Justice in Slow Motion (Drexel Pierce Book 3)

by Patrick Kanouse

  “Hello. I’m Detective Drexel Pierce.” He pulled out his badge and showed it to the man. “I’m looking for Adam Thompson. The man in number 603.”

  The door closed behind the man. “If he didn’t answer the buzzer, he ain’t home.”

  “Do you know him?”

  The man jabbed his index finger under his upper lip and rubbed his gum. He pulled out the finger and ran his tongue over the gum. “A bit, yeah.”

  The man was not afflicted with loquaciousness. Drexel asked, “What can you tell me about him?”

  The man blinked at Drexel. “Not much. You should talk to him.”

  “Is there a doorman?”

  “Bah, the man is sick half the time.” He walked past the detective without another word.

  Drexel gave up. He would have to call and arrange talking to Adam despite wanting to surprise him. Drexel pulled out his notes, found the number for Adam that the husband had provided, and called.

  On the fourth ring, a man answered. “Yeah?”

  “Adam Thompson?”

  “Yeah. Who’s this?”

  “Detective Drexel Pierce. I wanted—”

  “Oh yeah, Hank said you might call.”

  Drexel filed away the comment in his memory. “So I want to talk. I’m outside your condo.”

  “Yeah, I won’t be there for a while. I’m heading to an after-work thing.”

  “I can meet you there. I need to talk to you.”

  “I mean, the guy was at my place. He couldn’t have done it. Just couldn’t.”

  “I appreciate that, but I do want to get your statement for the record.” He scratched behind his ear. “And given that he—anyone in his circumstances would be—is the first person we look at, I think a conversation concerning his alibi is worth more than a call.”

  Adam did not answer right away. Drexel heard the din of human voices and traffic. Adam said, “Okay. I’m heading to a club in River North. Called Impulse. We can talk there. It’s near the corner of Franklin and Kinzie. Google it if you need to. Text me at this number when you get there.” He did not wait for Drexel to reply.

  The detective followed Adam’s guidance and Googled Impulse. Little showed up but the name and address. He walked back to the Diversey L stop and rode the Purple Line down to Merchandise Mart. On the train, he called Adam’s building management and asked about the doorman. After two people bounced him to different departments, Don Richter picked up the line. “What can I do for you?”

  Drexel said he was with the police, and he was looking to speak to the doorman who was working the night of Vickie’s death. Don told him to hold on. Drexel could hear the phone being set down and then typing. “Sir?”

  “Yes?” answered Drexel.

  “Okay. I’ve got the information up. There was not a doorman that night. He called in sick. Hmm. The guy’s been sick a lot.”

  Drexel waited a couple of seconds. “So was there a replacement?”

  “Oh, sorry. Uh, no. Given the doors have buzzers, we don’t have replacements come in.”

  “So no doorman that night?”

  “That’s right.”

  Drexel asked him to send over the specific details. After exiting the station, he walked the half block to Impluse, passing a tea, cosmetic, and interior design shop.

  Impulse was housed in a brick building with a brushed nickel sign hanging over the sidewalk, Drexel now understood why he could not find much information on the Internet. Impulse had not yet opened. He walked up the three steps from the sidewalk to the front doors and peered through the small windows. He saw ladders, canvas drop cloths, and the other implements of construction. He stepped back down to the sidewalk and texted Adam that he was outside.

  A couple of minutes passed before the front door opened and a man poked his head out. “Come on in. Let’s get you inside. The air conditioning is working.” He wore a small brimmed, white fedora on his bald head and tinted silver-framed glasses. He completed the ensemble with black jeans, black T-shirt, and black sport coat.

  Drexel nodded and followed Adam in. He closed the door behind him. “When do you open?”

  Adam chuckled. “Two weeks ago.”

  Drexel looked around. Inside, the construction was more obvious. Tables and chairs were piled in one corner, still wrapped in plastic. Light fixtures were bare of ornament. The dance floor and DJ stand were in place. The bar, made of a dark wood with light-colored veins, fitted into the far end, next to the restrooms and a path to the back.

