scenario."
"I hate to be the party pooper " The four detectives' shared chuckle
cut me off. "OK, playing my usual role of party pooper," I revised,
"maybe it's just paint. Plain, generic taupe-colored paint. I mean,
how precise can the paint geek get it? The stuff's not DNA, right?
Griffey still could've come across it wandering around the
neighborhood."
It was too soon to begin connecting all the dots. Walker and Johnson
needed to get out there and talk to the men whose names had come up and
see if anything shook out.
"One last thing," Johnson said. "I called the husband today about the
condom, and it wasn't his."
"Did you tell him the ME found spermicide?" I asked.
"No way. I just told him we were still running some tests, and it
would help if we knew the last time they had intercourse and whether
they'd used any kind of barrier method of birth control. Turns out the
doctor had his tubes tied. They hadn't had sex since the Tuesday
before she disappeared, though, which explains why the autopsy didn't
find anything."
"Was he all right with the questions?" I asked. I still needed to
talk to Johnson about the polygraph request.
"Actually, he seemed pretty thrown off by the whole thing. He was sort
of out of it in general, though. I guess no one wants to think about
something like that happening to their wife. Anyway, when I found out
the condom wasn't his, I was thinking sex offense. But it fits with
what Chuck and Mike got, too. Maybe the vie was using condoms on the
side with Caffrey."
"Doesn't mean Caffrey did it, though," I said. "It would just explain
the spermicide."
We were stuck again.
As we broke up, Chuck tried to get my attention. I raised a finger in
his direction as I ran to catch Johnson alone.
"Griffith got a call today from Susan Kerr," I said. He looked at me
but didn't say anything. "Did one of you ask Townsend Easterbrook to
take a polygraph last night?"
The look on his face said So that's what this is about. "Yes. As a
matter of fact, I did."
"I thought we were going to talk before you did anything on that."
"You weren't there, Sam. Am I supposed to stop everything and call you
before I make any kind of decision on one of my investigations?"
I ignored the rhetorical question because, like most rhetorical
questions, it was stupid. "If this was just another procedure, why
didn't you mention it to me this morning?"
"If you want me to say I'm sorry so you can tell your boss you did what
you needed to, then I'll do it, Sam. I know how your thing works over
there at the courthouse. But the guy had just gotten the news and was
being cooperative; the moment was right to ask him to help us eliminate
him. If I turn that into a DA decision and I mean any DA it gets
political and never would've happened. No offense against you
personally, but I just needed to do it."
"So you admit you intentionally went behind my back." I'd nearly
gotten killed going out on a limb on one of Johnson's cases. I
couldn't help but sound indignant.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. "No, it wasn't like that."
My stare must have told him I wasn't buying it.
"OK," he said. "Maybe I could have brought it up with you at the crime
scene yesterday. But I could tell when we were riding up to Kerr's
house that the subject made you nervous, so I decided to play it by
ear. Honestly, last night at the house, it seemed like the right move
to make."
"Well, it wasn't," I said. "From everything I've heard, this guy's on
the verge of losing it. I don't need you pushing him over the edge by
asking for a poly the minute after he learns his wife was murdered. And
don't tell me you would've done it with another DA, because that's
bullshit and we both know it."
He bit his lower lip and avoided my gaze. Maybe we didn't know each
other as well as we'd assumed.
I finally broke the silence. "What's your problem with the guy anyway?
If he didn't do it and I don't think any of us really thinks he did how
could you put him through that?"
"It's not about suspecting him, Kincaid, it's about doing the
investigation right. He was being so cooperative, I thought, if I
asked, he'd say Sure, let's do it right now, whatever I can do to help.
As it turned out, that's not how it went, so it probably wasn't worth
getting you so fired up."
"He won't take it?" I asked. I had assumed from the conversation with
Duncan that Townsend was put off by the request but would nevertheless
humor the police.
"I overstated that."
"What exactly did he say?"
"The question seemed to catch him off guard not like he was threatened
by it, but more like his feelings were hurt. You saw how out of it he
was that first night at the house. It was the same thing. Then he
finally said he didn't see a problem but would let me know today."
"And what did he say today?" I asked.
"Nothing. I had to call him about the nonoxynol. He didn't mention
the poly, and I held off on pressing him. See, now that really
would've pissed you off."
"Don't push it, Ray."
