by Kim Pritekel
“Oh, sorry. Sis, this is Ryan. He’s…” The two exchanged a brief look before Leo swallowed hard and met Catania’s gaze again. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Her eyebrows must have nearly shot off her forehead from the explosion of laughter from Leo. “I see,” she finally said, glancing at the boy with Brad Pitt good looks. “Well, Ryan, it’s nice to meet you.” She extended her hand out and he took it.
“So, you’re the gay one, right?” he asked.
“Gay one?”
“Yeah. Leo mentioned out of all his brothers and you, there was a gay one. That’s you, right?”
Catania eyed her brother, who quickly looked away. Stopping the smile that wanted to spread across her lips, Catania cleared her throat and nodded, dousing a large cotton ball with peroxide. “Yes, Ryan,” she said softly, lifting the saturated cotton ball to the cut above Leo’s eye. He hissed and winced at the insta-burn. Serves you right. “I’m a lesbian.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Leonardo asked, wincing as she gently wiped away some of the blood from the minor cut he’d taken to his left cheekbone.
Stopping her ministrations, she raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you?”
He grinned. “Touché.” He met her gaze, smile gone. “Thanks, Sis.”
She patted his knee. “Don’t mention it. You can, however, tell me what happened to you two.” She winced when her brother jumped as she moved to a particularly sensitive cut near his mouth. “Sorry.”
“We decided to walk around the River Walk after we had some burgers,” Ryan offered. “Minding or own business when we got jumped by three assholes under one of the bridges.”
She looked past her brother to the other young man. “Did you guys say anything to them?” When Ryan looked away, blushing slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck, she let out a sad sigh. “Were you guys…”
“We kissed,” Leo added softly, sounding ashamed.
“Damn. I’m sorry, boys,” she said, shaking her head. “Here we are pushing 2020 and people are still insecure and ignorant.”
“Sadly, I don’t think that will ever end,” Ryan said. “May I use your bathroom?”
“Sure. Down the hall and second door to the right.” She watched him before returning her attention to her brother. She tossed aside the cotton ball she’d been using before grabbing a tube of Neosporin. “He’s cute. Care to fill me in?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Nia. I planned to.”
“To be honest, I thought you were going to come out to me at the diner that night.”
He grinned. “I actually was, then chickened out and told you about the show instead. It’s actually Ryan that got me interested in trying out. At that point we’d only been dating for a couple weeks.” He shrugged. “I guess it was just too much to say it out loud.”
She nodded. “I understand.” She met his gaze and gave him a winning smile. “I’m proud of you, Leo. It’s not easy. What are you going to do about the ’rents?”
He shrugged with a silly smile. “I don’t know. Hell, even you haven’t come out to them, yet. Although,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows. “I’m guessing with that little blond minx, you may not have a choice, huh?” He grabbed the red rose out of the vase and tucked it dramatically between his teeth.
She snagged it from him and put it back with its other two mates. “Yeah, well I fucked that one up, unfortunately.” Ryan returned. Catania was relieved by the reprieve from having to talk about Ally. “Alright, lover boy,” she said, patting Leo’s leg to get him to move. “Your turn.”
****
“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me we have a mother who was mutilated like she had drinks with Jack the Ripper. We have a father who was murdered,” he said, his voice rising with each person. “And we have a four-year-old child who was left to hang from a fucking ceiling fan,” he said, whirling his finger round in a circle above his head. “Like he’s a goddamn pine tree deodorizer hanging from my fucking rearview mirror?” He slammed large hands on his desk as he loomed over it, glaring down at Catania and Oscar who sat on the opposite side.
“Yes. Sir—” Oscar began.
“And then,” the sergeant continued. “You have some guy who blows his fucking head off in a public park who is connected to those aforementioned people. There is a gun next to him. There is a bottle that you tell me is part of a six-pack from the other murder scene. And yet…” He slammed his palm on the desk, startling Catania. “And yet not one goddamn fingerprint? Not one?” He looked to Catania then Oscar and settled on Catania again. “Do you know how to do your job?”
“Sir—” Oscar tried again.
Price glared at him. “I asked you a question, Detective. Do you either of you bozos know the heat the captain is putting on me over this? Not to mention the Murphy woman. You two sitting around with your thumbs up your ass?” He glared at each in turn. “Give me one good idea or one bit of good news before I throw you both back to runnin’ patrols.”
“Sir,” Catania said, doing her best not to smack her superior. He’d always been an asshole but had been particularly difficult lately. “I think we need to do a press conference.” She wilted slightly at the look that was suddenly aimed at her.
“A press conference,” the large black man said, a condescending smirk on his face. “Really.”
“Yes.”
“Because that’s exactly what we need. We need the public to see we can’t do our fucking jobs so they have to do it for us!”
Biting so hard on the inside of her cheek she tasted blood, Catania held firm. “Sir, we’ve hit an impasse. Whoever did this covered their tracks incredibly well. I think we need to expand this out to the public, see what they saw, what they know.” She cleared her throat. “I also think we should include Megan Murphy’s white Subaru with the information we’re releasing.”
“That went out already, Detective.”
