Trey held up a hand, cutting off Darc’s next question. “Dude. You like football or baseball?”
“Um. Football.”
“Huh. Chinese or Italian?”
“Italian, I guess.” The manager was clearly confused by the vice cop’s line of questioning. No more so than Darc.
“About the stalking charge against you that was dismissed, who was that?” Darc redirected the man’s attention to the file in front of them.
“One of the residents at an apartment I managed before this last one.” Michael shrugged, his expression pinched. Irritation, or thirst? “I took a picture of her. She freaked.”
Keane leaned in toward the suspect once more. “Sushi, tapas or dim sum?”
“I don’t know,” the manager answered, a frown on his face. “I’ve never had any of those.”
“Right. You like summer or winter better?”
“Summer.”
“Game of Thrones or Twilight?” Keane pressed.
“Twilight, I suppose.”
The vice cop sank back into his chair, seemingly satisfied. Darc stared at him for a moment, waiting to make sure he wouldn’t interrupt again. When Keane just smiled up at him, Darc continued.
“Can you tell us where you were last night between one—”
“Market and 5th,” Keane blurted out.
The manager started, causing his metal chair to scrape across the tile. His jaw hung open. Either the man was shocked, or he was suffering a stroke. Darc swiveled around to face the vice cop. “What did you say?”
“That’s where he picks up his prostitutes. Along the Track.” When Officer Keane saw the look on Darc’s face, he pointed at their suspect. “Look at him. He’s got ‘John’ written all over him. And not just every once in a while. My guess is he’s a regular.”
As Darc redirected his attention to the man across the table, he could see that the manager’s gaze was darting about wildly. Beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. He waved his hands in dismissal of what Officer Keane had said.
“I… I don’t use hookers,” the man protested.
“Yeah, dude. Whatever.” Keane dismissed him, then spoke to Darc. “Hey. I’m gonna call my C.I. She works that strip. She might know our guy here.” He pulled out his cell phone and hit one of the speed dial numbers. After a moment, he spoke into the receiver. “Hey, Sugar! It’s Trey.” He held his hand over the phone and whispered, “That’s not her real name.”
Darc was completely baffled by what was happening here. Moments earlier he had been interrogating a suspect, when his temporary partner began spewing out nonsense questions and was now talking to a streetwalker. The lines of logic in his head were swirling about, all akimbo, as off kilter as he himself was.
“So, yeah, I need a favor, baby.” Keane continued talking to his informant, ignoring Darc and the suspect once again. “Have you seen a guy named Mike down your way? Yeah. Nasty hair. Mostly bald.” He paused for a moment, listening. “Ten bucks, next time I see you. Okay, okay, twenty.” More listening, then he frowned. “Thanks, Sugar!” Keane closed his cell phone with a snap.
“Soooo…” Keane said, looking at the manager. “You’ve been a busy, busy boy. Almost every night down there. That explains the nasty furniture in your apartment.” He turned back to Darc. “Can I speak to you outside for a sec?”
As Darc stepped out into the hallway, the sounds and smells of the nearby bullpen asserted themselves. Someone had ordered an early lunch. The scents of garlic and oregano suggested something Italian in origin. A uniformed cop passed by, nodding at Keane as the vice cop shut the door behind him. Keane nodded back, then turned to Darc and blurted out, “He’s not our guy. Sugar says he always looks for the cheapest prostitutes he can find. She saw him pick one up early this morning at around 1:30. She was back working the streets at 2.”
“That account seems to be much more specific than a prostitute would typically be,” Darc responded. “How certain are you that her recollection is accurate?”
“That’s the thing about Sugar. She’s got like a photographic memory. I’ve never seen her get anything wrong.”
“Eidetic,” Darc replied.
“What?”
“The proper term is ‘eidetic’ memory, not photographic.”
Trey waved his hands. “Whatever, dude. She remembers stuff. She’s good. We can trust her.”
From the way that the lines of logic had settled as Trey was speaking, Darc knew he was correct. This was not their man. He turned to walk back to his office.
“Um, Darc?” Trey called out after him. Darc kept walking. After a moment, the vice cop caught up to him. “What about our manager guy back there?”
“What about him?” Darc was no longer thinking about Michael Jensen. He was now analyzing the tracks of color within his mind, looking for the next fragment to follow. The manager was an irrelevance.
“Dude. We can’t just leave him there. He’s innocent.”
“Innocent of murder, yes. He’s guilty of hiring a prostitute. You work in vice. Arrest him, Officer Keane.” The matter was of little importance. In fact, Darc was frustrated that they were still talking about it.
“I’m not going to arrest him. We’re working a homicide. With a serial killer. That guy’s just a perv.”
“Then let him go. I do not care.”
“Hey!” Keane moved in front of Darc and came to a halt, stopping Darc’s forward progress back toward the bullpen. “Hold on a second.” The vice cop ticked off numbers on his fingers as he spoke. “First thing, stop calling me Officer Keane. At least as long as we’re working together. I’m Trey.”
What Darc called this man was also of little importance. He nodded his head.
“Second thing. Stop moving so fast. You’re like one of those speed walkers.”
