Berlin seized the arm of the chair. “It’s not a story, Dave, it’s what happened.”
Norton smiled. “Yes, yes. Oh, and let’s not forget what that reporter said. So we’ve got him—this Clay person, and now Simmons. And it’s all wrapped up in one big conspiracy about the Port condo development project. I have that right, don’t I?”
Ecker turned to Norton, his voice low and barely audible. “It is quite the story, isn’t it?” He directed his attention to Berlin now. “Detective, I’m not sure that we can continue this discussion right now.”
“Sir, I—” Berlin began.
“Who gave you authorization to go into my city, anyway, Detective?” Norton asked. He knew that he had him by the balls. What was Berlin supposed to say? None of it would matter. They’d made up their minds before Berlin had even set foot in the room.
“Precisely,” Norton said delighted, and relishing in the moment. He had waited a long time for this, that much Berlin knew. “Gentlemen, I’ve heard enough. Detective Berlin acted reckless, endangered the citizens of my city, and managed to get a suspect killed who shouldn’t have even been in his custody in the first place. Now his partner sits in ICU. There’s a reason that he was put on leave. He is unfit for the job. Plain and simple.”
“Now Dave,” Ecker began, “I think you’re—”
Norton slammed his fist into the table. “I’m not overreacting. We’ve seen this before. I’ve seen this before. He’s not worth it. How many more innocent people need to die before someone stops this guy? Listen to him go on about dirty cops, mobsters, conspiracies, and, oh wait, crazy people wearing white masks that are stalking him. He’s a ticking time bomb. We don’t want to be around when he goes off.”
“That’s not what I—” Berlin retorted.
“Ultimately, it’s my decision,” Grant piped up, looking at Norton.
Norton turned in Grant’s direction. “Fine. You do what you have to do. If you think he’s qualified, if you think the public and City Council are fine with a Gardens Police Detective seeing a shrink while he’s on duty, that’s fine. But as far as I’m concerned, he’s finished. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a press conference to make, thanks to our so-called detective here.” Norton stood from the table, pushed his chair out, and stomped out of the room.
Grant just shook his head. Berlin got the impression that this wasn’t going down at all the way that the investigator had envisioned. He had gotten way more than he had bargained for.
Berlin wasn’t sure what he should say, so he asked the remaining two men if Mitchell was going to be okay.
Ecker got in first, clasping his hands together on the table. “The doctors said that the prognosis is good. He’ll pull through.”
Berlin studied his face to see if he was being truthful. He appeared genuine. Berlin closed his eyes, confident that there was nothing to worry about with Mitchell. Well at least some good will come from all of this, he thought.
“All right, Detective. This is what we’re going to do,” Grant said. “You are hereby on administrative suspension while we continue this investigation. The public is going to ask for some sort of retribution. You’ve really left us no choice. And yes, before you say it, I know that this guy was a drug dealer. No one’s disputing that. But there are too many variables, too many unanswered questions, and, frankly, this is going to take some time.” Grant paused. “I need your badge and gun, Detective.”
There it was. Why bother with the meeting in the first place if they were just going to take his gun? It was pointless.
“All right,” Berlin said, sliding his holstered weapon onto the table. He pulled out his badge from inside his coat, looked at it, and then tossed it across the table as well. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Detective, I don’t think you’re in—”
“Let ’em finish, Grant,” Ecker said.
“Can you put a BOLO out on Alexandra Scott? I don’t know if you’ve heard, but—”
Both men were quiet while they considered the ‘Be on the Lookout’ request. Grant looked over at Ecker, signifying, possibly, that it was his call to make. Berlin knew that she hadn’t been missing long, but, he hoped that, given the circumstances with the fire and the fact that the body found inside the house was not Mrs. Scott, it might be proactive to begin the search.
Ecker agreed. He advised Grant that it could turn into another issue as well if they didn’t react and begin the search.
“Thank you,” Berlin said.
“We’ll be in touch,” Grant said. “You’re dismissed, Detective.”
***
Berlin hadn’t moved an inch in the last two hours. As soon as he was finished with Grant and the others he went straight home, poured himself a glass, and proceeded to lounge around the house.
He knew that it wasn’t the right way, but he felt lost and disappointed.
Defeat was a paralyzing thing, much like fear.
He stared into the bottom of the glass in his hand. The ice was beginning to melt and the amber liquid rippled from his touch, an unsteady hand.
What do I do, Kate? I tried, and look at where it got me?
Not hearing an answer, he fumbled with the remote for the TV.
I screwed everything up.
Mitchell was in the hospital and it was all his fault.
There was a knock at the door and Berlin dragged himself up off the couch. He carried the glass with him. He pulled open the door to reveal two men, crowding the doorway. They were well dressed, decked out in black attire from head to toe.
“Who the hell are you?” Berlin asked.
“Could you come with us for a moment, Detective?” one of them asked.
Berlin smirked. “Yeah, like I’m just gonna go with two guys who show up at my doorstep. You don’t look like no Jehovah’s Witnesses.”
“Detective, please, if you wouldn’t mind…” The two men separated, revealing a mocha steel metallic Cadillac Escalade sitting curbside. It idled while its back door hung open. He knew why the two men were at his house.
