Cop Town: A Novel

by Karin Slaughter

  Kate brought her rambling to an end. “Maggie, I’m running out of pointless things to say, so I would really appreciate it if you would give me some kind of response.”

  Maggie took the easy route. “I’ll call in about Eduardo Rosa. See if he has a sheet.”

  Kate studied Maggie. “All morning, I’ve felt like there’s something important that you’re not telling me.”

  “Gosh, really?” Maggie mimicked. “Like that I’m Jewish? Or that I’m a widow? Or that my father is the richest gardener in the history of the world?”

  “Yes, all of those are excellent examples of what I’m talking about.”

  Maggie jammed the key into the ignition. She started the car.

  “Does your throat hurt?”

  “Only when I have to answer stupid questions.”

  28

  Kate stared at the transmitter in her lap. Every other call to dispatch was about a possible sighting of Jimmy’s car or a new lead on the Shooter. She had been right about today being a criminal’s holiday. Wanda Clack called in a cleared chicken bone and one of the colored girls reported finding a previously reported stolen CB radio, but those were the only crimes that were being solved today.

  She leaned her head against her hand. Kate was sitting in the cruiser outside of Dabbler’s while Maggie used the pay phone on the side of the building. She had no idea what part of town they were in, let alone if they were still inside the city limits. To say the bar was nondescript was an understatement. Kate supposed that was its own protection. You didn’t come here unless you knew what it was for, and if you didn’t know what it was for, you probably never noticed it. The brick façade was painted black. The narrow windows were tinted to block out the daylight. There were no neon liquor signs that she could see from the street. There wasn’t even a sign on the door.

  What gave the place away was the clientele. One after another, well-dressed men in suits got out of their expensive cars and walked through the swinging door. Their hair touched their collars. Their sideburns hugged square jaws. They all had mustaches and they all to a one looked like the gay men with which Kate was more familiar.

  That there was a police cruiser parked outside the establishment seemed to have little impact on traffic. Within ten minutes of Maggie getting out of the car, the parking lot was full. Cars surrounded Kate on all sides. Some of the men even smiled at her as they walked toward the building.

  So, a police officer wasn’t an unusual visitor at Dabbler’s. Kate wasn’t surprised. You didn’t wind up in this part of town by accident. You had to know exactly where you were going. They could assume Don Wesley had visited the establishment at least once. Had Jimmy, too? Was he inside the building right now nursing his wounds? Because he had to be wounded, and not just from the pieces of skull embedded in his leg or the bullet that ripped through his arm. No matter how cavalier he had acted at the house yesterday morning, Kate could not accept that Jimmy Lawson did not feel something for his lost lover.

  Or his sister. Maggie had killed a man yesterday. Did Jimmy know that someone had also tried to choke her? The bruises were starker now. Kate could make out the finger marks where a hand had wrapped around Maggie’s neck. She assumed that Terry was the attacker. Jimmy could be a self-righteous prick, but she could not imagine him strangling his sister.

  Then again, Kate could not imagine Maggie losing her shit, but that was exactly what had happened with Lewis Conroy. Kate couldn’t very well say she’d never seen anything like it. Gail had attacked that prostitute. She’d broken the woman’s leg, then tortured her. Maggie had not tortured Conroy in the same sadistic manner, but there were some eerie similarities.

  Was this what Kate had to look forward to? Was there a fourth person lurking in her psyche who was going to be a violent sadist?

  As with everything else that had to do with this impossible job, the situation wasn’t completely black and white. Or maybe in the case of Lewis Conroy, it was. That he was a white man and his victim was a young black girl meant a great deal. There was no question of his guilt. Conroy had just as much as admitted to it. He had shown no remorse, even when he was on the ground straining for air. He’d never apologized. Actually, he’d sounded arrogant, like a man arguing with a waiter over a miscalculated bar tab. If you were the sort of man like Conroy, you knew that was an argument you were always going to win.

