.”
Why in the hell had I allowed Luke to drag me into this. Probably guilt. Or hurt pride. I mean, I was staying in their home. My kids were living off their food. Free cable and hot water. No. I was obligated to be here. I had to be here. Paying a debt. Chief Wadsworth had taken to apologizing again, mumbling, the words tripping over each other. “I don’t want to dwell on your misfortunes,” he continued. “I don’t know you from Adam, but you have my deepest condolences. I just can’t imagine such a thing.” He finally sat staring at me, wordless. Drumming his fingers. Rocking a little in the chair, the springs giving off a chirp. I didn’t speak and let the silence grow heavy, and then too heavy, where the old lawman filled in the void by clapping his hands together.
“Right then,” he announced. “Let me cut to the chase Shade. Luke told me all about you. A seasoned Chicago fraud investigator in the private sector. That you have real experience. Specific experience. Working with cops. Collaborating with multiple departments.” He straightened in his chair, much taller than before, and opened the file folder. “Shade, it doesn’t take a genius to deduce you know this business inside and out.”
He held up a sheet of paper. These weren’t the case file notes for the motorcycle wreck Luke was talking about. It was my fucking resume. He grunted, adjusting the reading glasses low on his nose, putting on a frowning reading-face. “It shouldn’t come as a surprise that we are very interested in you.” Luke.
“So I took the liberty to vet you.” His face broke into a quick smile that vanished just as quickly. “I shook down your license in the Illinois data base. Even made use of an old contact of mine at the CPD from a hundred years ago. I spoke to some folks over at Frisk Investigations. And not surprisingly all sources agree. You come highly recommended.”
My stomach dropped and my heart thumped. My face flashed hot. Luke. I stood, pulled my keys out from my jeans, and spun toward the door, half wanting to flee, and half wanting to get my hands all over Luke. My brother-in-law had conned me to the police station under the guise of giving my professional input on a case. Now this. I came to this town to start over. Not to take hand-outs or free lunches just because I was a widower-drunk who couldn’t glue the pieces back together in Chicago. “I might have been a drunk but I’m not a goddamn charity case,” I blurted as made a beeline for the doorknob. The Chief was up on his feet and blocked me.
“Now hold on just a sec’.” He shook his head, not understanding. “What do you mean charity case? For being an esteemed detective, you’re jumping to some very big conclusions. Yeah?”
I eased back, twirled my keys around my index finger, faking sudden relaxation, thinking maybe he’d back off the door and I could get the jump on him.
He held up his hands. “Just hear me out Shade.”
I drew left, then right. He wasn’t biting. The idea crossed my mind but I couldn’t possibly bring myself to physically push the man out of my way. He had me. Cornered. Held hostage in a honky-tonk police station.
Wadsworth continued to block the door. “Contrary to your impression,” he said thoughtfully. “We are not in the welfare game for feel-sorry-for-me cops. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re screwed. Yes, even out here in the country. Our world has been turned upside down. Crime has a new face. But you?” He moved out of the way and gently popped the door open, giving me sincere eyes. “We need your help. But if you’re too good for that? Or too busy for us?” He waved toward the door. “Then, be my guest and I’ll be seeing you around sometime.”
I took a step forward, froze in place, waffling foot to foot an
d not going out the door. Seeing my confusion, he twisted open a set of blinds on an interior window looking out over desks, cops and young women being processed. “You see those teenage prostitutes out there? In that back corner? God damned junkies. God damned drug dealers.” He rubbed his face with both palms. He cleared his throat, and lets his hands down. “Look, my primary detective Gary Watkins got sucked up by the goddamn Kentucky State Police. Right when a heroin epidemic seems to be sweeping over the town.” He jabbed his finger at the files laying on the desk. “And now I have some exotic cluster-fuck of a motorcycle wreck on my hands.”
He turned his back to me, staring out the window into the office beyond and gave a chuckle. “And get this one. Ready for it? I got a young officer just-turned-detective assigned to the case. I love the girl. Her daddy and I go way back. But Debbie doesn’t know her ass from her toes. And it’s not her fault. Nichols is brand new to the role. Of course she’s floundering. She hasn’t been trained. All this going on in here while there’s not a kid out there living in our streets that doesn’t look like a human pincushion.”
His shoulders went heavy and silence crept in. I narrowed my eyes where the two young prostitutes sat and the desire to run away just left me. What was I running from? “Chief, while I appreciate your predicament, this is more of you doing a favor for Luke’s poor brother-in-law, right?”
“Luke had nothing to do with it.”
Wadsworth took a seat at his desk and I circled back to the chair opposite and slowly, reluctantly sat down again. “This is all about Luke trying to help me out, right?”
“Wring,” he sighed. “I heard what happened to your wife, that you were coming here. I’d heard Luke bragging about you a long time back. I lost my main detective. Then this motorcycle thing. So I called Vanessa. I twisted her arm. I got her to twist Luke’s. So on and so forth.”
“A real opportunist,” I nodded at him trying to be pleasant.
He smiled at the floor and it faded off fast.
“Chief, please understand,” I tried to explain. “I came to these mountains to decompress. I’m hardly functional, let alone becoming your new lead detective.
“Ah, you misunderstand.” He faced me head on. “I’m not asking you to work for me. I would if I could. But even I can’t make that happen. I don’t have time to sit out the four-month long application process, waiting on written exams, physical agility tests, interviews, psychological testing, polygraphs, firearms protocols and on and on. Who has time for that shit? My departments stretched and strained now. As in today.”
“Then what on earth do you want from me?”
