by Fred Limberg
Angela started laughing, head thrown back. It was a mean raucous laugh that tailed off in a coughing fit. “He finally killed someone with that fucking spear?” she asked, once she was done hacking.
Tony was confused for a minute. Then he remembered the odd conversation with David Hong. They had a laugh about…damn it. He couldn’t pull it out.
Angela looked over her glass, bleary-eyed but serious. “Did Sean kill someone?”
“No. I don’t think so.” Tony caught himself. He’d been puzzling over what Hong had said that cracked them up and what Angela had said. He’d answered without thinking.
“Maybe an accident?” She giggled again. Then Tony remembered what had embarrassed the big Samoan kid.
“Miss Arkwright...”
“Angie.”
“Angie. What am I missing here? Did Sean say something? Something about a murder?”
“I’m sorry.” She took another big swallow. The vodka seemed to compose her some. “Private joke. Murder, huh? Who got killed?”
“Monday morning?” He tried to get it back on track, get his answers and get the hell out of there. Tony finally figured out what the other smell was. It was sex and body odor, a desperate feral musk.
“He might have been here. I was sleeping. I slept in.” Tony bet she slept in a lot of mornings; that and woke up with a hangover more often than not.
“So you’re not sure?”
“He was gone when I got up.”
“Which was what time?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know. Maybe ten?” The drink was empty again. Tony stared hard at his notebook when she reached up for the bottle. She was slurring her words more now, getting a little belligerent. “You too good to drink with me?”
“I’m working.”
“Whatever.” She ignored the ice cubes this time. Kharkov. Neat. Maybe she was saving them for later.
Yeah right.
He flipped the notebook shut. He had what he’d come for. Angie Arkwright couldn’t positively alibi Stuckey for early Monday morning. A phone rang in the living room. It took three rings before Angie was aware of it. The answering machine kicked in on the fourth.
“Do you need to grab that?”
Tony had already plotted his escape. She waved her free hand, dismissing his question, when he heard Sean Stuckey’s voice coming from the living room.
“Well, thanks for your time.”
He headed for the door. He wanted to hear what message Sean was leaving and caught the tail end of it.
“…I was there Monday morning. See you later, babe.”
Tony hesitated at the door. He wondered if he could ask Angie to play the recording for him. He wondered further if he could make her play it. She snuck up on him at the door, wrapped his arm in both of hers. She pressed it tightly to her body, warm and naked under the rank tee shirt.
“Do you really have to go?” She gave him a drunken leer, rubbed her breast against his arm. Tony carefully untangled himself and got the door open.
“Sorry, I’m working.”
He used the excuse again, not that he was in the least bit tempted, but he saw a sadness and loneliness behind the alcoholic haze and didn’t want to hurt her. He suspected that she’d been hurt plenty, used and hurt. He felt like he was about to do it again and took a step back inside.
“Could you play that message back for me?”
“What message?”
“The last one. The one that just came in. I think it was Sean.”
Angie looked over at the battered Code-A-Phone and shrugged. “Knock yourself out. I gotta pee.” She set her glass on a thrift store coffee table and weaved through the living room and down a dimly lit hallway.
Tony figured out the buttons on the ancient machine and punched up the message.
“Hey Ang, some cop is gonna come see you tomorrow asking if I was there Monday morning. You were kinda out of it. Just tell him I was there Monday morning. See you later, babe.”
On his way down the hallway he caught a brief glimpse of the gray haired woman as she closed her door and made a note of the apartment number…just in case.
Chapter 16
There was an empty chair in the hallway next to Sue Ellen’s door. Tony guessed it was for Marco or another agent from the BCA. It was empty and that made him nervous until he heard a booming laugh. It was Marco. His laugh was as big as he was. Tony knocked. The laughter skidded to a halt.
Marc Giordanno opened the door, smiling. “Hey, ain’t you one of them Latin Kings?” The joke fell flat as Tony realized another person was in on the secret.