Exodus Clay.
“We just want to talk, Detective. We mean you no harm.”
“No harm?” Berlin laughed. “Did you hear what happened to me today?”
Both men were silent.
“That’s what I thought.” Berlin threw back the rest of his drink, and decided, to hell with it. “Fine, whatever,” Berlin said, shutting the door and following the two men down his walkway.
It couldn’t get any worse, right?
CHAPTER 40
Berlin sat directly across from Exodus Clay inside the Escalade on a small foldout seat. Clay, on the other hand, was all comfort, relaxing in the plush cream-colored reclining seat.
Clay wore a gray-colored suit that shimmered in the interior lights above his head. He wore a white dress shirt underneath with a popped collar, leaving three buttons undone. Berlin remarked that he could pass for a model.
“That’s cute,” Clay said in return.
Berlin leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees. “What do you want, Clay? I’ve had a helluva day.”
Clay played with a ring on his finger and said, “I admire you, Detective.”
Well, that was unexpected. Berlin noticed the ring and asked, “You a married man, Clay?”
He simply smiled. “You and I are a lot alike, you know. You have conviction. You take what is yours despite what may stand in your way. I like that. We’ve followed similar paths, you and I.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Berlin said.
“That unfortunate case with your wife, though,” Clay shook his head, acting sympathetic. “I’m sorry for your loss. I understand why you did what you did, though. I think I would have done the same thing if I had been in your shoes.”
Berlin studied his eyes. Where was this coming from? Where was the hood who he had met in Old Town? This wasn’t the same Exodus Clay that, as of late, he had grown to despise.
“Anyway, you caught me off guard
when you showed up in Old Town. Were you following me?” He paused, waiting for an answer from Berlin. “No matter, I did some research of my own on you. That’s how I found out about your wife. I can’t imagine what that must have felt like. Did you enjoy taking that man’s life, Detective? Did it help you at all?”
Berlin was quiet. He wanted out of the car. He felt his heart skip a beat and his mouth suddenly became very dry.
“He wasn’t the one,” Berlin said as calmly as he could.
“Oh, I know. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Detective.” Clay stared out of the window, watching the street. Berlin waited, thoughts racing through his head.
“Were you expecting someone?” Clay asked, frowning.
“Who?”
Clay nodded at the sidewalk. Berlin turned his head and peered out, near the sidewalk.
Christ. It was that reporter. What was he doing here?
“I’ll take care of it,” Berlin said, moving to get up and reaching for the door.
Clay put out a hand. “No, no, you sit. My boys can take care of it.” Clay buzzed the window and it slid down in a smooth motion. “Lose him.”
Jack Howell struggled with the two large men outside the Escalade. One of them had Jack by the arm.
“You tell these animals to let go of me,” Jack cried, and then his eyes opened wide at the sight of Exodus Clay. His mouth hung open, like he had seen a ghost.
Berlin leaned over more so that he could look out of the window. “Go easy on him, boys.”
Jack saw Berlin and his face distorted. “Berlin?”
“Just hang on,” Berlin told Jack, but the window was already sliding back up.
Clay leaned in so that he was eye to eye with Berlin. “I need you to know that I didn’t have anything to do with the attack on you and your partner.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I pulled some punk outta the park. The men in the SUV took him out, but he told me what I needed to hear before he left this Earth.”
“Ah…poor Antony,” Clay said. “He was a good earner.”
“So, he did work for you then?”
“Of course. But the point I was trying to make, Detective, was that you need to understand how the world works. People can be bribed, manipulated, controlled. If I wanted you dead, you’d be in a coffin already.”
“Yeah, you know all about that, don’t you? Just like that developer?”
“Dev—? Oh, you’ve been talkin’ with our friend Howlin’ Jack out there, I see. Quite the imagination on that one.” Clay then reached into a side compartment on his right beside his shin.
Berlin flinched, a moment of panic surging through him.
But Clay only pulled out a tube of skin lotion and squirted some into the palm of his hand. He smoothed and rubbed it deep into his pores on the back and front of his hands. “I honestly am not aware of his whereabouts, Detective,” he finally said. “Last I heard, City Council was frustrated with him due to the fact that he wasn’t showing up for their meetings or returning their calls. I would think, though, that if he was missing then someone would come right out and say so, no? Peculiar, that.”
He had him there. Maybe in the excitement he had gotten ahead of himself and had allowed the reporter to cloud his judgment. Berlin grunted. “All right. Fine, so you’re not as bad as I’ve been led to believe. Remind me again, what’s the point of all this?”
Clay put the tube of lotion back into its little compartment, shutting the door with his foot, and said, “Well, for one, I wanted to make sure that you knew that I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to you. And two, I can tell you who did.”
“I’m listening,” Berlin said.
“Simmons is the one you’re after.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because Detective, for the last year and a half, Simmons and I have had what I guess what you would call a partnership.”
“You’ve been working together?”
“As a matter of fact, we’ve been side by side. Simmons and his people are providing that extra protection that a guy like me needs to make a name for himself, albeit quietly.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Sure, you do. Everyone can be bought. Everyone has a price. A need. A want. I found his.”