"Look, I'm sorry I went around you, but I know what it's all about with
you guys and Duncan Griffith. I didn't want to put you in a bad
spot."
I wanted to be able to say that I was different from all the other MCU
deputies he'd seen over the years, impervious to hierarchical
pressures, but I couldn't begin to articulate the subtle distinctions
that I found so important.
"No, you didn't want me to tell you to back off. And, in the process,
you made me look like an idiot in front of my boss when I defended you.
Do anything like that again, and I'll forget you're my friend and start
acting like all the other MCU deputies you never would have pulled this
on."
"Yep, friends. Got it."
"Ray, I meant that, but I also need to do my job."
He was biting his lip again, but at least now he was looking me in the
eyes. He finally smiled and shook his head. "Yeah, we'll be all
right. Go wait for your bus or whatever it is you do after work."
"I drove today, as a matter of fact, but, sorry, we're not quite done
yet. When do you plan to talk to the councilman?" If Griffith gave me
a sit-down based on Susan Kerr s concerns about etiquette, I'd really
be in the doghouse if Johnson accused an elected official like T. J.
Caffrey of murder under my watch.
"I figured I'd go by his house tonight and ask him whether he's been
keeping a little piece on the side. I'll make sure the wife's nearby
when I get to the Trojans. Kids, too, if he has any." He placed his
hand on my shoulder to make sure I knew he was kidding. "Don't worry,
Kincaid, this is me we're talking about. Tough stuff won't work on a
guy like that anyway."
True, and tact was right up Johnson's alley. As long as he agreed that
some diplomacy was called for, I couldn't be in better hands.
With work wrapped up, I was more interested in getting into the hands
of another detective. I stopped by Chuck's desk just long enough to
tell him to meet me at my house. I was going to my father's for
dinner, but I could spare an hour or so if he wanted to catch up.
"Catch up" is precisely what I meant when I said it, but his expression
when he said, "Leaving right now. An hour might be enough," had me
scrambling out the door, sucking down Altoids as fast as I could take
them. Damn that Greek Cusina. By the time I got to the Jetta, I had
broken into a full sprint and was sweating garlic. Very attractive.
I used the wonder of cell technology to multitask in the car, calling
Griffith with the update while I maneuvered various body parts in front
of the air vents in an attempt to cool off. The commute was remarkably
quick. Drivers in front of me would look in their rearview mirrors and
immediately yield the lane. Apparently jerking around like a
strung-out freak pays off when others practice defensive driving,
When I rolled past Chuck's '67 Jag to pull into the driveway,
I gave him my best come-hither look. I placed both feet on the ground
before stepping out of the car. Slinkier than my normal spread-eagle
hoist.
I bent purposefully and ever so seductively at the waist to reach my
suit jacket in the passenger seat and then flicked it over my shoulder,
one New Balance thrusting to the side with a determined hip. I parted
my lips and let my tongue linger at the break before I spoke. "You
coming in with me or not?"
He returned my blistering gaze. Then he started laughing. A full-on,
eyes shut, hands-to-the-face bust-up.
I fought competing urges to run away and cry, or to punch him in the
head and then run away. "That wasn't the response I was looking
for."
He tried to regain his composure but couldn't help himself. "I'm
sorry. But I just left you fifteen minutes ago at the precinct. What
the hell happened to you?"
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the driver s window. The
combination of the air vents, my sweaty head, and that damn mud Grace
had given me had left my hair in a state of Rocky Horror. Throw in the
white Altoid powder sprinkled across my clothing, and I was totally
pathetic. I draped my jacket over my arm, pulled in my thrusted hip,
and tried to explain.
"I was running to my car and got a little warm and "
What was this? Maybe Grace was right when she said I didn't understand
men, because this one was racing up my walkway steps, straight toward
me, and he wasn't laughing.
I ran ahead of him into the house and let him catch me at the end of my
upstairs hallway. Just outside the bedroom.
If there is a mathematical formula to calculate sex maybe intensity
times duration then the next hour could very well have brought us back
to par despite the two-week break.
Six.
I see Clarissa Easterbrook in a pink silk sweater on Taylor's Ferry
Road, holding Griffey by his leash. A man in an ankle-length duster
and brown leather hat has stopped to pet the dog. The man asks if she
has seen the view of Mount Hood and begins to lead her to a crest
through a clearing in the trees.
