“A transaction?” Marge was animated.
“Looked that way to me,” Martinez said. “Because afterward, Sean stuck his arm back into the car. I guess they shook hands. Then Joachim drove off.”
“A payoff,” Webster said.
Oliver said, “Okay. Here’s what we got. We got Joachim, who’s a nerd—”
“More like a weirdo,” Webster interjected. “A guy called Cyberword, who’s a Scrabble fanatic—”
“My kids play Scrabble,” Decker said. “I play Scrabble. I’m not a nerd, I’m not weird, and I’m not a hit man. We don’t know a friggin’ thing about this kid. We’ve just made leaps that could traverse the Grand Canyon.”
No one said anything.
Decker gave a slight smile. “Still, if I were TV typecasting for an outcast, theoretically Joachim Rush would fit the bill—a scholarship boy in a rich prep school. A loner because he’s out of the social loop. Then both of his parents are not only math and science professors but also fanatic sci-fi readers. He’s a fanatical Scrabble player. I’m always skeptical of fanatical anything—”
“Even religious fanaticals?” Oliver said.
“Especially the fanatically religious,” Decker countered. “The Rushes don’t sound like part of the typical Westbridge population. Neither the kid nor the parents.”
Oliver said, “You add to your pot that a wad of money was exchanged between Sean and Joachim.”
“Who said it was money?” Martinez said. “I just said an envelope.”
“What else could it be?” Webster said.
“Lots of things—”
“Including cash for a hit made to look like an OD that happened just last night—”
“Whoa,” Decker said. “We’re getting way out there with our theories. But it is an interesting postulation. Too bad we won’t be able to check it out.”
“Why not?” Martinez asked. “I can tail Joachim for a couple of days, Loo.”
“It’s okay by me except I’m off the case now.” Decker felt his jaw tighten. “You’ve got to take it up with Strapp.”
Oliver frowned. “You know what he’ll say, Loo.”
Martinez said, “Just let me tail him tomorrow.”
“I’m not authorized to give you the go-ahead, Bert. Talk to Strapp.”
“He’ll bury it,” Webster said.
“Probably.”
Oliver said, “That means all our work—hell, all your work—it’s all gonna be shitcanned. You know that.”
“I know that,” Decker said.
Marge said, “Aren’t you frustrated?”
“I’m very frustrated.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“At this moment, I’m grinning and bearing. But as for the future…” Decker shrugged. “I hear Montana’s beautiful at this time of year.”
Marge said, “If you don’t mind militia men and Nazis.”
“Margie, I’ve been a cop for twenty-five years,” Decker said. “I’m used to nutcases with guns.”
Freed by Strapp from the Estelle’s shooting…the tragedy’s persistent nagging…Decker polished off his paperwork by seven. He thought about his work, he thought about his life. What had happened to all the dreams? All the vacation fantasies? Hand and hand with Rina, running barefoot on empty beaches, toes tickled by the waves. Or hiking through pristine mountains, smelling clean air. Why had he allowed himself to become mired in the muck? His words to Strapp this morning crystalized his dissatisfaction. Openly admitting that the end might be near.
And maybe that was a good thing.
Because there was life beyond the LAPD.
Someone knocked on his doorjamb, jogging him out of his reverie. Marge said, “A woman named Tess Wetzel is waiting outside. She wants to talk to you.”
“What’s it about?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
Decker paused, the name pricking at his memory cells. “Tess Wetzel?’
“That’s what she said.” Marge looked at her watch. “It’s kinda late. Tell her you left?”
“No, you can bring her in.”
“You’re the boss.”
Decker laughed. “Right.”
A moment later, a plain-looking woman of around thirty limped into the office. She walked with a cane, wincing at every step. Burdened beyond her years. She was on the heavy side, but still had curves. She wore baggy jeans under a loose cable-knit sweater. No makeup. No jewelry. A basic woman, yet there was something about her that connoted strength. Decker stood, held out the chair opposite his desk.
With effort, the woman lowered herself into the seat. Her voice was soft. “Thank you very much for seeing me.”
“No problem.” Decker sat, held out his hand. “It’s Mrs. Wetzel, is it?”
“Tess.” The woman laced her fingers around his, squeezed his hand, then quickly placed hers in her lap. Her eyes grew moist. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Decker stared at the face…the pained expression…the iron will. He blinked, then said, “That entire night was a blur, Tess, but I remember you clearly. Although I don’t think we were ever properly introduced.” Again he held out his hand. “Lieutenant Peter Decker. Pleased to meet you.”
She smiled, then started crying. Buried her head in her hands. “I’m sorry.”
Decker leaned over, about to place his hand on her shoulder. Thoughts of Jeanine’s harassment suit flitted through his brain. Aw, screw that! He patted her arm gently, offered her a tissue. She took it and wiped her eyes.
He said, “It’s wonderful to see you up and about.”
“Of sorts.”
“Can I get you something, Tess?”
“Nothing.” She blew her nose. “I came to thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, although I didn’t do anything more than my job.”
“I didn’t know cops were trained to splint legs.”
“I had some medical training when I was in the army. Amazing. It came back to me in a second.”
