Bullet Beth

by James Patrick Hunt

  After a moment, Cray said, “Yes, I am.”

  Brummell looked back at Bradbury and said, “Am I to understand that from here on out you’re going to plead the fifth amendment to any question that relates to the murder of Toni McElroy?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s your position?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Cray said, “May I remind you that the purpose of this litigation is to investigate the tortious conduct of your client, counsel. It’s not to re-try Ryan Bradbury for murder.”

  Brummell said, “The theory of your case, as expressed in your pleadings, is that Lieutenant Hastings fabricated a case against Ryan Bradbury. I’m entitled to demonstrate that the criminal case was not fabricated. If you want to impede our defense by using a Fifth Amendment shield in a matter that is no longer a criminal case, you’re certainly welcome to try. But I don’t think the judge is going to allow it.”

  “We’ll see,” Cray said.

  Brummell looked at Bradbury as he said, “Yeah, I guess we will.”

  In the parking lot, Hastings asked, “Can they do that?”

  “No,” Brummell said. “But it may be a good thing.”

  “I don’t see how,” Hastings said.

  The stopped by Brummell’s Porsche. Brummell put the thick set of files on the roof. Brummell said, “George, I know you may be getting tired of hearing it’s a good thing when something bad happens. But trust me on this. I have an idea. I have to get back to my office to start working on it.”

  “I trust you,” Hastings said. “But can you tell me what you’re going to do?”

  “Not yet. I need time to work it out. I’ll call you soon.”

  • • •

  From Simon Cray’s office window, Bradbury looked down on the lawyer and the detective, Bradbury’s eyes slitted with hate. Simon had told him not to worry about the asshole lawyer’s threats. He was a putz, in over his head. But Bradbury had not enjoyed being roughed up by the lawyer. And he had not enjoyed seeing the detective smile during the deposition. A happy, satisfied smile, rife with smugness. His ex-wife had given him a smile like that during one of their divorce proceedings. He had made her regret it.

  The next morning they went over Johnny Rodgers and Aaron Peterson’s cell phone records. It was a depressingly long list.

  “Goddamn,” Hastings said. “How many friends did this guy have?”

  “Rodgers knew a lot of people,” Murph said. “But I doubt he had many friends.”

  Rhodes, Murph and Klosterman were in Hastings’s office.

  Rhodes said, “It’s not that bad. You take out the chaff — Aaron’s number, his ex-wife’s, people at the salon — get rid of those and it’s workable.”

  Klosterman said, “There’s at least one common number, corresponding to a very interesting name. I wonder if it’s the same person I’m thinking of.”

  It was.

  • • •

  Beth Tanner’s handshake was firm and her eye contact was direct. She said, “Hi. I’m Beth.” She smiled at Hastings and he wondered if he would fall in love. She was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Much prettier in person than on television.

  Hastings said, “I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me.”

  She waved a hand, as if to say it was no trouble at all. She said, “We have our editorial meeting in about fifteen minutes. That’s where we lay out our program for the evening broadcast. Everyone else does the work and later I put on my war paint and sit in front of the camera and read from the prompter.” She smiled at her modesty.

  “That’s interesting,” Hastings heard himself say.

  “It’s actually very dull. Would you like to talk in my office?”

  “Sure.”

  They walked down a corridor bordered by a shelf filled with videotapes. Beth gestured to them and said, “Those are our old beta tapes. We’ve got them going back fifteen years. Before I came here. Now everything’s stored on computer.”

  She led him to his office and took a seat behind her desk. The office was smaller than Hastings had imagined it would be. On the wall behind her was a black and white photo of her interviewing Bill Clinton. She was younger in the photo, her hair pulled back in a ponytail like Jane Pauley’s.

  Beth saw him looking at the photo.

  She said, “That was when he was running for president the second time. He was campaigning here.”

  “He seems quite taken with you. If you don’t mind me saying.”

  “Please. You called about John Rodgers?”

  “Yes. His phone records indicated that he had called you the day before he drowned. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Do you remember why?”

  “We had discussed the possibility of him taking some pictures of me. Publicity shots. He had a good reputation as a photographer.”

  “Did he take your photo?”

  “No. We discussed it, but…we never got around to it.”

  “There wasn’t time?”

  “I don’t know if that was it. I seem to recall he wanted a lot of money. About five hundred dollars upfront. I mean, before he took the photo.”

  “Was that unusual? For a photographer, I mean.”

  “I thought it was. So…we never really came to an agreement.” She shrugged.

  Hastings wrote something in his notebook. While looking at his notebook, he asked, “Did you socialize with him?”

  “With Johnny? We probably had coffee a couple of times. You know, to discuss the photos.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I believe so.”

  “So he called you on the night in question.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He wanted to see if I would agree to a shoot. I said no, in a nice way. And he tried to talk me into it, but I still said no. You know, I sort of felt sorry for him.”

  “Did you ever meet any of his friends?”

  Beth seemed to think for a moment. Then she said, “You know, I did meet one friend of his. Kind of a little guy. I think his name was Alan or something.”

