by Neal Griffin
“Okay. Listen up, Sarge. You got two choices. First one is Alex killed Louis Carson and then I guess that deal might not be too bad.” Tia let the words sink in before she went on.
“The only other possibility is she’s getting railroaded. Crazy, I know. But it’s one or the other.” Tia paused. “So tell me, Ben. You said you wished just one person had given you the benefit of the doubt, right? What about your wife? Don’t you figure she’s feeling the same way? Just hoping one person will stand up and fight for her?”
When Ben sat silent, Tia went on. “You don’t think Doyle McKenzie gives a shit about the truth, do you? His case is solved. He’s lining up media interviews. Probably working on a frickin’ book deal.”
“How could it be a setup?” Ben asked. “I mean, even I have to say that seems like a stretch.”
“I’ve read over what they’ve got and none of it is hard evidence. It’s got the feel of a frame-up. Believe me, I know more about this stuff than I want to admit. You don’t want to know how we worked people over in Afghanistan. If we needed to get rid of a drug lord or a local tribe leader who didn’t want to play ball, we’d build cases for what they called ‘cultural sins.’ Stuff like fraternizing with Westerners or homosexual bullshit. We didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about where the proof came from. Planting evidence, creating motive out of thin air. When it came time for the target to get stoned or his head to end up in a basket, we’d say, ‘Mission accomplished,’ and that was that. You can make anybody look pretty damn guilty if you put your mind to it.”
Ben stared at her. “Keep talking.”
“Most of what they got on Alex is pretty predictable. A weapon, blood … the bullshit pictures that are supposed to support the idea of an affair. It’s really a pretty amateur job.” Ben had never seen this side of Tia Suarez—the part of her that was a repository of subversive clandestine knowledge he was completely unfamiliar with.
“What we need to do is take it back to the beginning,” Tia said. “Working on the assumption that this is all a frame-up, then the nine one one call from the anonymous person is bullshit.” She looked at Ben. “In my mind, that makes it a pretty safe bet the caller is the killer.”
“Has McKenzie followed up on it?” Ben asked. “Has he run the number down?”
“Yeah.” Tia smirked. “To a pay phone a half mile up the road from the murder scene. Nobody saw anything. For his incompetent ass, that’s as far as it goes.”
“So? The phone location would be captured, but if it’s a pay phone there’s not much you can do with that, right?”
“Leave that to me. I’ve got some friends working on it.”
Ben’s voice was hesitant. “What are you saying? You need to keep it legit or Jorgensen will have your ass. You’ll lose your job.”
“I don’t give a shit about Jorgensen,” Tia said. “And believe me, this is old school for me. I can—”
Ben cut her off. “You’ve done enough. Really. I don’t want you in the middle of this. Alex has an attorney. I’ll light a fire under his court-appointed ass.”
Tia sounded shocked. “Court appointed? You mean like a public defender?”
Ben’s face went red and he answered, “I know. I’m working on it. The retainer to hire a private lawyer on a murder rap is pretty stiff. It’s fifty K minimum. If you really want an adequate defense, it’ll cost you six figures up front. For now, this guy is all we got.”
“Sarge, I got ten grand stuck away in a CD. My family has a farm in Mexico. Let me make some calls and—”
“Knock it off,” Ben said. “Don’t even think about it.”
“All right. But if this lawyer tries to blow you off, let me know. I’m telling you, I can find the guy who made the call, whoever he is and wherever he is. I’ll throw him in the trunk of my Goat and drop him off on your doorstep. Give you a few minutes alone with him. You got some experience in that area, right?” Tia winked, trying to get Ben to show some life. He smiled but said nothing.
“Sarge, you aren’t giving up, are you? I mean, you can’t leave this up to McKenzie, Boyd, and some welfare lawyer.”
“What am I supposed to do? I have a kid to take care of, Alex’s dad is starting to lose it, and in case you forgot, I’m suspended with no paychecks coming in. I don’t have access to a damn thing.”
“You got me.” Tia reached out and put her hand on his knee and squeezed. “Come on, Ben. Get mad. You gotta fight.”
