A Thin Veil

by Jane Gorman

  “McFellan admits that Marshall left the room first. We’ve been thinking that left McFellan without an alibi — but it leaves Marshall without a witness, too.” Adam was warming up to this idea when his thoughts were cut off.

  “Excuse me. Yes, you. Hello.” The woman’s voice was high and sharp, almost as sharp as the stiletto heels that dug little holes into the carpet as she marched toward them.

  “Can we help you?” Ramona turned toward the woman as she spoke.

  “You can leave, that’s what you can do. I don’t know what the hell you thought you were doing, interviewing my client without me present, but it’s all garbage. You can’t use any of it.” She glared at Ramona, then turned her attention to Adam. Her eyes moved down from his face to his legs, and her glare softened. She almost smiled.

  Adam smiled warmly, his dimples on full display, and put out his hand. “Detective Adam Kaminski. I’m here from Philadelphia, investigating the murder of Jay Kapoor.”

  She took his hand limply. “I know who you are and why you’re here. And why you’re leaving.”

  “We’re leaving because we’re done here.” Ramona’s smile was saccharine sweet.

  “You, my dear, are leaving because I just spoke to your captain. You’ll be hearing from him any minute now, I imagine.” The lawyer’s smile was triumphant. “And you.” She turned to Adam. “I don’t know why Philly PD is here, but you have no jurisdiction here. And no right to talk to my client. Again. Period.” She emphasized each word with a tap of her alligator-skin heels.

  The three of them stood in the plush and polished hallway, the lawyer glaring at the two police officers. The moment was broken by the soft chime of the elevator.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, ma’am.” Adam turned to the opening doors.

  Ramona waved at the lawyer as she stepped onto the elevator behind Adam. Just as the doors closed, Ramona’s radio chirped. “Damn, I hope she didn’t hear that.” Ramona mumbled as she reached for the microphone. “I really don’t want to give her the satisfaction.”

  Adam waited as Ramona finished her call with her dispatch center. She turned to him with a grin as she clipped the microphone back to her belt. “So I guess you’re used to dealing with women, huh?”

  Adam shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the way she was looking at you.”

  “Hey, that’s her problem, not mine.”

  Ramona shrugged and put her head to the side. “I guess. I’ve heard you manage to get along very well when it comes to women.”

  She was smiling as she spoke, but it didn’t take the accusation out of the words as far as Adam was concerned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, or where this is coming from. Or what business it is of yours, frankly, Ramona.”

  Her smile dropped and she turned to stare at the elevator buttons.

  As the doors slid open, Adam said, “Look, I gotta be somewhere.”

  “Fine.” Ramona’s voice was tight. “I gotta check in with my captain anyway. I thought that interview went well.” She looked at him, then looked away. “I’m surprised you didn’t.”

  “It’s not that.” Adam saw that she was confused. Probably hurt. But he was here to investigate this murder, that was all. He needed to work closely with her — but not too close. “That went fine. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  She gave him a quick nod and headed out onto K Street. Adam watched her go, hoping he was right about her.

  16

  “So how’s she doing?”

  “Ramona?” Sam looked at the round face of the man sitting next to him on the porch. The bright eyes that Sam knew saw everything were now settled deep into a weathered face. Hair that had been salt and pepper when Sam first met Howard Davis now lay in tight white curls around his head, and the quick smile Howard had been known for had etched thick grooves around his lips and across his forehead. “She’s doing great, thanks to you.” Sam smiled.

  “Huh,” Howard grunted without smiling. “She needs to come and see her mother more often. Then she’d be doing great.”

  Sam looked out at the neighborhood around them. Each house along the block had a similar front porch. Sam didn’t see anyone else out front, though voices from the alley suggested a few neighbors were out back tending to their tiny gardens. Across the street, an American flag jumped with the slightest breeze, its bright stars and stripes hiding the paint peeling on the wooden column it hung from, distracting from the warped panels of the porch floor.

