RCC05 - Some Degree of Murder

by Frank Zafiro

  Rhonda shrugged and slid into the booth across from Rolo. I extended my hand to the black man. “Thanks for your help.”

  He grabbed my hand and shook it. “It’s been nice doin’ business with you.”

  When I climbed in to the cab, Axel looked over at me. “Tough day?”

  I smiled at him. “You can say that.”

  “Where to?”

  “The Davenport.”

  Axel turned back forward, put the cab into gear and we lurched away from the curb. A few minutes later, the cabbie looked into the rear view mirror and caught my eye. “Want some music?”

  “Yeah, actually, that sounds good. Make it a seventies station, if you got it.”

  “Oh, yeah, we got a great station for those tunes.”

  Axel reached over and flicked the radio on. Dobie Gray’s smooth voice filled the cab as he serenaded us with Drift Away.

  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes for the rest of the trip.

  She was sitting cross-legged in the chair when I walked into the hotel room. Her legs were bare except for the green dragon tattoo and she had on an over-sized black sweatshirt. Gina’s hair was tucked behind her ears and a cigarette smoldered in her hand.

  Her eyes were concerned as she climbed out of the chair and met me halfway. “You okay?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s done?”

  Another nod.

  She wrapped her arms around me and hugged. I let myself fall into her embrace and I smelled her clean scent. I held her close and let the warmth of her body work through mine.

  Gina broke the embrace and looked up to me. “What do we do now?”

  Wednesday, April 21st

  1701 hrs

  1612 East Wales—Crime Scene

  TOWER

  I sat on the bumper of Lieutenant Crawford’s car, holding a small Styrofoam cup of coffee between my hands. The entire block was crawling with detectives, crime-scene techs and patrol officers. Every possible kind of lookie-loo gathered at the edge of the yellow crime-scene tape at the end of the block, watching the high drama of a homicide scene.

  The light windbreaker someone had given me did little to break the chill I was feeling. The rotgut coffee in my cup tasted like turpentine, but at least it was hot.

  Rowdy was dead.

  Because of me.

  “A complete mess, Tower.” Crawford’s analysis broke into my private reverie.

  I raised my eyes to his and considered telling him where to go, but the Deputy Chief appeared at my right.

  “Leave him be, Crawford,” he said. “Why don’t you go find out when the Chaplain will be here, huh? And make sure that the patrol units on perimeter get relief.”

  Crawford shot me a dirty look but muttered a “yes, sir” before shuffling off, chewing on his unlit cigar.

  The Deputy Chief stared after him, then looked at me and shook his head. “And they say Civil Service is a blessing.”

  I shrugged.

  The Deputy Chief gave me a knowing nod and clapped me lightly on the shoulder. “It’ll be all right. Anything you need, you let me know. All right?”

  I nodded at him absently.

  “Anything,” he said pointedly.

  I cleared my throat and said, “Thanks.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder again and walked away toward the media vans at the opposite end of the street. I followed him with my gaze and then realized that the whole exchange had almost certainly been on camera. Everyone in River City would see what a great leader he was.

  “John?”

  I turned to look at Detective Ray Browning. His brow was furrowed in concern.

  “Yeah?”

  “Listen, John, I just need to get some things straight with you before…well, before other people are asking.”

  I felt panic clawing in my stomach, but tried to remain outwardly calm. “Go ahead,” I said.

  Browning rubbed his eyebrows. “Well, I’m just asking here, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And this is just between us, okay? I mean, this can be out of school, if you want it to be.”

  “Does it need to be?”

  “Yeah, probably. Hell, I don’t know.” He looked me directly in the eye. “John, you gotta know that Crawford and Hart are both going to climb your ass over this.”

  “I know.”

  “This cowboy stuff…it isn’t the way of the world anymore.”

  I took a sip of coffee. “I know.”

  Browning watched me for a moment, then asked, “When did you know Cody Heinz was the suspect in your homicide cases?”

  I told Browning everything I could and only left out what I had to. His lips tightened when I admitted to talking to the Brotherhood at their clubhouse because it meant I’d stepped all over his case involving the Sammy G. homicide.

  “Do you know who killed Sammy G.?”

  “No,” I told him without hesitation.

  Browning eyed me curiously. “You know that fire over at the Palms last night?”

  “I haven’t heard.”

  “Structure fire,” he said. “Burned up most of the place. Three dead bodies were found in one room. All of them were BSC. Funny thing is, it looks like they were dead before the fire started.”

  I didn’t reply. My stomach was churning, though. I knew in an instant that somehow Virgil Kelley was to blame for those three, too. How many people had he murdered trying to get to Rowdy? Four? Five?

  Doesn’t matter, I thought. What matters is that you helped him murder the last one.

  “An awful lot of BSC are dying around here lately,” Browning said, still watching me.

  Crawford appeared at the front of the car again. “Tower, I told you to get your ass off of my car,” Crawford said, adjusting his belt and switching the cigar to his left hand.

  “We’re almost done here,” Browning broke in, “and then I think someone should run John to the station or home.”

  Crawford sniffed and nodded. “Yeah, okay. Finish up.” He gave another puff on his cigar and waited.

