Great, I thought. Not only had I stumbled across the one and only redneck Hispanic in the entire southeast, but I had gotten a synopsis of his family’s medical history thrown in for free. I’d bet any amount of money that old George had no more than three deputies and two dogs working under him, but I still did my best to put a professional phone voice on, if only to get the call over with as soon as possible. By that point, a face-to-face conversation with Clyde Edwards was starting to seem like the lesser of two evils.
I faked a laugh. “Okay then, George it is. This is Mike Larsen calling, I’m a detective with the Charleston Police Department.”
George cut me off. “Well! Charleston, huh? The big city! I haven’t been down thataway since, hell, musta been at least five years gone by now. My wife loves them carriage tours ya’ll got in the ol’ City Market.”
I looked in Clyde’s direction once more before rolling my eyes. The horse-drawn carriages were a huge tourist draw but personally, I’d never seen the appeal of paying god money to ride behind a horse’s ass. Long ago, when a couple companies first started giving carriage tours, the uppity rich people downtown raised hell because the horses were crapping in the street right out there in front of their million-dollar homes. The whole argument got pretty heated and finally the city council passed a law requiring all of the horses to wear diaper bags on their harnesses. This law solved the problem of crap in the streets, but it also meant that if a horse dropped a pile once a tour group was on the move, all the people would be stuck right behind that stinky diaper bag for the rest of the tour. That just didn’t seem like fun to me, since working at CPD usually provided all the horseshit I could handle.
I forced myself to focus on the work at hand. “Yes, sir, George. I’m calling about one of your missing persons who turned up dead here yesterday. Shawn McGurn.”
I heard him laugh on the other end of the line. “McGurn, yup. He’s been in the wind for some time now, but I wouldn’t say anyone’s been missing him. I tell you what, it’s been a real shame having one less lawyer hanging around the county courthouse.”
So McGurn hadn’t been an uppity doctor, but rather an uppity lawyer. Well, that was just as bad in my book, and my fake laugh was a little easier in coming this time. “I’ll bet. Listen, it looks like he jumped off one of the parking garages downtown and I’m still trying to figure out why he was here in the first place. Do you know if McGurn had any family in Charleston?”
George didn’t have to think very long. “Naw, he didn’t have any family anydamnwhere. He just up and went missing sometime back, didn’t tell nobody nothin’.” I took a closer look at the Henderson County incident report and noticed that it had been authored by Lieutenant George Hernandez himself, so there was a fifty-fifty chance that the narrative section had used the exact same wording.
He went on to say, “Hell, if I was a bettin’ man, I’d wager he’d decided to kill himself a good while back, only there just aren’t any buildings tall enough to jump off around these parts. The highest one that comes to mind is that old barn way out past the Johnson place, but that thing’s been condemned for years. Rotten boards, ya know? It just ain’t safe.”
George had this one-sided way of talking where he only interrupted himself long enough to take a breath before jumping right back in. “Ya know, it took over a week without him showin’ up at the law office ’fore someone finally bothered to report him missing. I think his partners must have been enjoying a nice break from his pompous ass, maybe. It was one of his clients finally called us, and that was only after McGurn skipped out on her traffic court date. Can you believe my luck on that? There I was, settin’ at the magistrate’s for three hours waitin’ on McGurn to show up, and then I still got stuck writin’ the report for his ass! And on top of all that, the judge dismissed her ticket!”
I couldn’t hold back a soft groan. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a whiner, and George’s voice was starting to get on my nerves. His flapping gums made this soft smacking sound, almost like he was eating a cheeseburger between each sentence. My stomach rumbled at the thought and it was getting dangerously close to lunchtime, so I did my best to keep the conversation moving along. “Yeah, your guys faxed over a copy of the report.” I pulled one of the papers out of the file and held it up to read it. The smudged photocopy looked as if it had been written in crayon. “Did McGurn have any kind of medical conditions?”
