by Corey Brown
“Are you going to be straight with us?” Slater says. Obviously, Hansen has told Slater of their new deal. Cody wants to pull the door closed behind him, knows he can’t. He needs to keep an eye on Jamie.
“This was inevitable,” Cody says. “If I push back, you guys won’t have any reason to work with me later. I just want to stay in the loop.”
Slater eyes him warily. “Why should I believe you, now?”
Cody makes a face. “C’mon, don’t give me this shit. You’d have done the same thing. Besides, I pick my battles and this one I can’t win.” He shrugs. “I’m a mercenary at heart.”
Slater frowns, a vertical crease cutting up his forehead. “I don’t know, I get the sense that you’re holding out.”
“I’m not.” It is a lie but Cody doesn’t care.
The other two detectives share a look then Slater says, “If you are holding out, you’ll be out.”
“I get it,” Cody says. “But in all honesty, I really don’t know any more than you do right now. Yeah, I knew Nick had transferred to that special vice squad, but he never really told me why.”
“Come on, Briggs,” Slater complains “This is the same crap you told us before.”
“Straight up.” Cody says, raising his hands. “I really don’t know why. Look, no one seems to know who is on this squad. Even my captain, Nick’s commanding officer, doesn’t know for sure. Ask your captain, see if he knows anything about these guys. I’ll bet he doesn’t.”
Hansen rubs his jaw, Slater glances over at him. Cody knows he is right, no one seems to know anything about the task force Nick was assigned to, certainly not these two, not even the brass. Every cop in New Orleans is just guessing. Some are worried, some are wondering who knows how much, but nobody knows who is watching, what they are watching or why. Then the magnitude of that thought sinks in. How can that be? How can no one know?
“Okay,” Hansen says. “What’d you get out of Turano?”
“Nothing.” Cody shrugs. “She told me what we already knew. Nick was undercover, but she didn’t know anything else.” Cody snaps his fingers, points at Hansen. “Julia did say Nick called yesterday, told her that he wouldn’t be home last night but that everything was okay.”
“That’s it?” Slater says. “He didn’t say anything about going to the wildlife preserve?”
“She said no. In fact, Julia was surprised, I mean really surprised, when I told her where Nick was found. Otherwise…” Cody lets his words trail off, he shrugs. Of course, neither of these two knew about Doctor Harris but Cody decides to keep that little secret to himself.
“What about your wife?” Hansen says. “What’d she see?”
“Not much, really. They found the place a wreck, Jamie called me while Julia looked around, Jamie stayed in the living room. When my wife heard the gun shot, she ran. In her panic she ran the wrong way. Fortunately, the apartment down the hall was unlocked. She entered, locked the door and hunkered down.”
“She get a look at the shooter?” Slater says.
Cody shakes his head. “She says no. I guess she had her back turned when he shot at her. When I talked to her she was scared beyond shitless.” He jabs his thumb backward, over his shoulder, says, “But maybe these District Eight guys can help her remember something.”
“Maybe,” Slater says, his tone betraying suspicion.
Now Detective Ramirez is at the door. “Slater, Hansen, you got a minute? My partner has some questions.”
The two detectives look at each other then they glance at Cody. Everyone knows Ramirez is corralling Cody.
“Yeah, sure,” Slater says. He hesitates then moves past Cody and goes into the apartment. Hansen trails a few steps behind.
Cody and Ramirez watch as the other two move through the living room then disappear into the bedroom. Cody catches Jamie’s eye, and nods, trying to reassure her. Ramirez turns to face Cody, sees Cody’s gesture and looks back at Jamie. He frowns.
“Did your wife talk about what happened?” Ramirez asks, looking once again at Cody, his voice low, conspiratorial. “Did she say anything?”
“Yeah. Well, not much. She said she ran as the guy shot at her. Why?”
“She never saw him at all?” Ramirez says, trying to sound thoughtful. “Face, height, anything?”
“I don’t know what she saw, didn’t you ask Jamie?”
