by Ray Flynt
Warren gave me the gotta-go shrug and moved to join the line just as a customer service agent undid the retractable belt at the top of the stairs leading to the train platform. “Have a good trip.”
An Uber driver brought me back to Oliver’s place. I trudged up the stairs tired and hungry, wondering what we’d do for dinner. The aroma of garlic and basil greeted me as I entered his apartment. Dear sweet Oliver had decided to make spaghetti. I came up behind him as he stirred the sauce and emptied pasta into a boiling pot of water.
I’d witnessed his amazing culinary handiwork before. He could manage his way around a kitchen better than any guy I knew. Hell, better than me most days.
I squeezed him and kissed the back of his neck. “I love you.”
He reached back and ran fingers through my curly hair. “Ummm, wait until you see dessert.”
* * *
After what Warren told me, and given the abrupt way they got rid of Ellie, it wouldn’t have surprised me to arrive at the office on Tuesday morning and find Tia Huang seated at my desk. I imagined a fawning Carmen Castillo showing her the ropes, eager to tell me where I could stuff my job.
Still, there’s my skill as a coffee maker.
I grinned and unlocked the door to Parson’s suite at Bignell, Watkins, and Clark. Watching Tulverson’s DVD from the office surveillance had been a liberating experience. Carmen laid all her cards on the table about firing me. Parson not only stuck up for me, but he suggested her job could be in jeopardy if she did anything to make me leave. No wonder she’d given me the cold shoulder the previous afternoon.
The video wasn’t exactly 4K quality; more like those grainy TV images from when men first landed on the moon. Sound couldn’t have been better, picking up whispers from ten feet away.
After a week on the job, I never knew when Carmen would arrive. Exactitude she expected from others didn’t extend to keeping me informed about her schedule or whereabouts. Her conversation with Parson the previous afternoon made no mention of the precise time for Scott McQuillen’s visit.
So far this morning the phones remained eerily silent, an indication others might have a better idea of her whereabouts than me.
Around ten-thirty, Carmen bustled through the door to the suite carrying two bulging Nordstrom’s shopping bags and wearing the same turquoise pantsuit from the day I’d first met her. She must’ve visited the hairdresser since yesterday. Her jet-black hair now carried a silver streak on the right side. Did she plan to impress her ex-husband or merely burnish her Cruella de Vil-persona?
“Good morning, Ms. Castillo.” I smiled like a friend with a secret.
She dipped her head in the direction of the open door and snapped. “Close it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Carmen plopped her bags on the floor in front of my desk and waited for me to complete the task. She announced, “I’m expecting a visitor in about an hour. Until then I don’t want to be disturbed. No calls. No knocks on the door. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She entered her office—the one we formerly shared—managing to close that door by herself. Moments later, she slammed shut the one leading from hers to Parson’s office.
I relaxed and savored the quiet, happy to not have to deal with her. At the same time, I tried to come up with ideas to talk Carmen into using Parson’s office for her meeting with McQuillen.
Her phone line lit once and lasted only seconds. This gave me no time to hit the mute button and listen in. However, muffled speech heard through the wall a few moments later clued me that she was using her cell phone.
Shortly before noon, a man entered the reception area and swaggered to my desk. “Hi, I’m Scott McQuillen. Carmen’s expecting me.”
I scribbled his name on a pad like I was hearing it for the first time. “I’ll let her know you’re here.”
I’ve watched too many episodes of The Bachelorette. Imagining who Carmen might pair with, I never envisioned the squat, fifty-pound overweight, balding man with a pock-marked face standing in front of me.
He scooped his paw into the dish of mixed nuts on my desk, then snatched a couple of cellophane- wrapped caramels and stuffed them into his pocket. He winked while reaching for a second helping of nuts, which gave me an idea.
I pressed the intercom button. “Mr. McQuillen to see you.”
“Be right there.” Carmen sounded chipper.
The door to her office opened and she struck a showgirl pose in a black pantsuit with a silver lamé jacket. She even wore silver nail polish not seen earlier, and now the streak in her hair made sense. A seductive grin replaced her trademark scowl.
McQuillen’s eyes widened, and he gulped.
I did too, for different reasons. If Scott came for a business meeting, Carmen seemed to have a different agenda. Parson’s talk on the video about her persuading Scott to low-ball his proposal for condemned city properties by $25,000 took on new meaning.
Carmen motioned with her index finger, and he moved toward her as if guided by a tractor beam.
In an instant, the door would be closed. I had to act. “It’s almost lunchtime, would you like me to order food from the deli downstairs?”
The corners of Carmen’s mouth twitched warily, but McQuillen blurted, “How ’bout a cheesesteak?” His gaze moved between me and Carmen.
Her lips puckered. “Sure. I’ll take a Greek salad. Plus bottled water. Oh, and Sharon…”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Just buzz me when it arrives.”
“Sure.”
They disappeared behind the closed door, and I called the ground-floor deli. “Is Benito there?”
“Speaking.”
I identified myself and gave him the food order, including adding a Greek salad for me. “If you can deliver it in five minutes, there’s a twenty-dollar tip for you.”
It actually took him seven minutes, but I still fished a Jackson from my purse and handed it to Benito. I grabbed one of the salads and directed him to place the rest of the food on the conference table in Parson’s office. I buzzed Carmen and informed her of the luncheon setup. To my surprise, she reacted, “Great idea.”
Moments later, McQuillen’s beefy hand pulled the door shut to Parson’s private office.
I texted Warren Tulverson to check his video feed.
Mission accomplished.
24
The sun set soon after Joedco’s corporate jet passed over the Mississippi River. Brad Frame stared out the window engaging in his favorite flight pastime: trying to identify cities and recognizable landmarks.
A full moon appeared on the horizon as he snacked on a tray of brie, crackers, cinnamon-candied almonds, and dried fruits. In the distance, lights from the sprawling Nashville metropolis came into view. A clear night sky afforded vistas for hundreds of miles, while moonlight sparkled off lakes and rivers.
The Joedco board meeting had gone well. Profits were up. They green-lighted Andy’s proposal for an office in Prague in order to better compete in the European Union. His brother had acted more confident and less uptight; a welcome change if it continued, although one meeting didn’t represent a trend.
Brad’s thoughts drifted to nagging concerns about his personal relationship with Beth and working relationship with Nick.
During his trip to Houston, Brad had finally been able to connect with Beth. They’d talked via phone for an hour. He sensed her unhappiness, but when he tried to press for its origins, she hemmed and hawed. He asked if everything was okay between them, and she responded, “Oh sure,” though not convincingly. However, she did drop the bombshell that her flight to the US would bring her to Philadelphia and asked if he could pick her up at the airport on Saturday afternoon. She’d be staying over and had “news to share.” When he’d pressed for hints on what that news entailed, she turned coy.
Brad sighed and prepared to wait a few days for answers.
Then his mind shifted to worries about Nick Argostino, whose friendship mea
nt more to him than their partnership in the detective agency. The Hernandez case threatened both. They’d hashed out disagreements before. Nick acted stubborn at times, but Brad wondered what made him dig in his heals on this case. Was it because it involved the death of a former colleague or could there be a deeper reason?
The bewildered look on Ruth’s face, when Nick had disinvited Brad to dinner on Saturday, reflected his own angst. Before any other investigative work on the Hernandez case, he had to get to the bottom of Nick’s concerns.
When the private jet touched down at the Philadelphia International Airport shortly after 8:30, Brad called Nick’s cell. No answer. He hoped to leave a voicemail, but the message said the mailbox was full.
Nick’s ignoring me.
It left him little choice but to confront the bear in his own habitat.
* * *
Brad rarely visited Nick Argostino’s city office. Although their working relationship was well known in the police community, Nick’s responsibilities as a captain of detectives kept him too busy for Brad to intrude on his day job. The Hernandez case affected both of them, so Brad didn’t mind surprising Nick with a visit at nine o’clock on a Wednesday morning. Brad hadn’t rehearsed what he might say; hoped the right words would tumble out.
The department’s homicide bureau operated out of police headquarters near 8th and Race Streets, dubbed The Roundhouse because of its distinctive architecture. Its proximity to the city’s Chinatown had resulted in quite a few lunches over Cantonese cuisine since he began his agency partnership with Nick.
Brad asked to see Captain Argostino, then glanced towards Nick’s office at the rear of the large open space as the receptionist announced his arrival. He couldn’t hear the other end of her conversation, but she avoided his gaze after hanging up the phone. Just when he feared officers might appear to escort him from the building, Nick stepped out of his cubicle and motioned Brad back.
Brad drew closer to the office. Nick wore a blank expression and tugged at the corners of his mustache. “Are you reading minds now?”
That’s a cryptic way to start a conversation.
Brad shook his head. “No. Why?”
“I’m surprised to see you.” Nick shrugged and pointed at the empty chair next to his desk. “I planned to call you today.”
“Would it have anything to do with Saturday night?”
Nick looked sheepish. “Ruth’s not talking to me. She likes you.”
“Good to know someone does.”
A detective appeared in the doorway. “Hate to butt in Cap’n, but would you take a look at this revised warrant application.”
Nick excused himself and grabbed the paper, scanning the page. “You have a specific question?”
“Judge Brigham wouldn’t approve our last request. Called it ‘overly broad.’ We narrowed the scope to focus on electronics…computers, phones, and tablets.”
Nick handed the application back. “Looks okay to me. If this doesn’t work, third time’s the charm, right?”
The detective nodded and disappeared.
Nick stood. “Let’s walk.”
Brad followed.
When they’d stepped out into the hallway, Nick aimed a thumb over his shoulder. “I get interrupted all day long, let’s go outside so we can talk in private. Besides, I need a smoke.”
“I thought you quit.”
Nick gave a sideways glance. “Ruth thinks I quit, which I have at home. But it’s hard to break a forty-year addiction.”
Nick reached into his pocket for a dark-leafed, hand-rolled cheroot. Temperatures in the sixties greeted them as they walked down the stairs toward Race Street, stopping near an evergreen planter where half-smoked predecessors had been tamped out in the surrounding dirt.
During his recent visit to Nick’s home, Brad had noticed tobacco-rum scent permeated the office, despite Nick’s claim of no-longer smoking at home.
Brad watched as his friend lit the mini-cigar. “Next thing you know, you’ll be eating vegan.”
Nick sported a devilish grin. “Fuck you.”
“You were planning on calling me today. What did you want?”
Nick puffed on the cheroot. “No. You came to see me. Go first.”
Brad inhaled. “I didn’t want to leave our conversation the way it ended on Saturday. First and foremost, I value your friendship and wouldn’t want to jeopardize our partnership.”
Nick nodded in agreement.
“Having said that,” Brad continued, “you’re acting different on this case. I’d like to find out what about Hernandez has got you so upset about my involvement.”
Nick aimed a finger at him. “In my opinion, you should’ve never gotten mixed up with Archie Greer. All these high-priced defense lawyers are scum. They’ll say anything, do anything, to free a guilty man.”
Brad rubbed his palms together. “Funny, I didn’t hear you saying that a couple of years ago when I lined up Ken Matheson to defend you against assault allegations.”
“That’s because I was innocent,” Nick snapped.
“Listen to yourself. You knew you weren’t guilty. Hernandez thinks he’s wrongly accused. He’s entitled to a good defense, just as much as you. There’s a reason we don’t embody judge, jury, and executioner into one position in this country.”
Nick batted the air with his free hand. “Save it for your next community-college lecture.”
Brad eyed Nick skeptically. “Police are usually the first to insist on their constitutional protections. You can’t have it both ways.”
Nick turned away, puffing on his cigar. Brad felt a chill in the air unrelated to the weather.
After staring for a few moments, Brad finally blurted, “So what’d Hernandez do to you?”
An elderly couple approached on their way to the police headquarters, and Nick offered a wait-till-they’re-out-of-earshot glance.
“Bennett McCurdy was my mentor when I first joined the police force, back in my patrol days. He already had a couple years of experience, and I learned a lot from him in those first six months until he moved to a different part of the city. Even then we stayed in contact. Grabbed a beer after work once in a while. Along the line, I introduced him to my sister, Sofia. Within six months they married. I served as best man at the wedding.”
Brad knew McCurdy had divorced but didn’t know the details.
“I’d already moved to the detective division before he became my brother-in-law, and he started pushing me for leads on openings.”
“Was that a problem?”
Nick shook his head. “Not at first. I didn’t have any pull back then and could only alert him to publicly posted jobs. Disappointed when he didn’t get picked, he’d gripe about it to me.”
“Natural enough to do with a friend.”
“Yeah, but he always carried this undertone like I could’ve done more. I shrugged it off. Later, his complaints related to his marriage and how moody Sophia could be. Now he’s talking about my sister, which grew uncomfortable.”
“They had a child right? I think she inherits.”
Nick nodded. “My niece, Ariana. Long story short, while his marriage fell apart our friendship suffered. When it came to family, I didn’t want to hear his grumbles. I cut off communication with him.”
Brad clasped his hands together. “Nothing you’re telling me is reason enough to deprive his accused killer of a good defense.”
“Maybe not…there’s more. My sister’s eight years younger than me, and I was off to the military before she turned eleven, so we didn’t know each other all that well. After their breakup, she became diagnosed as bipolar and eventually received treatment. She successfully moved on with her life. If I’d paid more attention to what Bend told me, maybe I would’ve gotten her help sooner…saved their marriage. My sister’s attitude was largely responsible for Ariana’s estrangement with Bend.”
“Where’d the nickname Bend come from?”
Nick snorted. “It’s not because he ben
t the rules, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Brad held up his palms in surrender. “Just asking.”
“He picked it up in high school gym class.” Nick offered a wry smile. “According to him, there’s a thirty-degree bend in his schlong, and his towel-slapping shower buddies nailed him with that moniker.”
They both snickered.
An ambulance roared past on Race Street, siren blaring.
“Thanks for sharing the family connection. I hope it won’t blind you to the possibility that Hernandez might be innocent.”
Nick exhaled a puff of smoke. “About that…I mentioned that I planned to call you today.”
Brad stared at him expectantly.
“The lab found a microscopic blood sample on the murder weapon that doesn’t match McCurdy’s or Hernandez’s DNA.”
“I didn’t see it in the discovery materials.”
“Goof up at the lab. The tech compiled a three-page report and only sent the first two pages. If you look at what you have, you’ll see ‘1 of 3’ and ‘2 of 3’ in the fine print on the bottom of the pages. They realized their error and forwarded the last page.” Nick grimaced as he added, “We sent it over to Greer’s office late yesterday.”
“Probably one of the next-door neighbors.”
“No. They’re not a match. We already had their DNA for exclusion purposes.”
Brad gestured toward Nick. “You’re willing to concede someone other than Hernandez might have killed McCurdy?”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t think it’s likely, but I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. Regardless, I can count on Archie Greer to go bananas with this information in front of a jury.”
Two men wearing jackets, their ties flapping in the breeze, ran past them.
Nick called out. “Alan, what’s goin’ on?”
The detective stopped short, recognized Nick, and turned to face him. “Hey, Cap. