Bullet Beth (George Hastings police procedural)

by James Patrick Hunt

  “His father?”

  “Yeah. He lives in Kirksville. A nice fellah, actually. From a small town. Well, like you.”

  Beth gave the detective a curious glance.

  Hastings said, “And I suppose Johnny could have called his friend Aaron and asked him for the money. And if Aaron had the money, he probably would have given it to him because Aaron was dumb enough to be sort of enamored with Johnny. But then if Aaron had given Johnny the money, Aaron’s boyfriend would have probably found out about it and thrown him out. And as for other friends…well, Johnny didn’t really have any other friends. Not any real friends. He had a lot of acquaintances, people who thought he was a sort of charming rogue, but he didn’t have many friends. So that’s why he called you.”

  Beth tilted her head, as if to think about it. “Because he thought we were friends?”

  “No, not hardly,” Hastings said. He smiled then. “No, he may not have been the brightest guy in the world, but he wasn’t bone stupid either. He knew what you were. Well, maybe not completely.”

  Now she did not conceal her hostility. “Sorry?”

  Hastings said, “You know, my friends tell me I have a sort of weakness for beautiful women. I get around them and my thinking gets kind of muddled. My ex-wife was a real stunner. Still is. I fell for her hard. It didn’t work out, but I got a pretty neat kid out of it. And you. Well, you’re even better looking in person than on television.”

  “Thank you, I guess, but I don’t see —”

  “I’d like to say that when you told me you wanted to do an exclusive interview with me I was pretty charmed. If I didn’t have my mind on other things, I’m sure I’d have been very flattered. But then I thought, no, George. Women like that aren’t interested in men like you. But it was good. But what was even more impressive is that you brought up Aaron’s call to you before I did. Now that was clever. I told you I had a record of Johnny’s calling you and your call to him. And then you got ahead of me. You said to yourself, ‘If he has Johnny’s phone records, he has Aaron’s too.’ So you brought it up first. If you hadn’t, I might have caught you in a lie and then paid a little more attention to you.”

  Beth Tanner smiled at the policeman. “This is all very cute, but —”

  “No, let me finish. After all, this is what you said you wanted. Let’s talk about a few things. Carter Avery.”

  “What about him?”

  “What did he do to you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He used to be my co-anchor.”

  “How come he left?”

  “He got another job. He went to Texas.”

  “Yes, he did. But he wasn’t there long before he committed suicide. Do you know why?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  “Well, I don’t have to prove motive. Not where Carter Avery is concerned, anyway. I don’t know why you wanted to get rid of him. But you did. Maybe he was a pretty talented anchor. Maybe you were threatened by him. Or maybe you just didn’t like sharing the anchor desk with him. But you knew he was a closeted homosexual and you knew you didn’t want him around. So you hooked up with Johnny Rodgers and paid him to seduce Carter. And you paid him to film their little session. You know, that video is time and date stamped? It was made before Carter Avery killed himself, obviously. But more important, it was made before he resigned from this station.”

  A silence between them. Hastings let it happen.

  Then he said, “How did Carter react when you showed him that video? Did he break down? Cry? Maybe beg you for sympathy?”

  “It never happened. Carter Avery shot himself in Dallas.”

  “You’re right. He did. You didn’t pull the trigger yourself, but you pushed him in that direction. Legally, you’re off the hook for that one.”

  “But you seem to think I killed Johnny.”

  “Oh, I know you killed him. I know you killed Aaron too. If you want to make a confession later, you can. Maybe it would be better for you if you did, though you’d probably better discuss that with your lawyer. But we’ve got you with or without a confession.”

  Hastings opened his briefcase. He took out a piece of paper and set it on her desk.

  “That’s a copy of a search warrant. We searched your house while you were here.”

  She stared at the warrant, the hard truth beginning to dawn on her.

  “You can’t do that,” she said. “Not while I’m not there.”

  “Actually, we can. If we have a warrant, the subject need not be present while we conduct our search. If you don’t believe me, ask your lawyer. Or any convicted drug dealer. So we found a pair of tennis shoes that match a footprint we found near the river. And we found Johnny’s computer. You know, you really should have gotten rid of that. And we found this.”

  Hastings put a gun in a plastic bag on the desk.

  “This is the gun you used to kill the young African-American males the night you dumped Aaron’s body in the river. Thirty-eight rounds. The same caliber that was used to kill those guys in south city.” Hastings shrugged. “You can probably plead self-defense on those two, which would bother me not at all, but it does put you near the river that night. Which is all I’m interested in.”

  “Gee, you found a gun. I’ll bet there are only about ten thousand of them in north St. Louis alone.”

  “Good point. But this one’s yours. This one belongs to Bullet Beth Tanner.”

  She stared at him.

  “Yeah, I found about that. I spent most of today researching your illustrious career, your background. I was on the phone for hours. Now I called the first station you worked at. That’s what they called you in Little Rock. Bullet Beth. I guess because you were good at producing stories quickly. Did you come up with that name yourself? It’s very catchy.”

  Beth started to answer. She was used to talking about herself and was comfortable doing it. But now she hesitated.

