Borderline

by Joseph Badal

  “Oh jeez.”

  “Come on, Barbara, we’ve wasted enough time. Are you in or not?”

  “Oh jeez,” Barbara said again.

  As they had guessed, the DVDs with “CONNIE” and “VICTORIA” on the labels starred Connie Alban and Victoria Comstock. Barbara and Susan got through all those—with a lot of fast forwarding—and viewed a couple of others that featured women they didn’t recognize. The women on the DVDs did not seem to be aware of the camera. The only disk that did not feature Stein as the women’s sexual partner was labeled “CONNIE & HECTOR.” In that one, Connie was in bed with her boyfriend. No sign of Stein.

  The last disk they looked at starred Victoria.

  “Man, that woman was a hellion,” Susan said. “I can’t tell if she’s screwing or fighting. She really gets into it. And it looks like Stein likes it rough.”

  Barbara didn’t respond. She stood and paced her living room.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  Barbara looked at Susan as she paced. “I got a feeling that all of the women on these DVDs are . . . were patients of Stein’s.”

  “Puts a whole new meaning on the term psychotherapy, doesn’t it?” Susan said.

  Barbara nodded. “It could be that Stein screwed the wrong patient. One of his patients could have been pissed off enough to kill Stein. You know, maybe jealous.”

  “Or one of their husbands found out about it and came after Stein.”

  CHAPTER 40

  “So, even though I took you off the case yesterday, you two decided to go out to Nathan Stein’s house and question him about his relationship with Victoria Comstock,” Salas said. “Is that about right?”

  He pointed his metal ruler, first at Barbara and then at Susan. The thing vibrated like a divining rod, so Barbara knew this would not be one of Salas’s normal tantrums.

  “You took evidence from the crime scene without telling Gabelli, the detective in charge of the Comstock case. And you let him walk into the house when you knew a vicious dog was inside. Does that about cover it?” His voice was a great deal calmer than Barbara would have expected. He leaned back in his desk chair as though totally relaxed.

  “And, if we hadn’t gone out there, Stein’s body would still be lying there,” Barbara said. “At least—”

  Salas snapped forward and slammed the ruler on his desk. “Don’t give me any of that shit, Lassiter,” he growled. “And you wipe that smile off your face, Martinez. You’re both suspended for two weeks.”

  “C’mon, Lieutenant,” Susan said. “You’ve got to admit our finding Stein is a possible break in this case. There’s got to be a connection between his murder and Mrs. Comstock’s.”

  “Stein and the Comstock woman are no longer your concern. The sheriff’s under big-time political pressure to fire you two because of what you pulled on Maxwell Comstock out at the airport. And he’s passed that pressure my way. I could have rolled over and fired your asses. I’ve stood up for you—told the sheriff you were the best detectives I have. So, what do you do? You ignore my orders and go renegade. Now, get your asses out of my office and out of this building! I don’t want to see your faces for two weeks.”

  “Is our suspension with or without pay?” Susan asked, a mocking lilt to her voice.

  “Sonofabitch!” Salas shouted. “It was with pay, but—”

  “With pay is good,” Barbara blurted. She grabbed Susan’s arm and pulled her out of the office.

  “And stay away from the Comstock case or I’ll fire your asses.”

  Barbara hadn’t realized the Lieutenant had gone to bat for them and it was nice to hear he thought they were his two best detectives, but she was royally pissed off. A bunch of fucking politicians had sandbagged their investigation. Now fat-assed Gabelli was in charge of their case. The guy was so incompetent; he could screw up a wet dream.

  Neither of them said a word as Barbara drove Susan home. When she pulled the unmarked car up to the curb in front of Susan’s place, Susan opened the door, but didn’t get out.

  “Come on, Susan, get out,” Barbara said. “I don’t want to talk about any of this. I just want to go home and hibernate for fourteen days. You were right when you said we’ll be tainted forever if we don’t solve this case. Remember what you said? ‘That we’d be the two gals who couldn’t get the job done and had to let the boys come to the rescue.’ Guess what. That’s exactly what’s happened.”

