Accused

by Janice Cantore

  Jeff wasn’t in the bar, so she made her way to the dining area. The odor of mesquite-grilled fish filled her nostrils and she realized she was very hungry. A raised hand in the back caught her eye, and she did a double take at the bearded man attached to the hand. He vaguely resembled Jeff. Carly tried to hide her surprise as she made her way to the table.

  “Hi. Thanks for coming.” Jeff stood and pulled out a chair. The man standing before her was a shadow of the Jeff Hanks she once knew. That Jeff was a tanned, laid-back surfer type, healthy looking and well built. For as long as she’d known him, he’d kept his hair in a short, neat crew cut. The Jeff in front of her now was gaunt and pale. Stress and tension lines creased normally unaffected features. Dark circles tugged at the bottoms of his eyes. His hair hit his collar and was badly in need of a brush. He sported a thick beard generously peppered with gray.

  “I know, I know. I look different,” he said as if sensing her surprise. “It’s narco. If you want to catch the tweakers, you have to look like them. I’m pretty good; sometimes my own kids don’t even recognize me.” He smiled with his lips, but the darkness never lifted from his eyes.

  He did look like a speed freak, a tweaker. The only thing missing was the tweaking, the jerky, spastic movements characteristic of someone on speed. Carly knew working undercover did strange things to people, but she’d never seen it so graphically demonstrated.

  “Sorry, it’s been a while,” she managed. “I didn’t realize you’d been working undercover.”

  “I’ve been working on a task force, combined with the DEA and the FBI. I can’t remember the last time I set foot in the station. I’ve learned a lot.” He paused to sip his coffee and at the same time glanced over Carly’s shoulder. She noticed he was sitting with his back to the wall in a position to watch the front door. Cop paranoia. Jeff was making the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

  The waitress came and took their orders. Both ordered the clam chowder, soup rated with five stars by several local food critics. The restaurant was crowded and noisy, but for a few moments silence dominated their table. Jeff broke the quiet with small talk about work.

  Carly listened and answered, but her thoughts drifted back to the conversation with Andi about Jeff’s infidelity. She didn’t want to believe the rumor was true, but was Jeff’s strange behavior a manifestation of grief?

  She knew from personal experience that no valid judgment could be made based on appearance alone. She’d lived with Nick for eight years and couldn’t tell by looking at him that he’d betrayed her. Cops were practiced at hiding emotions; so much of the job required it, it was only natural the talent spilled over into private life.

  When silence again settled over the table, Carly checked her watch. “So what’s up? I have to admit your call took me by surprise. I would have thought you’d call Nick if you needed something.”

  “Nick—how is he?” Jeff avoided a direct answer. “I’m glad he made sergeant. I’m sorry about you two. Thought you guys were so perfect together. I would have said your marriage could have made it through anything.”

  “Well, Nick made his choice.” Carly crossed her arms. “How are Elaine and the kids?”

  “Good, good. The little ones grow so fast.” Jeff toyed with his coffee cup as the waitress came with their soup. The awkwardness only served to pique Carly’s curiosity.

  “I hate to be a nag—” Carly tapped her watch—“but I will have to get back to work. On the phone you gave me the impression you wanted to talk about more than old times. What can I do for you?”

  “That’s what I like about you.” His chuckle was tinged with nervousness. “You always get right to the point.” He gulped his coffee. “I’m trying to decide how to tell you without sounding like an absolute lunatic.”

  “Just spill it.”

  “I trust that whatever I tell you will stay strictly between the two of us.”

  At her affirmative nod, Jeff went on. “What I have to ask you may seem a little out of left field. It has to do with those guys—the two they arrested for killing the mayor.”

  Carly worked hard to sit still and listen as Jeff continued.

  “I can’t say much, but I know they’re not guilty, and if the DA finds enough evidence to prosecute, it’s going to be planted and those kids will be framed.”

  Carly sat back in her chair, trying to process this curveball. Yes, she was pretty confident that Londy had nothing to do with the mayor’s murder, but what Jeff was saying meant something sinister was going on behind the scenes. “Planted? Framed? You’re right; that’s left field—far, far left. How could you possibly know something like that?”

