A Steep Price (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 6)

by Robert Dugoni

  She shut off the engine and took a moment to decompress, thinking again of what Kins had said about having a child, about how things would change, that it was inevitable. Just this morning, Dan had fretted about the size of their farmhouse, with its single bathroom, lone bedroom, and tiny kitchen.

  “It’s a baby,” Tracy had said to calm him. “We’re not adopting an elephant. We can worry about remodeling, or moving, later.”

  But she, too, had moments of concern. She’d soon need a new wardrobe—she could no longer button her jeans with the baby bump, and her shoes and bras were tight. She looked around the interior of the truck cab. Though she kept the truck in mint condition, it didn’t have air bags or shoulder belts, or any of the other safety bells and whistles. She’d have to get a new car for the baby—something sturdy and maternal, like a Volvo or Subaru.

  Dan stepped out the sliding glass doors onto the deck. He held barbecue tongs. Tracy had called to tell him she’d be late, and he’d promised to have dinner waiting. He smiled at her from behind round wire-rimmed sunglasses and clacked the tongs together playfully, as if to pinch her. Barefoot, Dan wore his cargo shorts and a Bruce Springsteen T-shirt he’d bought at The River revival concert at Key Arena. Additional concerts would be on hold for a while.

  Tracy turned off the stereo and stepped down from the cab. She patted and rubbed the big dogs’ heads and sides as they circled her, panting, tongues hanging from their mouths, their fur warm from the sun. Around them, the air buzzed and the brown grass crackled as if with static.

  Tracy climbed the steps, and she and Dan kissed. His sunglasses weren’t the only similarity to John Lennon, the Beatles founder. Dan wore his hair long. The curls brushed the collars of his dress shirts.

  “You’re certainly putting this deck to good use,” Tracy said. Dan built the deck to give them more room. In the summer, he was usually grilling something. “Put a desk and a computer out here and it could be your office.”

  “How’s our little tadpole doing?” Dan asked, placing a hand on Tracy’s stomach.

  “Hungry,” she said.

  “I just put the halibut on. Why don’t you change?”

  She went to one of the Adirondack chairs where Roger, their cat, lay stretched out. When she rubbed his coat, he startled and scratched at her. “Fine, be that way,” she said, shooing him from the chair and taking his place. “But don’t come running to me tonight when I’m in bed.”

  Tracy reached for a glass of iced tea and sipped it, grimacing at the bitter, unsweetened taste. “God, how do you drink this stuff without any sugar?”

  “Bad day in court?” Dan asked, clearly sensing her mood.

  “Court was fine, except I had to pee every five minutes.”

  “Still?”

  She had questioned her doctor about her urgent need during the most recent exam, but he had assured her that the increased sensation was perfectly normal and caused by pressure on her bladder. It was all very clinical, but of little comfort. “It got worse when I went back to the office.”

  “Having to pee?”

  “My day. I ran into my replacement in the bathroom.”

  Dan flinched as if he’d been the one pinched with the tongs. His eyebrows inched together above his glasses. “I thought you didn’t tell anyone except Kins.”

  “I didn’t, but when I stepped into the bathroom, I bumped into a woman who said Nolasco had hired her to work with the A Team. I know I should be happy to have another woman in the section, but my initial impression is I’m not going to like her much.”

  A buzzer sounded on Dan’s phone. He shut it off, lifted the lid on the barbecue, which emitted smoke and the smell of herbs, and flipped the halibut, along with two ears of corn wrapped in foil. The top side of the halibut now displayed blackened stripes. Dan spoke as he coated the fish with what looked and smelled like butter-and-garlic sauce. “What about Ron Mayweather? I thought he was your fifth wheel.”

  “He is . . . was. Nolasco said Ron opted to take a permanent position on C Team. One of their detectives is retiring end of December.”

  Dan gave a small shrug, reset the timer, and closed the lid. “Maybe this woman won’t be so bad.”