“Yes, sir, I know. I called the Pueblo Chieftain myself.” Catania’s tone was more biting than it should be, but she’d had it with this guy. She and Oscar had been doing everything they could, pulling out every trick in their little bag of legalities to solve these cases. “I believe the white Subaru may be involved.”
Price flopped down, the old desk chair groaning under his bulk. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes never leaving her. “Give me your reasoning.”
“Kevin Tanner’s wife said he’d told her in the last week of his life he was being followed, and he’d mentioned, ‘An old, ugly white car,’ her words. I know,” she said, raising a hand to forestall his thrashing. “It’s a gut feeling. I think it’s related. And if not, we still need to find it for the Murphy case. Imagine your glory in killing two birds with one press conference.”
****
Standing proud and tall in his dress uniform, Sergeant Malcolm Price stood at the bank of microphones. His voice was deep and resonating as he outlined what the Pueblo Police Department was asking of the general public. Catania was also in her dress uniform as she stood behind and to the right of him, hands clasped behind her back. Oscar stood in the same position to Price’s left. They exchanged a surreptitious glance.
“My detectives and I have worked tirelessly to solve one of the most heinous crimes this town has seen in more than twenty-five years,” he said, looking out over a gathered group of more than a dozen newspaper and TV reporters and cameramen. “We’ve overturned every stone. We need your help.”
Catania watched him, doing her best not to shoot invisible arrows into the back of his head. She’d lost respect for him when his ambition had overtaken what was once a fine officer. But now…
As she looked out at the press, she noticed a large crowd of onlookers standing around, listening. But what caught her eye was a young black woman who stood back from most, her long braids pulled back away from a lovely face. She wore a denim jacket bedazzled with rhinestones spelling out various words: Queen Bitch, Black Barbie, Kiss Mine.
Catania watched as the y
oung woman pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of the short jacket. The young woman’s dark eyes never left Catania’s as she extracted one of the slender white sticks and tucked it between painted lips. She seemed to be tonguing the filter side of the smoke as the cigarette bobbed slightly.
The woman reached up with a well-manicured hand and removed the cigarette. With a small nod, she turned and began to walk away. Catania noticed more bedazzled words on the back of the jacket. She also noticed a number: 18.
Forgetting where she was for a moment, Catania nearly stepped away from the front of the PPD building where the press conference was being held in order to follow the young woman. She seemed so familiar to her, somehow. Instead she was brought back to the here and now with Sergeant Price’s booming voice.
“I thank you for listening and,” he turned to Oscar, moving far enough away from the microphones to not be overheard. “Anything to add, Detective?”
Oscar looked at him, surprised. “Uh, no.”
Catania prepared to step forward after her invitation, but it didn’t come. Price turned back to the press.
“Thank you.”
She was supremely angry, but Catania pushed it down as soon as she realized he hadn’t bothered to mention the Subaru. She quickly moved herself between him and the microphones as she reached into her pocket.
“Sorry folks. I wanted to add that we’re also asking for the public’s help in locating this car.” She held out the copy of Lara’s snapshot. “We’re looking for this. It’s a white 1986 Subaru wagon, Arizona plates.” She read off the plate number, which she knew by heart. “This car is wanted in conjunction with cases we are currently working. Thank you.” She was about to step away when a reporter shouted out a request for her name and rank. She replied, spelling her name for him then stepped away, not even bothering to look at her boss as she could feel that the quiver of invisible arrows had been transferred to Malcolm Price.
****
Sitting in her Jeep, Catania tapped the steering wheel as she stared at the building. It was only seven thirty, so she knew Ally had only been on her shift for an hour. It had been three days since…well, since. She missed her terribly and knew she had to make it right.
Cutting the engine, she climbed out of the Jeep and hurried across the parking lot and into the diner. It was busy, the couple hours of the dinner rush in full swing. She looked around, looking for the blond woman that she craved but didn’t see, only other familiar faces buzzing around carrying plates of food, working on coffee refills, chatting, and generally adding to the mayhem.
“Hey, Ally, before you head out can you please grab that phone?” someone called out.
Catania followed the voice and found herself heading toward the breakfast counter. It was then that she saw a waitress she recognized as a newbie named Thelma, who was messing with the industrial coffeemaker. A moment later, Ally zoomed around the corner from the kitchen, her winter jacket tugged on over her uniform dress. She didn’t even look in Catania’s direction as she hurried to the ringing phone.
“Randy’s, how can I help you?”
Catania waited patiently as Ally took the call, seeming to give the caller the diner’s hours before hanging up. The blonde with the ever-resent ponytail turned around, freezing when she spotted Catania.
Catania was about to open her mouth to say hello when Ally turned to Thelma, who suddenly showed up at her side.
“Cheeseburger medium-well, cheddar with side of mayo, and seasoned fries. Oh, and a Coke.”
Initially Thelma looked at her, confused, but then pulled out her pad from her apron pocket and scribbled down Catania’s usual order.
Ally turned to Catania. “Thelma will take care of you,” she said softly, then turned to hurry from behind the counter.
“Wait.” Catania reached out and lightly grabbed her arm.