  Adam said, “I know. I know.” He turned around and faced Drexel, walking backward, his arms taking in the interior. “I’d say we’re a good couple of months. But,” he jabbed a finger skyward, “it’ll be great when it is done. Construction needs to get going again.”

  “Has it halted?”

  Adam gave a wry smile. “Dispute over working conditions.”

  “Is this the after-work thing you were talking about?”

  He frowned and then pursed his lips. “Oh, that. That’s later. I needed to stop here first. Then I’ll head to the meeting. Talking to investors.”

  “I’m not holding you up?”

  “No. We’re good.” Adam pulled out a chair and unwrapped it from the plastic, balled the plastic up, and threw it into a corner where a pile of drywall dust, strips of paper, and other trash piled. Adam slid the chair across to Drexel. He then grabbed another, unwrapped it, and set it down a few feet from the detective. “But you didn’t come here to talk about my woes or evening plans. You wanted to talk about Hank, right?”

  “Thanks. Yes, yes, I did. Have you and Hank known each other long?”

  Adam nodded. He pulled out an electronic cigarette and tapped it on his thumb. “Hank and I go way back. High school. I moved here from Kansas when I was a freshman. Ended up playing basketball on the team. Hank was much better.”

  “Did you know Vickie?”

  “V, yeah, I knew her. Awesome girl. Hank met her in college. I went to Arizona for school.” He waved his hand in the air. “Thought I’d love the sun.” He laughed. “I ended up missing the damn winter. Shit.” He laughed again. “So I transferred back and finished out at the U of I Chicago. Anywho, I knew her for several years. Really liked her.” He grimaced and shook his head, “Shit, I can’t believe this is for real, you know?”

  “What was their relationship like?”

  Adam cocked his head and looked away and then back at Drexel. He put his hands together and leaned forward. “Good from what I could see. I mean, they’d bicker sometimes in front of me, but who doesn’t, right? He was devoted to her. Loved that woman like there was no tomorrow. I think she was devoted to him. She was definitely set on opening her own restaurant. I know Hank was worried about that.”

  “How so?”

  “I mean, that’s a lot of hours. Long days. Risky too. Not like being an executive chef in a restaurant owned by someone else. But, hell, I understand.” He raised his hand and then the index finger and twirled it around. “I understand wanting to be your own boss.” He remembered he had the vaporizer in his hand and tucked it back into his sport coat pocket.

  “Would you describe Hank as possessive?” Drexel crossed his left leg over his right and set the notepad on it.

  “I’m not sure I’d say that. He’s the jealous sort, yeah, but not possessive. I mean, if he was, she’d never go anywhere, open Fling, and that kind of stuff. I think he lacked a bit of confidence in himself. Always thought he wasn’t quite good enough for her, but that endeared V to him ‘cause he’d go out of his way to make her happy. But not possessive, no.”

  “Did you ever see Hank mad?”

  “You know, that’s one of the things about Hank. The dude never gets mad. Like a steady ship cruising along.” He held his hand flat to the floor in front of his chest and pushed it forward. He sat back in the chair and crossed his a
rms across his chest. “I did see him once get really mad. Like it had been building up and waiting and then the match.” He looked at Drexel and continued at his nod. “I was back from Arizona for spring break. Freshman year. Hank was pledging the Kappas. He was going through all the hazing shit. You know, running stupid errands. Being forced to stand naked in the house and sing ‘Jingle Bells.’ That sort of shit. So we’re getting pizza and hanging out, and he gets a call from one of the senior Kappas. I don’t know what was said or required, but Hank lost his shit. Flipped the table, threatened the waiter who came over. I had to drag him out. Cost him getting into the Kappas. But that’s it. Seriously.” Adam snorted. “Good thing probably. He would’ve hated being in a fraternity.”