“Walking slowly is inefficient.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Trey waved his hands, brushing away the comment. “Third. Treat me like a freaking partner, dude.”
Curious. “Was I not treating you as a partner?” Darc asked. The question was sincere. Out of the five partners he’d had in the last eleven months and five days, three of them had said something to the same effect. That was statistically significant.
“No! Not even close.”
There was information here that could be helpful to Darc. It was knowledge that was tinged in gray, covered over with emotions. Territory that Darc could not traverse. But, possibly, Trey could.
“How should I treat a partner?”
Trey sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You could start by asking me something about myself. You know. At least pretend that you’re interested in my life and how I’m doing.”
“But I am not.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” Trey slapped his hands against his thighs. “But when you pretend to be, it makes people feel good.”
“Why do I need to make people feel good? That seems to be an inefficient use of time that could be used on investigation.” The emotional landscape they were tracking through felt like a gray cloud that was beginning to threaten Darc’s glowing ribbons of light. It left him feeling anxious.
“You make people feel good so they don’t fight you.” Trey held up a hand as Darc started to question. “When they don’t fight you, you work faster. And sometimes, just sometimes, they might even help you out.”
“I do not understand.”
“You don’t have to understand. Just remember to pretend to be interested.”
Darc mulled that over in his mind, turning it about in order to see it from all angles. Once again, he lamented the lack of some codified system for interpersonal relations. While this still felt like a gray fog expanding to snuff out the logic within him, he could see that what Trey had said had its own form of reason to it. Pretending to be interested did not have to take long, but could end up saving time. That satisfied logic.
“Why are you not yet a detective?” Darc asked.
“What?” Trey’s tone went up in p
itch by half of an octave. That was an indicator of surprise, anger or injury to the testes. Considering the fact that Trey had not been struck, it was more than likely one of the other two options.
“I asked why you have not yet earned the title of detective. I went through your file as you were taking the manager into the interrogation room. You have the highest conviction rate in vice.”
“Yeah, well… Wait a sec. You went through my file?” Trey demanded.
“I needed to know with whom I was working. You were an unknown quantity to me. I rectified that.”
“Okay, we’ll leave that one alone for a second. But why are you up in my grill all of a sudden?” Trey stopped for a moment and he seemed to see the look of blank incomprehension in Darc’s face, then rephrased. “Sorry. Too much slang. Why are you asking me all of these questions?”
“Does this not fall within the parameters of pretending to be interested?”
“Oh. Oh! Right.” Trey frowned up at Darc. “Man, we need to work on your people skills. Okay. The detective thing.” Trey sighed, then spread his hands. “I just like to help people, you know? Catch bad guys, keep the streets safe.”
“And as a detective, the power to do that increases.” Darc did not understand Trey’s issue. There was an essential piece of the vice cop’s thought process that did not seem to be connecting.
“Yeah, and so does the responsibility. The consequences if you screw up.” Trey heaved a large sigh. “I screw up as an officer in vice and maybe a drug dealer goes free. Working a homicide? People die, dude. I can’t take that kind of pressure.”
“Good.”
“Good?” Trey’s face scrunched up. The look could indicate confusion. Or that he was looking into a bright light. “Why the hell would that be good?”
“Because I do not want you to take any responsibility. Any and all pressure falls on me. Not only am I willing to take it, but I will not have it any other way. This was something none of my previous partners could grasp.”
“Hold the phone,” Keane responded, as he held up his hands in apparent disbelief. “I don’t have to be accountable? For anything?”
“Not as far as I am concerned,” Darc responded.
One of the C.S.I. team members who had been on site at the Laundromat turned the corner from the bullpen and skidded to a halt in front of Keane and Darc. He looked up at the two of them and did a double-take.
“Hey, Darc, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Do you ever answer your phone? We got that list of car owners from the license plates captured on the traffic cams around the crime scene.” He held out a sheet of paper for Darc and then disappeared back around the corner once Darc took it.
The images on the page lifted up off the paper and glimmered, winking at Darc, promising information that could lead to the capture of a killer. Darc welcomed them into the lightless recesses of his mind, basking in their glow.
* * *
Trey floated through the hallway after Darc, moving toward the tall detective’s desk to go over some list, or whatever. That was all fine, but right this second, Trey wanted to just bask in the glory of not having to shoulder any responsibility. None.
It was fantastic.
Ever since Captain Merle had put him on this case, Trey’s stomach had been doing not just somersaults, but full-on gymnastic routines. Olympic gymnastic routines. Gold-medal-winning ones.
Ever since he’d been a little kid, Trey had wanted to be in law enforcement. While other classmates were talking about becoming pilots or astronauts, Trey’s childhood answer to the age-old question had always been, I want to be a cop. And then, as he got older, I want to be a detective.
Then reality hit, in the form of his grades. Trey wasn’t dumb, by any stretch of the imagination. Understanding concepts in school wasn’t that big of an issue, at least not when he was paying attention. He just got distracted. By people and their problems. And occasionally, shiny objects. But mostly, people and their problems.