  Howard’s own house showed subtle signs of decay. The post stamp sized front yard looked clean and well kept, but the porch steps sagged from years of use and pockmarked brick walls cried out for repointing.

  The porch seemed to brighten as Tish stepped out of the house, carrying a tray laden with two tall glasses of iced lemonade and a small pot of the colorful daisies she grew in their back yard.

  “She was here just last week, and you know it,” she chided Howard as she put the glasses down in front of the two men. Carrying the daisies over to the porch railing, she placed them in a patch of sun, then turned back to her husband. “She comes over more than most of the other girls from the neighborhood. She’s a good daughter.”

  Sam smiled his thanks for the lemonade and took a slow sip, watching Howard over the glass.

  Howard grumbled, but Sam saw the familiar twinkle in his eyes. “She’s a good cop, anyway. I’m proud of that.” He took a sip and replaced his glass. “So, really, how is she doing? I hear you got her involved in a pretty high-level investigation.”

  “She’s serving as the MPDC liaison for the FBI, they have the lead.” He followed Tish with his eyes as she snaked between the men and back into the house. The screen door banged shut behind her. A second bang let them know she had joined the others on the alley that ran behind their house, weeding her cozy plot of land, listening to the gossip of the alley.

  “This is the shooting up at that ambassador’s house?”

  “That’s right.” Sam nodded. “We don’t really know who the real target was. A young man was killed. An aide to Senator Marshall. So we think she or the ambassador might have been the intended victim. The killer missed.”

  Howard’s lips pulled tight into a thin line. “They always seem to miss, don’t they? Hitting us, instead.”

  Sam smiled to himself, struck again by the similarities between father and daughter. “Actually, I came by to ask for a favor.”

  “Oh, really? So this isn’t a social call?” Howard smiled.

  “I’m always happy to see you, Howard, you know that. But yeah, you might be able to help with something.”

  “Shoot.” Howard waved his hand in Sam’s direction. “Metaphorically, I mean.”

  “It looks like there might be a drug connection in this case. We’re not sure what, it just keeps coming up.”

  Howard was nodding as Sam spoke. “And if they come into the conversation, they’re probably at the heart of the case. I know.”

  “I’m trying to find out about a couple of the staff who work at the ambassador’s residence, where the shooting happened. It seems the ambassador was trying to tighten restrictions on immigration to his country—”

  “All in the name of fighting drugs, right?” Howard interrupted him.

  “Of course. His staff might have been involved in the shooting. So we’re wondering if they have any connection, either to the immigration war or the drug war.”

  “How can I help?” Howard’s brow furrowed. “I’m not involved in that. And it’s been a long time since I did any legwork.”

  Sam shrugged. “I know, I know. I thought if I gave you a few names, you might have some friends you could call… see if they came up in connection with any old investigations.”

  “Humph.” Howard shifted in his chair, grabbing his right knee as he did so, his arthritic fingers digging into his leg as if to catch the pain and tear it away. Sam stayed quiet until Howard had resettled himsel
f, then Howard continued, “I think Ramona’s in a better place to get you those answers. She’s still on the force, she can look up any records.”

  “I know, and she is. I wondered if this went back a bit. And since it’s French territory, some of it won’t be in the records…” His voice trailed off as he watched a young man sauntering along the sidewalk in front of the house. The young man didn’t look in their direction as he passed, simply kept walking, hands in his pockets, jeans hanging well below the top of his black boxer briefs.

  “How’s Troy?” Sam asked as the young man walked out of earshot.

  “Him? Ha.” Howard resettling himself again, grunting a little. “He’s moved out, anyway.”

  “That good?”

  “Maybe. Who knows. He’s living with some friends. A few blocks away. In the wrong direction.” Howard indicated with his head. While Howard and Tish had set themselves up in a sturdy old brick row house near the Frederick Douglass National Historic Site, a worn-out but well-kept block with good neighbors and a vibrant community, other streets deeper into Anacostia weren’t as nice.