  Drexel nodded. He knew something about hazing and losing your senses and doing something rash. Usually it was a small thing that triggered it, but it was the cumulative effect, the days and weeks of humiliation. Doggett had done it to him when Drexel joined Homicide. Eventually Drexel had punched the elder detective. Victor had saved Drexel’s career. “Did he ever get angry at Vickie?”

  “I know why you’re asking, but no. And even if he wasn’t with me that night, he couldn’t have killed her. He was devoted to her.”

  Drexel had seen plenty of devotion kills. “You told me you expected my call?”

  “Yeah. It was crazy. I went by his apartment an hour after you were there. He’d left his phone—”

  A furious knocking on the door shattered the sense of a private conversation. Adam stood up. “Hold on.” He walked to the door and opened it. “Hey, hey there. I’m kind of busy.”

  “I don’t care.” The voice had a menacing edge to it.

  “I’m serious.”

  The sound of a boot entering the nightclub. Drexel stood up.

  “We need to talk now.” The voice came from a skinny man with reddish-brown, long hair. He noticed Drexel and glared at him.

  Adam said, “I told you I’m busy. This is Detective Drexel Pierce. My friend’s wife was killed. He’s checking in on Hank.”

  Drexel could tell Adam wanted the man to know a cop was present but that it was related to a friend.

  The man glared at Drexel for a few minutes and then looked back at Adam. “Sorry to bother you. We’ll talk in a bit.” He turned around and left.

  Adam jerked on the bottom of his sport coat to straighten it and closed the door behind the man. “Sorry about that. Where were we?”

  Drexel decided not to pursue what that encounter was about. He had a good idea, but did not feel charitable to Adam at the moment. “You were saying you saw Hank a little bit after I spoke to him.”

  “That’s right. He told me she’d been killed. He was upset. He felt awful and was worried about the debt she’d left them in?”

  “He was worried about money?”

  Adam snorted. “Hank’s blind spot is money. Weird for an accountant, right? Always has been. Always on the personal level. Never the professional. I think he just wishes he were rich. He wanted to give her everything. But couldn’t. There you have it. What he did know was that starting a restaurant requires a lot of cash. Sure, her winnings from that show helped, but they burned through that fast. I’m sure the place wasn’t yet turning a profit. Wasn’t open long enough to.”

  “So Hank was with you the night of the thirtieth through the morning of the first.”

  Adam nodded his head vigorously. “He was. We watched the game and drank too much beer. So he crashed on my couch. He was there the next morning.”

  “Can you be certain he didn’t leave during the night?”

  “Look,” Adam slapped his hands together, “I can’t swear that before God, no, but we were hammered. He went to sleep. I barely got up the next morning.” He scratched his chin. “What I will tell you is that I’d swear that he was there all night in court.”

  Drexel wrote it down as Adam stated it. He leaned back and looked at the statement. Not the most solid of alibis, but Adam seemed certain enough that the detective thought a jury might find it persuasive. “So tell me about Vickie.”

  Adam admired her cooking a great deal and thought Fling would be a success. He almost always saw her with Hank, and she was full of smiles. “Food was her obsession. She was always thinking up new ideas. She had a little notebook, one of those small black leather ones with the elastic band to keep them closed where if she suddenly thought of something, she’d write it there. I bet there’s money in that.”

  “Can you think of anyone who’d want to hurt her?”

  “Hurt V? Shit no.”

  “You said the restaurant was in debt. Was it in bad shape? Something a bank wouldn’t help with and they needed to borrow from non-bank sources?”

  “Loan shark?”

  Drexel nodded.

  Adam sucked on his lower lip and looked down at the floor before looking at Drexel. “I’m not sure how one would even do that.” Adam looked at Drexel and then back at the floor. They both knew he had lied. “What I do know is they wouldn’t have a clue. Look, the debt is my assumption based on what Hank said. I haven’t checked their books. Maybe she spent fortunes on girl stuff. Had credit card debt up the ass, but who doesn’t? It’s America, right? And anyways, it’s a new business. Of course it’s going to be in debt. It takes time, time to get something on its feet.”

  “What about drugs?”