  “That’s not important. What is important is that there is more here than a carjacking. Those kids were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He punctuated his last point by tapping the table with his index finger.

  Carly’s heart started pumping harder. She thought of her own doubts and of Cinnamon, her face bruised and swollen, and of Kay and Dora, so certain of Londy’s innocence. This morning I was postulating along the same lines, but how can he be so certain? “Okay, suppose I believe you. Who killed Mayor Burke, then?”

  “I have my suspicions.” He looked away, but Carly didn’t miss the shadow of anger that crossed his face. “Right now, they’re better left unspoken. I need your help to prove I’m right. Inside help, and it has to be careful help. The people I suspect in this are powerful and ruthless. How else could they kill a mayor and expect to get away with it?”

  “Inside help? How can I help you on the inside? You’re a cop too, with as many, if not more, connections. You know where to go and who to talk to.” She frowned. “You think the department is behind this frame-up?”

  “I think caution is the order of the day. I don’t know who to trust or who is manipulating things.” He held his hands out, palms up. “As for being inside, well, let’s just say I’m supposed to be working narcotics. You have a connection to the investigation. I heard you talked to one of the kids.”

  “Yeah, but he told me nothing.”

  “Because he knows nothing; he wasn’t involved. All I want you to do is keep tabs on the invest, let me know what’s going on.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You saw the paper this morning? They’re already fabricating a case, and I want to know who’s calling the shots.”

  Irritated by his paranoia and veiled threats of conspiracy, Carly bit back a sarcastic remark and sipped her coffee before responding. “The investigation is closed, Jeff. It’s even been removed from the computer database. I was told it’s homicide’s baby and to stay away. I can’t help you.” She was not about to tell him she’d essentially agreed to do what he was asking for her mother. She wasn’t going to say she thought him crazy, either, though she did. As far as she was concerned, homicide might make a mistake, overlook something, but not deliberately cover evidence up. Or frame anyone.

  “Doesn’t that prove to you what I said?” Urgency rimmed his whisper. “Have you ever heard of a case being off-limits to other investigators? Burke was killed to cover something up. First I thought only city hall was dirty. Now I know it’s spread to the PD. You can’t trust anyone. Who knew you were meeting me?” His face flushed red and the intensity in his eyes cut across the table between them like a laser.

  “Wait a minute! What do you mean city hall is dirty? Why should I trust you?”

  “You have to trust me. I’m your only hope. Now who knew you were meeting me?”

  Too uncomfortable to press him further, Carly gave a resigned sigh. “I just told my sergeant I was going to dinner. I didn’t say I was eating with anyone. Jeff, I really think you’re overreacting.”

  “Overreacting? The mayor of our city was murdered and stuffed in the trunk of her car!” Jeff was close to losing it, and Carly wasn’t sure how to bring him back to earth.

  “This isn’t LAPD,” Carly said. “We’ve never had to handle the murder of a VIP. Wouldn’t it make sense for the chief to lock th
ings up?” She spoke with more conviction than she felt, surprised his paranoia caused her to make excuses for the department that stuck her in juvenile as a knee-jerk reaction to bad press.

  “Don’t be dense; none of this makes any sense.” He looked at his watch and fished out his wallet. “I’m sorry I bugged you and sorry you can’t see conspiracy under your nose.”

  “Oh, okay.” She laid both hands on the table. “You called me out here to listen to you rant about things you say you can’t prove, you look like a hype for heaven’s sake, and then you insult me because I won’t buy it. Next time, waste your dime on Nick. You guys are birds of a feather anyway.” She angrily pushed her half-eaten bowl of chowder away.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Don’t play innocent. The whole department knows you were sleeping with Teresa Burke. All this exaggerated concern about the two kids in custody when you were just concerned about your mistress, weren’t you?” Carly felt manipulated and angry as she stared at Jeff across the table. Fueling her anger was the thought of Elaine and the kids as the news reached them that Jeff was a cheater.