  “Was it Aaron, by chance?”

  “Aaron. Yes, that sounds right.”

  “Aaron Peterson?”

  “I don’t remember his last name.”

  “Okay. How many times did you meet Aaron?”

  “I think just once.”

  “Are you sure it was just once?”

  “I believe so. You know what? He called me too.”

  “Aaron did?”

  “Yes. A few nights ago. And I returned his call.”

  “Why did he call you?”

  “Well, I was surprised that he called me. Obviously, I don’t give out my cell phone number to many people. But he knew it. Johnny must have given it to him.”

  “What did Aaron want?”

  “He was upset. About Johnny. And he said he just wanted to talk about it.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Johnny being gone. It was kind of sad, really. He seemed to think that he and I shared a common close friend in Johnny. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I barely knew Johnny. Or maybe it was something else.”

  “What do you mean, something else?”

  “Well, George — or should I call you Lieutenant?”

  “Whatever you like.”

  “I don’t want to sound vain, but in this business, you get a fair amount of stalkers. Men and women. And for some gay men, we’re a bit of an icon.”

  “Newscasters?”

  “Yes, it’s silly. The Liz Taylor phenomenon. But we are local celebrities. I don’t think of myself that way, of course. But others do. Aaron called me because, I think, he wanted to be my buddy.”

  “And he used Johnny’s death as a pretext?”

  “Perhaps. I’m sorry. I’m sure that sounds callous.”

  “Not really. Did you know that Aaron is dead too?”

  She stared at him for a mome
nt. “What?”

  “He was drowned. Perhaps killed.”

  “Oh my God. No, I didn’t know. Wasn’t it in the media?”

  “I guess not. You didn’t know about it?”

  “No. What happened?”

  Hastings looked at her for a moment. Then he said, “Well, we’re not sure yet.”

  “You said he might have been killed?”

  “Yes. We think so.”

  “But why?” Beth stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be insensitive. It’s the reporter in me.”

  “It’s okay. We’re not sure why. We believe that it involves Johnny Rodgers too.”

  “Are you saying that Johnny Rodgers was murdered too?”

  Hastings smiled. “Are you interviewing me now?”

  She smiled back. “No. Please forgive me.”

  Hastings said, “You have some background in crime reporting?”

  “Yes. I started as a crime reporter in Little Rock. I covered all sorts of things. Worked with a lot of cops. You know, I really liked it. It’s a great way to start in the news business.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Oh, yes. All these colorful characters you meet. The defense lawyers, the detectives, the prosecutors and the suspects.”

  Hastings thought of Ryan Bradbury and his shithead lawyer Cray. Yes, very colorful. Hastings said, “But that’s behind you now.”

  “Oh, yeah. But I miss it. Wow. A double homicide.” She hesitated and lowered her head. “Will you please forgive me for what I’m about to ask you?”

  “What is it?”

  “If you solve this — I’m sorry — of course you’re going to solve this, will you give me an interview?”

  “An exclusive?”

  She smiled again. “We don’t really say that word as much as people think. I mean, a first interview.”

  “Well, maybe. But…you’re a witness.”

  “A witness to what?”

  “I don’t know. Won’t the station think there’s some sort of conflict of interest?”

  “We can disclose that. In fact, I’d prefer that we did. But…I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Thank you.” Hastings paused. “Can you think of any reason anyone would want to harm Johnny?”

  “No.”

  “Or Aaron?”

  “No. I’m sorry. I wish I could be more help.”

  “Thanks again.”

  “Would it help you if we did a story on it? We have a crime buster hotline here. Encourage the viewers to call if they have any tips.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “I hope you will. Was there anything else?”

  “No, I think that’s it.”

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  She touched him on the arm when she introduced him to an associate producer. She did not explain why he was at the station. When they got to the exit, she turned to him and said, “I hope you don’t think I’m awful.”

  “Why would I think that?”

  “You came here to investigate a murder and I tried to parlay it into a story. I’m sorry. It is my business, but I suppose that’s no excuse.”

  “No need to apologize. It’s my business too.”

  Beth watched the detective as he walked out to the parking lot. He was handsome enough. Though he looked like he was very tired. Probably he was working too hard. But that was good. She liked good looking men who were a little dim and seemed to have too much on their minds. He reminded her a little of her first husband, Bob Tanner, a guy who had played football for Arkansas. Bob had been a stud athlete on campus but something of an embarrassment off. He had tried to make it as an insurance salesman but only achieved moderate success. He wasn’t going anywhere. She slept with two of his friends before leaving him.

  Why she had done that, she wasn’t quite sure. She had never understood what the big deal about sex was. She didn’t hate it, but she never much enjoyed it either. She did like the idea of sleeping with her husband’s friends though; she knew he would find out about it.

  Beth Tanner was born to a low income couple in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Her father had been an air conditioning repairman, her mother a cashier at Safeway. The name on her birth certificate was Maebeth Donley. From an early age people commented on her beauty. Her mother, a dim and vain woman, took pride in it. Both parents began to spoil her. By age twelve, Maebeth learned that she could easily manipulate both of them. They took her side in every dispute. They defended their prize.

