Such Wicked Friends

by Rod Hoisington

  “Okay, don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have imagined what was going to happen. Chip’s waiting, we’ll talk more later.”

  She walked out of the courtroom. Chip was leaning against the wall waiting. “Thank God you’re free.”

  “Don’t look at me and don’t touch me.”

  “A night in jail is rough.” He hugged her. “You don’t make it easy for yourself.”

  “Or for you. I’m sorry you had to show up at the jail last night. Everyone here in the courtroom wonders what you see in this little jailbird.”

  She had first met Detective Chip Goddard a year earlier after he’d arrested her brother for the murder of a Florida State Senator. Chip had parlayed a degree in Criminal Justice at Florida State into a commission as an officer in the Marine Corps. After his honorable discharge, he joined the city police force at the bottom and soon aced the exam for detective. His father was Chief of Police when Chip started, and his rapid rise created some resentment on the force. Nevertheless, he did it all on the square and excelled even more under other administrations after his father was killed off-duty when he walked into a convenience store robbery in progress.

  She’d established an easy rapport with the detective, and after a few sneaky meetings over coffee and some blatant flirting, she’d won him over. He had even saved her from drowning when a suspect chased her, and she ended up overturned in a roadside drainage canal. In fact, Chip had jeopardized his job to help her defend her brother as he gradually became convinced State Attorney Moran had arrested the wrong man.

  A police force detective taking sides against a state attorney was unthinkable and immediately placed his law enforcement career in danger. Lawrence Moran, as state attorney, was the head of criminal prosecution for his district. He and his staff worked closely with all law enforcement agencies. Moran correctly considered Chip his subordinate. During the issue with Sandy’s brother, Moran retaliated and attempted to have the detective demoted and placed back on patrol. Two considerations had combined to save him. First, Chip Goddard wasn’t just another detective; the police needed his considerable skills and abilities. Moran couldn’t just readily disrespect him. Second, Sandy had shown Moran to be incompetently wrong to the point of embarrassment. Moran decided the time wasn’t right to go after the detective. He would wait; Sandy and Chip would eventually screw up.

  After she’d cleared her brother of all charges, she and Chip were no longer on opposite sides; their friendship had progressed to steady dating and occasional sleepovers in the house he had inherited from his father.

  “Did you learn any kind of lesson about mucking around in police business from all this?” Chip said. “I hope you get out of this mess with your law license intact.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to solve the murder myself.”

  “Don’t even kid about that. You’re in trouble enough as it is. I’m sorry if I was hard on you last night. I was surprised and upset. After I thought about it, I realized what you did was quite human and not at all uncommon. What seems like a cliché in the movies actually happens. A person will come home, see their spouse dead on the floor and will reach down and pick up the gun. Everyone in the audience is thinking, ‘Don’t touch it.’ The person looks at it in shock and handles it trying to make sense out of what happened. I heard of one case where an innocent wife walked in and with considerable difficulty, pulled the knife out of her husband’s chest, and wiped the blood off. Sounds stupid but actually she was in shock.”

  “Nice try—I’m still stupid.”

  “No, it’s not stupidity, it’s audacity. You’re constantly thinking that something should be done about something, and then you take it upon yourself to do it.”

  “Okay, enough with the scolding. Let’s get out of here. I need a shower. I hope my car’s still parked where I left at the beach.”

  “Oh, damn, I forgot about your car.”

  He drove her across the Waterway to the beach. Her car was there with a ticket on the windshield. The city didn’t permit parking at the beach overnight, he explained. “My fault, I never thought about where your car was.”

  “Not fair. I couldn’t move it. I was in jail. Can’t you fix the ticket?”

  “Where do you think you are, Chicago?”

  “Bastards.” She shoved the ticket in the glove compartment and slammed it shut. “This suit cost me more than a car payment, and now it smells like a jail cell. I’m going home and burn it. I’ll phone you later.”

  Chapter Four

  Sandy’s small apartment was at the top-rear of a two-story house in a borderline neighborhood across the tracks just inside the Park Beach city limits. The second floor was converted into two apartments: a small two-bedroom and a one-room efficiency. Sandy was fortunate she’d found and could afford the one-room affair. The one window at the back couldn’t be opened because an old air conditioner was crammed in it. She was happy to have the AC in the summer; still it would be nice to be able to open a window now and then the rest of the year. She could, however, look out the top half of the window and look down on her little convertible parked in the back. That was a comfort to her.

  She went up the stairs and stopped outside her door. Something was wrong. She turned and looked back at the stairwell. The overhead light was on. She fumbled for her phone and hit Speed Dial #1. “Chip, were you here at my apartment last night?”

  “No, what’s wrong?”

  “Someone’s been up here. The stairwell light is on. Someone must have turned it on to come up the stairs after dark.”

  “Maybe you or your neighbors left it on.”

  “No, I left during the day, and the neighbors are away for a month. The fussy landlady would yell if she detected the bulb burning during the day. Not dark yet when I left here yesterday evening, and I’d have flipped it off anyway on the way out. You think someone went in my apartment?”