  No wonder they all hated people from Kate’s side of town. She was beginning to hate them herself. The sense of entitlement. The attitude. Was that what had set Maggie against her? She’d been enraged after they left Conroy. Kate had assumed she just needed some time to collect herself. Instead, Maggie had taken that time to redirect her vehemence toward Kate.

  The radio hummed with another possible Shooter sighting. Kate turned down the volume. She studied the white plastic brick in her lap. If she lived to be a million years old, she would never forget what this thing looked like. Gail had used it as a weapon. Sir Chic had used it as a bargaining chip. Jimmy had left it at the scene of Don’s murder.

  Kate could guess why Jimmy had left the transmitter in the alley. You couldn’t sit with one of these clipped to your belt, let alone pull down your pants with one on. He must have put the brick beside his leg the same as everyone did. Unplugging the jack ensured no accidental transmissions were sent out. And when Don was shot, the last thing Jimmy would have been worried about was his radio.

  Maggie had finished her phone calls. She was walking across the parking lot. She weaved between the cars. Her head was down. Her spiral notebook was in one hand. She got into the car. She rested her arm on the door. She stared at the building and did not say a word.

  Kate stared at the building, too. She had tried questions. She had tried pointless babbling. Now, she was going to try silence.

  Maggie seemed content to let it drag out. She watched the men going into the building. The lot was full, though it was only eleven in the morning. Overflow parking lined the street.

  She finally spoke. “My contact at the coroner’s office is going to see what she can do. She’s just a secretary. I don’t know if they’ll listen to her.”

  Kate bit her lip so that she wouldn’t answer.

  “I asked for Eduardo Rosa’s rap sheet. Rick said he can leave it at the hospital for us. I thought we could check on Gail.”

  Kate couldn’t help herself. She nodded.

  Maggie hissed out a stream of air between her teeth. “This is a gay bar, isn’t it?”

  Kate hesitated. “Yes.”

  Maggie pulled the door handle. “Ready?”

  Kate got out of the car. She clipped the transmitter on her belt. She put Jimmy’s smelly hat on her head.

  Maggie resumed her silence as she walked between the cars. Her hat was low on her head. She kept her hands down at her sides. Her shoulders were stooped. Kate wondered how little pressure it would take to knock her to the ground. She hoped she didn’t find out.

  Everyone inside the bar looked up when they entered. There were some curious mumbles, but for the most part, none of the men seemed worried that two female cops had walked through the door.

  And none of them were Jimmy Lawson.

  Maggie headed toward the bar. Yet again, Kate followed.

  The inside of the building was just as dark as it looked from the outside. Men sat close to each other at the tables. They were jammed shoulder to shoulder into the small booths. Linda Ronstadt played softly through the speakers. The song choice seemed appropriate for the crowd—“When Will I Be Loved.”

  Kate didn’t know what she had been expecting. Lecherous glances, filthy back rooms. For the most part, the men looked like couples who’d met for a drink before lunch. Hands were being held. Arms were draped over the backs of chairs. Glances were stolen across the room. The atmosphere was loose and casual. Barring the fact that everyone was of the same sex, the place felt like every club Kate had ever visited.

  Chivalry was not lost at Dabbler’s. Two men gave up their places at the
bar. Maggie didn’t acknowledge the gesture. She sat down. She put her hat in front of her. She looked like she wanted a drink, but Kate was still surprised when she ordered a bourbon neat.

  She asked Kate, “You want one?”

  “Sure.” Kate put her hat on the bar.

  Maggie stared at the mirror behind the rows of liquor. Her eyes slid back and forth across the room as she checked each face, noted each gesture.

  “On the house.” The bartender put two glasses in front of them. He was gorgeous, probably no more than eighteen, and sporting the same long sideburns and thick mustache as the rest of them. “Is there something I can help you gals with?”

  Maggie reached into her breast pocket. She pulled out a photograph. “Have you seen this man?”

  He smiled. His teeth were straight and beautiful. “Yeah, that’s Jim. Is he a friend of yours?”

