Dead Beat

by Micheal Maxwell

“In the next room, we have who we believe killed Mark Reagan, and attempted to kill Terry Johnson tonight. He will be asking for a lawyer any minute. Once that happens, we have no chance of getting a statement from him, let alone a confession.”

  Steele moved to the wall and leaned back in as relaxed a position he could manage. He waited for his words to sink into the room. Even Flynt was looking at him apprehensively, waiting to see what came next.

  “Here’s the thing,” Steele said. “We’d like Julie to talk to him.”

  “I don’t think so,” Mr. Vernon said, putting both hands flat on the table as if to stand. “Never.”

  “Hear me out. Please.” Steele raised both hands, palms out, fingers spread wide. “We have a camera in the room and we will be next door observing everything through the glass.” He tapped on the mirrored glass on the wall next to him with his ring. The little musical clicking it made reminded him of Jacki in a way that was both warming and sad.

  “And why is this necessary?” Mr. Vernon asked.

  “Paul is in love with your daughter. He is not going to hurt her. We just need him to tell her what he did and why he did it.”

  “I’ll do it.” Julie stood.

  “Hold on!” her father protested. “This guy is clearly out of his mind and dangerous.”

  “He hurt Terry and killed Mark,” Julie said. “They are, were, my friends. I have to do whatever I can to see he goes to jail. Please daddy, let me do this.”

  Mr. Vernon looked at Flynt and Steele. There was determination in his face, but a yielding sort of understanding as well. “You sure she’ll be safe?”

  “Sergeant Flynt will be standing next to the door,” Steele assured him. “You and I will be watching and listening from the room next door. Any trouble… we’re on it.”

  “Jule?” her father asked softly.

  “I can do this. Please.”

  “If anything happens to my…”

  “You have my word,” Flynt said. “He touches her and he’s done for. If he even so much as attempts to stand up, we’re on him.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Steele said, cutting off his partner before he said something stupid. Although, he kind of liked this somewhat vengeful side of Flynt.

  Julie stood looking down at her father with a pleading in her eyes that said she knew the risk and was ready for whatever came. “Dad?”

  “Alright.”

  “All I want you to do is get him to say he did it,” Steele said. “Go inside and sit down at the table. Once he says it, I want you to stand up. That’s our signal to come in and get you out. You understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “Just walk in the door. Pretend you didn’t know he was in there. ‘They told me to wait here. What are you doing here?’ Can you do that?”

  “Yes.” Julie stood straight and the defeated little girl was gone. In her place was a young woman with a rod of steel in her back. Steele almost felt bad for Paul.

  “Flynt, give us a minute to get situated,” Steele said. “Then let Julie go, and take your position. If you hear ‘go’, get in there. You good?”

  “I’m good,” Flynt said. “Let’s do it.”

  * * *

  “Mr. Vernon, this is Officer Stanton,” Noah said as Stanton joined them in the observation room on the other side of Interview Room A. “She will be observing as well as operating the recording equipment.”

  Mr. Vernon gave the woman sitting behind a bank of monitors a nod. Steele only met her once. She was a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense look about her. Her dark hair was pinned back in a tight bun. Steele couldn’t help admire her command of the equipment as she looked over the recording station.

  “Ready?” Steele asked.

  “Rolling,” Stanton replied.

  Through the large glass window, Paul Leslie sat lost in his thoughts. His head snapped to the right as the door opened.

  “What are you doing here?” Paul asked as Julie came into the room. He looked on edge like he could leap over the table at any moment to wrap her in his arms. But he also looked terrified; the object of his obsession was right there in front of him and he didn’t have a clue how to react.

  “They told me to wait in here.” Julie looked around the room. “I’m not sure we should be in the same room, though.” Then she turned to leave.

  “Wait, wait!” Paul’s panic layered his voice. “I don’t understand why you’re here.”

  “I have to make a statement about Terry’s accident,” Julie replied, moving closer to the table. As directed, she sat down on the other side of the table. “What are you doing here is a better question.”