  Browning took out his notebook. “Now, John, you said that this guy Brian told you about Cody Heinz’s little hideout here—“

  “Rowdy.”

  Browning looked up. “Okay. Rowdy, then. So what happened when you got here?”

  I took a breath and let it out. “I got here and walked up to the office. I heard music and yelling inside and saw that the door was forced. I figured the situation was exigent and so I made entry. Once inside—“

  “Why didn’t you call for back-up?” Crawford asked.

  “I left my radio in the car.”

  “Not very smart.”

  I shrugged. “A mistake.”

  “What happened once you were inside, John?” Browning asked.

  “Almost as soon as I got inside, the music stopped and I heard some yelling. A couple of seconds later, I heard a gunshot.”

  “One?”

  I nodded.

  “Go on.”

  “I went down the hallway and saw Rowdy laying on the ground and a white male standing over the top of him with a gun.”

  “Did he match the description Mrs. Taylor and Brian Osmond gave you?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it coulda been the same guy.”

  Browning jotted something in his notebook. “Then what happened?”

  “Before I could do or say anything, he bolted for the back door. I fired three shots at him but I don’t think I hit him.”

  “Why didn’t you chase him?” Crawford asked.

  I looked at Crawford and wondered when the last time he chased anybody was. “I started to. Then I saw the girl.”

  “You mean the crime scene you completely destroyed?” Crawford said.

  I gave another shrug.

  “You may think you’re some kind of supercop, Tower, but I got news for you. You screwed up this crime scene worse than any rookie could. You failed to keep me updated on developments in your case, even when you had to know you had a seria
l killer situation. And from what this Osmond kid is telling Billings right now, Lieutenant Hart is going to have you in Internal Affairs for an ass-reaming. I wouldn’t plan on staying in Major Crimes much longer, if I were you.”

  “Whatever,” I muttered.

  “What was that?” Crawford asked, his tone sharp.

  I fixed him with an even gaze. “I said, whatever. Lieutenant.”

  Crawford eyed me for another long moment, as if deciding whether or not to continue listing my sins for me. Maybe adding insubordination to the list. Finally, he spat on the ground next to my feet, shook his head and stalked away.

  As I watched him go, Browning touched my shoulder. “You’re taking on the Crawfish now?”

  “I’ve got no time for his bullshit.”

  “You need to go home, John. I’ll have a uniform give you a ride.”

  “No, I can drive.”

  Browning pressed his lips together.

  “Unless you’re holding my car,” I said.

  Browning thought about for a minute, then shook his head. “All you did was call radio from it, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then I’m not holding it.”

  I nodded my thanks, but Browning held my gaze. “I just need to know something from you, John.”

  “What?”

  “Mistakes aside, can I investigate this knowing that everything is squared away?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Browning didn’t stop looking at me. “It means that aside from the business of not bringing in backup or other detectives and whatever happened at that kid Osmond’s house, is everything square on this case?”

  “It’s all square.”

  “And you’re sure?”

  I gave him an unwavering stare directly into his eyes. “You ever known me to lie, Ray?”

  Browning slowly shook his head.

  “Okay, then,” I said and turned away. My stomach felt like there were streams of acid roiling inside it and my chest was heavy. I started walking toward my car.

  “John!”

  I turned back to Browning, wondering if he’d have his gun in one hand and his cuffs in the other. But he only stood at the front of Crawford’s car, watching me.

  “Yeah?”

  “Brittany. The girl inside is named Brittany Gardner. I thought you might want to know.”

  My throat constricted and I couldn’t answer out loud. Instead, I gave him a nod of thanks and walked to my car. When the engine started up, I could feel the wetness on my cheeks and was surprised at it. I cruised slowly out of the outer crime scene and under the perimeter tape that the uniform officer lifted. He looked sixteen years old, though I knew he had to be at least twenty-one to be on the job. I hoped briefly that he hadn’t noticed the tears on my face, then I didn’t care.

  Thursday, April 22nd

  Davenport Hotel, Late Morning

  VIRGIL

  Her eyes stared up at me as I held her in my hands. The eyes were bright and blue, a sense of excitement dancing behind them. Her lips were forever frozen in a large beaming smile, exposing perfect white teeth. Several freckles dotted her checks and a small dimple showed on the right side of her face.

  “I did it, Fawn,” I said softly to the picture.

  I was sitting alone in my hotel room, in the same chair Gina’s body had warmed only an hour before.

  The tears stung my eyes and rolled down my face.

  “I’m a fuckin’ pussy,” I mumbled to myself. I tucked her picture into my jacket pocket and wiped my eyes with the palms of my hands.

  With a quick snatch, I grabbed my bag off of the bed and left the hotel room.

  Gina met me down in the hotel lobby. She stood when she saw me get off of the elevator. She wore her black sweatshirt with Levi’s and white running shoes.

  “You all right?” she asked.

  ”Yeah.”

  She slipped her hand into mine and escorted me out to her beat-up Toyota which sat behind a black limousine with the Davenport logo on it.