“Marco, long time.” Tony offered his hand. Giordano had to shift the Beretta to his left hand before he could shake.
“Detective now? Congratulations, de Luca.” Marco pulled him into the condo and took a long look up and down the hallway before closing the door. “I thought you should have taken the exam a couple of years ago.”
Tony stood awkwardly by the door. It occurred to him that with Marco as a guard dog, spending time with Sue Ellen would be awkward. He worried too that she might want to keep their relationship, or whatever it was, quiet. She answered his question by slipping easily into his arms and kissing him on the cheek.
“We were just having some coffee. Long day?” If Giordano was embarrassed or felt awkward it didn’t show. Sue Ellen headed for the kitchen. Tony gave Marco a look, like he was asking permission to follow her, asking if this was cool. Marco answered with a shrug.
“Please have a beer in the fridge—please,” Tony said loudly as he crossed the room with the guard dog in tow. Sue Ellen already had a Summit open and tipped into a tall pilsner glass.
“I knew that look. It wasn’t a coffee look.” Marco took one of the stools by the granite counter and sipped his coffee. He gave the foamy beer a wistful glance.
“What a day,” Tony said after polishing off a third of the glass.
“Tell me.” Tony was sorry he’d whined immediately. He was used to the street, to gang bangers and druggies and threats of violence. He carried a gun. He recognized this wasn’t Sue Ellen’s world, not outside of the courtroom anyway.
“No, you tell me. What’s the word, Marco?” He settled onto another stool. Sue Ellen leaned against him.
“Word is to take it seriously. The LK’s aren’t too bright but they’re mean bastards.”
“Are they desperate enough to try something though?” Tony sipped his beer again and for a second thought he should switch to coffee, that he was torturing Marco. Then he thought, ah… what the hell. My shift’s over, pal, deal with it.
“One theory is it’s a bluff. Just shaking everyone up.”
Tony had been inside the organization. The Latin Kings didn’t do much bluffing.
“I’m not shaken.” Sue Ellen lifted her chin. She looked defiant. She looked mad.
“Another is that they’re trying to engineer a change of venue. Maybe their lawyer thinks it’s a good idea to move the trial to the sticks. Thing is, would that be to their advantage?”
Sue Ellen looked over at her star witness. “I don’t see how. Unless they think they can intimidate the jury easier.”
“Or buy a smaller town’s judge?” Marco added.
“Highly unlikely.”
Tony weighed in. “What about the Feds? Maybe you should kick the case to them. Get out from under it.”
Sue Ellen glared at him. “Not a chance. No way. We fought like hell to keep this investigation at home. The Feds wanted it from day one, so did the frickin’ BCA.” Sue Ellen’s temper was showing, something Tony had never seen. “St. Paul needs this one. We need to show we can police our own town without a lot of bullshit interference. That means from start to finish. This is my case.” Sue Ellen’s face was reddening, her fists were clenched and her face was all tight lines and anger.
Tony and Marco looked at each other. Marco risked a smile. He was secure in his job at the BCA and wasn’t connected to the case other than as protection for the prosecuti
ng ADA. He didn’t care where the trial was held, didn’t care who prosecuted it or who got the glory. The smile was because of the rumor that Sue Ellen McConnel was said to be angling for a job at the state level, the Attorney General’s office, maybe the big job itself. Word was she had ambitions.
Tony didn’t know any of this. He just wanted to work the Fredrickson murder with Ray. He knew he’d need to be in court for a day or two when the trial started but that wasn’t a big deal. He hoped they’d have the case solved by then and be on to something new. He wasn’t sure he liked what he saw in Sue Ellen’s eyes. He didn’t understand the politics. He understood ambition though. He’d reached for the gold shield and gotten it. He’d been patient, paid his dues, done his turn on the street and then some. Tony guessed it was different in the DA’s office.
Sue Ellen shrugged. “It’s probably out of my hands, regardless of what I think or want.” Or, Tony thought, the risks you’re willing to take.