  Hastings said, “We found a note in Johnny’s car, saying he was supposed to meet B.B. at the lake. Bullet Beth’s initials. You told him about that, didn’t you? You told him about the nickname you’re rather proud of.”

  “You need to leave.”

  “Soon. We’re both leaving soon.” Hastings said, “Another thing I found is that you were on your college swim team. A champion swimmer. Also, that you bought your house through Jack Belmont’s real estate company. The house with that lovely pool you drowned Aaron Peterson in. Did you have some sort of relationship with Mr. Belmont?”

  “That’s none of your damn business.”

  “You know what’s funny? That was exactly what Mr. Belmont said to me when I went to see him today. He tried to get a little tough with me. But then I reminded him that he had lied to me when I asked him before if anyone other than his wife or family had access to his house at Lake of the Ozarks. I told him that lying to a police officer is a felony. He cooperated with me after that. He said that you broke it off with him over a year ago. And that he didn’t remember getting the key back to his lakehouse.”

  “He’s a liar.”

  “Ms. Tanner, why would he lie about something like that? A man who doesn’t want his wife to leave him. Why would he lie to me about an adulterous affair?”

  “He’s not the only man who wishes he could have someone like me.”

  “Well, you’re probably right about that.” Hastings put the gun and copy of the search warrant back in his briefcase. He stood up.

  “Let’s go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m calling a lawyer.”

  “You can do that after you’re booked downtown. Now I’ve got a couple of uniformed officers in the parking lot waiting. They have a warrant for your arrest. They’re going to arrest you and read you your rights. So you can walk out with me or I can bring them in here so everybody gets to see you in handcuffs. But either way, you’re coming with us.”

  A long silence passed.

  She said, “Are there cameras out there? What I me
an is, did you contact other media?”

  Hastings almost laughed. Christ, she was serious.

  “That’s not my style,” he said.

  Beth stood up and put her jacket on. She gave him a very cold, very ugly look as she walked past him.

  “You fucking loser,” she said. “You’re going to regret this.”

  “Ms. Tanner, I’ve heard it all before.”

  In the parking lot, Hastings and Klosterman stood by the Jaguar watching the uniformed officers put her in the back of a patrol car.

  Klosterman said, “She’s a cold one.”

  “Yeah,” Hastings said. “You know, it’s funny. I think she was mad at me for not having the media here.”

  “Well,” Klosterman said, “that’s show business.”

  Hastings slept till eleven the next morning. He got up and walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. A reasonably healthy looking man reflected back at him. The dark patches under his eyes had receded. After he showered, he called his captain.

  Karen said, “I heard the lawsuit was dismissed.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That is so great,” Karen said.

  Hastings wished he could believe she believed it. He said, “Yeah, it’s nice to have it behind me. You heard about the Tanner arrest?”

  “Yeah. How do you feel about that one?”

  “The prosecutor thinks it’s pretty solid. But you never know until they plea out or it’s tried. I’ve decided I’m not going to think about it for a while.”

  She gave him one of her fake laughs. “I hear that.”

  Hastings shook his head. “Karen, I’m going to take a comp day. I’m a little worn out.”

  “That’s fine, George.”

  “What I’m going to do is type up a report of what happened last night and e-mail it to you. A supplement to what you should already have. Are you okay with that?”

  “Sure.”

  They traded goodbyes. Hastings wondered if things were mended between them. He did not believe he needed her permission to stay home or to send her a report on the internet. But he would keep her posted from time to time, just to satisfy her ego. She needed to be humored and he needed to be left alone.

  Eileen called him after lunch.

  He told her the case was resolved and he could take Amy for the rest of the week.

  Eileen said, “That’s great, because I was going to ask if you could pick her up from school today.”

  “Yeah, I can do that. What have you got going on?”

  “I’ve got painters coming over to the house to give us an estimate. Listen, George. Ted’s really glad we got that thing with Amy straightened out the other night. I mean, he was so relieved. He likes you, you know. And he respects what you’re doing.”

  “How nice.”

  “Now stop it. He wants to do the right thing by everyone. He wasn’t trying to belittle you or put you down in any way. Give him a chance, will you?”

  “Does he want us to start hanging out or something?”

  “No. He just…I don’t know. I think he hopes you respect him. That’s all. Maybe that’s not the right way to put it. He’s a funny guy. And for some reason it’s important to him that you approve of him.”

  “Why should he care?”

  “He shouldn’t, but he does.…I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with Amy. But cut him a break, huh?”

  Hastings said, “I’ll try.”

  “What happened with you and I —”

  “It was a long time ago. Forget it.”

  “I know, but let me finish. What happened then, that was my fault. It wasn’t his.”

  “I understand that. Look, Eileen, I respect him. And Amy does too. And it’s okay with me if you tell him — if you tell him I didn’t mean to be ungrateful.”

  After a moment, Eileen said, “Okay.”

  Hastings smiled and said, “So can we agree to never speak of this again?”

  Eileen laughed. “We can try.…Look, I have to get going.”