  “He can take care of himself,” Sam encouraged Howard. He wasn’t so sure himself. Troy had been in and out of trouble his whole life. Unlike his sister, he hadn’t yet settled down. Or found a full-time job. He knew Ramona worried about Troy as much as Howard did. And Sam shared that concern.

  “Look, I know I’m pulling at straws here.” Sam brought his thoughts back to the reason for his visit. “Maybe this was an excuse to see an old friend.” He smiled.

  “Hey, I understand digging everywhere you can, hoping to find something.” Howard shrugged. “Back in my day that’s what an investigation was. Turning over every bit of dirt, trash, and old rags you could find, in case you found a rat. Hell, sometimes even a rat dropping would do.” Howard grinned with the memory of his old job, the deep lines of his face dancing around his eyes and mouth. “You’re not asking to make me feel like I’m still useful, are you?”

  Sam laughed as he stood, handing Howard the list of names he had prepared. “You don’t need me for that, old friend.” He glanced inside the house. “Give Tish my best, will you? I gotta get going.”

  He toyed with his car keys as he walked back to his car, parked up the street. Maybe there was nothing to this drug story. It could be a false lead. But he couldn’t risk ignoring it, and anything he could learn about the people involved could prove to be the key to the case.

  17

  Adam stepped backwards as the exhausted waitress squeezed past him, a tray of beers, whiskeys, and martinis clutched against her chest, her face pale and drawn. From the outside, the bar looked like a quaint, traditional inn. A whitewashed wood house with green trim, a front porch that ran along the full front of the house. On the inside, it was dark, crowded, all the small rooms now connected to each other, each packed with tables and stools. At this time of day, it was standing room only.

  All around him, young men and women, only a handful over the age of thirty, gathered in clumps around dark oak tables, some standing, some sitting. Waitresses moved through the crowd with difficulty, carrying orders of Martinis and single malts.

  Adam scanned the crowd in the front room. Todd wasn’t there.

  Turning to his left, away from the dome of the Capitol barely visible through the west window of the Inn, he moved into the next small room. Identical to its neighbor, this room boasted more of the same crowd. Adam couldn’t help but think that it was the same crowd. Everyone dressed the same, ordered the same drinks, even laughed the same, he noticed, as another short staccato broke out in the corner.

  Adam had armed himself before coming to this scheduled meeting. Not with a gun, but with information. His first call to his partner had been short, perfunctory. Pete had called back within the hour, and the second conversation took a little bit longer.

  “Sorry that took awhile, partner. I found what you need,” Pete said as soon as Adam answered his phone.

  Adam had just made his way to the Capitol Hill neighborhood, and took Pete’s call from a street corner near the Inn where he was scheduled to meet Jay’s roommate, Todd Heavrin. “Not a problem, Pete. I needed the time to get over here anyway. What’d you find?”

  “On the surface, he’s a good kid with an interest in politics. He worked on the senator’s campaign team. She hired him full-time once she was elected. A fairly common story.”

  “I’m guessing there’s more than meets the eye with our friend Todd?”

  “There always is, isn’t there, partner? At least with all the folks who fall into our radar.”

  Adam nodded at the truth of this as he glanced around. Leaning against the side of a brick apartment building that stood opposite the Inn, Adam had a clear view of the entrance and he watched with interest as more and more young people filed into the bar.

  He spotted Todd as soon as the aide turned the corner from 3rd Street NE. Todd walked with his hands in his trouser pockets, his head down, as if scanning the sidewalk ahead of him for traps. He chewed on his lip as he walked, and Adam wondered what he was so nervous about. Meeting with him?

  He watched the young man hold the door to the Inn for a couple of women who had approached from the other direction, then follow them in. “He’s here now, Pete, I shouldn’t keep him waiting for too long.”

  “This won’t take too long, partner,” Pete assured him. “It’s worth hearing.”