Marco slid off the stool, still smiling. “My personal opinion is that, what’s the guy’s name, Garcia? The head dude of the LK’s. I think he’s just mucho pissed. You cost him a lot of money and what, three or four of his main guys? I think he’s just swaggering.”
“I hope you’re right,” Sue Ellen said.
“And with that, if I could use your bathroom first then I’ll go back to the hallway so you two can have your privacy.” Tony hadn’t planned on spending the night. He wasn’t sure yet how the relationship with Sue Ellen was going to go. He was sure it wasn’t a one-nighter, and like Sue Ellen and her case, it was probably out of his hands no matter what he wanted or thought.
When Marco disappeared down the hallway Sue Ellen slipped into his arms. “Awkward, huh?”
Tony nodded. “You could say that. Marco’s reputation is that he’s a really good guy. He’s probably discreet.”
Sue Ellen ran her hand across Tony’s chest. “If you were here he could go home for the night. I’d be well guarded.”
“I don’t think it works like that.”
“Coward,” she teased, pushing back from him. “I’ll tell him if you’re afraid to.” It occurred to Tony at that moment that Sue Ellen had no reservations about who knew they were involved or what they would think. She was moving the relationship forward, making it clear that she wanted him around and it felt pretty good. She kissed him; softly at first then more urgently. Tony heard Marco walking through the living room, heard the front door open and close. He didn’t need his eyes open for that. Sue Ellen was a terrific kisser. Then the front door crashed open.
“Tony. Sue Ellen.” Giordano’s tone of voice wasn’t playful or teasing, it was harsh and commanding. Something was wrong. Tony led the way through the room.
Marco had his pistol out and pointed to the hallway chair with his free hand. A bright brass bullet, a 9mm it looked like, was sitting on the middle of the seat. Sue Ellen’s eyes widened in surprise and a little bit of fear. Tony frowned, angry. Marco was already on his phone, calling for backup, getting more bodies on scene. Garcia was swaggering all right, and it was working.
Marco put a hand over the phone and turned to Sue Ellen.
“Pack a bag.”
Ray was alone in the squad room. He’d shut off some of the lights and had his feet up on his desk. The cafeteria mug had a scant half-inch of amber liquid in it, a tot of Dewars from the bottle he kept hidden in the bottom drawer. He didn’t want to go home. Ray wanted to think. He wanted to roll what they had about the case around in his brain in the silence of the deserted squad room, with just a taste of liquor to tease him into thinking he was relaxing.
He’d heard about the threats from the Latin Kings. It bothered him on two levels. Ray was worried about his niece, of course. It didn’t matter if it was the Latin Kings or the Surrentos or los Vatos Locos, any of these gangs were capable of violence and havoc. It was a matter of time until one, or even all of them acted out—acted on their malevolent impulses and openly challenged the authority they disregarded.
Someone had told him, someone from the Gang Strike Force, not long ago, that gang members outnumbered police officers something like three to one. Ray hoped they all stayed dumb and kept shooting at each other. A war in the streets was unthinkable. He preferred his murders one at a time.
Ray also worried that the threats would affect de Luca, distract him. He liked the young man and thought he showed some promise. De Luca had instincts, thought processes that neither Ray nor anyone else could ever teach, critical to untangling lies and obscurities and mis-directions, critical to solving cases. And, he thought, it’s his first murder. It would be important to clear this one. Ray’s first murder was still open, unsolved, and it haunted him.
It wasn’t a daily anguish, sometimes not even weekly. But every so often he remembered the little girl who was violated and murdered and left like so much trash in a dumpster so long ago. They didn’t have the DNA tools back then but it didn’t matter. He’d put what they had into the system and didn’t get any hits. The last time was three years before, he remembered, and thought maybe he’d try again.
The phone caught his eye. He had a call to make and his ruminations and the whiskey had been convenient excuses for not making it. Not that he was afraid of making the call—well, maybe a little—but not for any reasons relating to the case. At least he hoped not.
She answered on the third ring. “This is Lakisha.”
