by Mary Calmes
“It’s defunct,” Benoit answered me; apparently, this was the part he knew about. “According to the same friend of his, Nick McCall, Evan sold the building Rabbit Run was in, and all the studio and engineering equipment, last month and was in the midst of paying off his loans.”
“Wait.” That made no sense at all. “If he’s declaring bankruptcy, why is he paying off loans?”
Benoit waggled his head for me. “Not those kinda loans.”
“Oh.” I understood. “The kind of loans the bank doesn’t give out.”
“That’s what Mr. McCall said, yes.”
“Do we have names of people he owed?”
“No. McCall didn’t know and neither did the girlfriend.”
I processed it all.
Polley needed money.
What brought in the quickest payday of all?
He was in a bathroom in a club.
Buying?
Selling?
But if the club had a strict no drugs policy… which it did….
“So he needed a big influx of cash to get square with whoever-the-fuck,” Jimmy threw out, pale-blue eyes meeting mine. “Why would he be here, then, at one of the most expensive clubs in the city?”
“You know why.” I tipped my head toward him.
“Maybe he was networking?” Benoit chimed in. “Maybe he was looking for someone to help him out with another loan.”
“His buddy said his credit was so shot no legitimate bank would touch him,” Cohen added. “If a bank wouldn’t take the risk, then we’re talking about somebody less on the up and up that he was trying to wrangle into helping him out last night.”
“No.” I shook my head because I already knew the answer. “Think about it. He would be trying to pay off his loan any way he knew how, not find someone new to hit up. And if he owed a bad guy a big chunk of cash, then he probably tapped out his friends and everyone else in his social circle. I bet there was nobody else to mooch from.”
Walking out of the stall, I crossed to where I saw faucets. There were no sinks, though, just a slanted marble slab. It was tilted downward in the back with a long trough behind it. Strange not to have sinks, but why did I care?
Sometimes my brain works backward. Trying to tell me something, make me think about something—
“Ellie,” I said, pivoting, leaning back, and crossing my arms as I gazed at her. “You won’t actually know cause of death until you get him back downtown on your table, right?”
“No, but why?”
“I feel like the gunshot wound is just a cover.”
She walked out of the stall and fastened me with a look. “Cover for what?”
“Easy.” Jimmy followed my train of thought like he always could. “Drug mule.”
“Yeah, makes sense, right?”
“It does.”
“I’m not following,” Benoit complained.
“Think about it,” I said, eyeing him. “What scenario would put Polley in this bathroom?”
Everyone stared at me in silence.
“He was hooking up,” Cohen offered. “That would explain the door being open.”
“He’s not gay, though,” I pointed out. “If he’s straight, he’s having sex in the women’s bathroom.”
“Hey, that’s sex—”
“It is not sexist,” I cut her off. “There are more stalls in the women’s bathroom.”
Ellie chuckled. “He’s got you there.”
“So, no sex but the door is open,” Jimmy went on. “Because someone is there to collect.”
“And gross as it sounds,” I said, thinking as I spoke, “whoever it is wants to see him pull the balloons out of his ass so they can make sure he didn’t fuck with anything. They wanna know that whatever they’re supposed to get is all there.”
“So we need the contents of the bowl as well,” Ellie sighed, her gaze dropping to the toilet.
“Yes ma’am.”
Jimmy grinned at me.
“I thought homicide was supposed to be glamorous,” Benoit grumbled.
“No, that’s vice,” I assured him. “They have theme music and flashy cars.”
Cohen was shaking her head.
“We need a wet vac in here!” Ellie yelled.
Oh yeah, homicide was charming.
IT WAS two days of interviewing people, looking at surveillance video, running down phone numbers and license plates, and talking to the club manager, bartenders, security, and wait staff. We put everything on the board, listed names, ran down leads, scanned pictures, and spent a ton of man-hours cross-referencing events and people from Facebook, following tweets, and checking phone records. It was tedious, and in the midst of it, I realized I really needed to get laid.
I came to that conclusion while questioning Nick McCall. Sitting across the table from him, having just delivered him a cup of coffee with cream, I noticed, more than anything else, the divot under his nose. The fine sheen of sweat above his upper lip, the freckles on the exposed patch of throat, and his collarbone were also a treat. His skin was a sort of warm nut-brown color my own paler version would have contrasted well with if, say, we were naked. He was younger than me, beautiful and hot, and the way he stared at me from beneath his thick lashes, I got the idea that maybe I was a little interesting myself. I was at least appealing in the one-night stand kind of way. It was all I really wanted.
My body, which was now finally healed, but forever altered, was ready to be used or to use another’s. Unfortunately, since Nicholas McCall had not been cleared from our suspect list, I couldn’t take him up on what he was offering.
“So tell me about the drugs,” I said.
His eyes were dark, rich, warm brown and they were locked on mine. “You know about that?”