  Susan said, “Salas said he’d keep our badges if he finds out we’re working the Comstock case. We just have to make sure he doesn’t find out.”

  Barbara pointed at the open passenger door. “Out!”

  CHAPTER 41

  Barbara had not felt this low in a long time. Not since Jim died. She didn’t know what to do with herself. She’d never been out of work, and even though she knew she would be back on the job in two weeks, she felt as though she’d been fired. That she’d lost her direction. To make matters worse, her home felt different, unwelcoming. Now, it felt like just a place to sleep. Her gaze fell on the liquor cabinet and she took a couple of steps toward it before she remembered she’d dumped all the booze. A wave of depression washed over her and she began to sob.

  She sagged to the floor, her back against the sofa, and cried until she felt drained. It was as though all her frustrations, pain, feelings of inadequacy, loneliness, and shame about her drinking had been stirred into a lethal cocktail inside her. She struggled to her feet and moved toward her bedroom, when her cell phone rang.

  “Hello,” Barbara croaked.

  “Detective Lassiter?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Shawn Navarro. What the hell is wrong with you idiots? I can’t believe you arrested Marge Stanley. You people couldn’t solve a case if the murderer confessed to the crime.”

  “Hold it, buddy,” she snapped, “where do you get off criticizing me?”

  “I figured I would be wasting my time calling you.”

  And then Barbara heard only dial tone. “Sonofabitch!” she snapped. She punched the Caller ID button on her phone and got Navarro’s number. His phone rang half a dozen times before her call went to the answering machine. “Listen, you bastard,” Barbara yelled, “at least have the balls to let me have my say.” She was about to hang up, when a long beep sounded, and Navarro came on the line.

  “So, talk.”

  Barbara took a deep breath, calmed herself. “We brought Marge Stanley in because she told us she was at the murder scene around the time Mrs. Comstock was murdered. But she only admitted to being there after an eye witness placed her truck at the Comstock home the night of the murder. Her daughter swears Marge threatened on more than one occasion to kill Victoria. And we have a tie between Marge’s daughter and a psychiatrist, who happened to be treating Connie and Victoria. Someone murdered that psychiatrist in the last ten hours. Information we found at the murder scene would lead a reasonable person to suspect that Marge had motive to kill that doctor. Marge could be involved in his death.”

  “Involved how?”

  “What the hell is your interest in all this?”

  Navarro hesitated for a moment. “Marge Stanley has been through a lot. She’s a nice lady and a client. I just hate to see her unjustly accused of something I don’t think she’s capable of doing. You should also recall that Marge Stanley referred you to me and I was the one who provided you with information about Victoria Comstock. If I’d known you would turn on Marge, I would never have helped you.” He paused a beat. “For your information, Marge Stanley isn’t capable of committing murder.”

  “I didn’t say she killed Stein; I said she could be involved in his murder.”

  Barbara didn’t owe Navarro an apology or even an explanation. But she had already come to the conclusion that Marge Stanley had not killed Victoria Comstock. A pang of guilt shot through her for arresting Marge, but Salas had ordered them to bring her in. “I think we should talk,” she said. “Can you meet me somewhere tonight for a drink . . . uh, a cup o
f coffee?”

  Navarro didn’t respond immediately. Finally, he said, “You pick the place and I’ll be there.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Barbara walked into Farina Alto, a new age Italian restaurant on Montgomery Avenue at 5:30 p.m. and looked around. She didn’t see Navarro. She checked with the hostess, who told Barbara he was probably in the bar.

  The after-work crowd was stacked two-deep at the bar. She finally spied Navarro at a small table in a corner. He had a drink in his hand and held it up to signal her. She walked over to the table and was surprised when Navarro stood. An actual gentleman, she thought.

  “Hi, you made good time,” she said.

  “I rarely drive at the speed limit. It’s against my religion. What would you like to drink?”

  She pointed at his glass. “Is that your usual, ginger ale?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’ll do,” she said as they both sat down at the table.

  The look on his face told Barbara he was still pissed off about Marge being in jail.

  “A cop who drinks soda pop,” he said. “That’s a new one. You on the wagon?”