  “You couldn’t be more wrong. But I can see that’s what they’ll probably want you to believe. Do me a favor: try and think for yourself. I’ll leave you with a question.” He leaned across the table, calmer now and more deliberate. His tired, haunted eyes were earnest. “Have you ever really sat down and thought about why you’re stuck behind a desk when where you want to be—and what you’re good at—is patrol?”

  He continued without waiting for an answer. “It has nothing to do directly with you. It has to do with the news coverage the shooting brought to the station. They were afraid some reporter nosing around about you and Derek might accidentally uncover their dirty secrets. They didn’t like the heat, so they took you out of the kitchen while Derek chose to take stress leave. Teresa knew something she shouldn’t, and she was murdered. I don’t know what, but the only way they can fix the problem they now have is by speedy closure. The two boys are sacrificial lambs. Their speedy trial and conviction will keep prying eyes away from the PD.”

  Carly glared at him and said nothing.

  “I know I sound crazy. I told you I would,” Jeff continued. “I can’t help it. I’ve stumbled onto the tip of something that even I don’t believe. And I can’t stress enough how you can’t trust anyone—not even Nick. He’s part of the administration now. Not even people you’ve known for years at work. This thing has spread like cancer. This city has sold its soul to the devil, and Teresa’s death is only the tip of the iceberg.”

  He turned to leave and then stopped. As if there was a monumental struggle going on inside him, Jeff slowly turned around. “Carly, you’re still a good cop. Doing the right thing matters to you. Help me. Please.”

  Carly looked away from him. His reasoning for her transfer was jarring, but it made more sense than “for your own good.” She wanted to tell Jeff to get lost, because his cheating reminded her too much of Nick. But what if he was right? She swallowed any sharp retorts—and maybe some good sense. “I can’t say I’ll do any more than just keep my eyes open.”

  “Fair enough.” If he relaxed at all, it was imperceptible. “Let me leave first. Here’s a number you can call if you need to reach me.” He tossed her a card. “Give me a few minutes, and then you leave. And, Carly, don’t tell anyone about this conversation, not even Nick.”

  He threw some money on the table and was gone.

  12

  Like a tornado, Jeff carved a swath across Carly’s consciousness and twisted on. She watched him leave, somewhat numb. Maybe he’s working too hard. Maybe being undercover is to blame. She glanced at her watch and panicked. I’m late! How do I explain this to the sergeant?

  Rising quickly, Carly checked the money Jeff had left. There was enough for both meals. Good. He owes me for listening to his ravings. Unfortunately the soup was now congealing into an unpleasant lump in her stomach. As she made her way to the front door, she realized there was no choice but to tell Nick, in spite of Jeff’s warning. Maybe I won’t tell him everything, but he should at least know how strange Jeff is acting. This thought brought up too many conflicting emotions. She didn’t want to talk to Nick, but she should, shouldn’t she? Nick should know that his best friend is 5150, considering the fact that Jeff carries a gun. Maybe I should call Jeff’s sergeant. . . .

  “Carly!” Derek Potter stepped into her path, surprising Carly enough that her hand went to the fanny pack gun compartment.

  “Hi, Derek. What a surprise.” She let her hand drop to her side, tempted to tell Derek the surprise was not a pleasant one.

  “You look great! Are you here with anyone?” His eyes scanned the immediate area around Carly. There was a beer in his hand, and given his demeanor, it wasn’t the first of the night. Derek was a fireplug of a guy, short but thickly muscled with what an old training officer would call a punch-me face. No matter what his mood, he always seemed to be sneering.

  “Nope, I’m on my way back to work. I already ate and I’m really late.” Carly moved to walk around him toward the door.

  “But who did you eat with? Were you here by yourself?” He fell into step next to her.

  “Look, I’d love to visit with you, Derek, but I’m really late!”

  “All right, all right. Take it easy, okay?” He took a big gulp of beer as Carly left the restaurant to hurry back to the station.