  Adam sat up straight. “What about them?”

  “Did they partake?” Drexel leaned forward. “Not judging here. Just want to know because maybe that’s what happened? Maybe that’s where all that money went.”

  “Absolutely not. V was clean, straight up. Hank and I smoked some weed in high school, but that’s about it. He would never have let V do drugs.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you find something?”

  Drexel leaned back. “Found some pills in her office. In her desk.” Perhaps knowing there were drugs found in Vickie’s desk would free Adam to be forthright if there were more to tell.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say. That’s not the V I knew. Or that Hank knew. He never mentioned anything of the sort.” He pulled out the vaporizer and rapped it against the top of his hand. “I’m shocked.”

  “So to confirm. Hank was with you all night to your best recollection. There might’ve been some money issues, but nothing you don’t think’s not normal. They were a fantastic couple. Right?”

  “Yeah, that’s about right. But you sound kind of sarcastic.”

  “What about stalkers or any one that Vickie was worried about?”

  “She has her fans, yeah. Sometimes they’d swing by the restaurant and be pests. But stalking? Like the creeps that hide out and watch for hours and that?”

  “Certainly those. But even people who’d take too much of an interest in her.”

  Adam shook his head.

  Drexel described the man he had chased outside Fling.

  Adam said, “Doesn’t ring a bell for me.”

  A knock at the door, three loud thumps as if someone were pounding their fist against it.

  Adam said, “Hold on.” He got up, tucking the vaporizer back into his sport coat, and walked to the door. Drexel followed him. A rectangle of light from outside poured in. Adam said, “Hello. Yeah. Thanks.” The door closed and Adam walked back in, carrying a box. He set it down beside the chair.

  Drexel leaned forward. He pulled out his phone and loaded up a picture of Vickie’s battered face. He held it up for Adam to see.

  “Jesus,” said Adam. “Why you showing me that?”

  “This is the result of that loving relationship.”

  “What? That was a car accident.”

  “No. No they weren’t. This is a police photograph from one of the several times she called the police when Hank was attacking her. I won’t play you the 9-1-1 call messages from the time he was beating down the bathroom d
oor.”

  “This is bullshit. I don’t believe you. That’s not Hank. They had a great relationship.”

  Drexel leaned back in the chair. Something felt off about Adam’s response. He stared at Adam and twisted his mouth. “That’s what people say all the time about abusers. I’m not screwing with you. This,” he held the phone up and jabbed it at Adam, “is what Hank’s love is like. Possessive. Violent.”

  Adam shook his head, but weakly.

  “So you still want to cover for him?”

  “I’m not covering for him. That,” he pointed at the phone, “doesn’t change my story. He was at my apartment all night.”

  Drexel stood. He thought Adam was lying—that he knew Hank had physically assaulted Vickie. “You’ve lied multiple times to me. I’m not sure why.” Drexel handed Adam one of his cards. “When you’re ready to be more honest about your friends’ relationship, call me.” He turned and walked toward the door.

  “Detective?”

  Drexel turned and looked at Adam.

  Adam said, “Hank was at my place all night. He didn’t kill V.”

  The detective walked out of the club into the late afternoon sun.

  Chapter 13

  Drexel was typing the finishing touches on his daily report, much of it covering his conversation with Adam Thompson when Victor opened his office door and asked him to come in. Drexel held up his hand to indicate he needed a moment, which turned into fifteen minutes as he re-read his statements. Satisfied with them, he was not prone to Montaigne’s urge to edit already published works, the detective clicked Save and watched the report disappear into an icon in a list. He leaned back and looked at the photograph of Vickie he had taped to the edge of the monitor.

  He pushed open the cracked door to Victor’s office, who waved Drexel to close it behind him. “What’s up?” asked Drexel.

  Victor opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and two glasses. He poured a generous splash in each, screwed the cap back on, set the bottle on his desk with a thud, and with two fingers pushed one of the glasses to Drexel. “I’ve got some info on that evidence Carl has on your brother.”