“Right, but what’s changed? You insist that you had nothing to do with the attacks on me and, from what I gather, you want to be absolved of Scott’s murder as well. So what happened?”
Clay was quiet for a moment, deliberating what to say next. “People change. Alliances change. I’ll leave it at that.”
Berlin shook his head, playing dumb. If Clay had more info on Simmons, something a little more concrete than some dealer whispering his name, then he was going to hear him out. “We looked into Simmons and hit a wall. He’s alibi’d up.”
Clay frowned. “Is that so? How?”
“According to him, he was with a woman on the night of Scott’s murder. They’ve apparently been seeing one another.”
“What’s this woman’s name?”
“Raquel Willis.”
“The hooker?”
“What?”
“Ms. Willis,” he said. “She’s a prostitute, and not a very good one, from what I hear.”
Damn.
Berlin clenched his teeth. “You wouldn’t happen to know where I could find Ms. Willis, do you?”
Clay sat back in his seat and laughed.
Berlin made a move for the door handle. He wasn’t going to take this BS from some hood.
“Wait. Detective, you won’t find Ms. Willis anytime soon. She melted in that fire of yours.”
CHAPTER 41
Jack Howell watched as the detective stepped out of that damn Cadillac, his whole body shaking, seething with outrage. “You mind tellin’ me, what the hell all that was about?”
“Just a friendly chit-chat,” Berlin said.
Behind them, Clay’s men returned to the car and they drove off, leaving Jack and the detective alone in the street.
“My ass. You on his payroll, too? Is that why you won’t do anything about my story?”
“Watch it. I’m not on his payroll, all right? He was just letting me in on some secrets. Some I knew, some I didn’t.”
Jack’s interest piqued. “Secrets? What kind of secrets?”
Berlin strode past him, leaving him on the sidewalk. “Police business.”
Jack had to jog so he could walk with him. “Don’t give me that. I’ve done a lot for you and, so far, all you’ve given me is diddly-squat. Hell, I’ve gotten more from my own sources than I have from you.”
“Well, maybe you should talk to them, then. How’d you find my place, anyway? Did they give it to you? Tell me their names. I’d like to have a word or two with them.”
Jack grumbled under his breath. “Come on, Berlin, work with me here. We can take him down, the whole lot of them.”
Berlin kept walking, Jack followed. “If you’re talking about that Port condo thing again, I think there’s something you should know.”
Jack arced a brow. “What’s that?”
“I think Clay’s off the hook on that one.”
Jack’s arms went up. “Okay, now I know you’re just acting crazy. You’re not making a lick of sense. Just what in the hell went on in that car?”
Berlin pulled open the storm door at his house and paused. “You really wanna know?”
Jack stepped up on the stoop. This was it. He was finally going to be part of the inner circle. “Yeah.”
“Come on in then,” Berlin said. “Let me make you a drink.”
***
“So you’re gonna go after him, right?” Jack said.
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do just yet,” Berlin said.
“Well, the way I see it, if that hooker died in the fire then that means Mrs. Scott is still out there. She could be with this cop. He took her, Detective, don’t you see?”
; “Yeah.”
Jack watched the detective as he ambled to the refrigerator, his steps heavy. He looked like he had a giant anvil on his back since his shoulders were hunched, like there was an imaginary force pushing down on him. Jack was curious if he’d crack soon and crumble into little pieces like a bug.
“What are you thinkin’?” Jack asked him.
Berlin poured himself a double and came back over to the table. He set the glass down, the liquid spilling over the side of the cup. “It’s complicated.”
“Ha, that’s one way to put it. I still don’t understand why Clay told you all this. What does he get out of it?”
“He wants to be left alone.”
“You think that’s a good idea? Didn’t this dealer work for Clay?”
“He’s not going to talk any time soon.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, stroking his chin. “So…let me get this straight. Clay says Simmons is behind the goon squad that hit you and your partner up. Simmons wanted you two out of the picture, but why the dealer? Was he afraid that he’d talk?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“What about Mrs. Scott? Why would he take her?”
Berlin sipped at his drink. “The funny thing about mystery, Jack, is that sometimes there’s no mystery at all. It’s just coincidences and fate.”
The detective was right. “And Ms. Willis?”
Berlin swished his drink, playing with the ice cubes in the glass. “A loose end? A witness to things getting out of hand? I dunno. I imagine that things got out of hand pretty quickly. They usually do in these scenarios. Maybe he really was expressing his condolences at her house. I don’t care right now.”
“Right,” Jack said, nodding. “Well, you need to find her. He’s going to kill her.”
Berlin sat silently.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said solemnly. It felt like the right thing to say, given the circumstances.
Berlin looked up at him. “For what?”
“If I hadn’t called you, then you wouldn’t have thought to look into Clay. He wasn’t even on your radar and now look at what’s happened. Your partner’s in the hospital and Mrs. Scott is missing. It’s all my fault. I was the catalyst, wasn’t I?”
Eyes of the Dead: A Crime and Suspense Thriller (The Gardens Book 1) Page 22