“Oh, I did. She sounded a little rehearsed, you know?”
Cody glares at Ramirez. “What’re you saying?”
Ramirez’s face sharpens. “Just what you think I am. C’mon man, do you really think I don’t know what you did? Just admit it, you coached your wife. I might’ve done the same thing, under the circumstances.”
“Bullshit, why the hell would I do that?”
“You tell me.”
“Can I go home, now?” Jamie says, quietly. Neither man has noticed her, standing just inside the doorway.
Ramirez turns to look at her. He can see how weary she is. “Yes, of course,” he says. “But first, would you show me exactly where you ran?”
“Uh, I guess so.” She points. “It’s this way”
Jamie steps out of the apartment and turns left, Ramirez falls in step beside her. The dim hallway seems to swallow them, like divers descending into the murky depths. But then they stop, Ramirez reaches out and twists the doorknob at the next apartment.
Cody sees Jamie disappear inside but Ramirez hesitates, he looks at Cody. “We’ll be right back,” Ramirez says. “Don’t go anywhere.” Then he follows Jamie into the empty apartment.
Cody barely hears Ramirez. He stands, staring at the indiscernible space where Jamie had just been. Behind Cody, a cop standing guard in the hallway watches him. Tension hangs in the stale air of the third floor hallway. Cody looks over the rail, down to the ground floor then glances at the cop behind him, fights the urge to follow Ramirez. Cody tries not to think about what Jamie and Ramirez are discussing.
On one level he is worried about the pressure Ramirez might be putting on Jamie, Cody knows she won’t be able to handle much before her natural inclination toward honesty overrides his instructions to lie. More than likely, Jamie is right now telling the truth. If that’s what is happening, it will be a real problem.
Still, on another level, Cody is trying to assimilate everything that has happened. First Nick, and then Julia is murdered, and almost his wife, too. Cody is still thinking about everything Doctor Harris had told him: Four wealthy and influential men die while having sex with their wives and, somehow, someone with the New Orleans police department might be connected. Even more bizarre, six destitute women became pregnant with children that have no DNA. What the hell could that mean?
Along with worries about Jamie and questions about sex and biology, images of Julia Turano fingering the bullet hole in her head keep swirling around Cody’s head. In some subtle way, like a leaf being carried by a random breeze, Cody feels the need to check on Julia, to make sure she is all right.
Cody catches himself. Check on Julia? Make sure she is all right? She is dead, for chrissakes. What kind of a jacked up idea is that?
“Cody?”
Startled, Cody breaks out of his thoughts to find Jamie standing just a few feet away.
“Detective Ramirez would like to see you next door,” she says, quietly, gesturing. Jamie’s face makes it plain she is tired and worried. Cody feels even more unsettled.
He draws in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” Cody takes Jamie’s face in his hands and kisses her on the forehead. “You did great,” he whispers. “I’ll keep this short then we’ll go home.”
Outside the neighboring apartment, Cody hesitates, looks in. Backlit from a courtyard window, Ramirez’s face is in shadow, the image bordering on surreal. Then Ramirez strikes a match to light a cigarette, the flare partially illuminating his face.
The apartment is much like Julia’s. A tired wooden floor, aging paint on old walls and a sense of glory days lo
ng since passed. One difference catches Cody’s attention. This apartment is empty, absolutely unlived in.
“Your wife is lucky this apartment was open,” Ramirez says.
Cody walks inside and pushes the door closed.
“Indeed,” Cody says. “The angels must’ve been watching over her.”
Ramirez gives Cody a hard look then exhales a lungful of smoke. “Are you a religious man, Detective Briggs?”
“Not particularly,” Cody says, shaking his head. “You?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Good for you. What’s up?”
Ramirez looks at him through a cloud of rising smoke. “Your comment, about the angels, made me think that maybe you were a believer. And if that was true I’d have to ask you why you told your wife to lie to me.”
