by Owen Thomas
North closes the door and straddles a chair at the head of the table. A large dry-marker board is on the wall behind him. Someone has written in quick, sloppy green letters the words breathalyzer and RST=Roadside Sobriety Test. Over the green letters, at a diagonal, is the red, thick-lettered word: JAIL. North opens a manila folder and clicks a ballpoint pen as he reads. Glenda Laveau drops her pad on the table with a slap.
“Yeah, right,” she says to North. “Dream on, eager-beaver. I talk to my client first. You’re not invited.”
Detective North looks at her, surprised at first, then gives his pen another click and sighs, standing up. “You’ve got fifteen minutes and then I’d like some answers.” He is looking directly at Glenda and she back at him.
“Out, tough guy.” She jerks her thumb towards the door and North leaves us alone. Glenda writes something on her pad and then looks at me.
“Okay. Let’s have it. Give me the whole story, beginning to end. And know this, David.” She points a powerful pink-tipped finger at my face.
“You lie to me one fuckin’ time and I will drop you like a hot rock. We on the same page?”
“Uh, yeah. Got it.”
I am easily more afraid of Glenda Laveau than I am of Detective North. I tell her the story. I tell her everything. Shepp, the come-on at the bar, the girls, the dance, the argument, the drugs, the suspension, the interview with Detective North, the desecrated Civic. I leave nothing out except the glass of water and the tour of my home that I so kindly provided to Detective North. I omit these details because I am convinced they are irrelevant and because in the few seconds I have known her, I have come to suspect that Glenda Laveau is intolerant of stupidity. Perhaps violently so.
When I am done she continues scribbling for a good two minutes before looking at me again. Her eyes are huge and frosted like candied oysters.
“Is that it?” she asks. There is an undisguised incredulity in her voice.
“That’s it.”
“I mean, literally, there’s nothin’ else?”
“That’s it.”
“And she’s been missing for, like, what… three days?”
“Two.”
Another scribble as she shakes her head. “Fuckin’ cops. Let’s get this dick in here. And listen to me, David. I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Like you were my own boy. My own flesh and blood. We’re gonna get you outta this, but I don’t want you to say another fuckin’ word to these guys. You understand?”
“Yes. I understand.”
Glenda charges out of the room and is back in seconds with Detective North in tow. He looks at me over her shoulder as he closes the door.
“Are we ready to talk, Dave?”
North sits and drops a file on the table. He folds his arms over his massive chest and pushes his weight onto the back legs of the chair, the buttons on his shirt straining.
“He’s not breathin’ another fuckin’ word, Chuck.”
“That’s too bad, counsel.”
“Are you holding him?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“On whether he cooperates and tells us the truth.”
“What, and you think he hasn’t?”
“I know he hasn’t. Every other word out of this man’s mouth is a lie.”
“Bullshit.”
“Suit yourself.” He turns to me. “Ever spent any time in jail, Dave?”
“I’ve told you everything I know! I haven’t lied about any…” Glenda Laveau is glowering at me sideways. One of her black corkscrew tendrils preternaturally uncoils in my direction. I cross my own arms in a gesture by which I intend to show indignation, but which I know is closer to petulance. I wish my chest were bigger.
“You’ve got nothin’, Chuck.”
“Counsel, I’ve got a missing girl…”
“A missin’ girl… she’s been gone two fuckin’ days. She’s off smokin’ dope and ballin’ her boyfriend. She’ll be back.”
“I’ve got her teacher, Mr. Johns here, who has her purse, loaded with drugs, stuffed under the front seat of his car; none of which he bothered to tell me about.”
“Half an ounce of grass is hardly loaded with drugs.”
“It was two full ounces, Counsel, and that was on top of six tabs of ecstasy and a vial of seriously bad coke.”
“What?” I cannot help myself. Glenda slams her hand down so hard on the table that a small yelp escapes my throat. Detective North, Chuck, tries not to laugh.