  “You have that cheap lock that’ll open if you blow on it. I told you I’d put in something safe for you.”

  “I spoke to the landlady about it. She gave me the same old singsong—no moving furniture in or out of the building and no messing with the locks. My door looks locked. I’m going to open it. Standby. If you don’t hear my voice within twenty seconds get over here.”

  She went in and stopped, leaving the door standing open behind her. Quiet and hot. She glanced around. Did I leave that plant by the sink? What about those books over there on the bed? Couldn’t say for certain. “Let me check the bathroom.” She entered cautiously, hesitated, and then jerked back the shower curtain. “Looks okay,” she told him into the phone. “No place to hide in a tiny studio apartment. No bad guy in his right mind would stay here waiting for me in this hot box anyway.” She locked the apartment door.

  She went across to the window in the tiny alcove that held her twin-sized bed. She looked down proudly at her sporty convertible parked behind the apartment house. She clicked on the window air-conditioner, and it groaned and sputtered into battle.

  The single room served as her living room, dining room, workstation and kitchen. The kitchen, which she used only for emergency survival purposes and a place to stash munchies, hid behind folding doors along one closet-like wall. Positioned along the opposite wall was her study desk, wired for Internet, and two small bookcases. At least the bathroom was separate.

  The weird thing was she liked the place; one woman’s claustrophobic is another’s cozy. She had her comfy reading spot: a bruised-leather armchair with a tarnished-brass floor lamp capable of perfect over the left shoulder light and a side table to hold her tea. The little place had two other great features: she could afford it, and it was temporary.

  “You still holding on, Chip? I’ll let you go. I suppose it’s all safe here. Though I can’t say it feels normal. I’m going to take a shower to wash off the jail cell and then take a nap. Later today, I must face Mel Shapiro who needs a statement from me. I’ve met him, seems okay.”

  “Yeah, he’s a good guy. One of the be
tter assistant state attorneys. He should run for State Attorney. Be better than his boss.”

  “Bart Simpson would be better than Moran.”

  “Don’t underestimate him. He’s not dumb. And he has the power around here. He’ll stay off your back only when it’s to his advantage.”

  “I just know he won’t miss the chance to summon me, so I can stand shamefully in front of him like a kid ordered to the principal’s office.”

  “Well, get some rest, go meet with Shapiro and then come over here. Maybe you’d prefer sleeping at my place tonight?”

  “I’d prefer being with you even if you didn’t have a beautiful body, a king sized bed and central air.”

  As she hung up, it occurred to her that she was relying upon him for support more and more both physically and romantically, and she did value her independence. Even so, she was pleased with the thought of getting cozy at his place that night.

  In her present stage of life, she didn’t permit herself much preoccupation with romantic notions about Chip and seldom thought of him at all during the day. She rarely indulged in daydreaming anyway and would never let herself be tied up in some rapturous knot thinking about him. She’d rather save the passionate thoughts for when they were together. With one exception. Occasionally, it would come to her mind that Chip slept naked, year around, all six-foot-plus of warm male physique. Those were the moments when her imagination would unlock, and she’d phone him to see if she could sleep over. He always enthusiastically said yes. With that distraction resolved, her day could continue; her thoughts could return to legal affairs. She loved the law and was serious about it. Were they in love with each other? She supposed so. Was their relationship exclusive? There was an assumption that it was—until about six months earlier when one of them broke the unspoken bond. She had surprised herself when it turned out that she was the one.

  Chapter Five

  Sandy’s meeting late that afternoon with Mel Shapiro in the courthouse offices of the state attorney wasn’t too upsetting, but his warning of things to come bothered her. He was one of several Assistant State Attorneys on the staff of State Attorney Lawrence Moran. She realized as agreeable as he seemed, he must always remain on Moran’s side. The ASAs were employees and Moran could hire and fire them.

  Shapiro had called her to his office to fill in some details as he prepared to launch the investigation of the courtyard murder. Detective Jaworski had given her the Miranda warning when he arrested her late yesterday; nevertheless, it shook her slightly when Shapiro reminded her she had the right to an attorney before giving him any information. That official warning made clear the seriousness of the charge against her. His additional questions about the incident were routine. She was relieved he said nothing about her handling the envelope.

  When he’d finished, he told her Moran wanted to see her in his office the next morning. He then leaned forward and in a confidential tone warned her to be on guard. Moran was going after her law license. “Let me know if somehow I can help you...unofficially.”

  She thanked him and headed for Chip’s house. He met her at the door and surprised her by holding his greeting kiss for an extra moment. She said, “You’re worried about me, huh?”

  “How’d it go with Shapiro?”

  “Oh, short and to the point. Mainly, how I came to be there. He needed a statement from the person who discovered the body.” She crossed the room and sank down on the sofa. “And he gave me a warning about Moran. I like the guy.”

  Chip said, “How a dead body is discovered is very important in crime scene investigations. The discoverer is often a suspect. In fact, the discoverer is often the perp.”

  “I’ve learned that. Funny, I was trying to get information from Shapiro about the homicide while he was questioning me. He wasn’t letting out anything.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you want to get info from Shapiro?” He sat on the sofa arm beside her.

