The Sins of a District

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The Sins of a District Page 5

by Alexander Whittle


  “The name sounds familiar, certainly didn’t recognise the guy, thanks,” Ryan replied as the lieutenant moved back out of sight behind his computer screen. The name sounded vaguely recognisable to the detective who still couldn’t remember where he knew the name Wayne Peterson from. Ryan then started to type the name into the records database hoping to find some more information on Peterson.

  “Ah there he is, Wayne Peterson, aged fifty five, arrested in 1995 for violating parole and intent to distribute, foster homes as a child,” he spoke to himself as he scanned through his data, underneath the profile was a note added saying, “prime suspect in Lincoln murder 1995, never convicted.” Just like that a cascade of memories of Peterson came flooding back to Ryan like a dam that had just been breached, memories about his interview with Peterson and how he was suspected as the only true lead in the “Jane” case, and how Ryan never thought he was the true killer. What confused him so much was why Harry was so alarmed over seeing this frail and now overweight older man just standing there, “what is it about this guy that gets him so riled up that he had to go and break a window,” he then thought crossing his arms and reclining in his chair. “He was asking me all those questions about whether I thought Peterson did it that night at the commissioner’s retirement party at Mickey’s.”

  As Ryan was midway through his thoughts, Harry had arrived at the station nursing one hand to his forehead, almost as if to suggest a migraine or a hangover, perhaps brought on by one too many during a night of heavy drinking that may have taken place a few hours before. Harry opened his now repaired door to find his window restored and collapsed himself on his office sofa. Ryan could see that his boss was in no mood to entertain ideas about yesterday’s outburst in the workplace and agreed with himself to keep his knowledge of Peterson under wraps for now until he knew more about Harry’s outburst.

  * * *

  Later that week on the Saturday evening, April Mathers was at her mother’s house where the majority of her wardrobe was still located from before the move to Ryan’s guest room. She had been planning for an evening out with Christy Walker. They had told people that they had decided to head to some college bars downtown with their fake identifications in hand, all dressed up to look older than they actually were. Her cop father never seemed to mind as long as she never caused any trouble. Her mother Jessica on the other hand was thoroughly against the idea of her underage daughter out on the town. It was obvious that she was just looking out for April, scared that a mix of alcohol and poor decisions when under the influence could get her in some trouble. The real world was dangerous these days; in her eyes she feared the worst for a young girl. Ryan didn’t really offer an opinion either way as usual it was left to her to step in as the responsible parent and thus the antagonistic guardian in their daughter’s life. Jessica’s rules and how strict she was with her child were a great source of animosity from April, who was at that age where she made it clear that she felt she didn’t need any guidance and that she could make her own rules, a father figure earlier in life could have possibly averted this sort of ideology, but Ryan was never around. Jessica entered her room to see clothes strewn all over the bed and excessively loud music blaring from the stereo,

  “Are you really wearing that?” Jessica asked, “That’s barely an outfit,” she said knowing full well that preventing her from going out was an impossible task, but at least some guidance could be given to her before she left. “I’m out myself later, going on a date with Hank again,” Jessica was separated from Ryan and had been seeing people casually for several years, yet hadn’t divorced Ryan, who had up to this point made no effort to reconnect with his wife. She was perhaps waiting for April to go off to college, if she had even planned to with her grades. Jessica was now living in a simple apartment since leaving, cosy but nice, she needed a fresh start after her history, and felt moving out on her own and away from Ryan’s neighbourhood would give her that.

  “Bye,” was the only word April offered to her loving mother before turning off the loud music, walking out of her bedroom and out of the front door, down the old wooden stairs to the street below and waving for a nearby taxi. Jessica was reaching the end of her tether and knew Ryan was to blame for her daughter’s hate for her. In that moment she was resolute in divorcing her estranged husband and ending all ties to him for good, “if she wants to live with her father fair enough, let him lay down some rules for a change,” she said claiming she was done.

  Meanwhile, across town in his run down brownstone Ryan had poured himself a drink, his first of the week to be precise. He sat down at the table in his kitchen and commenced pouring through file after file from Peterson’s history that he spent the majority of the day printing out and copying down at the station house. Most of it from the pre nineteen eighties era was either missing or lost, but that still didn’t stop him from investigating. A few hours flew by and a third of the whiskey bottle later he was still no closer in finding a connection between Harry and Peterson that he could ask him about. Ryan started to wonder if any such link even existed. As he closed the files and stacked them to one side of the table he conceded that it must have been something else that tipped Harry over the edge earlier in the week and if it was he would never find it without getting it out of Harry himself. Just then Ryan received a call from April, she sounded troubled and was slurring her words as she was asking for a lift home from a bar on 14th Street. Ignoring sound advice he had heard recently, the ethanol already flowing through his veins and the law, he felt capable to drive, the same irrational thinking that caused him to have an accident two weeks before.