“I don’t give a fuck what’s in the purse. I’ll suppress that shit in nothin’ flat.”
“I doubt that.”
“Illegal search and you know it. You want to wipe your ass with the Fourth Amendment, be my guest. But you got nothin’ to use.”
“I got witnesses who saw them dancing.”
“So?”
“I got witnesses who saw them arguing.”
“So?”
“I got witnesses who saw them kissing.”
Glenda does not say ‘So,’ but if she is rattled – for I am fucking rattled – she doesn’t show it. Instead she snorts in disgust and shakes her head. My mouth has fallen open and so I close it.
“I got witnesses who say Brittany thought he was cute and that Brittany and Mr. Johns, her oh-so-cute teacher here, were headed out to do some drugs. I’m guessing the very drugs found in his possession. If nothing else, I’ve got Mr. John’s here dead to rights on possession of narcotics.”
“The drugs aren’t his and you know it.”
“I got witnesses who say that Mr. Johns was coming on pretty strong and bringing her drinks and that Brittany was all aflutter because Mr. Johns was taking her home for the night and a little extra credit. And I got witnesses who saw them leave Billy Rocks together. I’ve got someone who thinks our man here is a rapist and has chosen to express that opinion all over the side of his car.”
My stomach goes into sickening spasms and I want to vomit. The blood seems to be draining from my head.
“Lookin’ a little green there, Dave,” he says. “Want some water?”
I hold up my hand, waving him off.
“You sure. You gave me water, least I can do is return the favor.”
I shake my head again. Glenda is shaking her head. At me this time.
“Still think I’ve got nothing, counsel?” he says to Glenda.
“You’ve got dick.”
“It’s enough to lock him up.”
“But not enough to keep him. You’ve got no victim, no crime, and no evidence that is not either irrelevant, inadmissible hearsay or illegally seized. He’ll be out in the morning and you’ll have wasted everybody’s time. Judges love that sorta shit, Chuck. So do I, ‘cause it makes me look good. Nothin’ like getting off on the right foot.”
Detective North opens his file and leafs through some papers. He closes it and looks at me, clicking his pen. He is giving me that it’s your choice, take your chances, pay the consequences look. Like he is completely indifferent to whether or not I speak another word. Since I know he is not, in fact, indifferent, I know his look is a cheap manipulation. A tactic. I tell myself that I should be heartened that Detective North thinks he needs tactics. But I am not persuaded that there is any reason to feel heartened about anything. The word JAIL glowing over his shoulder is like a branding iron.
“Up to you, Dave. It’s your ass, man. You want to tell what happened after you and Brittany Kline left Billy Rocks?”
I know better than to look at Glenda Laveau. I know that if I so much as clear my throat she will break the table with her hand. So I just look at him, trying to stare him down. He is much better at this than I am.
But I am thinking that Tilly could break him.
“I know there’s pressure on this one, Chuck,” says Glenda, almost sympathetically, “departmentally and personally. But you’re looking in the wrong place.”
“I got him on possession alone, counsel.”
“Is that what this is? A narcotics bust
? I thought you were looking for a girl? The shit’s not his. He confiscated from this kid what he thought was a make-up bag with a couple of joints and then he stuffed it in the car that you then illegally searched.”
“I didn’t search anything without your client’s consent.”
“Hell you didn’t. This is nonsense, Chuck. Don’t you have better things to do?”
Detective North clicks his pen and stands up, towering above the table. When my eyes finally reach his, he shrugs.
“Okay. Suit yourself, Dave. I’m trying to bend for you here. I just want to find out what happened to this kid. I know you understand that. It’s not personal between us. I know you understand that, too. But you’re not helping me much here. Maybe what your lawyer here says about you is true. Maybe it’s not. I don’t know. That’s why I investigate things. That’s why I need your cooperation. But it looks like that’s not going to happen. So let me go check with a couple of folks, cash in a few chips and see what I can do. Okay? No promises. You guys sit here for a minute and I’ll be back in a couple.”