  “Maybe. She’s a good-looking Hispanic woman, which is reason enough for Nolasco to hire her.”

  “Don’t hold that against her.”

  “I’m not. But I am wondering if he hired her to replace me when I go out on maternity leave, with the hope that I won’t be back.”

  “You might be giving him a little too much credit, don’t you think? How would he know if you hadn’t told anyone?”

  “She clearly knew.”

  “She did?”

  “Called me on it about five seconds after I met her. Asked, ‘How far along are you?’” Tracy looked out at the dead grass. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am making too much out of it. I know I can’t hide being pregnant forever.”

  “No, you can’t, but Nolasco also can’t fire you or give your position away. He isn’t that dumb, is he?”

  “I’d like to say no, but . . .”

  Dan gave her a knowing look. “Something else bothering you?”

  “Maybe it’s just my hormones, but I’m tired of fighting this crap, Dan.” She rubbed Sherlock’s head and kissed his nose.

  “What are you saying? You don’t want to go back after the baby’s born?”

  “I’m not saying anything. I’m just thinking things over.”

  “Are you thinking about quitting?”

  She looked up at him. “Why? Do you think I should quit?”

  “I think you should do whatever you want.”

  “Why’d you ask me?”

  Dan looked confused. “Because you said you were tired of fighting the bullshit day in and out?”

  “I am. And I’d like to tell you that I’d never give Nolasco the satisfaction of quitting, but yeah, I guess I am thinking about what to do when the baby is born.”

  Dan leaned his back against the railing. “What brought this on?”

  “Kins.”

  “Kins? I would have thought he’d be the one trying to convince you to stay.”

  “He said things change when you have a baby, that I might want to stay at home.” She took another sip of the tea and again grimaced. “Never understand why you don’t add sugar,” she said.

  “Not everyone is built the same, Tracy.”

  “Are you talking about the iced tea or staying home when the baby is born?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  She stood to change out of her clothes. Maybe she was just hot and tired and hungry. Or maybe it was what Kins had said to her. “Realistically, this may be the only child we’re ever going to have. I don’t want to miss out on things because I’m working. Kins said that in a few months they’ll be taking Connor off to college—”

  “Is that what this is about? He’s just emotional, Tracy, because his son is leaving.”

  “No,” she said. “He’s emotional because his son will no longer be living at home, and he wishes he could have spent more time with him. He told me not to feel bad if I want to stay home with our baby.”

  “Well, maybe he’s right.” The alarm sounded. Dan shut it off but didn’t immediately raise the barbecue lid. “I certainly don’t mind, Tracy. We don’t need your salary. But we also don’t need to make the decision tonight. If you want to stay home when the baby’s born, make that decision then.”

  “You’d be all right with it?”

  “If that’s what you decide you want to do.”

  She nodded to the barbecue. “Don’t burn that halibut.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Faz and Del took the convenience store video to Park 95. The video unit would get to work in the morning and try to come up with a license plate number for the parked car, the white SUV, or both.

  Faz drove from Park 95 to his home in Green Lake. When he pulled down his driveway, he triggered the light on the cornice of the freestanding garage,
and it illuminated the mounted basketball hoop and backboard. There had been years when Faz could not park in the driveway, back when Antonio was still playing basketball at St. John’s Grammar School, and later at Bishop Blanchet High School.

  Faz had loved those years, especially the summer nights when the neighborhood kids came over, and he and Vera fed them. They would have had half a dozen kids, but it wasn’t meant to be. He and Vera had married later in life. Their first date had been set up by their parents, though they were quick to note that it hadn’t been a blind date—their families had been longtime acquaintances and had arranged for the two of them to meet for coffee. Faz fell in love at first sight. Vera said it took her longer, three dates. They were married three months from that first date, then decided it best they get to know one another before having their first child. When they’d started trying, Vera couldn’t get pregnant. It took another year. After Antonio’s birth they tried for a second child, but when Vera again couldn’t get pregnant, she went to the doctor. They found a tumor in her uterus that tested malignant and required that she have her uterus removed, which ended talk of any more kids. The doctor said they’d been lucky; that if they hadn’t been trying to get pregnant, they never would have found the tumor and it could have spread. Faz said it was love that had saved Vera’s life, and they’d poured all of that love into Antonio, who now lived not far from them in Fremont.