  “I seem to find myself in a bit of trouble.” Paul stood and turned, showing her the handcuffs.

  In the observation room, Steele’s knees bent slightly, ready to move if Paul did anything more than stand.

  “Paul?” Julie said. “What have you done?”

  “Sit down Julie, please,” Paul pleaded. “I need to say something before they figure out you’re in the wrong room.”

  Julie sat opposite Paul. If she was acting, she was doing a fantastic job. She looked both innocent and worried and sort of grown-up at the same time.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while,” Paul said. “I’ve been working for the band for what, a year and a half now, right? I have watched you gain confidence, and improve your playing. You’ve also turned into a beautiful young woman.”

  “Paul, I don’t…”

  “Hear me out. This is important. You know that drummer was in love with you, don’t you?”

  “Mark. Yes. He was very kind. I liked him a lot, but he knew I was with Terry, and he respected that.”

  “That’s another thing I wanted to talk about. You could do anything, Julie. You’re smart, beautiful, and talented. You are wasting yourself on that loser Terry. He has no talent. He is just a spoiled wannabe. I have my own company. It’s growing every month, I’m buying new equipment, and I have two employees now. Studios are calling on us now. Did you know that? There is no limit to where my business can go.”

  “What are you saying? And why would I care? I love Terry.”

  “That’s not love. It is like summer camp or a play production. People get infatuated with other people because they are together all the time. Plus, you’re in a band together. Bands are filled with emotions. You see it all the time in bands. You’ve seen it, right? John and Yoko. Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham. Sid and Nancy. Kurt and Courtney. It’s not love, really.”

  “I don’t understand.” Julie was quite convincing, Steele conceded.

  “I love you,” Paul finally said. “I have for some time. You are everything I have ever dreamed of. We could conquer the world. I’ll give you anything you want. I love you, beyond words, beyond the infatuation of a boy in a band. I’m a man, Julie…a man that wants to give you everything.”

  “Dude, I’m sixteen. I’m still in high school. This is crazy talk. You’re a nice guy. But, I’m a kid. It’s kind of creepy that you think of me that way.”

  In the observation room, things started to feel a little tense. “Careful Julie,” Steele said softly. Again, his knees reminded him they were ready to move at any moment.

  “Age doesn’t matter,” Paul said. “Not if our goals are the same.”

  “You don’t know my goals. The band is just a crazy, fun, dress-up, kid thing to do. I want to go to college. I want to be a teacher. This band thing, like Terry, is just temporary. My dad always says, ‘You date a dozen guys before you find the right one’. Terry is my first real boyfriend.” Julie looked down at the tabletop. Steele thought she was trying to think of her next move, but to Paul, it would look like she was sorting out her feelings. It was genius.

  “I’m sorry Paul if I did anything to make you think…” Julie said softly, looking up with a soulful expression.

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I don’t like you that way. You’re our sound guy. Not our fr
iend, or part of our group, you are like, like what? Like an employee.”

  Paul suddenly froze. He looked like a statue. He no longer leaned forward, pleading his case, he sat ramrod straight. There was fire in his eyes. His obsessive infatuation turned to the smoldering rage of rejection. Steele watched it happen in the blink of an eye.

  “I have committed my life to you.” He showed his teeth like a growling dog. “Don’t you see what I’ve done for you?”

  “You run the sound, Paul. That’s all.” Steele was impressed by how deftly Julie baited the hook.

  “Who do you think got rid of that stupid drummer?” Paul smiled with a cold madness in his eyes. “He was in our way!” He raised his voice for the first time. It cracked with emotion. “He was distracting you from me.”

  “You killed him?” Julie whispered.

  Steele smirked. She was definitely acting now. The whisper was a little much, but it seemed Paul fell for it. “He never even asked me out. He was too old, too. He knew it! Even if what you say is true.”

  “Didn’t you see the way he looked at you? I couldn’t stand his thoughts.”

  “So you killed him? Is that why you’re in here? You killed Mark?”