When he is gone, Glenda Laveau rolls her eyes.
“Asshole.” I am reasonably sure she is referring to Detective North. “Gave him some water, did you?”
“Yeah…sorry…I…”
“Now I’m gonna assume that you gave him a drink from your fuckin’ garden hose out on the fuckin’ lawn, ‘cause I know you would’a told me if you had actually invited that shit-head into your home. That would make you about as stupid as you are cute…And you are cute.”
I must look as bad as I feel. Glenda looks at me for a moment and then softens and smiles for the first time.
“Relax David. You’re gonna sleep in your own bed tonight.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. They can’t keep you in long even if they wanted. Besides, they want to follow you around awhile. The game is to shake you up so that you’ll go check on the body or revisit the crime scene or make a special trip to the dump or try to keep all of your accomplices quiet. Until they find this kid, you’re no good to them in jail.”
“So they’re gonna … what… tail me?”
“Yep. Everywhere you go. You better live clean, boy. Leave the body where it is for now and burn any used condoms you’ve got layin’ around.”
I have no response. A surge of adrenaline organizes itself for imminent protest.
“Relax, Dave. I’m just fuckin’ with you.”
“I…”
“Relax, relax. Take a breath. So you like teachin’ high school?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess. It has its moments.”
“Good for you. Good for you. I bet that takes patience, teachin’ kids. Patience with kids is one fuckin’ thing I don’t have. You know? I love ‘em, but keep ‘em the fuck away from me. Hey, I hear you’re related to … to… oh what’s…”
She snaps her fingers repeatedly looking for a name.
“Tilly?”
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
“Sister.”
“No shit?”
“True.”
“Oooooweee! I bet that’s a trip and a half. Your poor mother.”
“Well, don’t believe every …”
Detective North is back. He leaves the door open.
“Okay Dave, I’m gonna let you go home. We’re not going to charge you with anything at this point. We’re going to let the D.A. kick that one around a little. No promises. It’s out of my hands at this point. Let’s cross our fingers that Brittany shows up healthy very soon with an explanation that does not involve her history teacher.”
“We’re not worried,” says Glenda. “Whatever the explanation is has nothing to do with my client.”
“She’s got a violin recital this weekend. She’s been preparing all summer. If she’s not back by then, something’s very wrong and we’ll be turning up the heat.”
“So, maybe it’s performance anxiety. Maybe she’s just hiding, Chuck.”
“Not this kid. She’s fearless, dedicated to her music and very, very talented. Don’t leave town, Dave. Give me a call, or I guess I should say, have your lawyer here give me a call if you hear anything at all about Brittany.”
“Count on it,” says Glenda, slapping her pad on the table and standing up. “Okay, I got another thing across town. Let’s get a move on David.”
I am up and moving and can hardly believe I am free. My legs are weak with muscle tension.
“Oh, and Dave…” I turn at the door. Shit. This is it; the Columbo moment that somewhere, deep in my psyche, I have anticipated. Glenda Laveau is already halfway down the hall, almost to the tiny telephone room, swinging her hips into passing cops like a wrecking ball. I turn back to Detective North, trying to brace myself.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t go painting over that car of yours until we can get a unit out to your place to take some pictures and a sample of the paint.”
“Oh. Uh, when will that be, exactly?”
“Few days at the latest. We’ll let you know.”
“So…you’re going to call first, or…”
It’s Glenda from half a football field away. “What did I fuckin’ tell you?!”
* * *
It is only after I shake hands with Glenda and watch her charging off towards the parking garage that I see Mae. She is leaning against her car, parked on the street near the corner. Black skirt, sheer white blouse. Perfect face. The hair. She is of mixed descent – Chinese and Hawaiian and Mexican – taking the best of each and blending them into something that is simply unfair. She looks like a magazine ad for the Saab Turbo. Saab Turbo: Dangerous curves ahead. Or maybe: Saab Turbo: Life’s a bitch – your bitch. Or maybe just: Saab means never having to say you’re sorry.