George came right back with another one-liner. “Now that you mention it, he did have one pretty severe condition: Inflammation of the asshole.” He laughed at his own joke with a series of big, horsey-sounding “Haws.” I spent a long moment doodling on the reports before George recovered his composure. “That old boy picked apart every one of my cases! He’d even call my deputies out as liars when they were up on the witness stand. I mean, hell, that guy was nothing but a shysty lawyer who’d pull all the dirty tricks to get a case kicked out of court.”
I stifled a yawn.
“But why are you concerned with his health?” George asked. “Even if he did have some sort of medical problem, it’s certainly cured now.”
I scratched my chin with my pen. “Well, George, it’s like this. The only thing about the case that struck me as odd was the fact that McGurn was wearing a hospital gown when he jumped off the garage. I called around to all the hospitals and clinics down here, but none of them have any record of him as a patient. The thought occurred to me that he might have been in some type of home care with a member of the family, maybe something like that.”
A rustling sound came across the line, and I could just see George scratching his head in a state of puzzlement. “He sure didn’t have any kin ’round these parts we could talk to, or any folks at all that I know of. I tell you what, though, when me and the magistrate went to his house to check on him, that place looked like he just got a wild hair and packed up and left. We even poked around pretty good, but didn’t find no prescription medicine or nothing like that. Now I don’t know how much you’ve dealt with missing persons –”
I cut him off: “That’s all I handle.”
“Well hell, Mike, you probably know the drill a whole lot better than I do then. The crazy old bird that McGurn was representing only needed a missing persons report on him so the judge would dismiss her charges, and I only entered him into NCIC to cover my ass.”
I leaned back in my chair and cursed, frustrated at hitting another dead end.
After a moment, George piped up again. “You said he jumped off a building, right?”
I took a long look around Central. The office was completely empty save for myself and Clyde Edwards, since the other detectives were probably out on the streets hiding and pretending to work their cases. I glanced at all the papers that were still waiting on my desk and let out a sigh of defeat. “That’s right. He jumped off the seventh story of a parking garage and went face down into the street.”
“Seven stories!” George let out a low whistle of amazement, which made me wonder if he’d ever seen a building that tall. “And you said he was wearing a hospital gown, right? Was that the kind that leaves nothin’ to the imagination down there in the seat?”
“You guessed it.”
He paused for one more second. “Then trust me on this one, Mike. You’ve already seen everything you need to know about Shawn McGurn. The man was an asshole, plain and simple.”
I couldn’t help laughing for real at that one. Maybe George was okay after all, even if he did live and work in the middle of nowhere. I thanked him and put the receiver down as he was still horse-laughing away on the other end.
Since I finally had a name to put with a flattened face, I felt a little bit of the morning’s spunk coming back. I flipped on my computer, cracked my knuckles and typed out a one-paragraph report that closed out the case as a suicide. Seeing as how McGurn had also been reported as missing, I figured that the investigation probably would’ve ended up coming my way sooner or later. All things considered, it’d be a
nice surprise for Big Jim if I had another file already closed out before he asked for it. Yeah, it was a little more work than I was used to, but at least my statistics for the week looking downright impressive.
I checked the clock again. It was almost eleven, which meant that I had just enough time to knock out another call before lunch. Clyde Edwards was still jawing away to someone on his own extension, so I threw my pen at him and snatched up my stack of message slips. There were a few calls from reporters seeking gory details on the suicide case, so those were the first to get thrown in the trash.
That left only one more message, but I let out a sigh when I read that it was from Katie Maslow. The slip was marked “Urgent” and it was in reference to the McGurn autopsy, so I reluctantly dialed the number for the coroner’s office and punched in her extension. Katie’s voicemail picked up after only a few rings and I figured it couldn’t have been too urgent if she wasn’t in her office waiting for a return call, so I left a quick message as proof that I was actually working.