  Barbara felt a flash of anger. “What do you care?” she snapped. She hadn’t come here to talk about her personal life.

  “I told you I stopped drinking booze three years ago.”

  Barbara met Navarro’s gaze. “Just because you had a problem with alcohol doesn’t mean I do,” she said hotly.

  She could tell from the look in his eyes he didn’t believe her.

  “Didn’t say you were. But, it’s the rare individual who can shuck a habit cold turkey without relapsing the first time something bad happens.”

  “Nice lecture,” she said. This wasn’t going the way she had hoped. “Now can we get to what you said on the phone? Something about my not being able to solve a murder case.”

  Navarro made a dismissive gesture. “I just couldn’t see why you arrested Marge.”

  “I did arrest Marge Stanley, but I don’t believe she’s guilty. My partner and I have been on our boss’s shit list since we told him we thought Marge is innocent. We’ve been suspended for two weeks because we offended the delicate sensibilities of Maxwell Comstock. It’s the D.A. and the sheriff who demanded Marge’s arrest. But she bonded out almost immediately. There just wasn’t any physical evidence to hold her.”

  Navarro’s eyes shot daggers at Barbara. “So, the arrest was nothing but political bullshit and harassment.”

  Barbara just stared back at him. That had been her thought about Marge’s arrest, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Navarro.

  Navarro finally smiled. “ Do you have any other suspects besides Marge?”

  “Dozens,” Barbara said. “Most of the people on the list you gave me. And then there’s the dead psychiatrist who wasn’t on your list. I had my doubts about the guy, but he got murdered sometime early this morning.”

  “Did you find any evidence that might lead to his killer?”

  “Nothing I can tell you about. What can you tell me about Stein?”

  “Listen, Detective, I’m in the information business. Information is money to me. If I tell you what I know, then I expect something from you in return.”

  Barbara knew circumspection was a good quality in a cop. But she also understood the necessity to trade information from time to time. Navarro had already helped them out and she felt she could trust the guy. “Okay. You first.”

  “When I worked for Marge, I learned Stein was Connie Alban’s shrink. He was Albuquerque’s version of a psychiatrist to the stars. Anybody who’s anybody in this city, who needs a shrink, sees Nathan Stein.”

  “Saw Stein,” Barbara corrected him.

  “Yeah, saw Stein. But the guy had a reputation. I heard around that he couldn’t keep his pants on. Even heard there had been formal complaints against him from patients.”

  Navarro hadn’t told her anything she didn’t already know, but he couldn’t know that.

  “That’s good to know,” she said. After a beat, she added, “We found sex disks in Stein’s home. The bastard was shtupping patients and filming them in the act.”

  Navarro’s eyes widened. His face had gone pale.

  “Are you okay?” Barbara asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He showed a half-hearted smile. “I guess I never get used to the fact that the world is full of sick bastards.” He swallowed some of his ginger ale. “So, Stein’s killer could have been one of the women’s husbands or boyfriends?”

  “Or one of the women themselves,” Barbara said. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  With nothing else to say about the murders, they started—with an ease that surprised Barbara—to talk about themselves. Navarro had served in the U.S. Army and spent time in Iraq. He didn’t volunteer information about what he’d done in the military and she didn’t ask. After he retired from the Army on a disability pension—he wasn’t forthcoming about that either—he moved back to his hometown, El Paso, and worked there as a cop for a dozen years. Then, after he was badly injured in a fight with a knife-wielding drug dealer, he moved to Albuquerque to join a PI firm. A couple years later, he went out on his own.

  Barbara noticed things about him that hadn’t been apparent in the dark strip joint where they first met. He looked about thirty-five, but the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and the wrinkles in his forehead told her he might be older. Or maybe he’d seen and experienced too much. He had chiseled features and his eyes were even bluer than she’d remembered. His retro crew cut looked good on him. Barbara liked how he looked. But she told herself again there wasn’t a chance in the world he would find her attractive.

  “I’d better go,” she said, after an hour.

  Navarro glanced at his watch. “Aren’t you hungry?” he said. “It’s still early.”