He strolled across the office, snatched the file off the desk and chucked it into my lap. A photo of a crumpled motorcycle and another of a dead body slipped out and glided to the floor. “I was only going to ask you to come on temporarily. In the capacity of a consultant for the department. Contract only. Just until I pull a couple new cops on board.” He paused, pushing both hands into his khakis, reflecting more deeply, weighing each word. “Shade, your expertise is a rare commodity out here. Debbie could really use a mentor. I can’t break in new investigator, take on a motorcycle fatality case and achieve any of our mayor’s administrative outcomes and try to run this goddamn place at the same time. Am I looking any younger to you?” Then quickly added, “The question is only rhetorical.”
“Have you contracted help from neighboring agencies?”
“Yes,” he sighed. “I’m already contracting help from regional agencies for double pay and all I’m getting is defective rookies and zombies with badges. Honestly, I’m getting too old for this shit.”
He drew in a deep breath, his cheeks going ruddy, looking resigned to accept the world was falling apart and that maybe he should let it. I felt a weighty frustration in the air, thinking it was coming from him but instead finding it within me. I caught the idea of Emily’s voice: What are you running from?
A new realization began to fall around my feet like a thousand little questions tumbling from the sky: What exactly were my plans anyway? My two kids and I had taken up residence with Luke and Vanessa. It’s obvious I needed cash. Wait. Were Vanessa and Luke expecting me to pay them? For staying? We hadn’t even discussed it. Was I planning to…free load? If so, for how long? Until I felt better? What was I going to do when the kids returned to school? Sit my ass down in a gravel parking lot somewhere and count rocks?” And here Wadsworth was eagerly scraping the bottom of a bucket for what he didn’t realize were damaged goods. A tinge of humiliation pinpricked me, my chest swelled with resentment rising to my throat, like I might cough out black smoke. I didn’t ask to be faced with this today. I came here to find peace. For God’s sake. Now I was truly alarmed that I’d overlooked it: Cash. There had been no life insurance on Emily. All the policies were on me. If anyone died- it was supposed to be me. The house in Chicago might not sell for months. So now me, Lilly and Brant? We were stone-cold broke. Oh my God. I needed money. Had I lost all my senses? My voice cracked. “Look,” falling to a whisper, “I don’t have my investigator’s license transferred to this state yet.”
The Chief lifted his head and squinted at me. “So you are interested?”
The words came slow, like I was attempting English for the first time, the nerves dumbing me down. “I mean you’re just talking a temporary contract?” My shoulders involuntarily jumped. “Right?”
Wadsworth nodded. “Yes.”
“But like I said, to get a license in this state...”
He cut me off. “Already working on that for you. We started the paperwork yesterday because Mayor Marty Breznik’s brother works at the capitol in Frankfort. He can speed the process up. Should take a few business days at most.”
I sat nodding dumbly, trying to process the discussion and closed my mouth when I realized it was hanging open.
“Shade?”
“Yeah?”
“What did you mean when you said you might have been a drunk?”
My face flushed hot. “I was just being dramatic.” Then I remembered my sobriety. The part about honesty. “Okay,” I nodded. “Chief, I had a drinking problem. But I’m working successfully on it.”
He smiled. “I know.”
“Let me guess,” I took a breath. “Luke told you?”
“No. But I did see you walk out of the church basement door where the AA meeting is held every day.”
“How did you know it was me if you never saw me before?”
“I didn’t know it was you.” He smirked. “Not until you walked in here and introduced yourself.”
I realized it right then. There never was and never would be anything resembling anonymity in this small of a town. Especially for an alcoholic thinking he was secretly ducking in and out of AA meetings. In this rinky-dink clusterfuck, people would always know your every move. Hands down. Maybe Pauley’s third cousin strung out on heroin spotted you at a meeting. Or someone noticed you said “Just one day at a time” in nebulous conversation and flagged you. And people never kept their mouths shut. They always talked. Why struggle running from it. With this thought a sweeping sense of relief flowed over me. Once my dark secret was yanked out into the light, it vaporized into dust. The shame was gone. “Chief is this going to be a problem?”
“Well, are you in recovery?”
“Yes.”
“Does that include weekends?”
I shifted in my seat. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, that includes weekends.”
“Then frankly,” Wadsworth said, twiddling his fingers. “I don’t give a damn.”
I bit my lip and nodded. He made his way to the door and said, “Do you have your Illinois investigator’s license handy?”
“Yep”
“Hand it over.” He straightened his badge and ran his fingers through his hair. “I need a photocopy of it.”
“So I can let you in.”
“In where?”
“To go see the dead body downstairs in the morgue.”
Debbie, Luke, Chief Wadsworth and I made our way onto the elevator, sank down one level and exited into a brightly lit basement hallway, and followed the high-shine of glossy tile to the only available door that read Forensics Pathology-Morgue-Coroner. Wadsworth turned to me. “The County Coroner shares this department with us. Small towns share resources. We are more effective that way.”
He tried the doorknob and it gave no slack either direction. He rang the doorbell and waited, and rang it some more while he muttered under his breath, “Goddamned egg-head.” The door finally swung open. A short, rotund man sporting a full white beard that matched his lab jacket that dangled below his knees took to studying me with eyes magnified behind heavy prescription glasses. “Well, who do we have here?”
But Wadsworth wasn’t finished yet, running his fingers back through his hair with aggravation. “Answer the door much?”
The doctor glanced at the Chief but ignored the question and returned to me. Luke stepped forward. “This is my brother-in-law, special investigator Shade Bardane. And he wants to see a dead motorcyclist. You happen to have one handy in there?”
Skin the Cat Page 8