It was still a little early for lunch, even by my standards, but there really wasn’t much work left thanks to my breakneck pace. Whatever Katie Maslow needed could apparently keep for a little while, and I’ve never been one to just sit around and wait for the phone to ring. I walked out of the office without saying a word to anyone, heading straight for the parking lot. It was shaping up to be a gorgeous, sunny day, and I couldn’t help thinking that a picnic lunch on the Battery might just be in order.
16.
If someone ever bothered to ask what my favorite hobby was, besides drinking of course, I’d have to say that it’s feeding pigeons. Those little birds crack me up when they spend all their energy fighting with each other over a few small crumbs. They love you like crazy as long as you’ve got something for them, but the second the bread runs out, you’re ancient history. Come to think of it, pigeons are a lot like women that way.
White Point Gardens is a beautiful little park downtown, and it was one of my favorite places to pass the time on day shift. As I sat on a park bench and watched a few small boats drift out along the Ashley River, the sun sparkled on the water as they passed me by. I’d picked up a huge Italian sub sandwich from the East Bay Deli and those mooching pigeons had been giving me such sorrowful looks as I sucked down the thick slices of salami, each one slathered in a greasy layer of mayonnaise, that I really had no choice but to share the wealth. As I shook the last crumbs out of the butcher paper and left them to fight over my scraps, I tried to dream up an excuse for drifting out of work early. Finally, after a solid two hours and change, I figured it was probably time to make another appearance so I headed back to the station. Big Jim was waiting for me in his usual spot at the door, arms crossed with a marked frown plastered across his weathered face.
“Where have you been?” he asked, almost as if we were a married couple and I’d been out late at the bar or something. “I’ve been calling you on the radio for the past thirty minutes!”
Whoops. I’d left my walkie-talkie upstairs on my desk as usual. “Sorry boss, I was out on a follow-up investigation.” I didn’t put much effort into the lie since it was lunchtime and honestly, Jim should have known better than to ask.
“An investigation?” he said. “Where? Wendy’s or Pizza Hut?”
Well, what do you know, I thought. I guess he does know better. But see, when someone asks you a question while they’re already pissed off, there’s never going to be a right answer you can give them. It’s best just to try and dodge the question altogether while you work towards changing the subject. My boss clearly had my number, so I had no choice but to pat my stomach and confirm his suspicions. “Come on Jim. How can you expect a high performance law enforcement machine to run without any fuel?”
Big Jim just glared at me. I gathered that he must have still been in a pissy mood from dealing with Squealer that morning, as if I could have somehow been to blame for that whole encounter.
“But what’s up, boss?”
The question was all it took to break his silence. “What’s up is that little number Maslow has called twice in the past hour, desperately trying to get a hold of you.” His comment struck me as funny since there’s certainly nothing little about Katie, but my better judgment told me to keep my mouth shut. Jim’s nostrils flared out as he looked ready to boil. “I was tempted to give the coroner’s office your cell phone number.”
I remembered Squealer’s call from the day before, and I knew that Big Jim wouldn’t hesitate to act on his threat if he ever got good and pissed at me. The thought of Katie calling me after hours to discuss cases was more than I could bear, and I broke out in a cold sweat. When Jim saw my reaction and broke out with a big grin, I realized he was just messing with me.
Jerk, I thought as I bit my lip. I might have actually been worried if that guy could just manage to keep a straight face every so often. “You’re bluffing, boss,” I said with a voice of authority. “Besides, I always check the caller ID.”
As he leaned his head back and laughed, I realized that one of the best things about having Jim for a boss is that he never seems to stay mad for very long. Come to think of it, that’s one of the best things about working at CPD in general. No matter how badly you screw up, some other idiot will eventually come along and pull an even stupider move that’ll make your blunder seem like yesterday’s news.
“Just give her a call and see what she wants, would you? Get her off my back already. Oh, and you’ve got a visitor in the lobby too. Not sure what they want, but it sounded like they’ve been waiting for a while.”