  Maebeth’s grandmother — on her mother’s side — came to live with them after suffering two heart attacks. Maebeth was sixteen then and had already started calling herself Beth. She didn’t like her grandmother, didn’t like having to help take care of her. Grandma always got to watch the television programs she wanted and she seemed to enjoy treating Beth like a servant. The angina seemed to have made grandma a little mean. Beth’s mom said grandma used to be nice before she got sick, but Beth didn’t really buy that. She knew the cruelty had always been there.

  One evening her parents went to the movies and made Beth stay home to babysit grandma. It was a mistake.

  They got into another argument, shouting and saying raw things to each other. Grandma said, “You’ve got them fooled. But I see through you. I know what you are. You know it too.”

  “What I am,” Beth said, “is something you never were and wish you had been. Why don’t you just die? No one wants you.”

  “You’re just common trash,” her grandmother said. “A mutt trying to act like she’s something special.”

  Grandma was mean, but Beth was meaner. They said more ugly things and soon Beth had Grandma riled into another heart attack. She fought for breath and frantically cried for Beth to get her nitroglycerin pills. Beth looked back at her and did nothing. Grandma panicked and started to struggle and gasp. It then occurred to Beth that Grandma might die without the pills. Die and be gone from her life. But then maybe not die. And Beth thought, why take the chance? So she went over to her and took a pillow and held it down over her face until she stopped thrashing.

  Beth waited a half hour before she called 911. She made sure she was crying when she did it.

  At the funeral, people told her parents what a brave girl they had. She transformed herself into the grieving granddaughter as she would later transform herself from Maebeth Donley into Beth Tanner. She became the person her audience wanted to see. She was good at presenting the person people wanted to see.

  Now, she was proud of the way she had handled the detective, proud of the way she had taken quick control of the situation. He was attracted to her. But, then, most men were. But he also seemed interested in working with her, getting himself on television. Being seen with Beth Tanner. She knew he was picturing it: the detective in his tweed jacket sitting in a chair across from the beautiful news anchor. Police officers, in her experience, were some of the vainest men on earth, and vain men were the easiest to flatter. Lieutenant Hastings would tell his friends and family to watch and then, after that, he would tell them that she really was a nice lady, not at all stuck up. A real person.

  In the car, Hastings took Beth Tanner’s business card and stuck it in his wallet. Then he checked his phone. Klosterman had called. Hastings returned the call.

  “George, I think we got something here.”

  Sanjay Baya looked like he spent a lot of time in the gym. He had thick biceps and a solid chest and he wore a tight shirt and French jeans. A man very concerned with his appearance. He sat in front of Hastings’s desk with his hands on his legs. Klosterman stood nearby. Hastings knew Sanjay Baya was scared.

  “Mr. Baya,” Hastings said. “Please try to relax. We’ve got plenty of time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now tell us again how you know Johnny.”

  “He used to cut my hair.”

  “For how long?”

  “About a year. He was very good.”

  Hastings avoid
ed Klosterman’s slight smile and shake of the head.

  Hastings said, “Did you socialize with him otherwise?”

  “You mean outside of the salon?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. Not really. I have a girlfriend.” He seemed to want to make that very clear.

  “Okay,” Hastings said. “So you’re not a homosexual?”

  “No.”

  “It’s okay if you are. We’re not concerned with that.”

  “I know. But I’m not.” Sanjay turned to look at Klosterman. “I’m not,” he said again. Klosterman nodded to him.

  Hastings said, “Now you’ve said something about a car. I want you to start from the beginning and I want you to take your time. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Sanjay said. “Okay. Johnny had cut my hair and when I would go there we would talk, you know, talk about things. Cars, clothes, you know, normal things.”

  “Sure,” Hastings said.

  “And he would talk about my car. I’ve got a BMW five series. And he always said how hot he thought the car was. And he talked as if he would like to have one too. Well…he couldn’t afford a car like mine. But he wanted a certain image, I think. So he found this older BMW for sale. Much older than my car. Twelve, thirteen years old. And he asked me to come with him to take it for a test drive. I didn’t want to go with him, but he was so insistent. So I went with him to this place off Gravois Road near that place with the windmill?”

  “The Bevo Mill?”

  “Yes. Well, we got there and I stayed in the car. We went in Johnny’s car. Johnny goes in and talks to these two guys I’m pretty sure were Bosnians. He gets the keys to the BMW and he comes out and waves me out of the car. We get into the BMW and drive it around the neighborhood. We took it out to the interstate. We went from Sappington Road back to Kingshighway and then came back. And we got back and he stopped the car and I opened the door and then it happened.”

  “What happened?”

  “The accident. It was an accident.”

  He stopped and looked at Hastings. Hastings said, “Go on.”

  “I opened the door and this guy on a motorcycle ran into it. He just smashed into the door and he went flying off. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t even heard the sound of it. It just happened. This man — this guy wrecked his bike.”