I’d had confirmation from Ellie, but I knew even before that. Evan Polley was someone’s mule, and I needed to find out whose. “I do. Is there any possibility that you have a name for me? That you might have seen him with someone?”
“No,” he confirmed but hesitated.
I sat there listening to him breathe, watched him worry his bottom lip. “But?” I led him.
“But,” he said, slouching forward, never breaking my gaze. “That’s because we really weren’t that close for the last couple of years. He got to be the kind of guy that, if you couldn’t help him, if he couldn’t get something from you, he didn’t have time for you anymore.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine; I got over that a long time ago. But if you really want to talk to someone who knew him, you should talk to Max Sutter. He and Evan have been friends since prep school—I mean, we all have—but Ev, he hit Max up for a lot of cash when the business started bleeding money.”
“Okay.” I smiled, closing the file and pushing back from the table.
He cleared his throat. “So am I still a suspect, Detective?”
“Until we rule everyone out, I’m afraid so.”
“Okay.” He sounded disappointed.
“Why?”
His sudden grin was really nice. “You know why.”
And I did. Pulling a card from my wallet, I passed it to him. “If you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call me.”
He seemed so relieved as he ran the card across his lips. “I won’t.”
I was up and out of the room seconds later.
Once I was back at my desk, I called Cohen and relayed the message for her and Benoit to go talk to Max Sutter.
“He’s just going to lawyer up.”
“Maybe not. Just go see what he knows.”
“Shouldn’t it be you and O’Meara?”
“No,” I said, making sure there was a tone in my voice that let her know she was not allowed to question me.
“On our way.”
I grunted and hung up.
“You sent them to bother the rich people, didn’t you?” Jimmy solicited from his desk across from mine.
I waggled my eyebrows.
“That’s a dick move.
”
“I care.”
“They’re just gonna crash up against the lawyer wall.”
“Probably. Let’s eat.”
“You’re buying,” he informed me.
“If I buy, I get to choose.”
“As long as we don’t have to go to that same hot dog—no.” He sounded serious. “I’m not twenty-two anymore. I can’t eat ground up—D! Are you listening to me?”
I wasn’t. Didn’t he get it? Bad cop food was part of the gig. “What cops eat salads? Do you know any?”
“Do you have any idea what my cholester—D!”
But I was out the door before he could say anything else.
IT WAS never easy. Nothing ever was.
My phone rang as I shoved a chili dog piled high with sauerkraut into my mouth. Jimmy was revolted and shook his head as I answered.
I made a sound of greeting since my mouth was full.
“Duncan.”
The voice sent a roll of heat through me that was surprising. How was I still having a reaction to the gravelly voice of Aaron Sutter? Why did my breath hitch, my stomach drop, and why on earth was my body flushing cold right after burning up with no problem at all? What the hell was with that?
“Aaron,” I managed to choke out.
“I need to speak to you.”
“About?”
He coughed. “Max called to tell me that your detectives were at his townhouse wanting to talk to him.”
“And did they?”
“Yes.”
“And was he helpful?”
“I believe so.”
“Okay. I’m confused, then. Why the call?”
He cleared his throat. “I was annoyed that you hadn’t bothered to show up to speak to him when I learned you were the lead detective on the case.”
“Yeah, but—”
“And then Max said, ‘Oh no, Duncan would never come to my home or yours.’”
I made a noise of agreement.
“Duncan,” he said my name coldly. “Not Detective Stiel. But just Duncan, like you two are old friends.”
“Yeah,” I said dryly. “We’re not friends.”
“But Max was just so sure you would never show up at his home, let alone mine.”
“No, of course not,” I agreed, annoyed suddenly. As though I were not a man of my word. Who did he think he was talking to?
“Of course not,” he repeated.
Long silence that I wasn’t sure what to do with. “Aaron?” I finally said to check if he was still on the phone.
He inhaled deeply.
“What’s this all about?”
“Well, it seems that you and Max both saw this as a foregone conclusion.”
“You lost me.”
“The fact that you would never come to my home; apparently, both you and my brother were certain it was impossible.”
“Right. I would never. I told him to tell you that. I promised him and I promised you.”
“I see.”
“I would never put you in that spot. It would be reckless and selfish and—”
“But I didn’t know that.”
“I’m sorry?”
He cleared his throat. “I said, I didn’t know that.”
“Didn’t know what?”
“That you and Max had spoken,” he said, clipping his words. “Because you see, I, unlike you and Max, was not privy to that conversation. I wasn’t part of that decision.”
I got up and walked away from the food truck where I had been standing with Jimmy. “Listen, in the hospital, I—”
“You were in the hospital?”
“You know I was. You just—”
“That’s why you didn’t call.”
“No,” I flared. “I didn’t call because I was held for five days, and I took a bullet, and had my arm broken and then I was in the hospital, and—”
“You were held?” His voice cracked.
“Aaron,” I said gently. “We don’t need to—”
“And someone broke your arm?”
“Aaron––”
“You were shot?”
