“That’s a bullshit story.”
“That everyone will want to believe, with the mood the public is in they’d rather believe that than hear a story about some heroic cop, they’d think it was just spin to take attention away from the fact that we almost killed them.”
“I almost killed them.”
“We. We’re in this together, like that other time, like always.”
“It’ll never work. What if the Marine tells a different story?”
“What’s he going to say? He had a seven inch Tanto and some civilian punched both their lights out?”
“I’m no civilian.”
“Did you identify yourself?”
Winter couldn’t remember. “I’m not sure.”
“He’ll never admit any of it anyway. And look at me, he’s going to say that I beat him up? I don’t have a mark on me.”
Winter tried one last time. “He’ll say you held a gun on him.”
“On two of them, with a hysterical woman grabbing at me? I’ll take my chances.”
Winter gave in. Brooker was right, about everything. This whole thing had taken maybe two minutes, and yet, like a car accident, it could change his entire life. He’d owe Brooker, again, but because he’d never recognize a debt himself if the situation had been reversed, he didn’t say anything. But he was keeping count.
“Let me at least stay long enough to watch these two while you call it in.”
Brooker pulled out his cell phone. “No signal, must be the garage. I’ll carry her out and make the call. Better she not come to and see you, you look as bad as those two. Although still fast for an old man, taking out two guys who outweigh you by a ton.”
Winter touched his forehead, the pain setting in. “Not fast enough.”
“How’s the cut?”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Get it cleaned up, you can’t keep using the excuse of falling in the shower.”
“The time I did fall in the shower no one believed me.”
“See? Look what you got for telling the truth. Just help me get her up.”
“Leave her,” said Winter. “You’re in no shape to be carrying her.”
“Shit, she’s like a hundred twenty pounds.”
“When’s the last time you did a hundred and twenty deadlift?”
Brooker shrugged. “This isn’t all flab, you know.”
“About that. It’s time for a diet.”
“You sound like the wife I don’t have. I’ll run out of the garage and make the call.”
“First deadlifting, then running, what are you, some kind of Olympiad all of a sudden?”
“And here I was worried about you being in pain,” said Brooker, heading down the stairs. He turned at the doorway. “Try not to kick anyone while I’m gone.”
CHAPTER 12
Melanie was dying for another cigarette, her last one gone an hour ago, sticking her head out the window so Gigi wouldn’t smell the smoke when she came home from work. If Melanie had known the cops would take so long to show up she could have run out to the store. Where the fuck where they, anyway? The cops were useless, what if she really had been assaulted?
She’d used the time to practice her lines, building on her quickly concocted scheme. It had some holes, but she could pull it off. Act a little shocked, out of it, drop a few hints, a mix of anger and embarrassment. She didn’t bother with a mirror, mirrors forced you into exaggerated facial expressions, this wasn’t the stage, you had to feel it.
Melanie had never been assaulted by a stranger. Any man who might have overcome her confident vibe and tried anything she would have kicked in the nuts or far worse. Yet she knew the anger, the same anger she’d felt when the teenage boy had touched Gigi. She could call it up in a heartbeat, give her the adrenaline rush.
She still wasn’t sure what had happened to Gigi. The apartment had broken into for sure. But the story about a man in the bed, that could have been a bad dream. Gigi had seemed fine. If someone had in fact touched Gigi, and Melanie found out who it was, she wouldn’t bother calling the cops, she’d take care of it herself.
Since the cops were coming, though, she’d use it to her advantage. No sense in wasting an opportunity, and she’d meant what she had said to Gigi. No reason for her little sister to get dragged into this, especially if it were nothing.
The doorbell chimed. Finally. Melanie took a moment to get into the role, and went to open the door.
Martin Ryder impatiently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while simultaneously flicking through his notes. He’d been parked in front of the Lakeview apartment complex for almost fifteen minutes, having arrived punctually. The squad car that was supposed to be here was now twelve minutes late.
Ryder was pissed not only at the lack of respect that showed him, but on how it reflected on the police department. The police, both detectives like himself and uniformed officers, were there to serve the citizens. By being late, the cops were disrespecting the woman who had called the police. The woman’s time was as important as theirs was.
He bet himself fifty bucks that it would be one of the older guard who showed up in the patrol car, just putting in their twenty, hardened and cold to the citizens they were sworn to protect. Ryder fought this attitude every day, even in the detective squad. The fact that he was the newest and youngest member, still treated as an outsider, didn’t help. He wasn’t sure he wanted to actually be part of that club anyway.
Hell, he’d been told that one of the reasons they wanted him in Marburg was to change the culture, bring in a new, enlightened approach to law enforcement. Those were the mayor’s exact words. For the mayor to have to get involved in recruiting new police officers was an indictment of the entire force.
The report didn’t say anything different from the first three times he had read it. A woman, unnamed, had called 911 about an overnight break-in with a possible assault. Normally that would have led to a squad car being immediately dispatched, along with a detective. But Marburg was too small for twenty four hour detective shifts, and the woman had been rather vague about the assault, which had lowered the priority enough that he hadn’t been dragged out of bed. The 911 call hadn’t been transcribed into the report, and Ryder hadn’t waited to hear the recording, wanting to get here as soon as possible. His shift had just started and this was by far the best possible case he could be working on today. He would handle the assault report, if there was one, and the uniforms would deal with the break-in.
