OUT OF THE BLUE

by Caroline Clemmons

  “Haven’t seen it, of course, but talked to a guy who had.” George looked up. “Vince Green investigated. Note said Conor was sorry for causing trouble in the department, regretted stealing the drugs, needed money, couldn’t live with the guilt. That’s about it.”

  George shook his head. “See, now that’s why I called you. Can’t figure Conor saying he couldn’t live with the guilt. Can you?”

  “I doubt he ever felt guilt. The man didn’t give a shit who he hurt. Nope. Doesn’t sound like him at all.”

  “Right, and doubt he cared if what he did affected the department.” George looked at him. “So what do you think really happened?”

  “My best guess is the chief’s inquiry panicked someone.” But with Conor dead, who was the guy in Deirdre’s vision? He knew it wasn’t Owen, couldn’t be. But who?

  George frowned, “So, you no longer think Conor was behind the drug set up?”

  Brendan said, “I did. In fact, I was certain Conor manipulated the drug exchange, still am. The stuff was there, and I can see where a scuzz like him would think, hey, why don’t I take this? But all the way in I looked at this from every angle.”

  “Then what’s wrong with the picture?”

  “Implementation. Think about the brains it took to come up with the exchange, arrange for it, set up distribution, and make sure payments came in. Let’s face it, Conor was no Einstein.”

  “More like one of The Three Stooges.” George laughed. “Doubt he ever read anything that didn’t have a centerfold.”

  “Got that right.” Brendan stood. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll go by the station and see what I can learn.”

  “Um, Brendan? You better steer clear of there. Far as the Chief’s concerned, you’re not off the hook yet.”

  Brendan rubbed at his thigh where the scar tissue pulled. “No? Figured Conor’s death would help me out.”

  “Me too, but Green said the Chief thinks you’re involved with distribution and that’s why you and Larry were shot. Quarrel over territory.”

  “Damn, then I’m out of ideas. May as well go home.” He stopped and turned back again. “What’s the word at the station. Everyone there think I’m dirty?”

  George looked down, which told Brendan more than he wanted to know.

  “That bad, huh? Sorry I asked.”

  “There’s guys who don’t know you, haven’t worked with you. What do you expect after the stuff that’s been in the news? For what it’s worth, your friends know you’re clean.”

  Brendan bit out, “Friends?” He didn’t think he had real friends at the station. “Acquaintances, yes. Location buddies, sure. Real friends?” He shook his head. “You and Larry were it, and now there’s just you.”

  “Hey, you’ve got friends. More than you know. Vince Green, Baker, Hamilton, Crowley, Ned, a bunch of the guys who worked with you and Larry and know you’re a good cop. Know Larry was one too.”

  “Thanks, George. Good of you to say so. Stay in touch, will you? Let me know if you hear anything.”

  Brendan headed home. Conor dead. Two thugs still free. Brendan’s name at the top of the suspect list.

  What the hell was he supposed to do?

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Monday morning, Brendan slipped into Deirdre’s room where she’d gone to dress. She stood winding her thick black hair into a neat chignon. Brendan remembered her as she’d been last night in his bed, her tousled hair spread across the pillow and her lips red and swollen from his kisses.

  As if she divined his memory, she smiled at him in the mirror and anchored her hair with a final pin. Dressed for a day at his mom’s shop, Deirdre looked deceptively prim and proper. Her tan slacks enhanced the curves of her perfect figure. She wore one of the knit shirts she preferred, a navy vee-neck with sleeves just below her elbow. Her feet were bare, but nearby on the floor waited a tan pair of the Keds she favored for work.

  When she turned, he pulled her into his arms. She snuggled against him, reminding him of the way their bodies had melded last night. The first time they’d made love, she’d told him she was a quick learner. A modest statement. Her passionate nature created mind-blowing sex.

  He held her close. “Sure you want to go to work?”

  Her arms circled him, her hands gentle as she caressed his back. “Blossom and I would go mad sitting here all day, just waiting for something to happen. We’d be jumping at every sound. At her shop, we’ll be busy.”