Ben held eye contact for several seconds. “You’re a good friend, Tia. That means a lot to me right now.”
Tia stood from the chair and headed for the door. Ben stood to follow. “Go visit your wife. Take some time with her. Make sure you tell her I said hello and not to worry. We’re going to figure this out. She’ll be home in no time.”
Tia poked her head out the door and saw it was still clear. Heading for her car, she smacked the hood of the van of the sole media truck with her fist as she walked by. The driver jerked awake, and Tia got up close against the closed window and flipped him off, shouting out, “Get a life, you frickin’ leper.”
Tia had almost reached her car when the cell phone chimed in her pocket. The screen displayed “blocked number” and she knew who it was. “What’s up?”
The voice was synthesized beyond recognition and didn’t bother with small talk. “The guy you’re interested in? He made a nine one one call to the police department in a place called Danville, Illinois, about forty-five minutes ago.”
Tia waited. When the voice offered no more, she tried coaxing. “And?”
“And I’ll play it for you one time. Then it goes away forever. You ready?”
Tia sat in her car with the doors and windows shut and the sounds of the world locked out. “Yeah. Let me hear it.”
A recorded voice came over the line. Tia listened intently. The stressed tone struck her as an act from the start, but the content of the call was what took her breath.
The synthesized voice came back on the line. “That’s it. You should go down there and ask around. Call was short, but it sounded like something you’d be interested in.”
“No shit,” Tia replied, already maneuvering her car into traffic. “Okay. You said Danville PD, right?”
“Yes, that’s right. Danville. And Tia?”
“Yeah?”
“Hear me on this. I’m pulling the plug. That’s all you’re going to get, so make it work. You got it?”
“Yeah, I understand,” Tia said. “I owe you. Thanks a million.”
“You don’t owe me anything. This never happened.”
The line went dead.
Not much could be said over a cell, but what she’d just heard was damn intriguing and gave her plenty to go on. Everything Ben had said about keeping it legit was forgotten. Tia punched Danville, Illinois, into her dash-mounted GPS. A few minutes later she was southbound on I-94, pushing her luck and hoping that the Wisconsin State Patrol would look the other way for an off-duty cop doing 105.
THIRTY-THREE
Three people stood between Ben and the metal detector in the slow-moving line. Shuffling ahead, he pulled the coins and bills from his pocket and dropped them into the plastic dish; now off with the belt and shoes. Wait until called. Pass through the metal detector. Arms up for the wand. Spread your legs for the small area search. Sign the waiver. The routine was as aggravating as it was demeaning, but at least Ben’s attitude had improved. After his talk with Tia, he had showered and even shaved. A fresh shirt made him feel almost respectable. He couldn’t wait to see his wife. He needed to see her. He didn’t know what he would say to her, but somehow he had to help her hang on.
At first, the person speaking to him didn’t register.
“Hey, Sarge?” The voice was deep and commanding. “Sergeant Sawyer?”
Ben looked up to see a handsome uniformed guard with a disarming smile motioning for him to step out of line. The man wore a crisp short-sleeved uniform shirt over a V-shaped torso. Two stripes identified him a
s the corporal of the guard. His black hair was worn in a short military style, and the smooth dark skin of his arms covered muscles that stood out like thick ropes. Ben’s first impression was the guy looked pretty squared away to be part of this outfit.
Great, Ben thought. Now what? These rent-a-cops really got it in for me.
Without giving up his place in line, Ben called back, feeling defensive, “What?”
“Sir, could you step around the counter, please?” He opened the swinging gate and motioned for Ben to come through, but he stayed put.
“I’ll lose my place. Visitation starts in ten minutes, Corporal. Whatever this is about, can we take care of it after visiting hours?”
“Relax, Sarge. Just come around the counter for me.”
Ben reluctantly followed the corporal away from the visiting line and through a nearby door. They entered a comfortable room that Ben figured the guards used for lunch breaks or to catch a nap on graveyard. There was a couch and chair along with a well-stocked counter with snacks, coffee, and bottled water. The coffeepot was full and smelled fresh.