  “What do you mean why? I want to know who the woman was, what she was doing there and why she was killed. A thousand questions I need answered.”

  “That you need answered? You need nothing answered. You’ve nothing to do with this. You are a mere passerby. Just play the game with Moran, let him scold you and get back to your own business.”

  “Chip, when you see a lone little girl walking down the street, don’t you feel some responsibility for her.”

  “I am responsible for her, I’m a cop.”

  “I mean even people driving by will see the little girl and for an instant will feel responsible for her.” She wasn’t sure that was a very good example. “Anyway, I discovered the woman’s body that makes me responsible. Not for her death, of course. Maybe it’s like those cultures that say, if you save someone’s life then you’re responsible for them forever.”

  “Maybe it’s like those cultures that say you’re crazy. I know you’re stretching it because you’re dying to get involved.”

  “She touched me.”

  “You found her dead.”

  Sandy held out her right hand with fingers spread as though showing off a ring. “She put a drop of blood on the back of my hand. I think of it as a connection that demands my action.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Or you could think of it as a burning bridge out there in front of you that you are about to run across. Now would you do that?”

  “Of course not...well maybe...what’s on the other side?”

  “Honey, as of right now you have just a tiny little toe in quicksand. Take one more step and your entire body could be sucked in.”

  “Sorry, Chip, she placed a spot of her blood on me. She was asking for help. That drop of blood contained her DNA, and the DNA contains her history. She placed her entire history on the back of my hand. Now we’re connected.”

  “But you touched her checking her pulse. She was still dripping blood. Of course, you got a drop on you.”

  “I know, but I sat in the back of Jaworski’s car for thirty minutes with my right wrist cuffed. I must have looked down at those cuffs a dozen times. I never noticed the blood spot. It didn’t appear until later when I was in his office. And he never did see the spot.”

  “All this touchy-feely stuff doesn’t sound like you. You’re getting carried away with all this.”

  “You’re right. I’m going a bit overboard. I don’t know if she herself is innocent in all this. Maybe she’s into some crooked deal. Even so, she didn’t deserve this. I do know she died a horrible death. Whoever did this is now at the top of my vengeance list.”

  “I didn’t know you had a vengeance list.”

  “I just now decided to start one.”

  “And I’m supposed to help you?”

  “Don’t give me that look. You’ve always been there for me, and I can’t thank you enough. Don’t abandon me now.” She reached over and squeezed his hand.

  He gave her a reluctant nod of his head. “You say Shapiro warned you?”

  She frowned. “Moran wants me disbarred. He wants me in his office in the morning.”

  “Disbarred? Seriously? What are you going to say to him?”

  “I’ll just keep my mouth shut.”

  “When pigs fly.”

  She stood and started for the kitchen. “I’m a little unnerved meeting Shapiro on top of worrying about my apartment. If someone was outside my apartment, it means someone wanted inside my apartment. I guess it wasn’t broken into, still I kept watching the rearview mirror all the way over here. Maybe I should get a gun. I guess I’m not as tough as I thought.”

  “You just spent a night huddled in the corner of a jail cell. Makes anyone feel vulnerable.” He followed her to the kitchen. “I’m not going to doubt any of your observations. Even so, you could be mistaken about the hall light, or there could be other explanations.”

  “Any wine in this place?” She opened a cabinet door.

  “Here.” He found a half-full bottle in the refrigerator door. “Want whit
e?”

  “What is it?”

  He pretended to read the label. “It’s called Cheap White Wine.”

  “One of my favorites. You know, what I actually want is a Bloody Mary. Any tomato juice?”

  “You left a couple inches of Bloody Mary Mix in the back of the fridge—I forget when. All that flaky red junk is stuck around the inside of the bottle.”

  “Don’t show me. Destroy it when I’m not looking. I’ll have the white.” She brought two glasses to the table and sat. “What have you found out about the shooting? I know you’ve been nosing around when you should be catching up on your sleep.”

  He poured the wine and sat opposite her. “Her name was Margaret Frome. Neighbors say she has some office job up in Palm Point. Shot with a .38. They found the slug and the casing this morning. Preliminary from the ME says the barrel was held tight against her forehead.”

  “Oh, my god. Sounds like a professional hit.” She took a long sip and leaned back in the chair.

  “Either that or an amateur with a hellava lot of nerve. You were right about the killer placing the envelope on her lap after the shot was fired. Some gunshot residue was on her clothing but none on the envelope.”

  “Don’t miss it, folks. The girl lawyer who screwed-up the murder evidence. Film at eleven.”

  “None of that coulda-woulda-shoulda is going to help you right now.”

  “You’re right. The end of the world won’t be until tomorrow morning at nine.”

  He forced a smile. “Do you want me to continue?”

  She nodded. “What about the contents?”

  “No info at all about the contents. However, there were no prints on the envelope.”

  “No prints at all—not even mine? Is that likely? It was like a mailing envelope with a fairly smooth surface. Should have held prints.”

  “You’re right. You may have intuitively handled it by the edges. There should be other prints. It’s suspicious when something like that is entirely clear of prints.”