  When he reached April and Christy on 14th Street both wearing a similar outfit to one he would expect a “lady of the night” to wear, he could see they were in too much of a state to answer any of his many questions about what had happened. The two young girls stumbled into the backseats of his rental car and quickly stepped on the gas, hoping no on-lookers would get the wrong ideas about who the detective had just picked up. Having arrived at the Walker residence on Garfield Terrace to drop Christy off he helped her to the door, as walking was proving difficult for her, April by this time had fallen asleep in the front passenger seat. Ryan had barely seen any of Eli Walker since that night at Mickey’s and since becoming a city councilman; he couldn’t help but be envious of his lovely home. It was a detached and formulaic suburban design that were the norm all over the neighbourhood. Lily white in colour with a double garage and crisply clean cut grass, the American flag displayed on the front porch with pride, the true model of suburban living. As he approached the front door, the light in the front room lit up the doorway as Walker opened it to greet his intoxicated daughter and the middle aged detective holding her up.

  “Oh Jesus, just put her on the sofa through there, she’ll regret that when she wakes up,” Walker claimed as he moved aside to let the pair in. “Anything to drink Mathers?” he then asked.

  “No, thank you, I really should get April home,” Ryan replied.

  “I suppose not then, you always were a light drinker,” Walker replied. He was just about to shut the door when he said, “Wait, when you caught that Jamieson fellow earlier in the week…” Eli paused, “No, wait never mind,” Walker said to Ryan as he was about to leave and drive his daughter home. He gave Eli a look of puzzlement before turning around and walking away down his driveway.

  “What the hell is going on,” he thought to himself, “why is everyone so obsessed with this Jamieson line-up.”

  As Ryan entered his car he sat there for a minute, looked back at Walker’s house as the front door was closed and the lights were switched off for the night before composedly driving away.

  * * *

  When the weekend was over and Monday morning of the final week in February arrived, Ryan reported to the station early. He was determined to talk to Harry about Peterson and the previous week’s drama. He managed to catch Harry in the break room making himself an espresso to wake himself up,

>   “Another late night?” Ryan asked his boss, “ready to tell me what happened on the phone last week?”

  “Nothing happened it was just Ellis wanting an update that’s all, excuse me,” Harry told his good friend as he walked away. Ryan however, wasn’t buying it,

  “I know about Peterson,” Ryan said just before Harry was about to leave the break room.

  “Yeah he was in the line-up last week that’s all, now if you will excuse me I have work to do, and so do you I still need to see that report on the Jamieson case from last week. His arraignment is tomorrow, so get to it,” Harry deflected Ryan’s statement acting as if it was nothing to worry himself about. The case against Jamieson was near enough a slam dunk, his DNA evidence was found in the kitchen of the crime scene. All of this from Harry only began to deepen his suspicions towards a possible link between Harry and Peterson,

  “With Walker about to ask me about Peterson the other night too, something really is going on here and the three of them are all involved with it somehow,” is what Ryan had running through his mind. Being a veteran detective of many interviews and interrogations, he could see straight through Harry’s façade as he began to walk away gently blowing on his hot coffee to cool it down before a first sip was taken. Ryan sat down in the chair at his desk flicking a pencil in between his fingers rocking backwards and forwards, he gave Harry another simple nod as he walked into his office closing the door and drawing the blinds.

  Chapter V

  That night Ryan and Claire were out sharing an evening together, the two old friends hadn’t had much chance to chitchat with each other since Ryan’s accident, outside of a grizzly crime scene. Located on L Street Northwest was a popular little Italian restaurant named Rizzo’s, it was a family oriented place that made its patrons feel welcome. The walls were brick lined and decorated with famous Italian American celebrity headshots, hanging baskets dangled from the wooden ceiling and the smell of tomato sauce and olive oil clung to the nostrils as soon as you entered.

  “You were right about Harry,” Ryan said from behind his menu, “he’s been acting very strange, and I think it has something to do with a man named Wayne Peterson.”

  “Who is Wayne Peterson?” replied Claire, neither of them averting eyes from their menus.

  “He was just some suspect from the ‘Jane’ case who is now out of prison,” Ryan said placing his menu down on the table and twiddling his thumbs.

  “Do you still think about it?” Claire asked him,

  “I think about every single one,” he replied,

  “Wow, that sure sounds depressing, even for you,”

  “Hey, it’s hard enough without being made fun of. Are you telling me you manage to forget all the people you have had lying cold on your table day after day?”

  “There is no need to go that far, I was only saying,” Claire replied.

  “...Well so was I!” he retorted,

  “You really need to move past everything, everything that’s happened, just focus on April and be happy that you can try to connect more with her now that she has moved in.” Claire said as she finished scanning through the list of things she may want to order having finally decided. Ryan nodded as their waiter finally approached them to take their orders.

