“I know that you probably don’t wanna talk about it right now, but since we’re here…what do you think happened? Do you really think Clay could do this?”
Berlin tried to work out the scenarios. The pieces didn’t appear to fit, but, then again, not much had fit so far. Why would this be any different? He pictured a puzzle. He couldn’t say what was on it, but he was sitting at a table as a young boy. He played with the pieces, turning them this way and that way, but there were still a few pieces that eluded him. Finally, he threw them onto the table in disgust and began to sulk. He felt the hand on his head first, ruffling up his hair and consoling him. But when he looked up, only a blank face greeted him.
Where was its face?
Why can’t I see you?
“What about that whole thing with the masked people? What was that about it?” Mitchell asked him.
Berlin had almost forgotten about them. Almost. “What about ’em?”
“You think that they coulda done this? They were there an’ all.”
“Yeah,” Berlin said, working it over in his mind. “I wish that I coulda gotten my hands on them.”
Mitchell tried a smile. “At least you know that you’re not going crazy, though, right?”
“Very funny,” Berlin said, remembering his last visit with Lexi. Wait, what happened to— “Son of a bitch.”
“What? What is it?”
Berlin shook his head violently, his hands balling into fists. A second later he thrust a fist into the table, Scott’s body jumping, and Mitchell faltered in his steps.
“What’s gotten into you?” Mitchell asked.
“They should have been there.”
“Who?”
“Patrolmen. I asked them to hang around her place. To keep an eye on her. I was worried the masked people would try to do something again.”
“You did? Then—”
Berlin looked down at the body. “Where the hell were they?”
Just then, Dr. Truby entered the room from another doorway, whistling. “Detectives, I do apologize for the wait. I got tied up on the phone. Another case.”
Mitchell nodded as the doctor came over to meet them. “Truby.”
“Everything all right in here? Did I interrupt something?”
“No, we’re good,” Mitchell answered.
Berlin glanced at Dr. Truby sideways. “What’s this about, Doc? We’re kinda busy and we gotta get back out there.”
Dr. Truby folded his arms across his chest, his trademark clipboard wedged in between his arms and chest. He tilted his head to one side and said, “All right, I’ll make this short and sweet, Detective. Just for you. You really—”
Mitchell cut him short. “Doc.”
Truby scrunched his face. “Fine. I’ve got the dental records. Your victim here—”
“Tell it straight.”
“This is not Alexandra Scott, Detective. I’m not sure who she is just yet, but Mrs. Scott did not die in that fire. I thought you’d like to know.”
***
They headed back to Headquarters once they were finished with Dr. Truby, wasting no time. Berlin was now adamant, about retrieving the Scott files from his desk and keeping them with him at all times. Back with the Coroner, it felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He couldn’t believe it.
“What does it mean?” Mitchell asked him as they walked down the long hallway, heading into the Squad Room.
“It means that she’s still out there, Mitch.”
“But where?” Mitchell said. “Her car was in the driveway, man.”
“Visiting a neighbor? Hell, I dunno.”
“You think?”
He couldn’t offer any further explanation because, in truth, he had no idea. Berlin pushed open the door to the Squad Room, only to be greeted by two detectives. “Move it, you two,” he called to the ones named Hammer and Anvil.
They turned like a pair of the walking dead, sluggish, dragging their feet. “Well, well, lookee here, Anvil. If it ain’t Crockett and Tubbs,” Hamilton said, laughing, his voice booming.
Merritt nudged Hamilton’s elbow, saying, “No, Hammer. More like, Riggs and Murtaugh.”
They looked at each other then and said in unison, “I’m gettin’ too old fer this shit.” They laughed.
What Berlin wouldn’t do to put them out of their misery. The world would thank him for it. “How are your four dead stiffs coming along?” They had at least two or three inches on Berlin, even more on Mitchell, but at this point Berlin couldn’t care less.
