by D. A. Brown
“Well, I am acting sergeant this month and this has been brought to my attention by two well respected detectives on this department.” George spun his chair and winked. “I’ll assign it to myself. That way we can keep the other guys out of it until we know what we are dealing with.”
“You’re a genius, George. You are a fucking genius.” Tommy slapped George on the back.
They were treading on thin ice. It this backfired, she and Stinson could be looking at some serious discipline, maybe even land on the prosecutor’s Brady list, a distinction that could follow them both until the end of their careers.
George loaded the keyword logger on the device and set up a remote access point he could check once the software was downloaded on the unsuspecting computer. Sophia and Tommy headed back to the office with the dead drop ready for an unsuspecting mark.
Tommy pulled into the garage. It was the safest place for he and Sophia to talk. They were well out of earshot of anyone and any cop would have to pass them to get to their car, including a chief.
“We’re gonna have to do the surveillance on our own dime, you know,” Sophia said.
“I’ve stolen more time from this city than they’ve ever paid me for. I’ll get over it. Besides, this is personal now.”
“Tommy, that’s not a good…”
“I know, I know. It’s just that Burton has always bugged the shit out of me, and I don’t trust that fucker. He’s up to his ass in this. And so is Stewart Halifax. And who knows, maybe that little prep school prick Barrett is also involved. Maybe he made up all that stuff about what he saw to take the heat off of him or his old man.”
Sophia nodded in the direction of the roof access from the garage elevators. “Speak of the devil.”
Marcus Burton pulled out a cigarette as he walked to his black Toyota Highlander. He leaned against the car and looked up at the Municipal building parking garage.
“What’s he looking at?”
Tommy craned his neck to look through Sophia’s side window. “I don’t see anything.”
Sophia grabbed a pair of binoculars out of her go bag.
“See anything?”
“There’s someone standing there but they’re back from the edge. I can’t get a good look.”
Burton dropped the cigarette and ground it out with his foot. He nodded at the figure across the street and then got into his car. As he passed Tommy and Sophia, he looked straight ahead.
“Did you see that?” Tommy said.
“His brake lights lit up just after he passed us.”
“He saw us. Just didn’t want us to think he did.”
Sophia took another look at the parking garage. “Not there anymore. Whoever it was, ditched the same time as Burton.”
Tommy stepped out and walked over to the edge of the garage. Sophia followed and the two looked over so they could see the Cherry and 6th Street exits.
“I think there’s an exit on Columbia, too.”
“We can’t cover everything.”
Two white Prius’ pulled out.
“Pretty sure those are city rides,” Tommy said.
“Tommy. Look.” Sophia pointed up 6th Ave. A black BMW sedan pulled slowly out of the garage, pausing for southbound traffic.
“Can you see the driver?”
“No. Fuck.” Sophia ran along the garage wall to get a better angle but the car quickly sped south on 6th and out of her view.
“Get a plate?”
“No, goddamn it.”
Back in the office, Sophia cradled her phone and leaned forward, both elbows on her desk.
“Hey, it’s Detective Benedetti. Can you check on an item that was booked in under case number 13-555467? It should be a laptop.”
The warehouser put her on hold and as she listened to some horrible, one-percent-for-art band, Jimmy and Jess walked past her hauling file boxes.
“Where’s that stuff going?” Sophia asked.
“I’m finally getting rid of all that crap from the Franklin case. It’s been piling up under my desk,” Jess said. “Trying to start a trend in the office.” She looked at Sophia’s desk.
“Maybe it’ll rub off.”
“Fat chance,” Tommy laughed.
“Detective? I’m a little confused,” the warehouseman said.
“About what?”
“According to the paperwork I’m looking at, you released it to the owner yesterday.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. I have the slip right here.Your signature’s on it.”
“I never released anything yesterday. I was here all day.”
“Don’t know what to tell you. I’ve got the slip in front of me.”
“Who released it from your shop?”
“Looks like the sergeant did it.” There was a long pause. “That’s kind of weird.”