  “And that whiney boyfriend of yours, too. Now we can be together forever.”

  “That’s sick!”

  “You’re wrong, Julie. That’s love.”

  “I wouldn’t be with you ever. I don’t like you. Those poor guys have nothing to do with it. I don’t like you, no one influenced me, you’re a sleazy perv fantasizing over a sixteen-year-old girl. You’re disgusting!”

  Then, just as Steele instructed, she stood up confession extracted. She glared the hate of a thousand knives into Paul and turned to leave.

  “I love you Passion! I love you! Please, please love me.”

  Paul broke down and began to sob. It was quite possibly the most pathetic display Steele ever saw.

  “That’s my cue,” Steele said. He exited the observation room and walked the six steps down to Room A. When he opened the door, Paul looked up at him with tears in his eyes.

  “What do you want?” Paul asked.

  Julie glanced quickly at Steele and gave him a weak smile as she exited the room. Paul noticed it and let out a wailing sort of moan.

  “What? You two were…working together?”

  Steele didn’t give him an answer. Instead, he said: “Paul Leslie, I am arresting you for the murder of Mark Reagan, and the attempted murder of Terrence Johnson. You have the right to remain silent…”

  As Steele continued to read Paul his rights, he could hear Flynt outside the door, talking to Julie. He could hear her starting to sob, and then the sound of her father’s comforting voice.

  With Paul’s rights read, Steele exited Interview Room A and slammed the door behind him. He gave a pursed-lip smile of relief to Flynt. He stood silently, giving Julie and her father their moment.

  After a few moments, Julie turned, wiped her eyes and smiled sadly at Steele.

  “Was that good?” Julie asked softly. “Was that what you needed?”

  “Yes, it was exactly what we needed, Julie,” Noah replied. “You did great.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Steele gave a quick triple rap on Captain Weidman’s door.

  “Come in!” came the voice beyond the door.

  Steele and Flynt entered the office and stood before Weidman’s desk. Steele noticed the slightly annoyed look Weidman gave Flynt before he even bothered looking in Steele’s direction.

  “Sit, sit,” the Captain said, shuffling through a stack of papers on his desk. “Well Lieutenant Steele, it seems you hit the ground running. Congratulations. You seem to have solved a murder as well as an attempted murder on your first week with us. I also understand you played a hand in stopping a near-riot at some sort of rock show. I knew we were onto something getting you here. So, give me the rundown.”

  The two detectives sat down in front of the Captain’s desk. Noah glanced over at Flynt and saw him looking at the floor. The over-the-top praise made Steele uncomfortable and, if he was being honest, just a little angry. Weidman didn’t even look in Flynt’s direction. It was as if he wasn’t there.

  “We arrested Paul Leslie very early this morning,” Steele said. “He confessed to the murder of Mark Reagan and attempted murder of Terrence Johnson.”

  “What led you to him?”

  “Actually sir, it was Detective Flynt,” Steele said. He rather enjoyed the look of shock on the Captain’s face. “His expertise in stagecraft, sound wiring, and electrical circuitry led us back to Paul, the sound guy.”

  “Is that right, Flynt?”

  “Yes, sir. Paul Leslie fixed the extension electrical box to run a direct current into the PA system. When Terry Johnson grabbed the microphone it completed the circuit.” It was clear that Flynt wanted to go on but decided to keep the explanation as simple as possible.

  “Just like that,” Weidman said flatly.

  “Just like that,” Flynt replied proudly. It was clear that he was not used to getting any sort of thanks or praise.

  “Put it in your report.” It was obvious from his tone that Weidman was not impressed. He eyed the two detectives and then added: “Flynt, I’d like to talk to Lieutenant Steele alone.”

  Flynt stood, glanced at his partner with a worried look, and left the room. He did it without much of a reaction. He was apparently used to being dismissed in such a way.