If they ever showed up.
Eight minutes later, a blue and white pulled to the curb, parking in front of a fire hydrant even though there was an open spot not fifty feet away. Ryder automatically checked his hair in the visor mirror, got out of the car, buttoned his suit coat, and walked to the squad car.
Only one cop inside, not especially surprising, the department cutting back routine day calls to one officer to save money. Ryder recognized him, a guy named Burkett, a big bellied, red faced veteran who Ryder suspected drank on the job. Burkett was on the radio, or pretending to be, just to make Ryder wait for him.
Ryder thought about tapping on the window, pointing out the hydrant to Burkett. He didn’t need to park there, it was no emergency, and besides, it would do Burkett good to walk the extra steps, he certainly could use the exercise. But the uniforms didn’t report to him, what was he going to do if Burkett ignored him? Suggest that Burkett write himself a ticket?
This was the kind of insolence Ryder would fix if he made it to chief.
Burkett finally finished with his likely phantom call and pried himself out of the undersized blue and white, a small consolation for Ryder, Burkett having to squeeze himself into the smaller, cheaper cars the department now used.
“Officer Burkett,” said Ryder, deciding to be civil, take the high road, no need to antagonize Burkett as they were about to see the citizen.
“Ryder.” Burkett hitched up his utility belt, which promptly slid back down under his protruding stomach.
“I’d appreciate it if you refer to me as Detective Ryder while we are with the citizen,” said Ryder, fighting to keep his voice flat.
Burkett shrugged. “Whatever. She probably won’t notice, she’s likely a 10-50 anyway.”
“How do you know that?” 10-50 was the local radio code for under the influence, usually referring to drugs, but Marburg police and the sheriff’s office used it to also mean drunk. Ryder hated the 10 codes, another relic of the private club of yesterday’s policing.
“I talked to Millie.”
The possible drug aspect wasn’t in the report, which bothered Ryder, but on the other hand it also helped explain why a squad hadn’t been dispatched immediately by Millie, the 911 operator.
Burkett took a few steps up the walk. Ryder couldn’t help himself. “You left your hat in the car.”
Burkett turned, looked like he was going to say something, then pushed past Ryder on the narrow walk, forcing Ryder to half skip to avoid stepping on some flowers. Burkett took his time getting his hat out of the cruiser, and without a word pushed by Ryder again, Ryder having no choice but to follow, since there wasn’t room for both of them on the walkway.
Burkett rang the bell, and when the door opened Ryder involuntarily took a step back. The woman who answered was wickedly attractive, dressed in tight yoga pants and a loose top, braless, her hair a little disheveled, sexy rather than unkempt. Mid twenties, highlighted light brown hair, barefoot. Ryder fought his urge to stare, she was that hot.
“Thank god you’re here!” the woman breathed, making it sound as though two supermen had answered her frantic summons, arriving just in time to save her life. Her tone sent a message right to Ryder’s pituitary gland, a rush of instant testosterone forcing him to square his shoulders. Burkett hitched up his belt so high he looked like a blimp.
“Yes, maam, miss, we’re with the police, you called 911,” Ryder feeling like an idiot, babbling the obvious.
The woman didn’t notice, or pretended she didn’t, and let them in, leading them into the living room, her ass tightly outlined in the form fitting stretch pants, Ryder silently cursing Burkett’s view blocking girth.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered you at all,” she was saying, “I was just so upset, I didn’t know what to do.”
Ryder finally made it past Burkett, just as the woman turned. She held her hand over her chest protectively, which only served to draw Ryder’s eyes there. He felt, rather than saw, Burkett hitch up his belt yet again.
“That’s why we’re here, maam.” Burkett’s voice had deepened. “Why don’t you just sit down and tell us what happened.”
Ryder should have been leading the interview, but he was uncharacteristically tongue tied, his only coherent thought was that this woman shouldn’t be called maam, the term just didn’t fit. He stood next to Burkett as the woman sat on the edge of the sofa.
Ryder finally found his voice. “This is Officer Burkett. I’m Detective Ryder.” He extracted a card and handed it to her, taking the opportunity to get a good look at her eyes. She didn’t look inebriated or high. “What is your name?”
“Melanie Doyle Upton. Doyle is my real name, I go by Melanie Upton, I’m an actress.”
“Please tell me about the burglary,” said Burkett.
Ryder frowned, the burglary would have less priority than the possible assault. But before he had a chance to reply the woman was already talking.
“I was just so mad at first. Someone coming into my personal space. But nothing seems to have been taken.”
“You reported a possible assault?” Ryder reached for his notepad, his eyes still glued on the woman.
Upton twirled her hair. “I didn’t really say that someone assaulted me,” she said. “I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” said Ryder, trying to take control of the interview. He didn’t remember ever being so flustered when taking a statement. Upton, while not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, oozed distracting sensuality.