So when the time came to figure out what he was going to do with his life, Trey still picked law enforcement, but he picked the area where he felt like he would be working with people. And where his tendency to get preoccupied wouldn’t cost lives.
But to have the opportunity to be working in homicide, as a detective? Without any of the stress of screwing up? Right now, Trey was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Unfortunately, Trey knew shoes all too well, and this one was no exception. He even knew its size and shape. This particular shoe was tall, had a shaved head, and was prone to cryptic utterances.
Because as much as Darc seemed willing to go along with Trey as a temporary partner, there was no way he was going to be on board with a more permanent arrangement. Trey knew the score here. His contribution to the case so far was fetching the dude a bagel. Oh, and a call to Trey’s C.I.
Darc didn’t need him. Darc probably didn’t need anyone. Well, not anyone who would be something more than a glorified assistant, making sure that Darc’s nose hairs were properly trimmed. Speaking of which… Trey caught up to the tall detective and looked over at his nose in profile. Nope. All good.
The two of them arrived at Darc’s desk, which was pretty much as Trey had imagined it to be. Utilitarian to the point of being Spartan, well organized, and about as cold as ice. No personal pictures, no unfinished paperwork, no “notes to self” reminding him to pick up a loaf of bread on the way home.
Who was this guy? Did he even have a life outside the office?
Darc took a seat, leaving Trey to fend for himself. Not shocking. Honestly, Trey didn’t much care, but this was something he could maybe work on with the big guy. Help him out with his people skills. That might be an area where Trey could be of some benefit. The problem would be getting Darc to recognize it as a real issue needing attention.
As Darc scanned down the document, Trey read it idly over his shoulder. Terrible etiquette, but Trey was pretty confident that Darc wouldn’t even notice.
Almost halfway down the list, Trey stumbled across a name that sounded familiar. William Packer. William. Will. Bill. Billy?
Wait. Wasn’t that the name of the M.E.’s assistant?
“Hey, Darc. Isn’t that guy the one who was helping out the examiner at the crime scene?” Trey pointed to the name on the list.
Darc glanced at the name, then looked up at the far wall, his face devoid of any expression whatsoever. He blinked once, twice, three times. Then he swiveled around in his chair and came to his feet. Moving with a speed and precision that was almost frightening, Darc stalked toward the entrance to the bullpen.
It all happened so fast, Trey was caught off-guard and had to sprint to gain Darc’s side before the door swung shut behind the bald man. “Dude. Where are you going?”
“You do not know? It was you who pointed out the name of the young assistant. We are going to his place of residence. There are some questions that he will need to answer.” Darc rotated his head to look at Trey for a moment. The detective’s eyes were hard and sharp, like diamond blades poised to cut through metal.
Maybe Trey was overreacting, but he was really glad he wasn’t Billy right about now.
CHAPTER 5
Watching Trey navigate traffic while simultaneously talking and gesticulating was troubling, Darc had decided. While it was true that Darc himself was able to multitask on a mental level, often working on as many as five different problems at once while still doing a physical task, he was an exception to many rules. Also, flexing one’s mental muscles was a different thing than using one’s hands to gesture when they should be firmly placed on the steering wheel at ten and two o’clock. Much different.
Darc watched the cars around them, each one tracing a separate color track in the back of his mind. Their own ribbon of light approached but never collided with the others around them. Darc discovered himself hoping that would remain true.
Fascinating.
“So,” Trey continued, “that’s how I ended up with scar tissue on the
back of my earlobe. True story.” He glanced over at Darc and raised his eyebrows, which typically indicated surprise… or a question. “Why is it that we’re going over to Billy’s place? How do we know he’s not at work right now?”
“William is not scheduled to work right now.”
Trey did a double take. “Did you check? I didn’t see that happen.”
Darc shrugged his shoulders, a calculated gesture intended to demonstrate nonchalance. “I have the departmental rosters memorized. William is only scheduled to work Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays, with an alternating rotation on Saturday and Sunday mornings.”
“You…” Trey swallowed, then tried again. “You have everybody’s schedules… memorized?”
“Yes. It is often necessary to know precisely where a particular law enforcement employee might be. Looking up schedules or calling multiple departments is inefficient.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Trey looked back at the road, his hands for once tightly gripping the steering wheel. “I can see how that might be tough.”
Darc pointed at the next right, which was the street on which William Packer lived. Pulling up alongside the curb, Trey put the car into park and the two of them exited the vehicle. Trey started toward the front door, but Darc moved around to the side.
“Um, doorbell’s over here.” Trey indicated up the steps to the front porch.
“William lives in a basement apartment. If we were to try the front door, his mother would answer. That could give William a chance to escape undetected.”
“Billy lives with his mom? That sucks. Wait. How did you know that?” Trey lifted up an index finger. “Let me guess. Memorized the personnel files?”
Darc did not bother to respond as he moved toward the entrance to the basement apartment. The lines snaked and narrowed in on the door, the colors mostly green with some yellow and a touch of blue. A solid lead.
Trey held up his hand as he adjusted his gun in his holster. “You know… can’t be too careful, dude.” He waved at Darc to knock as he took a wider stance.
Down & Dirty: A McCray Crime Collection Page 33