  The couldn’t-care-less response of his superior officer irritated Steele. Flynt solved the puzzle, put in the missing piece. They could still be out beating the bushes, looking for clues and wasting time interviewing people who truly knew nothing about the case. The skater kids were just a coincidence. Their throwing the Juggalos into the mix was the worst kind of pointless rabbit trail. Nasty and thieving as the other tenants at the storage place were, they had nothing to do with Paul Leslie or his inappropriate obsession with Julie Vernon.

  In the end, it all came down to twisted hearts and wires.

  “You didn’t strike me as a trouble maker Steele,” Weidman said. “Quite the contrary.”

  “What trouble have I started, sir?”

  “Disobeying a direct order. I told you I wanted to get rid of the idiot partner of yours. Praising the idiot in front of me is the exact opposite of that.”

  “That idiot solved the case, sir. I see nothing in what he has done that warrants his being terminated. He does have a rather odd way about him. But, he is competent. I’ve seen him interview witnesses and he did a good job. He’s a borderline genius at profiling people. And he instantly saw a possible answer to how Johnson nearly got electrocuted to death. He was a huge part in solving our first case together.”

  Weidman mulled this all over. There was a look on his face that made it look as if he just ate something nasty, and the taste lingered on his tongue.

  “I don’t know what you’ve got against him, sir,” Steele said, lowering his tone. “But I think it is misguided and, frankly, unfair. I never knew Detective Barrow, but, in my observation, he kept Flynt on such a short leash he had nothing to do. Out of his kindness for Flynt, Barrow essentially pushed Flynt into the role of lackey. And Flynt found it comfortable there. So if you want to cast blame, I suggest you lay it at the feet of his last partner.”

  “How dare you infer that Bill Barrow did anything, that…”

  “I’m not inferring anything,” Steele interrupted. “I’m saying straight out that Barrow held a perfectly good officer down for so long he grew into his expectations. I do not believe he did it intentionally or with ill intent, but he did it.” Noah was seething, but he was not backing down.

  “I think we’re done here.” Weidman jumped to his feet. “I can see that you have decided to throw in your lot with that, that…” Weidman was breathing heavily. “Get out of here before I do something you will regret.”

  “On the record, I have said or done nothing outside of department policy or regulations,�
�� Steele said. “If this goes any further I will have no choice but to go to the union. I see a real case of open hostility towards Sergeant Flynt—not just from you but most of the other officers—and it is below the dignity of your position to verbally belittle and insult a fellow officer.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Weidman’s words were accompanied by a spray of spittle.

  “No sir, I am following the proper steps in the protection of an officer under my supervision. No more, no less.”

  “Get out!” Weidman screamed.

  “As you wish.”

  Steele got out of his seat and exited the Captain’s office. As he stepped out into the hallway, he saw that two men and a woman were on their feet staring, mouths agape.

  Apparently, they heard the little diatribe. And they weren’t the only ones. Flynt was standing just inside the center of the bullpen, looking in his direction. His eyes were glistening with tears and his hand was over his mouth.

  Steele smiled at him and gave him an appreciative nod of thanks in front of everyone.

  * * *

  Flynt and Steele walked into the precinct break room and were greeted with a raucous round of applause. It seemed the Captain’s outburst sent people scurrying for cover. Word of their arrest of Paul Leslie spread through the building like wildfire. The unlikely pair of underdogs not only cracked the case but got a confession. It seemed the most recent addition to the precinct was capable of producing quick results.

  Plus, from what Steele could gather, no one ever stood up to Captain Weidman.

  Shouts of “Good job!” and “Well done!” erupted all around as Steele made his way to the coffee maker and Flynt started studying the available donuts.

  “Thank you,” Steele grinned. He then leaned over towards Flynt and whispered: “Is this what they do around here every time you solve a case?”

  “First time I’ve seen it,” a dumbfounded Flynt replied.

  “Must have been a breeze, there Sherlock!” one of the detectives called out.

  “Well, there were a few dead ends.” Steele shrugged. Beside him, Flynt chuckled at this, perhaps finding some sort of morbid double meaning.