“Well, when I woke up I noticed that my stuff was all out of place, I think someone had gone through my purse, and the door was open, I can’t believe I would have left it unlocked before going to bed, it’s not the best neighborhood.”
Ryder looked up from his notepad. “So the man might have come in the door?”
“I assume so, or he could have just followed me upstairs.”
“Followed you? Was it someone you had seen earlier?”
Upton looked away, embarrassed. “That’s kind of personal, do we have to talk about that?”
“If someone touched you inappropriately, it doesn’t matter if you knew him or not,” said Ryder. “Just tell us what happened.”
“I’m not even sure anything happened.” Her eyes dropped. Sheepishly, she added, “He might have just, you know, not been able to control himself.”
Ryder was having problems controlling himself too, and the woman’s ambivalence wasn’t helping him focus. Something she had said finally clicked. “You said he might have followed you upstairs? We didn’t come up any stairs.”
“Yes, up to my apartment, I had a really busy day, I had taken a sleeping pill, I was a little out of it, and I’d had a few drinks—”
“I’m sorry,” said Ryder, ignoring Burkett’s I told you so look about the 10-50; a citizen admitting to a cop that they’d had a few drinks usually meant they were drunk. “Can we come back to the stairs?”
The woman looked confused, which on her gave off a please help me vibe rather than a vacuous one. “What about them?”
“There are no stairs here,” said Ryder.
“Here? This didn’t happen here, it happened at my apartment.”
“This isn’t your apartment?”
“No, this is my sister’s place. I live over on Third.”
Ryder shook his head, feeling as confused as the woman looked. “But you made the 911 call from here, didn’t you?”
“Oh that.” Upton brightened. “You see, I was so upset that I called my sister—we’re really close—she told me to come right over, I didn’t feel safe at my place. I wasn’t going to call you at all, I’ve been broken into before, you know, the neighborhood, but my sister said it was the right thing to do.”
“Your sister, where is she?” asked Ryder, looking around the spotlessly empty apartment.
“She’s at work. She offered to stay, but I didn’t want to get her in trouble, being late and all.”
Ryder looked at his muddled notes, not at all like him, normally he was methodical in his questions, something he was proud of. Citizens, especially crime victims, usually tangled their stories, and only a step by step interview would serve to sort out the facts. But even he was all mixed up, he’d have to rewrite everything. “What’s your sister’s name?”
“Do we have to get her involved in this?”
“It’s just for the report, we have to say where we responded.”
“Gigi.”
“Gigi Doyle?”
“Yes.”
“So the break-in didn’t happen here?” asked Burkett. “We need to go to where the burglary occurred, that’s where you should have called it in from.”
“What Officer Burkett means,” said Ryder, “is that when a burglary occurs, we usually get the call from that location and that’s what we need to see for out investigation.”
“I don’t think anything was taken,” said Upton, “so there might not even be a burglary.”
“It’s a burglary either way,” said Burkett. “You see, maam, according to the law—”
Ryder interrupted. “I’m sure Miss, I’m sorry, is it Miss?” When the woman nodded, he went on, “Miss Upton doesn’t need to know the details of what constitutes a legal burglary. Miss Upton, can we return to the man? You said,” he wished he had brought in the notes from the 911 call, “that you had been assaulted when you were sleeping?”
Upton looked away again. “Not exactly. Like I said,
I’d taken a pill, I might have imagined it.”
“But you had been with someone earlier?”
“Yes, a friend of mine.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t think we have to get him involved, I can’t imagine he had anything to do with this, he likes me a lot.” Upton hesitated, as if reconsidering. “No, not him.”
“Is this a close friend?”
Upton blushed. “We’d been close in the past, we were just getting—reacquainted. He had been out of town for a while.”
Ryder’s mind filling in the blanks, Upton saying nothing but implying everything. “So this friend, he could be the one you—believe touched you when you were sleeping?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. He’d have no reason to—I mean, he does sometimes have a hard time controlling himself when he’s with me, but—”
“He’s violent?” prodded Ryder.
“Oh, no, not that,” said Upton. “I meant, you know, his urges, male urges, men like you would understand.” Upton crossed her slim legs, Ryder certainly getting the message.
“Miss Upton, in cases like these, especially when,” Ryder was about to say when there are drugs and alcohol involved, but caught himself, “when someone doesn’t remember everything clearly, it’s a good idea to check all the possibilities. I strongly suggest that you go to the hospital and have a SAFE exam.” Ryder used the technical anagram, he hated the term rape kit.
“What’s that?”
“A collection of possible evidence of a sexual assault.”
Upton shook her head. “I really don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Still, it’s a good idea. Just in case.”
“I don’t think I was raped, not really, if that’s what you are thinking.”
Ryder pushed on. “And we need the name of this man you were with.”
“I don’t want to get him in trouble, He’s—pretty famous, or will be soon.”
Ryder had seen this before, a rich and powerful guy, taking what he wanted, browbeating a woman into silence with his money and position. “That doesn’t mean he gets to—take advantage of you.”
Random Revenge Page 14