“What’s weird? Who’s the sergeant?”
“Sergeant Burton, ma’am.”
Marcus Burton’s ex-wife.
Sophia hung up.
“You are not going to fuckin’ believe this.”
Tommy nodded and laughed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
That night under the freeway, Sophia and Tommy huddled in an unmarked car.
“What’s that smell?” Tommy wrinkled his nose.
“I’d rather not think about it.”
“It smells like ass in here. “
“Yes, it does and again, I’d rather not think about it. I’m sure some has been acquired in here.”
Sophia looked into the backseat. “Hopefully back there.”
“It’s pretty quiet now. Put this back up there.” Sophia handed him the box. “Fingers crossed, no one noticed it was missing.”
Tommy took the box and jogged to the corner of the parking lot. He looked around quickly before scaling up the incline.
Tommy returned to the car, opened the door and grabbed his cigarettes from the center console. “I’m gonna have a smoke.” He leaned against the front of the car and lit a smoke.
The image of David’s body came back to Sophia in waves. Sometimes the images appeared like strobe lights, passing quickly in and out during a busy moment. Others arrived with a tsunami-like wall of emotion, blindsiding her with grief. He was not the love of her life, not even close. And things changed so fast, much of the time was a blur between the fighting and his drinking. Soon the make-up sex turned into long stretches of silence and passivity. He was never a mean drunk, but the rage that bubbled just beneath the surface was palpable most days. Sophia always suspected that one extra glass of whiskey would be just enough to tease out the violence, and she’d see him as he truly was. And that one day was almost her last.
“Whatcha thinking?” Tommy got back into the driver’s seat.
“Nothing.”
“Figured as much.” Tommy rolled down the window. “Montero was a self-centered asshole. He tried to kill himself and take you with him. Don’t forget that. He wasn’t good for you. He should’ve never come back here.”
Sophia smiled. “It’s weird how you can hate someone and wish them dead but when it happens, it’s so surreal. I never understood how people could say they didn’t believe someone was dead even after they’d seen the body. How they’d talk about their husband or wife in the present tense, like they were going to walk in the door any minute. I used to think, you know, they’re dead, right there, right there in front of you, and you’re referring to them as though they’re alive. But I get it now.” Sophia looked away from Tommy.
“That’s always a good clue to a perp’s guilt,” Tommy said. “When they refer to a missing loved one in the past tense. They know they’re dead.”
Sophia wasn’t interested in talking anymore. She suddenly hoped someone would come up and try and jack them so she could have an excuse to hit something. Thank god Tommy was there.
“Hey, lookie there.” Sophia grabbed the binoculars.
A car backed into a parking space across from the concrete ramp to the d
ead drop.
“Come on you little fucker, get out and haul your fat ass up there.” Tommy also looked through a pair of binos.
“Gee don’t we look unsuspicious,” Sophia laughed.
“It’s just us and the dopers and car prowlers. These guys aren’t looking for cops.“
“God, I’d love to beat the shit out of one them.”
“Hang in there, terminator. You’ll get your chance.”
The figure in the car stayed behind the wheel.
“Can you see anything? I can’t see shit.” Sophia adjusted the lens on the binoculars.
“I can see part of the car. Fucker has his dome light turned off. It’s too dark to see anything. If he gets out, I won’t be able to tell from this angle.”
“Wait. Someone’s crawling up to the box.”
The figure resembled a troll. Long hair protruded from underneath a large floppy hat and trailed down the back of a mid-length coat. He - and that was a guess - couldn’t have been much taller than Sophia but he scrambled up the steep concrete ramp like a seasoned rock climber. A messenger bag was slung over his shoulder.
“Jesus, he looks like a fuckin’ monkey. Obviously done this a time or two.”
At the top of the ramp, the figure turned back in the direction of Sophia and Tommy’s car.
Sophia slid down in her seat. Tommy leaned over toward the center console, too tall to slide anywhere. The beam of a flashlight struck their car and lingered over the front window.