She waves and I wave back with surprising ease, as though I had last seen her a few hours earlier. I give her a hug uncertainly, but she reciprocates pleasantly enough.
“Sounds like you’re in a little trouble.”
“Appears that way.”
“What the hell is going on, Dave?”
“A big misunderstanding and some really bad judgment. They think I’ve done something to one of my students.”
“What? Really? You mean like…you’re having sex with…”
“No. Yes. I mean … no, but they think so and she’s missing. Look, it’s a long story and I just don’t have it in me to go through it again. I called because I needed a lawyer.”
“Yeah, Glenda left me a message. I came over as soon as I could. Rob wanted me to attend this client meeting and it went on forever, but, anyway, shit, Dave, so what’s…what’s…you’re not in jail, right?”
“How is Rob, anyway?”
“Dave.” She closes her eyes and runs her fingers through her hair, which is what she does whenever she wants to run me through with something sharp and serrated. I am a jerk and I instantly regret the question. All of my pre-arrest resolutions about forgiving and forgetting and lightening up and loving the imperfection of life seem so far away.
“Do you really want to get right back into that?”
“No. No. I don’t. Sorry. Glenda’s a real piece of work, but she is good.”
“I just work the civil side, so I don’t really, you know, work with her, but she’s respected around the firm.”
“I’ll bet. Look, I don’t suppose you could give me a lift?”
She hesitates. I can see her trying to figure out where this will lead.
“You’re probably busy. I can just…”
“Where’s your car?”
“I hitched a ride in a squad car on the way over. Hey, I can just…”
“Don’t be silly. Hop in.”
I am heading toward the curb when Detective North emerges from the entrance to the police station. He is patting his pockets for his keys, but eventually looks up. I can see the recognition on his face and then the realization that I am looking back. He lingers over Mae for a minute and salutes. I ignore him.
“I know that gu
y,” says Mae as I am in and buckling up. Who is he? Is he a cop?”
“What? You know him? He’s the cop that brought me in. You know him?”
“Oh shit…” She looks at me wide eyed. “Dave. He bought me a drink last night.”
“He…where?”
“Wildcats. He was … he said he knew you. He said…oh, shit, Dave. He said he used to teach at Wilson. I thought it was like this big coincidence. We laughed about what a small world it is. Oh, shit. Shit! Dave, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. What an idiot! But at that point I had no idea you were even … in trouble.”
I am torn between sickness at the thought that North has been secretly insinuating himself into my life, and a woozy warmth at the sound of Mae’s contrition and the feel of her slender fingers grasping my shoulder. She smells like soap and flowers.
“What did you tell him?”
“I…I don’t really…it just wasn’t significant at the time. Shit. Let’s see. I told him that we used to date. We both agreed that you were a really great guy and really smart. He said he thought that you were a really great teacher. Oh! He said you were a really great teacher because you spent a lot of quality time with your students. Shit, Dave. He was fishing. He asked if I knew one of them.”
“Brittany Kline?”
“Yes! Is that her? Is that the girl?”
“Yeah. What else?
“Nothing really. I don’t know. He asked if we were still together and when I saw you last. I thought he was just hitting on me.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Oh, I don’t know. That’s about when Brenda showed up and he took off. Said he had softball game. Man. I can’t be-lieve he was pumping me for information.”
Mae starts the turbo and pulls away. I know that she is lying; that she remembers precisely what she told Inspector Javert: that we have now been done easily for six weeks; that I am ancient history; that she is available. I know now that is why North was asking me questions about her. I know that among the many lies North thinks I have told him is the actual lie that Mae and I are living together, madly in love and destined to be married. Suddenly, I can see that I am exactly the type of person to be taking out my frustrations on a starry-eyed student.