“Heard that new girlfriend of yours went ka-blooey, Berlin. It’s funny. All those women finding themselves at the end of the line, huh?”
Berlin glared at Hamilton, the rage building up inside of him like he was summoning it from the depths of Hell itself. He knew that they were waiting for a reaction from him, for him to lash out. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Not today, anyway.
“You guys are somethin’ else, you know that?” Mitchell piped up.
“Ah, what do you care?” Hamilton chirped.
Berlin and Mitchell made a move to get by them, their girth continuing to block their path.
“Nigger,” Hammer snarled, looking down at the detective.
Mitchell stopped. “What did you just say?”
Hammer took a step closer to Mitchell. “You heard me.” He lowered his face, his forehead becoming more prominent, nostrils flaring. The shadows danced on his face, making him look all the more menacing. The brainless bovine quality of him now eroding before them.
“You got a lot of nerve, son,” Mitchell said.
Berlin tugged at Mitchell’s arm with one hand and put his other out in front of him to push his way through the two larger detectives. “All right, boys, that’s enough. We all got work to do. Let’s not make a secene.” Berlin continued to pull, feeling the resistance from Mitchell. He couldn’t dream of what would be running through his partner’s head right now, but now wasn’t the time. He wouldn’t let him do something that he would later regret. “Come on, Mitch. He isn’t worth it.”
“Let me—” Mitchell said, thrashing. Berlin led him away from the other two.
“For the record, I ain’t your son, boy!” Hammer called from behind them.
“Hammer, shut your mouth,” Merritt said, pulling at his own partner. “People are watchin’.”
“Can you believe that?” Mitchell said. “My own department, man.”
“They’re scum, Mitch. Ignore them. They’ll get theirs someday, don’t you worry.” Berlin made a beeline for his desk while Mitchell followed, looking over his shoulder here and there for signs of Hammer and Anvil.
“They better lay off Montoya,” Mitchell griped, “or I’ll make sure that they’ll get theirs even sooner.”
Berlin halted. “What are ya goin’ on about now?”
“Montoya, she’s, you know…”
“No. What?”
“She plays for the other team.”
Berlin cast a glance over at Montoya’s desk. “You don’t say. Huh.”
Mitchell followed his gaze. “Aw, that’s sweet. You thought that you two maybe—”
“No, not at all.”
Mitchell smiled. “Sure, buddy. Whatever you say.”
Berlin reached down and unlocked his drawer, pulling out the folder containing Scott’s notes. “How did you find out, anyway?” Berlin asked, still bent over, his hands rifling inside the drawer.
Mitchell kept an eye out for Hamilton. “Huh? Oh, she was askin’ around if anyone had been on a cruise,” he said. “Jaden and I had, so she came over for dinner a few months back and we told her all about it. She let it slip that she and her partner wanted to go on this cruise.”
“Where she goin’?”
“Caribbean. She’s got some holidays comin’ up.”
“Must be nice,” Berlin said.
“What, you and the missus never went away together?”
“Never had the chance.”
Mitchell was quiet. “S
orry. Foot in mouth disease, that’s me.”
“It’s fine.” Berlin opened the folder on his desk, took the small black notebook out from the back and put it inside his coat pocket. The USB stick dropped onto his desk, jogging his memory. They still hadn’t figured who the Mystery Man was because of the fire. “All right, this is what we’re going to do. I want you to find out who our Mystery Man is in these photos.”
“What about you?”
Berlin smiled. “Me? I gotta see some patrolmen.”
“Go easy on them, partner. You don’t know what happened.”
“We’ll see about that,” Berlin said. “Give me a call if you find anything good.”
CHAPTER 34
Berlin had been driving around the city for the last hour, and there was still no sign of Officer Kassell or Officer Needham. They had been the two patrolmen who he had instructed to watch over Lexi Scott. Surely he should have spotted at least one of them by now. His nerves boiled just under the surface. He didn’t need this aggravation right now.