“Make it quick, Corporal.”
He looked young to be in charge but had an air about him that told Ben before too long he’d be more than a private company jailhouse guard.
“I don’t blame you for being put out,” he said. His delivery was smooth and sincere. Ben reluctantly felt himself drawn in by the man’s words. “What happened the last time you were here was uncalled for. I spoke to the officers. It won’t happen again, Sergeant.”
Ben remained skeptical but replied politely, “All right. I appreciate that. Now can I get back in line?”
“That won’t be necessary, sir. Tia Suarez called me this morning. She and I served in the Marines together. Did some time overseas. She tells me you’re a standup guy and that your wife is getting screwed. I don’t know about any of that, but I know you’re a cop and I’m not going to have you getting the shaft on my watch.”
Ben allowed himself a smile, warmed by a sense of comradeship absent from his life the past few days. It felt good, even from a security guard who was a complete stranger.
“Thanks, Corporal…?”
“Reynolds. Darnell Reynolds.” The man stuck out his hand and Ben accepted. “Have a seat, Sergeant. I’ll be right back.”
The guard left through a rear door, and Ben sat down on the arm of the comfortable lounge chair. The Brewers were playing the A’s on the television. Ben thought back to the night of steaks and beer. In another world, he’d be at that game right now, with Jake.
Ben looked at his watch and thought as nice a guy as Darnell might be, he had started to cut into his visiting time. A moment later Darnell returned along with Alex, uncuffed and without leg irons. Alex glanced around the room, confused by the break in routine. When she saw Ben, she stopped dead. Ben stood up straight but remained in place.
Corporal Reynolds stepped aside and spoke softly. “Go on, Sarge. Say hi to your wife. Give her a hug or something.”
Ben finally understood. The rules had been lifted. Tia Suarez, you are the man.
Ben walked toward Alex, who was still standing stiffly just past the door. She looked baffled. He wrapped her in his arms, and after a brief moment of tension, he felt her body go limp against his. It had been nearly a week since he’d held her, the longest such stretch since junior high. She wept in his arms.
Darnell spoke in a quiet voice. “Again, Sergeant, Mrs. Sawyer, I’m sorry for the way things have been handled. Take all the time you need. I’ll be right outside the door. The fridge is stocked with sodas and help yourself to some snacks. If you need to make phone calls, ma’am, just dial nine first, but you should be aware the line might be recorded.”
Darnell turned to go. Ben pried himself six inches away from Alex and said, in a voice cracking with emotion, “Corporal Reynolds?”
Darnell stopped in the doorway and looked back. Ben saw the man was uncomfortable with the moment, but he had to say something.
“Thank you,” Ben said. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Tia. She’s definitely got your back, Sarge.”
“I know she does, but none of us can do anything alone, right? Not even Tia.”
Darnell nodded and smiled as he left the room.
Ben held Alex as her body heaved with emotion. He rocked her gently and stroked her coarse hair, whispering in her ear in a low tone meant to soothe.
“I’m here now, baby. You’re not alone.” It came clear to Ben what he needed to say. What he knew to be the truth. He felt a growing strength in his body that had been absent for days. The words came easy. “I know you’re innocent, Alex. I know you didn’t kill Louis.”
Ben felt Alex’s arms go tighter around his neck and her sobs grew louder. “I’m sorry I doubted you. I was wrong. But we’ve got good friends, good people around us. We’re going to fight this thing and we’re going to win. It won’t be long, Alex. I’m going to take you home.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Her status as a fellow cop earned Tia access to Detective Anthony Seale, but not without a wait. She’d been sitting in the lobby of the Danville, Illinois, PD for forty-five minutes before Seale walked over and apologized for the delay, saying that the day had been hectic.
Tia was impressed with the small but bustling department. The building, the people, and the welcome afforded a visiting cop reminded Tia of the shortcomings of her own PD. All the same, Tia suspected that once she broached the subject of her visit, her favored-nation status might be in jeopardy.