I sighed and let my shoulders slump forward, doing my best to look overworked. It wasn’t an easy task , but I’ve had years of practice. “Who is it? One of my many admirers?”
Big Jim just smiled. “Yeah, it must be. Between me, Chief Greene and Squealer, you’ve got a regular fan club these days.”
I smiled back at him. Both of us knew that out of those three people, only Jim’s opinion really counted for anything.
“Some middle-aged lady, probably looked good ten years ago. I forgot her name, but she’s the wife of your missing-guy-turned-car-burglar.”
“James Smithson. The wife’s name is Alicia.”
He nodded. “That’s the one. She’s been waiting in the lobby, said you asked her to stop by. Do me a favor and get in there before you get tied up with anything else, okay? The desk sergeant’s been calling you on the radio for a while now.”
“Who’s on duty today?”
“Your best friend. The Hamster.”
I couldn’t hold back a sneer. The Hamster was Sergeant Thom Boyd and that was Thom with not just a T, but with a Th. That little rodent always got his panties in a knot whenever some rookie dared to misspell his first name, even though it didn’t matter since he was the only officer we had named Boyd. The Hamster was the type of guy who would get all anal about that sort of thing since he was technically a sergeant and could pull rank, although no one but the rookiest of rookies ever gave him any respect.
He’d earned himself the nickname because of his short, round body, and the way he moved in these quick, jittery motions. His face was a permanent shade of red with this twitchy little nose that stuck out front, so if you squinted and looked just right you could almost imagine little whiskers growing beneath his eyes. Boyd was the kind of cop who’d get dispatched to a fight call and circle the block a few times looking for a parking spot just to make sure he wasn’t the first one on scene. Of course, once he finally got to a disturbance the Hamster would go around running his mouth and strutting his stuff, but only if the suspects were already wearing handcuffs in the back seat of somebody else’s cruiser.
I looked up. “Jim, do you really think I care about the Hamster’s opinion?”
He didn’t say anything, but just crossed his arms to give me a lazy stare. Both eyes held their focus for an extended period.
“Okay, okay,” I finally said. “I’m on it, boss. Have I ever let you do
wn?”
Big Jim shook his head and walked off toward his car. He was probably easing into his weekend mode a day earlier than usual, so I figured I might not see him until later that afternoon, if at all. At least for us worker bees, though, it seemed like there was no rest for the weary. I ducked into the locker room on my way in, taking a minute to splash some water on my face and wipe the breadcrumbs off my tie before I headed into the main lobby.
The Hamster was still manning his post, which was nothing more than an old desk and chair set back behind a sheet of plexiglass. As soon as I walked in Boyd gave me this look of outrage as he held up his arm and pointed at his wristwatch. I rolled my eyes, giving him a discreet middle finger in return. It was just like the Hamster to act tough whenever he was safely tucked away in the penalty box. Shaking him off, I pulled a chair over to where Mrs. Smithson was sitting and thanked her for stopping by.
She smiled, though her eyes were still red and puffy. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a photo for you yesterday,” she said. “It’s just that it was so painful, walking past them all the time. I was spending hours staring at James’ picture and then one day I just couldn’t do it anymore. I had to pack all of our family photos away or I’d have gone insane.” She passed a large manila envelope over to me.
I opened it, pulled out the photos inside and flipped through them. One showed Alicia and James at the beach. She looked a lot slimmer in the photo so I figured it must have been taken some years ago, long before all those pounds crept their way onto her hips. The next shot was more recent, the two of them posing in front of a Christmas tree, maybe from the year before. Judging by the look of Alicia’s stretch pants, they must have just finished stuffing themselves with a holiday dinner. It looked from all angles like the Smithsons lived an average, middle-class life, a fact that bored me immensely. Out of respect for Alicia’s grief, though, I stifled the urge to yawn.
Burnout (Goosey Larsen Book 1) Page 15