  Maggie put the photo facedown on the bar. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

  The bartender narrowed his eyes. “Is he in trouble?”

  “It depends on when you saw him last.”

  “Couple of nights ago?” He gave it some more thought. “It must’ve been for Don’s memorial service. That was Monday night, right?”

  Maggie picked up the glass. She finished the bourbon in one swallow.

  Kate asked, “You haven’t seen Jimmy since then?”

  “Nope. He doesn’t usually come during the day.”

  “He’s a regular?”

  “Sure. Everybody loves Jim.” The bartender nodded at a customer, indicating he’d be a minute. “Is there anything else?”

  Maggie asked, “Have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around here?”

  “Other than two Pepper Andersons?” He told Kate, “I love your hair, doll. The color is dazzling.”

  “Thank you.” Kate stroked back her hair. She couldn’t help herself. “There hasn’t been anyone here lately who seems out of place? Someone who doesn’t blend in?”

  “Honey, every man in this place blends in as soon as he walks through that door. That’s kind of the point.” He refilled Maggie’s glass. “Sorry I couldn’t—” He stopped. “You know what? There was a guy here yesterday who kind of freaked me.”

  Maggie asked, “What did he look like?”

  “Me.” He laughed. “Except older.”

  Kate knew this wasn’t much help. When you were eighteen, thirty was ancient. “Did he say anything?”

  “Not really. He was one of those strong, silent types. Good tipper. Drank Southern Comfort. He kept watching the door every time it opened. I got the feeling he was either waiting for somebody or looking for somebody. Of course, that’s pretty much what everybody’s doing when they’re in here.”

  “Was he a cop?”

  “He wasn’t wearing a uniform. He kind of looked like a cop. Or a soldier. We get a lot of vets in here. I think most of ’em aren’t even gay. They just got used to being around men over there. They want to feel like they’re part of a unit again. Weird, huh?”

  Kate nodded like she understood.

  He topped off Maggie’s drink again. “Listen, cutie, you’re both welcome to sit here and drink all you want, but don’t go asking the customers questions. You won’t get anything more than what I’ve told you, and you’d be surprised how many cops higher up the food chain darken our doors. You pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down?”

  “Yes.” Kate had given up on jive talk after yesterday’s debacle. “Thank you.”

  He winked at her before walking away.

  Maggie took another drink. Kate tried her bourbon and nearly gagged. He certainly hadn’t given them top shelf.

  “Let’s go.” Maggie grabbed her hat. She walked toward the door.

  Kate decided to take her time. She picked up the photograph on the bar. It was a good picture of Jimmy. He was leaning against a car. His shirt was tight across his muscular chest. His chin was tilted up confidently. He was smiling, and Kate hoped that Maggie had taken the picture, that the grin captured by the camera was meant for his sister.

  She tucked her hat under her arm as she made her way through the crowded room. She didn’t have to push her way out. Men politely stepped aside. They nodded deferentially. Someone even opened the door for her.

  She scanned the parking lot for Maggie. She wasn’t in the cruiser. She wasn’t walking between cars. Kate turned. The pay phones were empty. She was about to go back into the bar when she heard heaving.

  Maggie was on the side of the building. She was on the ground, on all fours, divulging the contents of her stomach.

  Kate’s first instinct was to go to her, to put her hand to her back, to help keep her hair out of the way. But she was the second Kate now, or maybe the fourth, so she just stood there waiting for the nausea to pass.

  The passing took longer than she anticipated. Kate’s feet started to hurt. She sat down on the curb. She stared out at the debris-strewn vacant lot next door. Someone had abandoned a shopping cart filled with wet pieces of cardboard. Condoms, needles, tinfoil, spoons. The usual detritus that she’d come to accept riddled every part of the city but her own.

  Finally, Maggie groaned out what little liquid was left in her stomach. She wiped her mouth with her hand.

  Kate looked down at her hat. Jimmy’s name was written inside the brim. She had no idea where her own hat was. She’d found her shoes in the back of Gail’s car, but the hat was missing.