  * * *

  Several hours later across town it was nearly midnight at Mickey’s. Harry was sat plastered to his bar stool; he had been there for many hours with his face buried in one drink after another. He kept reaching for his phone every few minutes to check if there were any missed calls, he was expecting Walker to meet him there a few hours ago, but so far there was no sign of him arriving. Harry was just left to wait, he signalled for the waiter behind the bar to refill his glass who politely shook his head to signify that he was cut off from any more alcohol. As he grew tired of waiting he reached for his coat and swivelled around on the bar stool ready to head for the exit. He took one step off of the stool then heard the loud thud of a ring or possibly a watch land on the bar behind him, he turned round to find Walker sitting down and dropping a fifty dollar bill on the bar for the waiter to take both their orders.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been sat here for hours waiting,” Harry said slurring his words and twirling the whiskey as he rotated the glass in the palm of his left hand.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realise I was keeping you from such important thing’s. Besides I thought you would feel right at home here, being a drunk and all,” Walker replied as he walked towards an empty booth having collected his ten dollars of change from the overly priced aged neat whiskey. Harry sarcastically laughed and followed him, clutching the free drink he didn’t pay for close to him.

  “You promised me he wouldn’t come back!” Said Harry as he sat down across from Walker in the booth.

  “Oh not this again! When are you going to let all that stuff go?” he replied to Harry.

  “But what if…”

  “But nothing!” Walker furiously slammed his hand down on the table and interrupted Harry. Some of the people at nearby tables couldn’t help but glance over to observe the commotion. Walker finished his drink, stood up and walked out the front door, leaving Harry to stare down to the bottom of yet another glass. The music had stopped playing and the house lights were raised as Harry was awoke many hours later to the sound of kitchen trays being placed upon the tables and glasses being collected by the staff. He quietly grabbed his jacket and slinked out of the side door emergency exit into the ally way behind the bar, he reached for a Lucky Strike and began to walk down the sidewalk past all the other bars at closing time. While he guided himself through the crowds of people stumbling and laughing amongst each other he found he was entering Thomas Circle Park. Harry had reached the end of 14th Street and found himself stood there gazing up at the steep spire of the National City Christian Church, Harry had never been a religious man but at a dark time in his life he couldn’t help but feel in awe of the building that stood before him. He just sat down on the cold stone steps at the front of the church and braced himself in his jacket from the freezing winds in the glow of the lights of the park. His tired eyes began to feel even heavier as he decided to enter the warm inside of the church. When Harry was a young boy a foster mother he stayed with for one year used to take him to church, he never really understood what it all was at that age but he enjoyed the days out, it was the only time he ever felt he had a loving family. Feeling lost he walked through the giant wooden entrance immediately feeling the warmth from the inside. His eyes were drawn instantly toward the large Chancel Organ that rested at the far end of the altar with the light of the cross standing above. The place was being lit by candle, just enough light so Harry could see where he was going but not enough for anyone to see him from a distance. The sides of the sanctuary were being supported by three sets of two white columns, each supporting an arch that underneath contained a stain glass window. Harry walked past at least twenty rows of pews, each footstep resounding across the stone floor before deciding to take a seat. The wood that the pew was made of creaked as Harry sat down and reached for a bible that was close by. It had been left by a previous attendee of a recent service; he didn’t open it he just ran his hand down along the leather spine and running it across the front before placing it back. Harry sat there for a few more minutes as he tried to warm up just staring at the cross above the altar.

  Part Three

  Chapter I

  On the early morning of March 3rd, detective Ryan Mathers was relaxing on the sofa holding only a cigarette and his thoughts, while the television in the foreground showed highlight after highlight from the previous night’s arenas on ESPN. Ryan was too distracted to pay any attention stubbing out his cigarette, extinguishing the end in a nearby ashtray; he was too focused on his thoughts. When he reached for another from the pack, not giving any concern to the state of his health these days, his home phone on the wall in the kitchen began to ring. It was Jessica,

  “Oh hey, I wasn’t expecting to reach anyone at this tim
e, I was just leaving a message to let you know I’m moving forward with the divorce proceedings, it’s about time wouldn’t you agree?” Jessica said, she acted almost startled in her voice that Ryan had answered the phone so early in the morning.

  “Yeah, sure whatever you think is best,” Ryan replied offering no resistance to the idea of going ahead with a divorce. He was never one to wear his feelings on his sleeve and tell people how he felt, he took all this in stride, he had seen it coming for many years and didn’t seem at all bothered, almost relieved in fact.

  “I was going to wait until April left for college but this just needs to happen for me,” Jessica responded to her distant husband. Ryan may have been socially and emotionally inept in certain situations but even he realised that this would hurt his daughter deeply. April always blamed herself and claimed openly that it was her fault her parents were not together, Ryan knew it wasn’t her fault but still he worried intensely for his fragile daughter’s feelings on the matter.

  “Expect to hear from my lawyer soon,” Jessica finally added before hanging up the phone on her husband and her marriage. Ryan hung up his receiver, he just stood worried about how April would react when he told her later that evening when she got home from school, worrying about someone else’s feelings and showing concern was a very rare occurrence for the detective. He sat back down on his sofa, switching the television off. His mind was fully swayed from the Peterson and Harry link that he was still yet to find, but instead focused on his daughter. Deciding that this was news that needed to be delivered in person he waited for her to return home from high school later that afternoon. The day went by much faster than Ryan expected, he had an awful lot on his mind,

  “Hey Dad, What’s up?” said April as she closed the door while removing her key from the other side of the lock and placing them in the bowl by the entrance. This was where the keys have always been kept since Ryan first moved in just over twenty years ago.

 

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