He reaches his hand out behind him to guide her, but now it's my hand
he grasps. When he turns his head to smile down at my trusting face, I
recognize Tim O'Donnell. My expression changes from confusion to
shock, as I open my mouth to scream for help.
"Babe, wake up, what's wrong?"
My right elbow flew out instinctively, and Chuck bolted upright,
holding his ribs where I jabbed him.
"Oh, God, are you OK?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "You just took me by surprise."
"I guess we fell asleep."
"You fell asleep. I watched."
"That's more than a little disturbing."
"Tell me about it. Your hair's even worse than it was when we started;
you snore; and a spindle of drool was working its way from your lip to
the mattress."
"I'm really going to hurt you this time," I said, reaching over and
poking my fingers into his side.
With one swift move, he had my hands above my head. "Stop it, I was
kidding. You weren't drooling, you don't snore, and your hair well,
you're cute as hell, Kincaid." He gave me a kiss and let me go. "I
woke you up because you looked like you were having another one of
those dreams. I've seen cops after a shooting, and it can take a long
time to get over."
"I'm over it. Just one of those weird naked-in-front-of-the-classroom
dreams."
"Was I there?"
"No, that'd be one of your dreams. I hate to kick you out of bed,
stud, but I really need to get a move on. I promised Dad that Vinnie
and I would come over for dinner tonight, and I can't show up with bed
head."
"That poor impersonation of a dog over there is invited, but I'm
not?"
Vinnie was spread out like a bear rug in the hall, still looking
annoyed that he'd been locked out of the bedroom during playtime.
Vinnie's got bug eyes, bat ears, and a face that looks like it was
flattened by a steel plate. I couldn't tell if the snort he emitted
was in response to Chuck's comment or just one of his everyday
snorts.
"When your date's a French bulldog, you can talk about boring family
stuff without being rude," I said.
"I don't mind if you talk about your boring family. I just want to be
fed."
I did feel guilty running out on him, and Dad would enjoy seeing Chuck.
"Fine. But I need some time alone with Dad. Give me an hour's head
start, and we'll have dinner on the table right when you get there."
The last thing I needed post-vacation was one of the bricks of beef my
father feeds me whenever he cooks, so I had e-mailed a list of
ingredients in the morning and promised to cook if he'd pick them up.
New to computers, he was still so impressed by the technology that he
didn't even complain about the menu.
"You look great," I said, adjusting the collar on the blue shirt I'd
given him for his most recent birthday. He had complained that it was
too young for him, but it brought out the blue in his eyes and the
silver of his hair. "You didn't have any problems printing out the
shopping list?"
"I've turned into a real computer whiz since you left." I had helped
him hook up his Dell right before my trip. "It's so easy I was even
thinking of telling Al to get one."
Al Fontana is my dad's ninety-year-old neighbor and checker partner.
He's also a dirty old man.
"Dad, you put that man on the Internet, and he'll be dead in a month
from Viagra and porn."
Point taken.
It wasn't long before Dad got to the heart of things. Apparently I
wasn't the only one who spent the day uncomfortable with where we left
things the night before. "I know we talked about this, but I want to
tell you in person that I'm sorry I got you so upset last night."
"You're making me feel worse. I was a total jerk."
/> "Fine, let's put last night behind us, and I won't make any apologies.
What I'm trying to say is that I'll try not to let my own hang-ups get
in the way "
"Dad, you don't have any hang-ups "
"Please, Sammy, let me finish. All I was saying was that this woman
was surrounded by powerful people. I may not have stuck it out as a
cop, but I saw enough to know you'll be looking long and hard at
everything she was involved in. If you wind up stumbling onto
something, they'll make your life a living hell."
So that's what this had been about. Dad wasn't afraid I'd get chased
around the city again by a wing nut he was worried some cabal of
"powerful people" would target me for annihilation. As long as I've
known him, Dad has had an almost delusional distrust of those who find
themselves at the top of the hierarchy of influence. I typically find
this characteristic endearing, but occasionally it makes me crazy. Like
at my rehearsal dinner in Manhattan, when he was so cold to my now
ex-husband's "blue-blood" parents that I was afraid Roger was going to
call off the wedding. OK, in retrospect, that wouldn't have been so
bad. But now he was letting his paranoia get in the way of his pride
in my career.
I shook my head in disbelief. Part of me wanted to unleash to tell him
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