  Faz stepped from the car, his sport coat draped over his arm. He’d loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. At the back door, another light triggered. He’d installed that light for Vera, so she wasn’t coming home in the dark during the winter months. He was searching for his house key on his key ring when Vera pulled open the door.

  “I thought I heard you drive up,” she said. “Were you on a phone call?”

  “Hey,” he said. “No, I was just thinking about all those years we couldn’t park in the driveway because Antonio was playing basketball.” Faz dropped his watch, keys, wallet, and cell phone in a basket by the back door, a habit so he wouldn’t forget them in the morning.

  Vera smiled at the memory. “Any leads on the shooter in South Park?” she asked.

  Faz had called to let her know of the shooting and that he’d be home late. “Maybe,” he said. “Don’t I get a kiss hello?”

  Vera turned back and kissed him.

  He removed his tie and spoke as he walked into the adjacent dining room. He draped both the tie and his jacket over the back of a chair. He told her of the convenience store and the videotape showing the possible shooter. “We might have caught a lucky break. The video unit is breaking the tape down for us tomorrow.”

  Vera turned toward the stove. “Are you hungry? I made chicken Milano and polenta. Antonio gave me the recipe.” Antonio worked as a chef at an Italian restaurant and was saving money to open his own place. He intended to call it Fazzio’s. Faz almost cried when Antonio delivered the news.

  “How about that?” he’d said to Vera. “I always knew I’d see my name in lights.”

  “Did you talk to him today?” Faz pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table. “How’s he doing?” He rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves. “How about that girl he’s been dating? Is he ever going to propose?”

  “I think he might.”

  Faz stopped rolling his sleeve. “Yeah?”

  “He talked about it,” Vera said. “He wants to wait until he has money to buy her a ring.”

  “That’s no reason to wait. He loves her, he should marry her. Like we did. We didn’t wait. Turned out okay.”

  Vera laughed lightly. “You just wanted to have sex.”

  “Yeah, but that’s because I love you.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said. “Don’t pressure him. I know you want grandkids, but he has a lot on his plate.”

  “What pressure? I’m not pressuring him. Just thinking it would be nice if the grandkids put that hoop to good use.”

  “You want the chicken and polenta?” she asked.

  “Do I want the chicken and polenta? Is the Pope single?”

  Vera opened the oven door and the room filled with the enticing aroma of lemon, butter, and garlic. Vera never used a microwave to warm Faz’s meals. She said it made the chicken rubbery.

  “Smells good,” Faz said.

  Vera set a plate and utensils in front of him. “You tired?”

  “More frustrated than tired. I don’t understand people anymore. Here a mother of two gets shot in front of her two small kids and everyone in the apartment complex is keeping quiet.”

  “You said they’re afraid?” Vera set the chicken on a pot holder on the table and scooped Faz a breast, then covered it with sauce.

  “Looks good,” he said, picking up a knife and fork. “There’s a punk down there running the drugs. Hey, you remember Big Jimmy? I put him away for twenty-five years. He got stabbed in prison. You remember?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, the guy running things down there now is Little Jimmy, his son. Word on the street is he’s crazy.”

  “I hate you working the gang cases.”

  “A convenience store owner told me and Del that Little Jimmy put out the word that anybody says anything they’re going to end up like the woman.” Faz decided not to elaborate on seeing Little Jimmy, or the hand gesture Little Jimmy had made as the car drove past, which would only worry Vera. He cut into the chicken. Steam rose from his fork and his plate. He took a bite and a burst of flavor filled his mouth. “Tell Antonio he’s got another winner. For real. This might be his best.”