  “All right, Eileen.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  Hastings parked at Amy’s school in a line with SUV’s and mini-vans. He was one of the few fathers there. The only one in an old Jaguar. He had the radio on, the Everly Brothers singing about good love going bad. Hastings glanced in the rearview mirror to see a woman walking alongside the parked vehicles. It was Terry McGregor.

  He got out of the Jag.

  Terry said, “I thought I saw your car here.”

  “Yeah, I took the day off. Amy’s coming home tonight. Listen, Terry. I forgot to call you. We arrested Johnny’s murderer last night.”

  He told her about it.

  Hastings said, “Don’t tell people about it, okay? Especially people at the salon because they might be witnesses. It’ll be on the news soon enough.”

  “I won’t. George.” She placed a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “I don’t know. I was feeling sort of…overwhelmed, I guess. Sorry for myself. I forgot what it was I was supposed to be doing. You helped me remember.”

  “I don’t know about that, George.”

  They looked at each other and for a moment shared a discomfort, each of them aware of an attraction. It was Hastings who turned away first, glancing across the roof of his car at the children coming out of the school.

  “Here are the kids,” Hastings said.

  “Yeah,” Terry said. “We’ll see you at home. Or at the next basketball practice, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  She walked back to her van and Hastings watched her as she walked, mentally shaking his head as he did. He would be better off pursuing romances with sixty year old dance instructors.

  He turned to get back in his car, taking in the schoolyard as he did so. Then he stopped and took another look across the green grass and the playground and swing set and kickball field.

  Then he ran.

  Across the playground at full speed, pumping his arms as he crossed the field and tried to close the distance between himself and the black BMW as it shifted out of park and started to drive away. He reached the other side of the field but there was a fence separating the field from the street and Hastings ran along side of it as the BMW pulled away, the distance widening again, as Hastings looked at the license tag before it was gone.

  He wrote the tag number down on his pad. He did it though his hands were shaking as he tried to control his rage and fear. He hoped he was wrong. Above all, he hoped he was wrong.

  “Daddy!”

  He turned to see Amy in the distance. She was standing by the Jaguar, holding her books.

  Christ.

  He walked back to her.

  Amy said, “What were you doing?”

  “Nothing.” He managed to put a smile on his face. “You ready to go home?”

  Gone, gone, skip to my lou…gone, gone, skip to my lou…

  It was a tune Ryan Bradbury remembered from childhood. Maybe it was from a movie he watched. Maybe it was something his daddy used to hum. Ryan would sing it to himself when he was in a good mood. He was in a good mood now. He had caught his latest girlfriend leaving dirty dishes in the sink and given her a good thrashing. She cried and screamed and had said she was sorry and that made him thrash her some more.

  He knew she wouldn’t do anything about it. He paid for her apartment and her car and gave her a liberal allowance for clothes and such. Last week she had wrecked the car and asked him for a new one. He didn’t hit her then — women asking him for money didn’t really upset him. But he did tell her they could just fix the one she had. But then she unzipped his pants and went to work on him and soon he said, well, if you insist. The little scamp. She had made her bargain.

  Now she was in the bedroom sobbing. He was in the kitchen washing the dishes. Yes, he would do it. He was a reasonable man. Reasonable and happy. Singing…washing…both!


  When he was finished, he visited her in the bedroom. She lay on the bed. Her lip was bloody and swollen.

  Ryan sighed pitifully.

  He said, “You better put some ice on that.”

  He took the elevator down to the parking garage. He was walking towards his car when he became aware of someone walking behind him. He stopped and started to turn but then he was grabbed from behind. A strong arm encircling his neck, a damp sponge over his nose and mouth, clamping it down. A pungent chemical smell…

  Later he awoke. It was dark and soon he realized he was in a small enclosed space. He heard the thrumming of tires on a road and he knew he was in the trunk of a car. His hands were held together by plastic bindings and there was a thick strip of duct tape over his mouth. He cried out, making “mmmm” sounds. He worked himself into a near frenzy. He lost control of his bladder. Soon he passed out.

  Between five and six in the morning, Hastings opened the trunk of the car and pulled him out. Bradbury stumbled and fell.

  He turned and looked at the car. It was a 1994 Lincoln Continental that had been seized by the narcotics squad pursuant to the RICO statutes. It was scheduled to be sold at a public auction the next week.

  Hastings wore an old overcoat and a black stocking cap. It took Bradbury a moment to recognize him.

  Hastings walked over to him and tore the tape from his mouth. Bradbury yelped. Then Hastings removed the bindings from his wrist.

  Bradbury sat on the ground. He was still dazed. He was sore and cramped and he wasn’t sure he could stand up. The sun was coming up and he was having trouble adjusting to the light. It didn’t seem real.

  Hastings left him there and went to the car. He came back with a shotgun.

  “Stand up,” Hastings said.

  “Where are we?”

  “Indiana. You’re a long way from home.”

  Bradbury stared at him for a long time. Then he said, “Boy, you’re in a lot of trouble.”

  “Stand up,” Hastings said. “Work the stiffness out of your joints. Come on, now.”

  Slowly, Bradbury got to his feet. He felt cold. Maybe they were in Indiana. He looked around and saw nothing but long stretches of country. Woods in the distance…No signs of a home, no sign of people.