“Do you think he made us?”
“He made something. Just stay down for now. I want him to plug that drive into his laptop, assuming he has one.”
Sophia started developing a cramp in her leg. “I’ve got to move. I’m dying here.”
She sat up slowly. The troll was gone. But the car was still parked in the stall.
Sophia looked out the passenger window.
“Jesus!” A man stood next to the door holding a flashlight directly in her face. She struggled to grab her gun and push the door open. The door knocked the flashlight out of the man’s hand and he fell backward. Tommy jumped out and ran around, grabbing the man by the shoulders just as he rose and tried to run.
Sophia stepped out of the car. “Hey, where you going?” She took one arm and pulled it behind the man’s back.
“You’re hurting me!”
“Seattle Police, settle down.” Tommy turned the man toward them.
He looked to be in his late twenties, a sparse beard covered his chin. His hair was stringy and flat.
“I’m not doing anything, asshole. You can’t touch me.”
“Looks to me like you were prowling this car, not to mention what you were planning on doing up there.” Tommy nodded toward the dead drop. He and Sophia still held an arm.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man stiffened. Tommy shoved him against the car. “Don’t fucking lie to me.”
Sophia grabbed her flashlight from her pocket and shone it on the man. He wore torn flannel shirt under a puffy black jacket. His jeans hung low on his hips and he wore new running shoes.
“Tommy, look.” She pointed at the car still parked at the base of the dead drop.That guy’s been watching us deal with this dipshit.”
The car pulled out and cruised slowly past Sophia and Tommy with the headlights off. The windows were so tinted, she couldn’t see inside. As it pulled slightly ahead of them, the driver gunned the engine and spun the tires against the parking lot asphalt.
“Fucking asshole,” said the car prowler.
“Did you get the plate?” Sophia yelled to Tommy.
“No.”
“I got it,” whispered the car prowler.
Tommy and Sophia looked at each other and then at the man. He was smiling.
“It’s yours for a price.”
“How about the price is you not going to jail tonight?” Tommy said.
“C’mon man.” The man clapped his hands together. “I’ve got information you need.”
“And I have the keys to your freedom,” Tommy said, dangling his handcuffs in the man’s face.
“146HRT.”
Looking at Sophia, the man repeated it slowly as she wrote it down. “146HRT. You should get yourself a better secretary, man.”
Tommy looked at Sophia, barely containing a grin.
“What did you call me?”
“Oh, sorry ma’am. I just thought, you know, you two were…”
“Were what?” She’d put her notebook onto the front seat of the car.
He looked at Tommy. “Hey, man.”
“You’re on your own, buddy. But before I unleash my partner on you, why don’t you tell us how you’re so sure about the plate.
“Cuz I’ve seen it before. The car and that guy. He comes by at least once a week.”
“Does he always get out or does he stay in the car usually?”
“Sometimes he just stays in the car. Other times he gets out and climbs up there like he did tonight.”
“What’s he doing up there?”
“Beats the fuck out of me.” The man looked at Sophia. “Never bothered to look.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Not really. I’ve never seen him up close. Some white dude. Usually wears that stupid hat and coat. I almost rolled him one time last winter when I was cold. I thought that coat might be nice to have but honestly, he’s too creepy even for me to rob.”
“Wow, standards.” Tommy pulled out a smoke.
“Hey man, can I have one?”
“Jesus Christ. Do I look like a smoke shop to you?” Tommy tossed one in the man’s direction. “And keep the matches, I don’t want them back.”
“Look, I can get you guys some good shit on these guys. I don’t know what they’re dealing or anything, but this is a busy spot.”
“Busy spot for what?” Sophia picked up her notebook again.
“Like I said, I don’t know what’s going on but there’s a lot of nice rides cruising though here, stopping and getting whatever that thing is up there.”
“What’s your name?” Tommy moved closer to the man.
“Johnny. Johnny Canton, and I got a warrant. I’m being straight with you. It’s a little one though. It’s for taking a leak in Courthouse park.