He headed southbound down Bunting Road, passing the local coffee shop on his left, and made a cursory glance over at the parking lot on his right. It was a known fact that the police loved to frequent the drive-thrus, but no such luck this time. He continued straight through the intersection and kept an eye on the parking lot. It was home to a large call center as well as a Chinese restaurant. It was there that he finally spotted them. Two patrol cars 69ing. Their patrol cars were parked facing opposite directions so they could talk.
Berlin turned into the lot and accelerated, dirt and gravel kicked up behind him as he picked up speed. The lot was quiet and nearly empty so he drove carelessly, passing abandoned shopping carts.
Officer Needham turned his head, watching Berlin advancing at him quickly in the Crown Vic. He looked like a deer in headlights and Berlin relished every minute of it.
Berlin threw the car into park after he got close and exited his vehicle. “You two, out! Now.”
Kassell turned on the ignition and adjusted his car so that they could both get out.
“What’s goin’ on, Detective?” Kassell asked him.
“Yeah, that was some driving,” Needham offered.
“I need to ask you something, boys,” Berlin said with his hands on his hips.
“What’s up?” Needham asked.
“Remember when I asked you to babysit a house for me?”
“Oh, right. The Scott place. What of it?”
Berlin smiled. Could they be this stupid? “I thought that you’d like to know that the Scott house caught fire this morning. They pulled out a DB. Got anything you want to share with me?”
Needham swiveled his head in Kassell’s direction.
“What?” Kassell said. “We…don’t know anything about that. Honest.”
“Is she…” Needham started to say.
Berlin inched closer. They began to retreat away from him as he did so. “Lucky for you, she wasn’t inside.”
Kassell looked at Needham, a look of confusion spreading across his face. “She wasn’t? Who was in the house then?”
“It need not concern you. What I’m really interested in is why you weren’t watching the house.” He crept closer, like a lion stalking its prey. “Was I not clear in my directions?”
“Yeah, but,” Needham began.
“Yeah, but what, Needham?”
“How were we supposed to know,” Kassell said. “He said it would be fine to—”
“He who?”
Kassell didn’t miss a beat. “Simmons.”
“Simmons? I don’t follow. He told you to beat it?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Needham interjected.
Berlin now moved to Needham. They were so close that Needham was apt to feel Berlin’s breath on his mouth and cheeks. “Tell me what it was like then, Needham. I’m all ears.”
Needham appeared to shrink down to nothing, like his whole body was melting away. “He…he came by. Wanted to express his condolences, I guess. He and Scott worked together, you know?”
“I’m aware,” Berlin said.
“Anyway, he was surprised to see us. He asked what we were doin’ there and since you never bothered to tell us, we didn’t know what to say…”
“What did you say?”
“Just that…we were on a special assignment. Off the books like.”
“And what did he say?”
Needham looked down at the pavement. “He uh…basically said to leave her alone. Let her grieve in peace.”
“Yeah,” Kassell confirmed.
“What happened next?”
“He went inside. We hung around for a few more minutes and that was that. Kassell took a call and I went back onto the streets.”
“Look, we’re sorry if we—” Kassell started in.
Berlin pointed a finger, more so at Needham since he had done most of the talking so far. “You two messed up. When I ask something of you, I expect you to do it. We clear?” He paused. “Sorry doesn’t begin to cover it.”
Both men stared at the pavement, humiliated and tongue-tied.
“Now get out of my sight,” Berlin told them. They moved to their respective cars and Berlin hung around until they both left the parking lot. Kassell turned one way and Needham turned the other way.
Simmons.
It appeared that Berlin had some questions for Simmons.
***
“What the hell you want?” The redheaded man named Shea Drugan asked Berlin as they both stood in the doorway. Drugan dressed shabbily, his button-up shirt hanging open exposing a white tank top underneath. The top of his head looked like someone took a pair of scissors to it. All of his hair pointed in all different directions and at varying lengths.