Cody folds his arms across his chest, feels the flush of anger. At the same time, part of him feels silly for being upset because Ramirez is spot on.
“Didn’t we just go over this?” Cody says, pretending, knowing that Ramirez might have the truth well in hand and is just setting him up. “I did not----”
“Bullshit,” Ramirez interrupts. “It’s obvious you coached her. I just can’t figure out why. I mean, you’re a cop for godssakes. You know all about obstruction. Would you want me to do that to you?”
“Coached her? In what way? Exactly how did I coach my wife?”
“It was all Barbie Doll talk,” Ramirez says. “Everything was too neat, too simple. I could’ve been interviewing a Stepford wife for all the good it did me.”
Cody moves closer, now he knows that Jamie held her mud and Ramirez is just dancing. Otherwise, he would have been specific, said Jamie had caved, but that wasn’t what he’d done. Instead, Ramirez had been generic, almost vague. The District Eight homicide detective had been too simple and neat himself.
“Look,” Cody says. “I don’t know what you’re talking about but if you have a beef, call Internal Affairs. Everyone else does. Otherwise, what the fuck else can I do for you?”
Undaunted, Ramirez steps in, narrows the gap between them. “Don’t pull that shit on me, I----”
Ramirez is cut off by the sound of a man’s voice. “Gentlemen, don’t you have more important things to do?”
The two detectives turn to see a man standing just inside the door. He is tall, broad shouldered, solid-looking. Although his face seems youthful, there is an unmistakable sense of age about him. His dark, penetrating eyes pass from Ramirez to Cody and then back again.
“Who are you?” Cody says. “And how’d you get in here?”
“Let’s not waste each other’s time. There’s precious little left.” His words are measured, his tone rigid.
“Police,” Ramirez says, displaying his badge. “Now, who are you?”
“That is not important. I need----”
“It’s important, if I say so,” Ramirez says, interrupting. “And I say it’s important.”
The man’s body tenses. Drawing a deep breath, he gives Ramirez a harsh look. Exhaling slowly, he says in a low voice, “I am not anyone you know, nor likely to ever know.”
The detectives share a glance then start toward the man. But he puts up his hand, straight-armed, palm out. And, for some reason, both policemen stop abruptly.
“Perhaps,” the stranger says, looking at Ramirez. “You ought to see how the crime scene investigation is progressing.”
Cody hears the words, thinks the man ought to shut up, Cody knows between himself and Ramirez this guy has no hope of avoiding a day in court.
But Ramirez feels the suggestion more than hears it. Ramirez wants to ignore the man, wants to ask the guy who the hell he thinks he is, but finds it hard to focus. It is as though his mind has just become carbonated, like there are a million little bubbles rising, fizzing, diffusing his thoughts. The sensation is not painful but he is distracted. Ramirez has the idea he should check in with his partner, Shawn Drake, then maybe talk to Hansen and Slater. Ramirez doesn’t quite know why, but he has an overwhelming urge to leave.
“Detective,” the man says, quietly with a sweep of his arm. “Your investigation?”
“Yeah, okay,” Ramirez says. “I guess I should go see how things are going.”
“That will be fine,” the stranger says.
Cody can’t believe what is happening. He watches Ramirez cross the room and reach for the doorknob. Cody looks at the stranger who stares back intently. Ramirez pauses, frowns, wonders why he is leaving. But his feet seem to have control over his whole body. He stares at the knob for a second longer then twists it, opening the door.
As the door closes Cody senses a presence around him. It is as if the room has filled with other, unseen people. They crowd in, surround him, pressing close. His vision becomes dark at the edges and he struggles to focus. Deep in his subconscious Cody knows the strangers in the room are cold and inimical. Fear ripples through his body.
Without realizing it, Cody reaches for his gun. But as his fingers close around the pistol grip, Cody’s eyes meet the stranger’s and, instantly, any feeling of fright vanishes like the night giving way to morning. Looking at the man’s face, Cody sees an endlessness that transcends time itself.