  Maggie sat back on her knees. She was panting.

  Kate said, “I meant to put a sachet in this hat last night. I keep some in my lingerie drawer. They smell like roses.”

  Maggie looked out at the lot.

  Kate hooked the hat on her knee. She smoothed the legs of her pants. “My father’s a psychiatrist.”

  “Goddamn it,” Maggie muttered. “That makes so much sense.”

  Kate smiled, because it probably did. “He’s paying for my apartment. There was no insurance policy. I never claimed my husband’s benefits, because I thought if I did, then it would mean he’s really dead.”

  Maggie turned to look at her.

  “I spent last night with a married man. He wants me to come back tonight, but I don’t know if I will. Should I? Probably not.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I don’t know,” Kate admitted. “You seemed so angry at me before. I thought it was because you knew I was lying. Now, I’m not so sure.”

  “Is this some sort of deal? Show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”

  Kate shrugged. She didn’t know what it was.

  “Jimmy’s gay.” Maggie’s tone had a finality to it. “He wasn’t lying about that. I’ve been fighting it all night, but I don’t think he was lying about anything.”

  Kate knew better than to ask for clarification.

  “On the street, somebody tells you one lie, you just block out everything else. They can’t be trusted.” Maggie cleared her throat several times. She looked like she wanted to spit. “So if he’s telling the truth about something so horrible …” Her voice trailed off. She leaned over and spit on the ground. “I’m sorry.”

  Kate didn’t know why spitting felt less ladylike than throwing up, but it did. “Do you want me to go back into the bar and get you a glass of water?”

  “All those men in there …” She started shaking her head. “They looked so normal.”

  “They are normal.”

  Maggie looked back at her again.

  “You never thought about what your brother did with women. Why would you think about what he might be doing with men?”

  “It’s all so easy for you. You just decide that this is the way things are, and you go on like it doesn’t matter.”

  “I can’t sit around feeling sorry for myself. I tried that for two years and it gained me nothing.”

  “Kate, you cry all the time.”

  She laughed, because she didn’t think of it as crying. The tears from the last few days were nothing like the ones she’d cried for
Patrick. “You have to get things out. You can’t keep them bottled in all the time.”

  “That’s easy to say when you have choices.”

  “You have a choice.” Kate handed her the photo of Jimmy. “You can choose to love your brother no matter what.”

  Maggie cupped the photo in her hand. She stared at the image until a tear splashed onto Jimmy’s face. “All night, I didn’t believe him. I know my brother. At least I thought I knew him.”

  Kate maintained her silent strategy.

  Maggie crumpled the photo. She stuck it in her pants pocket. “Jimmy confessed to being the Shooter. He killed all those men.”

  Kate felt the words travel around her brain. They were like marbles in a wooden labyrinth puzzle, rolling around, looking for the right path.

  Maggie said, “Mark Porter, Greg Keen, Alex Ballard, Leonard Johnson, Don Wesley. Jimmy killed them all.”

  Finally, Kate could speak. “That’s not possible.”

  “He wrote it down.” Maggie pulled her notebook out of her pocket. “His confession. I copied it.”

  “Where’s the original?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Kate took the notebook. “Of course it matters. What happened to the original?”

  “My mother tore it up, all right? Are you going to read it or not?”

  Confusion still clouded Kate’s brain. She looked down at the letter and silently read the words. She had to go through the note twice before comprehension began to dawn.

  I am the Atlanta Shooter. I killed those guys because I was a dirty fag with them and I didn’t want anybody to find out. Don’t try to find me or I will kill more people. Maggie, I’m sorry that I never apologized to you. I should’ve told you that what happened wasn’t your fault.

  Kate was so stunned that she could barely think of a response. “Jimmy didn’t write this.”

  “He did. It was his handwriting. His signature.”

  “It’s not true.”

  “I know what you’re going to say. I went through the same thing last night.” Maggie indicated the bar. “He’s gay, Kate. Why would he tell the truth about being gay and lie about being a murderer?”