“Ray Bankston. I hope I’m not calling too late.”
“Rayford, I was thinking about you earlier this evening.”
I was thinking about you too, he thought, but didn’t say.
“No, it’s not too late at all. I was just reading.”
“Anything interesting?” Ray read police reports and interview transcriptions, coroner’s reports and department bulletins. He tried to remember the last book he’d read.
“Have you ever read anything by Walter Mosley?”
“I’ve heard the name, but no. I don’t have much time to read novels.”
“True crime being so much more interesting than detective stories?”
Ray chuckled softly. “Not really. I’d give anything to be able to get to page two hundred and know who the killer is, though. Know that when I picked the book up that all of the mystery was there, in the one book.”
“I think I know what you mean.”
“The reason I called…”
“The true crime, of course. Deanna’s murder.”
“I neglected to ask you a question or two.” Ray wondered if she knew he’d done it intentionally so he would have an excuse to call her, maybe see her again.
“Yes?”
“Where were you Monday morning, early?”
“I was here at home. Sleeping.”
“How to say this…ah…can anyone corroborate that?” He heard her laugh, not directly into the phone but as if she was holding it at her side. Ray had never thought of the word corroborate as funny.
“Well, Mr. Marland is away; out of the country, actually. The pool boy is off for the season, and while I have my eye on a certain man we haven’t been able to spend much time together.” Ray wondered if she was flirting, if she was talking about him.
“Any phone calls? Deliveries? Can you think of anything to support that?” There was a pause in the conversation. She was thinking.
“I’m afraid I was sort of a lay about on Monday. In fact, I don’t think I went out at all. I’m sure of it.” Ray Bankston’s life was in constant motion. He had a hard time imagining staying home all day, not talking to anyone, not even the time he’d been laid low by the flu. Still, Lakisha Marland wasn’t much of a suspect. None of the ‘Go Girls’ were at this point.
“I spent the day writing. I’m a writer you know.” No, he didn’t know that. “I’m afraid I’m a bit of a recluse when I’m working on a book.”
“What do you write? I don’t spend much time in bookstores.”
“Erotica. I write about sex, Rayford.” Ray’s mind blanke
d for a beat. It wasn’t until he heard her laughing again that it rebooted. Erotica?
“I’m sorry,” she said, getting her voice under control. “I shouldn’t have done that. I was teasing.”
“Well, someone has to write it I suppose.”
“Good comeback. I’m sorry. Actually, I write mysteries and you wouldn’t have seen my name in the bookstores because I publish under a psuedonym.”
“Apology accepted. I’ll tell you, you got me with that one though.”
“Good. I meant to.”
Ray made himself stay on task. “I just had a thought. Do you write on a computer?”
“Of course.”
“I think the problem’s solved.” Ray caught himself smiling. “Your entries will have a time stamp on them. Were you working early?”
“Monday? I think I sat down about seven. I’d been puzzling over a scene and had some thoughts during the night. That happens often.”
“I’ll need to see the computer, have you open some files for me.”
“Tonight?”
“It’s after ten, Lakisha. A little late?”
He heard disappointment in her voice. “Hmm…I suppose.”
“I’ll be by in a day or two. The data isn’t going anywhere.”
“Okay.”
“Another question. Does Scott Fredrickson manage any of your husband’s money?”
“No. What an intriguing thought, though.” She paused, playing with the scene in her mind. “The husband is doing something with the funds, what…money laundering or something? An investment goes terribly bad, thousands disappear. And the wife is killed as a warning or revenge. Complicated.”
“Thinking of a plot twist for your latest book?” Ray was enjoying the conversation but in the back of his mind he was worried. A mystery writer’s imagination could skew his own thinking if he listened too hard, or shared too much. He’d have to be careful with what he said around her.
“Always. I have to tell you, Rayford, I’ve been thinking very hard about Deanna’s murder, trying to envision what could be behind it. I’ve been imagining scenarios involving our friends and have tried to think what could possibly have happened. Have you met all the others yet?”