“Well, who doesn’t piss in that park, huh?”
“Ok, here’s the deal, Johnny. We want you to stay away for a while, just until we figure out what’s going on up there. You can help us with that, right?”
“It’s a deal, Officer. I’m gone. You won’t see me again. I promise.” Johnny brushed off his coat. “Can I please have my flashlight, though?”
Tommy threw it to him. “Now, get lost.”
Sophia climbed into the car. “Well, I hope that plate is good, or we’ve just fucked ourselves.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Since this was his first kill, Eldon soon realized that doing something so rash was ill-advised. He suspected the amount of alcohol he’d consumed had something to do with it, but normally that meant acting inappropriately at a bar, not killing someone. He felt slightly overwhelmed.
Luckily, no one was going to miss Shirley Townshend. She was almost a ghost. He’d stripped her name off of the utility bills. She had no family or friends, having moved here in the fifties with her husband. She’d lived in a depressing vacuum, a self-imposed cocoon created after her husband’s death. Mowed down by a milk truck in a crosswalk on his way home from church, he was dragged two hundred feet before a bug-eyed cabbie flagged the driver over and pointed to the bloody mass of human caught in the axels of his truck.
Eldon was reasonably sure that he was safe for the short term, or at least long enough to get out of town or create a story that was believable enough to keep him out of jail. But in the meantime, he was going to have to dispose of Shirley’s body. He wrapped her in a shower curtain he carefully detached from the upstairs bathroom. The seashells and seahorses bathed her in pink as he rolled her up and fastened the op
en ends with duct tape. He was surprised at his own lack of empathy. He understood he was not a kind man, but even he was taken aback by the ferocity that seized him when he swung the bottle at Shirley. She wasn’t an evil woman, just a meddling annoyance. He could have continued living under her floorboards, enduring her occasional requests for assistance. It wouldn’t have killed him.
He dragged the body into her bedroom. Pulling back her heavy quilted duvet, he lifted her onto the bed and pulled the top sheet and blanket over her. He tucked in the sheets, just like a son comforting an ailing mother. He placed the duvet and throw pillows on top of her. Before he turned off the lamp on her bedside table, he closed her bible and placed it into the table drawer.
The following morning, after getting no sleep and nursing a major hangover, Eldon reported to work promptly at eight AM.There was a stack of work tickets in his computer queue, a sight that filled him with relief. A busy day was a fast day, and he had lots to clean up at home. He quickly worked through the queue, handling most of the ticket requests remotely. Given his pounding head and cotton mouth, it was just as well. He didn’t trust himself now, despite his sobriety. He’d suddenly discovered his aptitude for homicide, and it filled him with a sort of perverse pride.
He got home slightly after four. Careful not to change his patterns, he went in through the basement door. One could never know if one of the neighbors really did watch out for the old lady. He’d have to come up with some excuses should they come to the door during the holidays. He’d make up some family who really gave a shit, send her on long deserved vacation with a church group, put her in the hospital for a spell. Maybe he could make up a dummy dressed like Shirley and prop her in different windows.
Shirley’s bedroom was at the back of the house. Cluttered with old clothes, dirty linens and stacks of Life magazines, Eldon could have tossed a match into that room and had the entire house engulfed in a minute. He sat on Shirley’s bed, next to the lump that contained her body, and eyed a pair of slippers peeking out from underneath it. It made him think of his mother, who farmed him out to his aunt and uncle in Chehalis, exiling him to a life of threats and beatings. When he was old enough to be on his own, he set out to find his mother, who had remarried and started another family. She’d been so alarmed at seeing him that day in the Safeway a few blocks from her home, that she’d called the police. It was an amusing scene, this socialite trying to explain to some tired, old cop why she didn’t want her son to talk to her in public. In fact, it was so pathetic that the cop had escorted Eldon home, buying him a coffee and suggesting he apply to work for the city in the IT department after he learned of his impressive computer skills.