  “You want wine?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Not too much though. Del and I are going back out tomorrow morning.”

  He heard her opening the cabinet behind him and retrieving the bottle of Chianti and a glass, and noticed that Vera had not set herself a plate. Except when he was working night shift, she ordinarily waited so they could eat dinner together. “You’re not eating?” Faz asked. When Vera didn’t answer, he turned in his chair. She stood at the counter, her back to him. “Vera?”

  “I ate earlier,” she said, her voice soft. “You go ahead.”

  He sensed something was not quite right, stood, and moved to her. “You all right? Vera? What’s wrong?” She was crying, using a towel to wipe at tears.

  “I had my mammogram this afternoon before I saw Antonio.”

  Faz felt a cold sweat that chilled him to the bone. “That’s right,” he said, cautious. “Shit, I’m sorry, Vera. I should have asked you right away. How’d it go?” He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, and when Vera didn’t immediately respond, he got a pain in his gut. He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her.

  “I have another mass, Vic. I felt it the other day. I didn’t want to alarm you until I made the appointment.”

  Faz felt sick. “What did the doctor say?”

  She gave a small shrug. “He said it’s definitely a mass and that the mammogram raised some questions.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “They don’t know yet. They called this afternoon. They want me to come back for some additional screening.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, Vic. You have that shooting. You go to work; I know how busy you are.”

  “We got to wait and see if they can enhance the video and get us a license plate,” he said. “So I’m going with you.” They both paused, and in the silence Faz heard the humming of the refrigerator and the ticks and creaks of a home that had quickly grown old. He looked at Vera, uncertain what more to say. “It’s probably nothing, right?”

  CHAPTER 10

  Wednesday, July 11, 2018

  It was noon when Leonard Litwin finally released Tracy and rested his case. Judge Gowin dismissed the jury with instruction to return at 2:00 p.m. for closing arguments. Tracy walked back to Police Headquarters rather than to Hoetig’s office. The closing argument was the
prosecutor’s alone to prepare and deliver, though she would be present to hear it. She’d given him what thoughts she had, for what they were worth.

  July had produced another glorious day—clear blue skies with temperatures cooled by a gentle breeze blowing off Elliott Bay and funneling between the high-rises. “God vacations in Seattle in the summer,” Kins liked to say. “But he gets the hell out come October.”

  At Police Headquarters, Tracy reached for the glass door and nearly collided with Ron Mayweather and other detectives from the Violent Crimes Section’s C Team, which Mayweather was now calling home. The group looked to be heading off to lunch.

  “Ron,” she said, stepping back to let everyone pass. “Hey. You got a second?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Mayweather looked to the other detectives. “Save me a seat. I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes.” After the others had departed, he turned to Tracy. “You’re in Stephenson, aren’t you?”

  Faz had nicknamed Mayweather “Kotter” because he resembled Gabe Kaplan, the lead actor with the dark curly hair and thick drooping mustache on the television show Welcome Back, Kotter. Few, however, remembered the show, and those who did remember it didn’t remember Kaplan, but a young actor named John Travolta making his television debut.

  “Just finished all the testimony. Hoetig gives his closing at two.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Evidence got in. No real surprises.” Tracy stepped closer to the side of the building to get out of foot traffic on the sidewalk. “Listen, I’m sorry to keep you.”

  “Not a problem. What’s up?”

  “I wanted to ask you about your decision to move to the C Team,” Tracy said.

  “Yeah, sorry I didn’t get the chance to talk to you,” he said. “It came up quickly. I talked to the other guys, but you were in court.”

  Tracy folded an errant strand of windblown blonde hair behind her ear. “I just wanted to ask why you decided to make the move?”

  “Why?” Mayweather chuckled. “Because Nolasco told me to.”

  Tracy had not expected the answer. “He told you to move to C Team?”