In a few moments of small talk, Tia found that Detective Seale projected intellect and charm that were likely lost on most cops. Graying at the temples, dressed in a conservative high-quality suit, his appearance made him an imposing figure. The man sat at an ordinary government-issued metal desk in a gray sea of other desks, but he was not an ordinary man.
Detective Seale had spent twenty-five years on the Chicago Police Department, the last seven as a detective in the Organized Crime Bureau. He explained to Tia he decided to finish his career in a place like Danville to remind himself that people are basically good. The detective struck Tia as a solid cop in every respect. When others passed by, Tia picked up on a sense of deference offered Detective Seale. He was like the big league star, headed for the hall of fame, who’d decided to finish his career in the minors. It made Tia all the more self-conscious of her thin police résumé. Tia was slow in opening up, but eventually Seale gave her a nudge.
“You’re a ways from home, Tia. What brings you to Danville?”
The junior cop took a deep breath and dove in. “Have you heard about the murder up in Newberg? A guy named Louis Carson? Stabbed to death?” Tia gave the facts out piecemeal, waiting for Seale to acknowledge familiarity.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen the news coverage. Cop’s wife is good for it, right?” Seale said matter-of-factly.
“Yeah, that’s what everyone has pretty much decided. She’s in jail. She and her husband, Ben Sawyer, Sergeant Sawyer, are good friends of mine.”
Seale, sitting on the edge of his desktop, squirmed. “Sorry. That must be tough. Probably pretty much rocked the PD’s world, huh?”
Tia answered, “Not as much as you’d think. Probably not as much as it should have. But anyway, I’m here on kind of a related issue.”
Seale waited for Tia to continue.
“I’ve done a little behind-the-scenes work, off the grid, you might say. This morning, around eight fifteen or so, your PD got a nine one one call. Something about a guy putting something in his trunk. A rolled-up carpet? The caller thought it looked suspicious. Your front desk staff told me you caught the case. I wonder if you could tell me who it was that called?”
Seale cocked his head and after a moment asked, “Who did you say you’re with? What’s your assignment?”
Tia understood the implication. “Patrol, Newberg PD.”
“You’re a patrol officer on a small-town department in
Wisconsin and you’re hooked up enough to know who’s calling nine one one in Danville, Illinois?”
“I know that seems strange, but I’ve got a source that—”
“Hang on.” Detective Seale raised a hand in the classic Stop gesture. “I don’t think I want to hear about your source. You’re sticking your nose in on the middle of an ongoing murder case. I can’t say I get a good feeling about that.”
“Murder case? Here in Danville?” She looked at the ceiling and closed her eyes, realizing she had stumbled into a real pile of shit.
“Let me guess,” Tia spoke plainly. “It came in from a pay phone and your caller hung up before he could be ID’d. Am I right?”
Detective Seale stared hard at the cop but gave up nothing. Tia realized the time had come to put her cards on the table.
“Look, I don’t mean any disrespect. I know I’ve bent a few rules, but a person’s life is on the line. Whoever made that call here in Danville might be a player in the murder in Newberg.”
A detective greeted Seale as he walked by. Seale smiled and replied, then waited until the other man was out of earshot. When he finally spoke, Seale’s voice was clipped, with an edge of anger.
“What do you mean, a player?”
“The call you got on whatever case you’re working? It’s the same person who called Newberg PD on nine one one and reported the murder we’re working. The caller in Newberg hung up and was never ID’d.”
Seale sat stone faced and Tia tried to coax something out of him. “Does that make any sense to you?”
Detective Seale spoke with some irritation. “Whether or not it makes sense doesn’t mean I like some patrol cop monitoring my casework. Fact is, I’m wondering if I should even be talking to you about this.”
Tia stared ahead and said nothing. Seale took a quick look around and stood.
“Let’s get out of here. Get a cup of coffee. We’ll take my car.” Detective Seale took his jacket and a file from his desk and looked at Tia. “See if we can figure this out without getting you all jammed up on a half a dozen bullshit federal charges. Most of which, by the way, carry a minimum of five years.”