  “If you stayed here, we could go back to bed.” He nipped at her earlobe, and then rained kissed along her neck.

  She pulled away far enough to look at him. “No, we couldn’t. Your mother pretends she doesn’t know I’ve slept in your room the past three nights, but we mustn’t insult her by carrying on all the time.”

  “Carrying on? I love you. We were making love.”

  She rose on tiptoes and kissed his chin. “Aye, and it’s no wonder I love you. Don’t you always say the very thing that turns my insides to mush? But this time, you go help Blossom while I finish here. She wants to go to the shop early and catch up on yesterday’s sales.”

  He paused at the door. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Sure and I do. Isn’t that why it’s so hard to say no?” She shoved him into the hall.

  He turned as the door closed in his face.

  An hour later, he’d returned home from escorting his mother and Deirdre to work. He heard the phone ring as he came into the house.

  The caller was the chief’s assistant. “Chief Gordon wants you in his office at eleven. Sharp.”

  “Anything I should know?” Brendan asked.

  The assistant’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Wants to question you about Farris’ death and that shooting, and then go into the evidence room stuff.”

  “I’ll be there.” Like he had a choice.

  Chief Gordon had always resented Brendan’s inheritance, had even suggested early in Brendan’s career that a man with his wealth wouldn’t fit comfortably on the force. As if he’d fit in anywhere.

  Nope. The unfettered freedom of his first ten years combined with the excessive restrictions in his grandparents’ care the next twelve or so should have prepared him for any situation. Brendan admitted he’d never had the sense of belonging he’d always craved. Merely an observer sentenced to stand on the sidelines.

  One of the best aspects of police work had to be that he functioned as an extension of a group in which he took pride. Larry and he had made a great team, each balancing the other’s personality and skills. With a start, he recalled how he and Deirdre had worked together to help Michelle. Like a team.

  A damn good team.

  Brendan changed from his jeans and T-shirt into dark gray slacks topped by a white shirt and dark tie decorated with fishing designs. He looked in the mirror.

  Tie too frivolous? Going to his closet for another, he stopped. What the hell, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Why was he so nervous?

  Because you were arrested and tossed in jail like one of the ten most wanted.

  Because your best friend is dead and someone is determined you’ll follow him.

  Because persons unknown have set you up and you haven’t a clue how to extricate yourself.

  He grabbed a silk tweed jacket and headed for the car. The sooner he got this interview over, the better. Perhaps the chief would listen to reason. What were the chances? He placed a call to Kevin Latham and pictured his friend frowning.

  “Sudden meeting, huh? My curiosity is piqued.”

  “Mine too, if you’re into understatement. Is there any chance you can attend with me?”

  ”I’m on my way to the airport, headed for a meeting in San Francisco. I’ll meet you at the police station, just inside the door.” Kevin flew his own plane and kept it at Radford Crossing’s small airfield.

  Brendan couldn’t help his relief. “Thanks, see you in twenty minutes.”

  Kevin understood his background. The two had roomed together a
t the elite prep school his grandparents sentenced him to attend and again at Yale. Brendan avoided any reference to the extent of his wealth—though he couldn’t say why it embarrassed him—but Kevin had handled enough transactions and special projects for him that his friend probably guessed to the dollar.

  They arrived at the same time and headed upstairs to the chief’s office. When they stepped inside, Owen was there and already sat at one end of the desk. A clerk sat in the corner, poised to chronicle the meeting, in spite of the recorder on the desk’s corner. Lax as he was in many areas, Chief Gordon always covered his fat ass.

  The chief nodded at a couple of chairs. “Take a seat.” He opened the file folder on his desk then looked at Brendan. “Not necessary to have your lawyer here. This is just a friendly review of facts. Want to make sure I understand what’s happened.”

  Brendan wanted to shout that the chief should have done this before having him tossed in jail. He leaned forward to speak, but Kevin shot him a quelling look.

  Kevin smoothed the already perfect crease of his navy trousers. “My client’s arrest was hardly what I’d term ‘friendly,’ Chief Gordon.”