“Please let go of me,” Ally whispered, somehow her words heard above the roar of the busy restaurant.
“Ally—”
“I’m embarrassed enough, so please don’t make this harder,” Ally said, gently pulling her arm away before she hugged herself. “Catania, you have been so kind to me, such a gift to me when I needed it most.”
Catania wasn’t sure what hurt most: the sadness in Ally’s eyes, or the sound of her full name, which sounded so formal on those beautiful lips.
“I obviously read everything very wrong and I’m so deeply sorry I offended or upset you.” She stared down at her shoes, looking as though she was about to cry. “I’ll leave you alone.” She met Catania’s gaze for the briefest of moments, giving her a tiny smile before she turned and hurried down the main aisle of the diner.
“Wait, Ally!”
Catania tried to follow but was stopped as a man headed to the men’s room nearly knocked her down as they crossed paths. She tried to go left, he went right, she tried to go right, he ended up going left.
“Want to dance?” he said good-naturedly.
No time to be polite, she shoved him aside and hurried out the front door just in time to see a yellow cab pull away from the curb.
Chapter Fifteen
“Shit.”
A black screen came to life to show a man looking down at the camera. He was middle-aged with thinning light brown hair streaked with gray and a round, moon face. Above his head was the ceiling, long, fluorescent lights set into it.
“How the hell do I turn this thing off?”
A fingertip appeared, looking like a giant moon as it hovered over the screen before disappearing.
“Damn it. It’s still on.” His hazel eye grew huge as it neared the camera lens. “Jorge, come here, man.”
A Hispanic man popped into view over the man’s shoulder. “Get a new phone?” he asked, the light above shining on a bald scalp. He raised a hand and waved. “Hello!”
“Stop foolin’, man, I’m trying to figure this stupid thing out.”
Jorge’s hand became huge as it reached toward the camera, the view suddenly moving upward until there was an extreme close-up of the paisley pattern of the man’s tie.
“The phones these kids use today,” he said.
“Yeah, well it was my kid who gave this damn thing to me for Christmas. Messing around with it to figure it out and I can’t get the camera to shut off.”
“Christmas? Rodney, Christmas ain’t for another week.”
“Yeah, I know. The wife’s family came into town early so we did Christmas last weekend. Fine by me. Now I can watch my Steelers on Christmas Eve and be left alone.” The two men laughed.
“Amen, brother.”
“Hey, Rodney, Jorge, Price wants to see you,” an unseen third man’s voice said.
“Price? As in Sergeant Price?” an unseen Rodney asked.
“Yup.”
“Why?” Jorge asked, the scene moving to his tie and a small edge of black leather with the metal of a badge attached.
“Dunno.”
There was silence between the two men, allowing for noises around them to come through—typing on a computer keyboard nearby, an unanswered ringing telephone, and muffled chatter.
“What the hell does he want with us?” Rodney asked, his voice lower than before and the tone confused.
“No idea with that prick,” Jorge said, just as quiet.
Suddenly the frame went black again.
“Aha! I think I got it,” Jorge said, his voice still heard even as the image of his tie and badge was gone. “Here.”
“Thanks.” The scratchy sound of fabric rubbing against a microphone cut off anything the men were saying for a moment before their voices were heard again, though a bit muffled. “Let’s see what he wants”
There were more scratchy sounds for a few moments until finally there was a firm knocking on wood.
“Come in,” a deep baritone called out. A moment later, “Close the door, Rodney, then sit down, gentlemen.”
“What’s up, Sergeant?” Jorge asked.
“Listen, no doubt you
two have heard about these unsolved cases we have going. Right?” He pushed when there was no response.
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s not okay with me. You see, I oversee the Homicide Department, and when my people aren’t getting it done…Wait, let me cut myself off.” There was the creak of wood and his next words sounded closer. “I got me some goddamn eye-talian dyke and Tweedledee missing his Tweedledum working on this goddamn thing. I am not about to let these two jackoffs make me lose Lieutenant because we can’t get this shit solved.”
“Wait, Sergeant Price, from what I’ve heard d’Giovanni and Riley are doing a great—”
“You arguing with me, Slovodnik?” Price practically growled.
“No, sir.”
“Sir,” Jorge said “What exactly are you asking us to do? They’re in Homicide, we’re in Bank Robbery.”
“Are you or are you not a detective, Trujillo?”
“Well, yes—”
“Then you figure it out. Dismissed, gentlemen.”
The scooting of chairs and shuffling of feet and clothing dominated the audio before the solid closing of a door sounded crisply.
“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Rodney demanded.
“I got nuthin’,” Jorge responded. “Damn, I wish we hadn’t fixed your camera. I can’t believe that just happened.”
****
“I should have worn better shoes,” Oscar muttered as he nearly teetered over a pile discarded carburetors. “Help me here, will ya?”
Chuckling, Catania reached out from her place in the lead and offered her partner a steadying hand until he could join her in a clearer spot. “How much further, Lego?” she called out to their tour guide who had called the tip line allocated to their cases.
“Yeah?” the thirty-something junkyard owner called back, never slowing his steady pace through the piles of junk and discarded refrigerators.