“I know about Julia,” the man says, softly.
Cody is surprised. “You do?” Somewhere, just below the surface of conscious thought, Cody wonders how this guy knows anything at all about Julia, and at the very same time, Cody understands this stranger probably knows everything.
The man nods and says, “I wish I could have stopped it.”
“You knew her, was she a friend?” Cody asks.
“I know of her.”
“What about Nick? Do you know him?”
“Detective, you must be careful. This is…..” his voice trails off, he seems to be searching for the right words. “This is all much larger than you understand.”
As if his mind were no longer his own, Cody struggles to devise an argument. Arms folded across his chest Cody tries to appear undaunted.
“Look,” Cody says, trying to resist the haze filling his thoughts, “My partner is dead, his fiancée is dead, and my wife was almost killed. I’m going to find the bastards who did this.”
The stranger fixes Cody with an appraising stare, nods. Indeed, there is no doubt about that, Cody will find the killers but the cost will be high, probably too high. Still, it was all set in motion a long time ago and there is no going back, not now. A sad smile drifts across the man’s face. In Cody, he sees a reflection of himself. He knows Cody is tough, but Cody needs more. He needs faith.
Faith?
The very word stabs at his heart, a reminder of how little of it there is left in him. And of how quickly that fragment of faith seems to be waning.
“I know how you feel, Cody,” the stranger says. “But believe me, you are not ready for this.”
“Not ready for what?” Cody says. “Not ready to go after their killers? It’s my job.”
The man looks down and whispers, “No, it’s not. It is mine.” Then he glances back up at Cody and smiles brightly. “Go to Jamie. She needs you.”
There are a thousand questions popping in Cody’s brain. He wants to know who this man is and how he knows so much. And what was that intense feeling of being surrounded? But just like Ramirez, Cody finds his thoughts focusing on the man’s suggestion. Jamie does need him, he should go to her. And like Ramirez, Cody finds himself walking. He reaches the door, pulls it open.
“Rediscover your faith, Cody,” the man says. “It will save your life.”
Cody hesitates, turns back and faces the stranger, his mind suddenly clear, focused. Narrowing his eyes, Cody says, “I don’t even know what that means. What is faith, anyway? Believing in something you can’t see, in something that doesn’t exist? Who needs that shit?” Cody pats his shoulder holster. “This is all the faith I need.”
“We both know you don’t really believe that,” the stranger says. “But you are right about ne
eding that Smith and Wesson. You’ll need everything, guns, muscle, luck—all of it. But in the end, you will need more. In the end, it will come down to faith.”
Cody looks down the hall at the cops standing by Julia’s apartment, looks at Jamie. As he takes in the sight of her, Jamie turns to face him. Her movement seems to take place in slowed motion. Her body moves with a flux that reminds him of grace and sensuality. Cody sees in Jamie all he could ever want.
Her face is drawn, she looks tired and afraid. At that moment the true realization of how close he had come to losing Jamie presses its way into Cody’s consciousness. All he can think of is taking her in his arms and holding her, all he wants is to make love to her.
“Thanks for the advice,” Cody says, looking back into the vacant apartment. But the man is gone. Cody looks around, wonders if the man has simply stepped into another room. But Cody dismisses the idea and, for reasons he will never understand, he knows the stranger is no longer anywhere near the apartment building.
There is something shiny on the floor, just where the man had been standing. The glint of light catches Cody’s attention, and he walks over to it. He kneels down, pulling his fingertips across the worn, wood flooring. Cody feels a sharp sting and quickly withdraws his hand. Holding his fingertips at eye level, Cody examines his injury. In the tip of his index finger are two tiny slivers of glass.
“Cody?”
It is Jamie.
Cody uses his thumbnail to clear the glass from his fingertip, wondering then knowing for sure where it came from. He straightens up, goes to his wife and says, “Ready?”
Jamie nods and her lower lip quivers as she tries to keep the tears back. Cody wraps his arms around her.