  I tossed my bag into the trunk before climbing in to the passenger’s seat. Gina started the car after a few mis-fires and we pulled away from the curb.

  “Listen,” she said, “I hope you know you can trust me.” Her eyes flicked over to me and then back to the road. “I’ve been thinking…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was thinking that you took a big chance by asking me for help.”

  I watched her as she spoke.

  “You might have done that without much thinking down the road. So now you’re wondering how you make sure I won’t say anything.”

  Gina changed lanes to get around a slower Mercedes. “I just want to let you know that you don’t have to worry about me. You did this for your daughter. I helped you for Serena. The goal was the same. I’m in this as much as you.”

  I faced forward and looked out the window as she pulled into the parking lot of the combination Greyhound/Amtrak station. She swung the car around into a parking spot near the front of the building. With a flick of her wrist, she turned the car off.

  We sat quietly for a few minutes until she spoke. “I’m sorry about your daughter.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here’s a drop box in case you need to get a hold of me. I check it once or twice a month, so don’t expect an immediate answer.”

  She pulled the piece of paper from my fingers and read it. “Who’s Dave Semenko?”

  “It’s just a name on the P.O. box. An old hockey player.”

  “Is Virgil your real name?”

  “Virgil is as real as I’ve got anymore.”

  Gina reached over and slipped her hand behind my neck. She pulled me into her and kissed me. Her lips parted for me one final time. When we broke, her eyes were wet and she patted me on the leg. “You need to catch a train.”

  I rubbed my thumb gently over her lips. “Thanks,” I said softly and climbed out of the car.

  Thursday, April 22nd

  1612 hrs, Open Bible Church Parking Lot

  TOWER

  The days were getting longer. That’s what the woman on the radio said to start out her one-minute plant advice radio spot. The days are getting longer and all of our green leafy friends will be enjoying more sunlight.

  I switched off the radio and shifted in my seat. The parking lot at the Oak Avenue Open Bible Church was empty except for a 1970 or 1971 Chevy Nova parked right next to the office entrance. Being it was a four-door, I figured it belonged to the Church Pastor.

  Traffic was sparse on Indiana Street just to the north and no one paid any attention to me parked in the far corner of the parking lot under the yawning limbs of an oak tree. I glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard, then back out through the windshield. The silence inside my car was heavy and I lowered the window to let in some of the outside world. The rumbling hum of the car’s engine mixed with the occasional sounds of traffic and the voices of children down the block on Oak Avenue.

  I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. Echoes from the last twenty-four hours rang in my ears and images flashed unbidden behind my eyes.

  Brittany Gardner’s slack mouth and bloody thighs.

  Virgil Kelley’s hard eyes.

  The crack of a Glock and the wet splat of Rowdy’s head being torn apart.

  Lieutenant Crawford’s cigar smoke and sarcasm.

  Ray Browning’s doubt.

  Then, this morning, came the long list of questions from Lieutenant Hart in Internal Affairs, who had supplanted Browning as the primary investigator of what was now termed an “incident.” Browning was to re-investigate the Fawn Taylor case and the Serena Gonzalez case, as well as the shooting of Cody Heinz. Lieutenant Hart would review all three for any violations of policy or any improprieties.

  I tried to remember the flow of the questioning and wondered if I had made any mistakes. I’d lain awake almost the entire night considering how to play my hand. It wasn’t a co
nsideration I’d ever really had to make before, at least not of this magnitude. I’d danced up to the line before and maybe even reached across the threshold for the right reasons. But I’d finally crossed it.

  And now I was an accessory to murder.

  Hart was all over me for not using backup, for not making the proper advisements to Crawford and Browning as my case developed and for messing up Browning’s case on Sammy G.

  “You’re responsible for Cody Heinz’s death, Tower, and for his killer getting away,” he accused me, his voice outraged.

  More than you realize, Lieutenant, I thought.

  I tapped my fingers absently on the steering wheel and watched traffic scroll by, trying to stifle my thoughts.

  Did I make any mistakes in IA?

  Would they be able to find Virgil Kelley? If they did, what would he say?

  Were there any witnesses near the office building that saw him go in and then me go in? Will they remember the timing of the shots?

  To hell with it. I couldn’t control any of that. It all depended on chance and circumstance and how good of an investigator Hart was and how much Browning chose to investigate.

  A small blue pickup truck slowed along Indiana and turned into the parking lot. I watched as the vehicle approached and pulled alongside my driver’s side window. Paul Hiero was alone in the cab and he looked about as ragged as I felt. He gave me a nervous nod.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  I reached over to the passenger seat and picked up his gun. I’d wrapped it in a black T-shirt. He watched me as I held it through my open window.

  “What’s that?”

  “Take it,” I told him.

  Hiero reached out and took it from my hand. As soon as he felt the weight of the handgun, his eyes widened slightly. He swallowed hard and put the package on the seat next to him.

  “Where, uh, where’d you get it?” He avoided my eyes when he asked.

  I stared at the cuts and bruises still evident on his face. “I found it,” I told him. “And as far as anyone else knows, I never had it.”

  Hiero nodded and swallowed hard again. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  “Are you still mixed up with that girl?” I asked him.