  And Pete had filled him in on the fairly detailed background information that was available about Todd Heavrin.

  With this information tucked away, Adam now continued his search for the young man, moving into the dark rooms further beyond.

  “I don’t know why I’m talking to you.” Todd shook his head and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as he put his beer back on the round table between them. “This is none of your business. You pressured me yesterday, made me think I needed to tell you everything.” The hand that Todd returned to his glass shook ever so slightly, and beads of sweat started reforming along his top lip.

  Adam took a sip of his own beer before he answered. “It’s all important, Todd. Like I told you before, that’s the thing about a murder investigation. Everything has to come out.” He lowered his head to make eye contact with Todd. “Everything.”

  Todd gave a quick grin and shook his head. “Hey, I’m not a suspect, am I?”

  “Of course not. I need your help understanding Jay, that’s all. Who he was. What sort of thing he was working on. You know.”

  Todd returned his hand to the table to toy with his beer glass but didn’t take another drink. He glanced over at the group of people he had been with when Adam first found him, then glanced away again. “This was a stupid place to meet. Now everyone will be talking about it, wondering what I said to you. Wondering why you want to know.” He looked up at Adam. “Hell, it’ll probably be online by the time I get home tonight. Latest gossip on Political Dish, ‘exposing the secrets of the people behind the power.’”

  Todd used his fingers to draw quotes around the last few words, what Adam could only assume was the tagline for the website. He ignored the sarcasm. “Look, Todd, let me make this easier for you. I checked you out before meeting you tonight.”

  “What does that mean? What are you talking about?” Todd’s eyes darted back and forth between his untouched beer and Adam.

  “It means I know you’ve got a criminal record, Todd. It means I know you have information you want to keep hidden — from your boss, from your colleagues.” Adam swept his hand to capture the scene around them. “From your friends.”

  Todd jerked and ducked his head. He picked up his beer and took a long drink, placing the half empty glass back on the table. “That really is none of your business. Nothing to do with Jay’s death.”

  “How do you know that?” Adam asked, curious.

  Todd grinned, and for the first time took a deep breath. “Because Jay was too smart for that.” He tipped his head to the side, assessing Adam. �
�Jay wasn’t the great guy his parents say, you know?”

  Adam nodded, waiting for Todd to say more.

  Todd shrugged and took another sip of beer before continuing. A bark of laughter from a table across the room caught his attention, then he turned back to Adam. “I still don’t know why I should talk to you. Since you seem to know everything I have to say anyway.”

  “Not everything, Todd. Far from it. But look.” Adam leaned in, conspiratorially. “I understand why you’re worried. Why you need to keep your past secret.” He shrugged and looked down, as if deep in thought.

  “I have a sister a little bit older than you,” he continued. “I take care of her — she relies on me. It’s tough trying to get by when you’re starting out.”

  “Tell me about it.” Todd’s face screwed up. “There’s too much competition. Not enough jobs to go around. And now they’re cutting everything — cutting budgets, cutting positions, cutting contracts.” He paused, considering. “All I ever wanted was to work in politics. That’s why I broke into that office in the first place, you know.”

  Adam didn’t respond, hoping Todd would add more. Instead, Todd turned to him. “Tell me about your sister. What does she do?”

  “Julia? She’s a photographer.”

  “Artist type, huh?” Todd seemed dismissive of the career choice. “That’s asinine. It’s hard enough getting a job in a real field.”

  “Like politics, you mean?”

  “Sure, why not?” Now Todd was getting defensive, not at all what Adam had hoped for.

  Adam changed tracks. “Maybe you’re right. She’s just one more woman in my life I have to look out for. Between her and my girlfriend, they keep me busy, I can tell you. How about you, do you have girlfriend, Todd?”

  “Nah, not me. I’m not ready for that type of commitment. Believe me” — Todd tried to look knowing but failed — “there are plenty of girls out there for a guy who wants to have a good time.”