“Aren’t you a peach,” Berlin said in return, admiring the man’s appearance. “Funny. I thought that I had let myself go, but, now that I get a look at you…well, damn.”
“Keep going, funny man.”
Berlin smirked. “I’m lookin’ for your man Simmons. He here?”
Drugan grunted. “Yeah, he’s here. What’s the magic password?”
“Shea! What are you doin’ over there?” a voice called from out of sight. Footsteps soon followed.
Drugan glanced over his shoulder. “I got a man here who wants to see Simmons.”
“Yeah? Who’s that?” Terry Richardson came up and pulled the door open so he could see for himself. “Oh, it’s you again. What is it, Detective?”
“I was just telling your man here, I need to speak with Simmons.”
“Yeah? What about?”
“If it’s all the same to you—”
Richardson considered the request and finally gave in. “Let him through, Shea.”
“This won’t take long,” Berlin said. “I know how busy you guys are, what with the drug war and everything.”
“I bet,” Drugan grunted, stepping to the side, letting Berlin enter.
Berlin crossed the threshold and stepped into the large room. He counted at least five individuals scattered throughout the room, including Richardson and Drugan. A man that wore glasses sat at the table, studying reports. Another man lurked quietly in the shadows (an Asian man) and Simmons stood next to the refrigerator.
Berlin stared at Simmons who, so far, gave no notice that anyone new had encroached on their private space. “Simmons, I’d like a word.”
Simmons turned around, holding a can of Ginger Ale. “Yeah? About what?”
“Lexi Scott.”
Simmons considered this, sipping at the can of soda.
“This won’t take long,” Berlin said.
“What you askin’ him about Lexi for?” It was Richardson. He was still standing next to Berlin.
“If it’s all the same to you, I just need to talk to him.”
Simmons begrudgingly began to make his way over to the table. “It’s fine, Terry. If the man wants to talk, we can talk. Why don’t you guys wait outside?”
Only one of
them made a move to leave. The man that wore the glasses called O’Connell. Simmons grabbed a seat and eyeballed the rest of the group, as if to say, “get out.” Fed up with waiting, Berlin started up again. “I was just curious if you heard the news about the fire at the Scott residence this morning.”
If he had, Simmons gave no indication.
“Fire? What fire?” Richardson said.
“And it looks like,” Berlin continued, “that you were the last person to have seen her. Since you were at her house just before the fire started.”
“What’s he talkin’ about, Simmons?” Richardson asked. “When were you at Lexi’s?”
Simmons leaned on his elbows. “I didn’t have anything to do with the fire, if that’s what you’re getting at, Detective.”
“That may be,” Berlin said, “but we haven’t located her.”
“She’s missing?” Richardson asked Berlin. He then directed his anger and frustration at Simmons “What’s going on, man? Why were you at Lexi’s place? How come I don’t know anything about this?”
“Richardson, please,” Berlin said. “I can ask the questions.”
“No, no, I wanna hear this,” Richardson said. He circled around the table, edging closer to the seated Simmons. “Is that what you’ve been up to lately? Have you been seein’ her on the side?”
Now the rest of the group came over, curious, not wanting to miss out on the gossip.
“Everything okay over here?” O’Connell asked no one in particular.
Berlin turned in his seat, looking at the group, and said, “Richardson, I need you and your men to clear out of here.”
“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Berlin,” Richardson demanded. He slouched over Simmons, one arm on the back of his chair and the other firmly placed on the tabletop. “Answer the question, Simmons.”
Damn it, Berlin thought to himself. This wasn’t at all what I wanted. Shoulda known this would happen. Pack of wolves. Isn’t that what Mitch had said?
Simmons looked up at his superior and said, “I wasn’t seeing her, Terry. It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like then?” Richardson asked.
He had to regain control of the situation. Quick.
Eyes of the Dead: A Crime and Suspense Thriller (The Gardens Book 1) Page 18