  Gordon waved a hand, as if dismissing the incident. “Those things happen.”

  Brendan wanted to slug the man. Instead, he gripped the arms of the chair until they cut into his palms. How dare Gordon dismiss turning his life upside down, destroying his career and reputation as merely one of those things? As if the incident warranted no more interest than swatting a bug.

  Forcing himself to calm, he looked at the chief. “With all due respect, Chief Gordon, if circumstances were reversed, and it was your career on the line, I hardly think you’d view it so casually.”

  Gordon did a double take. Obviously he’d never considered the possibility. “Now, Hunter, no use harboring grudges. We’re trying to get to the bottom of this.”

  The chief pressed the record button and nodded at the clerk. For benefit of the taped account, he repeated the date, time, and subject. “Detective Hunter, please tell me in minute detail about the incident in which you and Detective Farris were shot.”

  One more time, Brendan explained why he and Larry stopped to talk to the teens and the shooting. He omitted Larry’s dying words, fearing they might appear to incriminate a man he knew was an honest cop. He also omitted Trey’s confession about two men in the car, but repeated it as if he’d witnessed it and remembered it later.

  Damned if he wasn’t getting way too good at manipulating the truth. Apparently this apple didn’t fall far from his mother’s tree after all.

  During his story, Chief Gordon made notes on the top page of those stacked in the folder. Brendan wished he could read through that file.

  “I’ve heard there’s been an attempt on your life. Explain what happened and how it relates to this”—Gordon looked at his notes—“Porter fellow who died.”

  Brendan glanced at Owen and smiled, grateful his mentor had filled the chief in on those events. “Porter was an alcoholic snitch who’d passed me good information in the past. When he called and told me he had something for me, I met him at The Dew Drop In. That’s a bar on the East Side.”

  Chief Gordon leaned back and frowned at Owen, then smoothed a hand across his thinning sandy-red hair. “Even though you were suspended?”

  “No, sir, this was a week or so before that.” What was with the look Gordon shot at Owen? “Porter warned me someone was out to get me, that whoever it was wouldn’t stop until I was dead. On the way home that night, an SUV ran me off the road.”

  “Perhaps there was another explanation. Bad driver, road rage, poor driving conditions, bad weather?” The chief tented his fingers over his considerable belly.

  Brendan shook his head. “Heavy rain that night but it was a deliberate attack. My car careened down the side of a hill and rolled. I’d barely crawled to safety when a man at the edge of the road shot the car and it exploded.”

  “You saw a man shoot at your car, Detective Hunter? At night, in a storm, from how far away?” Gordon looked skeptical.

  Brendan relived the fear when the car soared off the road, the shock when he spotted the man standing at the edge. “Looking up a hundred fifty yards, but lightning illuminated the man’s shape. I even saw the flash of the gun before the car exploded.”

  Kevin said, “I revisited the site. While I stood at the place where my client’s car was forced off the road, my assistant worked his way down to where Detective Hunter watched. The line of visibility is quite clear. I’ll be happy to furnish you with photos and statistical measurements if you wish.”

  “Not at this time, Mr. Latham. We have our own photos and descriptions furnished by the sheriff’s department. That doesn’t explain why the alleged gunman didn’t shoot Hunter instead of the car?”

  “Alleged?” Brendan wanted to shout, but controlled himself. “Because I crawled out a window away from the road, because I ran to a clump of cedars between flashes of lightning, and because the alleged gunman obviously believed me trapped inside the car. The bastard tried to kill me and you call him an ‘alleged’ gunman?”

  Owen held up a hand. “Now, Brendan, no need to get hostile. Chief Gordon’s trying to get all the facts clear.”

  Brendan took a deep breath, suppressing the vitriolic remarks that sprang to mind. Cursing the chief wouldn’t help his case. “I’d like that. When what’s happened is laid out, it’ll be clear I’m innocent.”

  Turning a page, Gordon studied a fresh sheet of notes. “Let’s move on to the cocaine missing from the evidence room.” He looked at Brendan. “Didn’t you and Farris make that bust? You’re assigned to robbery, not vice, so why were you the arresting officers?”