“You should have been a doctor,” Tess said. “You have a great bedside manner.”
Decker smiled. “Thank you. How are you coping?”
Tess looked away. “Not too awful. Been so busy thinking about myself I haven’t been able to think much about…about Ken.”
Decker nodded.
Tess blinked tears. “We weren’t getting along so hot, you know.”
Decker waited.
“That night…” Tess cleared her throat. “That night…Ken was telling me it was over…between us. That he was gonna leave me for some little…floozy he was messing around with…at the office.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I remember sittin’ there, Lieutenant. Just sittin’ there like a piece of wood. Not feelin’ anything. Still, the tears wouldn’t stop comin’.”
Decker nodded.
“I remember thinkin’…thinkin’…I wish I was dead. I wish he was dead. Next thing I knew, he was.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she cried silently, her gaze fixed on his wall.
Softly, Decker said, “You didn’t mean it, Tess. Don’t you even give it a second thought because you didn’t mean it. You think about yourself now—yourself and your kids. You have children, right?”
“Two.”
“You had nothing to do with your husband’s death. There’s only one man to blame for what happened that night.”
“Harlan Manz,” Tess whispered.
“He’s the only one responsible for your husband’s death,” Decker said. “Is that clear?”
Tess didn’t respond right away. Then she said, “At the hospital…we formed a group…those of us who were hit but weren’t on the critical list.”
“A survivors’ group?”
“Yes. We started talking among ourselves. Because only we knew what it was like.”
“I think that was a great idea.”
“I’m still in contact with a few of the women. The waitress there named Carol. We became friend
s. We have kids the same age and all. I was thinking like…maybe you could come talk to us one day.”
“Anytime.” Decker paused. “What do you have in mind?”
“Just talk about…what happened. And why.”
“That’s tough. Because we really don’t know why. We have theories, we have suspicions, we have profiles and psychologists and criminal experts—all of them yakking about this kind of thing. But that’s all we really have, Tess. Just talk. Still, I’d be happy to address your group and answer any questions you people might have.”
Decker pulled out his calendar.
“Did you have a specific date in mind?”
She shook her head no. “I’ve got to call some of the others first. Can I get back to you?”
“Absolutely.”
She started to rise. Decker bolted out of his chair to aid her, but she stopped him. “I can manage.”
“Okay.”
She stood, leaned on the ball of her cane. “This is gonna sound crazy…but…”
Decker nodded encouragement.
She started to talk, then stopped. She tried again. “The shooting…there was a lot of shooting.”
“Yes, there was.”
“Ken and me…it seems like we was hit right away.” Her eyes moistened. “Right off the bat.”
“I understand.”
“There was all this shooting. Even after we was hit.”
“Yes, there was lots of fire.”
“I got this bad habit…of being curious…too curious. Even after I was hit…instead of just staying down like a normal person, I had to look.”
Decker’s heart started racing. “What’d you see, Tess?”
“Lots of very scared people. Somehow…seeing them so scared…it made me less scared. Does that sound crazy?”
“Not at all.”
Tess grew silent. Decker tried to hide his disappointment. Well, what did he expect? “No, it doesn’t sound the least bit crazy.”
Tess dropped her voice to a whisper. “Suddenly it stopped…the shooting. After it was over…everyone moaning and crying…but nobody dared to move. Too afraid that it would…you know…start up again.”
Decker nodded.
Tess said, “So no one moved…even after it was over…except that one guy.”
One guy? Decker tried to keep calm. “What guy was that, Tess?”
“Some guy in a heavy green jacket…it was cold that night.”
Decker sat up. A green jacket? Harlan was found dead, wearing a green jacket. “You saw a man in a green jacket walking around after the shooting stopped?”
Tess appeared confused. “He was more like standing around. But I’m not positive. Because the one time I mentioned him, no one knew what I was talking about. But like I said, I have a bad habit of being curious. That’s how I found out about Ken and his floozy.”
Decker forced himself to talk slowly. “Tell me about this guy. What did he do?”
“He didn’t do anything really. Just bent down, then stood up, put his hands in his pocket…he looked around, then walked out the door. Isn’t that odd?”
Decker agreed. It was very odd. Casually, he told her that he’d look into it.
27
Placing his hands on his desk, Strapp made a tepee with extended fingers. To Decker, he said, “And how many of Estelle’s people did you interview?”
“All of them. But that doesn’t—”
Strapp interrupted. “Tell me if I’m wrong about this, Lieutenant.”
The captain’s eyes went from Decker to his Homicide team minus the old guy, Farrell Gaynor. Dogs encircling him like prey. Well, fuck that. He’d run his investigation in his own way, at his own pace. Less chance of errors—procedurally as well as politically.
“Any of you in this room,” Strapp addressed them. “I welcome the chance to stand corrected. Now you people interviewed every single patron and employee at Estelle’s. Correct?”
The question was rhetorical so no one answered.
Strapp said, “How many were there, Lieutenant?”
Decker could see where this was leading. “One hundred forty-eight—”
“And not one of them mentioned a phantom man—”
“In a green jacket,” Marge interrupted.
“Yes, Detective, I know the details. Can I finish?”