  Barbara realized she was starved. She balanced in her mind the tradeoff between food and sleep. The thought hit her that either one would be great, if she could do it with Navarro. Then she felt her face go hot.

  She smiled and said, “I could eat.”

  After they were seated in the dining area, Barbara ordered a chopped vegetable salad and Navarro ordered a pizza. While they waited for their food, he asked, “What will you do while you’re suspended?”

  Barbara realized she had no plans for the next two weeks. She took a moment and finally said, “I’m going to sleep late every day, then I’ll work out for at least three hours a day. I need to . . . get into shape.”

  Navarro raised his hands palms up. “I think you look great. I can’t stand the anorexic look that’s so popular today. Models and movie stars make that old model Twiggy look obese.”

  Barbara felt her face flush again. “I think you need to get your eyes checked,” she said as their orders arrived.

  It took Barbara two hours to fall asleep after she got home from the restaurant. As exhausted as she was, thoughts of Shawn Navarro intruded. She scolded herself for feeling like a teenager with a high-school crush, but she couldn’t help it. When she finally dropped off, she slept like she hadn’t slept in years.

  FRIDAY

  JULY 2

  CHAPTER 43

  Barbara awoke the next morning at 9:45. She ate a leisurely breakfast of granola and fresh blueberries and packed workout clothes in a bag. She felt as though she had started a new life.

  But then reality set in. As long as Victoria Comstock’s killer was loose, she couldn’t divorce herself from the case. Despite her self-righteous outburst at Susan yesterday, she knew she couldn’t drop it. Navarro’s defense of Marge Stanley yesterday evening had only served to solidify her resolve.

  Barbara called Susan, who answered with a vampish “Hell-o-o.”

  “Were you expecting a call from Manny?” Barbara asked.

  Susan yawned loudly. “I reserve that voice for bill collectors. Manny’s the last person I’d want to turn on.”

  “Enjoying your holiday?”

  “Holiday, my ass. What
do you want, Barbara? You want to tell me again how you’ll follow all the rules and be a good little girl so that Salas will treat you right?”

  “I deserve that. I’m sorry for the way I acted yesterday.”

  Susan grunted.

  “How about a late lunch? My treat. We need to figure out how to find whoever killed Victoria Comstock and Nathan Stein.”

  “Now you’re talking. But what about the lieutenant? He finds out, we’re screwed.”

  “Wouldn’t that make for a great headline? ‘County Fires Female Detectives Who Solved Double Murder Case’.”

  Susan laughed. “What time and where?”

  Barbara suggested Savoy restaurant at 1:30. The place was upscale for her budget, but she felt she needed to make amends for the way she’d spoken to Susan yesterday. Besides, she was on her way to work out. A meal at Savoy afterward would be a great way to celebrate the first day of her new exercise program.

  She paid for a day pass at a fitness center a few blocks from her home. She’d been in great shape until Jim died. She knew exactly how her exercise routine would go—stretch for fifteen minutes, thirty minutes on an elliptical machine, and thirty minutes of light weightlifting.

  Stretching turned out to be a breeze. She’d always been flexible. After five minutes on the elliptical machine, sweat poured off her, her calves cramped, and each breath was a chore. She made it to eleven minutes, hit the STOP button, and slumped off the machine. She rested for a few minutes and moved to the weightlifting area. She remembered the weight levels she’d lifted before she stopped her exercise program and decided twenty pounds less would be appropriate now. She started with a chest press machine, but she could barely make the weight stack budge. She backed off another twenty pounds and just got through two sets of eight repetitions. She dropped back another ten pounds to finish a third set. She moved on to a “lat” pull down machine and set the weight at fifty pounds, well below her normal level from a couple years back. She had a bit more success there, but wondered how many weeks of workouts she would have to go through before she could return to her former weight levels. After seven weight stations, Barbara felt as though every muscle in her body was about to rebel. She felt stiff and cramped. Even her joints ached. She realized the lower weights she had pumped were still too much for her first time back after such a long time. She could barely untie her shoes and groaned with each step she took to the showers.