  * * *

  As the rest of the night ticked by, Carly brooded over her dinner conversation. She couldn’t decide what was worse: Jeff’s being right or Jeff’s being crazy. Sergeant Altman sat next to her at the front desk compiling the month’s statistics and muttering under his breath about how much he hated the paperwork.

  “Hey, Sarge, you ever work undercover in vice or narcotics?” Carly figured he’d appreciate the distraction.

  “I worked vice years ago. You know, back in the bad old days.” He looked up from his work and winked. “I walked the Boardwalk.”

  Carly smiled. The Boardwalk was part of the history of Las Playas. Twenty years ago, when the city was a Navy town, no less than thirty raucous sailor bars lined the Boardwalk. The cops from that era who were still on when Carly started were the cowboys, the old-style patrolmen, many of whom thought any problem could be solved with a good whack from a nightstick. Weekends in downtown Las Playas back then were known for parties, drinking, prostitutes, and sailor fights.

  “You must have been a rook.”

  “I was, but I was big and stupid, so they sucked me into the detail as soon as I passed probation. Of course, police work was a little different then. I wasn’t really undercover; I just frequented the bars with my partner to make sure everyone behaved.” He leaned back to get nostalgic. Carly hoped to hear some good stories.

  “We broke up fights, stopped grafters, and shut bars down, but hardly ever took anyone to jail. Police work sure has changed,” he said wistfully. “Now you can’t hardly tell someone to move along without filing an hour’s worth of paperwork.” He stared off into space, lost in thought.

  “Well, have you ever seen undercover work change people?”

  “Change how?”

  “I don’t know—make them paranoid, delusional.”

  “Most cops are paranoid. At least the good ones are. But yeah, I have seen guys change after working undercover. Remember Sergeant Knox? He dyed his hair a different color every two weeks and never drove home the same way after spending time on that federal task force. And Gates—I’d be willing to bet that his time undercover chasing pedophiles is what made him eat his service revolver. Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know; just curious.”

  His phone rang and Carly returned to her paperwork. She wasn’t about to tell Altman about Jeff. She knew the names the sergeant had mentioned. Sergeant Knox taught at the academy when she was hired. He never smiled, always looked over his shoulder, and had the reputation of being able to conceal more weapons in his clothing t
han anybody else in the department. She remembered the hair-color changes too. He was bizarre but not dangerous.

  Gates was a sadder situation. He’d worked vice for years, then returned to patrol to finish out his career. She’d worked with him one night and remembered him as quiet and very conscientious about the job. He’d taught her some tricks about eliciting the truth from reluctant suspects during interviews. There was no hint he was having any problems. Two months later he drove his car to a remote location, parked, and shot himself in the head. Undercover work caused that?

  Was Jeff manifesting some kind of undercover burnout? The Jeff she’d known was a fun-loving, dedicated family man, never weighed down or affected by the job. He had plans to coach his son’s baseball team. As she remembered Jeff playing catch with his son, an unpleasant thought followed. Nick and I had plans too.

  Jeff’s cryptic warnings served to magnify the uneasy feeling she already had about the course Teresa’s murder investigation was taking. From past experience she didn’t need any reason to mistrust Garrison, but now Drake and the rest? Twice she picked up the phone to call Nick and tell him his best friend was crazy. But she hung up when a small voice intruded: What if Jeff is right?

  At EOW the phone rang just as Carly was about to step on the elevator. She leaned over the counter and picked up the receiver.

  “It’s Joe. Are you on your way out?”

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “I’ve got something to tell you. I’m in the locker room changing. I got an early out. Are you up for coffee?”

  “Sure. Harbor House?”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  Carly acknowledged for about the hundredth time how lucky she was to have Joe as a partner and friend. He hadn’t been a cop as long as she had, but he was a guy who seemed born to the uniform. When they’d first started working together, she’d been concerned about Joe’s age since he was five years younger than she was. The last thing she needed was a hotshot partner getting her into trouble. Joe proved to be mature, solid, and dependable, with great instincts for the job—everything that made for a good partner.