“Why are you—”
“So let me get this straight. You were detained, bones were broken––”
“It was just my––”
“A bone was broken,” he amended, “then shot, and then in the hospital. Do I have the sequence correct?”
“Well, yeah, but you have guys that could have reported all that back to you if you wanted. I mean, I get that you were busy fighting your dad and trying to keep him from taking away your company and everything else. You didn’t have time to check on—”
“Stop,” he ordered. “I was waiting for a call, and then I was pissed, and now I’m something else altogether.”
“Yeah, but you don’t hafta be anything. Everything’s fine. Our timing was just crappy, and—”
“Duncan.”
“No, come on, Aaron. We still can’t be seen just hanging out. Your little brother was just looking out for your best interests because that’s how he—”
“Duncan!”
“It’s fine. I get it.”
“You don’t get anything, and neither does he!”
“But it’s been a while, so—” I exhaled sharply. “—water under the bridge, right?”
Silence.
“Aaron?” I was shifting from one foot to the other, anxious but not understanding why.
“So the day my brother came to the hospital… they just let him in?”
It was a weird topic change. “What?”
“You were recovering, were you not?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And the police just let my brother in to see you, opened the door right up for him?”
“No, of course not.”
“Right.” Quick sigh. “So that’s my question. He was announced. They asked you if he could come in.”
“Yes.”
“And you thought what?”
“I don’t get what you’re trying to—”
“You thought that Max was there to see you or that I was there to see you?”
“What?”
“You’re not dense, so stop pretending to be.” His anger was there in his voice. “I don’t like it, and I don’t appreciate it. Answer the fucking question!”
“Aaron—”
“Answer!”
“They said Mr. Sutter was there to see me,” I said flatly.
I heard him inhale. “And you thought it was me.”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Now this part is important. When you thought it was me, what did you think?”
No way was I answering.
“Duncan?”
“What?”
“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t hedge, just say.”
“It was a long—”
“It wasn’t. Speak.”
“I’m not your dog that—”
“No. You don’t get to pick a fight to deflect me either. Answer.”
“This isn’t important.”
“I assure you, it’s critical.”
“Just—”
“Tell me now,” he demanded.
“Aaron—”
“Duncan,” he said my name sounding suddenly breathless. “What. Did. You. Think?”
I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me.
“Please,” he pressed me.
“Fine, whatever. When I thought it was you coming in, I was happy. That’s stupid to even ask me!” I retorted, angry at him for making me go back and think about it. “Yeah, I wanted to see you; I was fucking dying for it. Does that get you off, make you hard?”
“You’re an idiot!”
“Fuck you!” I yelled.
The call ended abruptly, and I was left to stare at my phone.
When I walked back to Jimmy, he seemed confused. “Everything all right?”
“It’s fine,” I growled.
“Yeah, it sounds peachy.”
I flipped him off, and we
at least made sense.
After lunch I went with him to talk to a couple of witnesses from the party, who both put themselves across town at the time of the murder. Back at the station, I made calls, checked their alibis, and then added them to the growing case file filled with dead ends.
I was going through the surveillance video from the club again when Jimmy’s throat clearing made me glance up. He tipped his head, and I saw Cohen and Benoit leading Maxwell Sutter back toward the interrogation rooms. He had a man with him in a bespoke suit, topcoat hanging over one arm, a briefcase in his other hand.
“Oh, he lawyered up fast,” I groused at my partner.
“Yeah, he did,” Jimmy agreed. “They must have—oh.”
My attention went back to Jimmy, who wasn’t focusing on me but instead on Cohen as she crossed the room to me.
“Hey,” she began. “Max Sutter says he’s only talking to you.”
“Sure.” I gave her a trace of a grin and got up to follow.
“There’s a mob of reporters outside,” Benoit relayed when he joined us. “TV, newspaper, magazine—you name it, there’s somebody out there.”
“Have his driver come around back to where the jail transport normally picks up.”
“Will do.”
“Let’s get Max back out of here without any pictures.”
“We’ll do our best.”
“No,” I insisted. “Not our best. Let’s just make it happen.”
“Yes,” they both answered at the same time.
It was strange how the sounds bounced off the walls in the hall, how I noticed the cracks in the concrete floor, the rust on the vents, and the chipping paint on the doors. On the walls, I saw the framed pictures of police academy graduating classes, Medal of Honor winners, and the current police commissioner and various other officers. All the things I normally passed without notice suddenly came into sharp focus as I was reminded how much I still missed Aaron Sutter.
In the room, I took a seat across from Max Sutter and his lawyer. I didn’t even glance at the little brother; my attention went first to the lawyer.
“Vaughn Holtz of Holtz and Maitland,” he said as he eyed me.
“Okay.”
“Against my better judgment, my client wants to share with you what he knows about the incident in the club, Detective, but I need—”
“No,” Max cut him off, and I saw him take a shuddering breath.
“Max—”