“Sorry, sir,” Marge replied.
Strapp said, “So I’m right about this, am I not, Decker? That no one mentioned a phantom guy…in a green jacket?”
Oliver spoke up, “Sir, many of the witnesses mentioned that the shooter wore a green jacket.”
“Harlan Manz wore a green jacket, Detective.” Strapp grew irritated. “Forget about the jacket. I want to know which of your one hundred and forty-eight witnesses mentioned this phantom guy?”
Decker said, “Captain, it was right after—”
Strapp held up his hand, signaling quiet. “Yes, I know, I know. Everyone had been in shock. And it takes time for the shock to wear off…for the memories to come back. This is all true. And I’m willing…to entertain Mrs. Wetzel’s…what was her first name, Pete?”
“Tess,” Decker said.
Strapp clasped his hands together. “All right. Let’s say Mrs. Wetzel’s observation was more than a figment of her imagination. Before we proceed any further—with our outer-space conspiracy theories and teenage hit men postulations—we go back to basics. How about doing a little police work?”
Decker said, “I had every intention of having my team reinterview every single person at Estelle’s that evening—”
“Good,” Strapp said. “Because now it’s an order! Just damn well make sure you don’t push anyone. If they don’t want to talk, we come back. Because it’s only been what…about three weeks since the incident. We’re still dealing with open wounds. So that’s what we do. We concentrate on interviews.”
The captain looked pointedly at Martinez.
“We forget about tailing a gawky teenager whose only crime is playing Scrabble.” His eyes turned to Webster. “And we forget about Sean Amos, whose only crime is being a schmuck.”
“He roughs up women,” Webster said.
“He grabbed his sister’s arm, Detective,” Strapp said. “No, it’s not nice. But if we arrested every older brother who manhandled his younger sibling, we’d have no civilian population.”
“It’s different when you do it in front of a cop,” Webster said. “It makes a statement.”
“It says nothing, Webster. More important, it means nothing with regard to the murders at Estelle’s. Lay off Amos, is that clear?”
“Very.”
“Good.” Strapp faced the others. “We also forget about Jeanine Garrison—”
“What about David Garrison?” Marge interrupted. “Do we forget about him as well?”
Strapp’s face turned red. His hands clenched into fists. “Detective Dunn, you’re here by my good graces, not by his.” He cocked a thumb in Decker’s direction.
“It was a legitimate question, Captain,” Decker retorted. “Do we view David Garrison as a plain suicide or do we hunt around?”
“For now, it’s a suicide,” Strapp said. “If Forensics tells us differently, we barrel ahead into a homicide investigation.”
Strapp looked at his watch.
“It’s eight-thirty. No sense bothering people at night. All the interviewing is to be done during work hours, but not at the expense of your other investigatory duties. Is that clear?”
“Couldn’t be any clearer,” Oliver said.
“Are you being snide, Detective Oliver?”
“I’m always snide, sir,” Oliver answered. “It’s part of my personality.”
“It’s a rotten part.”
“I’m sure my ex-wife would agree with you, sir.”
Decker smiled, looked down.
Strapp caught it, started to sneer, but smiled as well. He threw his head back, exhaled slowly, then looked at the group. “You should see yourselves. Like a bun
ch of hyenas ready to pounce. And for what reason? Because I’m telling you to do sound police work.”
He turned to Decker.
“Lieutenant, given Tess Wetzel’s revelation, what would you do?”
Decker ran a hand over his face. “I’d handle the investigation more or less the same way. Because at the moment, we have nothing on Jeanine Garrison other than a photo of her and Manz. And that’s not indictable evidence. I do believe Tess Wetzel’s disclosure. So maybe I’d make the interviewing more top priority. But basically, the captain and I are in agreement.”
Martinez said, “So then we don’t have a problem.”
“I have a problem,” Webster said. “We’re sidestepping a killer because she’s connected.”
“So get me evidence.” Strapp became suddenly angry. “I can’t believe you people. A bunch of asses. Finally, you get a big break…some outside confirmation that maybe there was a second shooter…and you’re mired in shit. Stop blowing smoke through your butts and start asking the right questions. And maybe you’ll even get the right answers”
He turned to Decker.
“I don’t want you questioning anyone, but you can draw up the list of people to be interviewed and divide them any way you see fit.”
Webster said, “Then I reckon you don’t want us questioning Jeanine Garrison…’cause she wasn’t there.”
“That’s right, Webster,” Strapp said. “I reckon you don’t do that. It’s not only pointless, it’s stupid.”
“Aren’t pointless and stupid the same thing?” Oliver asked.
Webster said, “You can be pointless without being stupid.”
“Well, your idea, Webster, was both.” The captain turned to Decker. “Anything else you want to discuss?”
Decker shook his head.
“Meeting is over.” Strapp turned back to Decker. “I need to talk to you alone. The rest of you…out!”
Slowly the group got up, left the captain’s office feeling depressed and put down. Strapp found their resentment palpable. Too bad. You want to bolster the ego, get yourself a whore. Strapp waited until the last of them had filed out, then closed the door a little too hard. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “You want coffee, Pete?”
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