  Kevin leaped to his feet. “Are you insinuating my client—“

  “This isn’t a courtroom, Counselor. My purpose is to shed new light on the evidence here.” Gordon tapped the notes on his desk. Brendan knew the file probably included the internal affairs investigation required whenever an officer fired a weapon as Larry had in the arrest. So why the hell did Brendan have to go back through all this?

  Kevin sat down and nodded at Brendan.

  “Larry and I made that arrest purely by accident. We were on our way back to the station from investigating a convenience store robbery when we spotted this car weaving across lanes in a reckless manner. We ran a license check as we pursued it. The plate came back reported on a stolen vehicle. About that time, the suspects pulled into a motel parking lot.”

  Kevin, who hadn’t heard the story in detail before, asked, “You ran the colored lights and siren?”

  “No, we didn’t want to alert them until the last minute. We asked for back up and pulled in behind the stolen car before the driver and his two passengers reached the motel room door. We called for them to stop and they did.” Brendan shrugged.

  Kevin said, “Lucky bust.”

  “You don’t know how much. The driver pulled a gun and Larry shot the man. Wounded him in the upper arm, but the guy dropped his gun. The other two gave up. Backup arrived and we found the cache inside the motel room.”

  “So, how does this relate to drugs missing from the evidence room?” Gordon pinned Brendan with a cold stare.

  Brendan leaned forward and met the chief’s glare. “With the drugs worth a million on the street, I figure someone convinced Conor to switch the drugs out for gypsum dust, and then sold the cocaine. Probably someone on the force.” He leaned back. “But it sure as hell wasn’t me!”

  And he wondered again who it was. Who had put the idea in Conor’s head? It had to be someone influential. Gordon was too stupid to organize his sock drawer.

  “Chief Gordon,” Kevin spoke with the authority that had swayed juries. “You know Detective Hunter is wealthy and hardly needs dirty money. He has no motive to commit such a heinous crime.”

  The old chief tapped his finger against the file. “Maybe. Or, maybe he wants more than he has and figured this would be an easy way to get it.”


  Kevin shook his head. “No, sir, you’re way off base. If Brendan were after big bucks, he’d never have gone into law enforcement. Besides, he already has more money than he can count. You’ve targeted the wrong man.”

  Owen laughed. “No one ever has enough money. Isn’t that right, Brendan?”

  “Not in my case. I have enough. It’s invested and will continue to grow.” He looked at the chief. “I told you, all I want is to be a good officer. I follow the rules, take whatever duty is handed down. The only time I ever disregarded an order was when Larry Farris and I stopped to talk to those teens. Even then I called dispatch to let them know our location.”

  Kevin swiveled Brendan’s way and raised an eyebrow. “You never mentioned that before. So, dispatch—and therefore anyone with a scanner—knew where you and Larry were headed?”

  “Exactly.” Pieces fell into place for Brendan “Had to be someone listening in on the scanner, heard our location. That goes along with my idea we were set up.” Some bit of information eluded him. Why couldn’t he grasp it?

  “And why would anyone bother if you weren’t involved in drugs?” Chief Gordon shook his head. “Can you answer that?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean there’s no answer, just that I haven’t found it yet. Believe me when I say I won’t stop until I do. Captain Baylor suggested it might be related to someone Larry and I arrested seeking revenge.”

  Chief Gordon frowned and looked at Owen. “I see.” He turned back to Brendan. “You have any further comments you want to make before we finish?”

  “Just that I’m innocent of any wrongdoing. I may not be the most popular cop on the force, but anyone who’s worked with me knows I’ve always given a hundred percent to the job.”

  “Hmmm, that’s about all I had to ask you. For now. But you’re not clear of these charges by any means.” Chief Gordon turned off the recorder, clearly dismissing them.

  The other three men stood and the clerk slipped away.

  Kevin made his goodbyes, but waited in the hall. Brendan caught up with him and they walked out.

  On the steps in front of the building, Kevin slid on his sunshades against the August sun. “You figure what that was all about?”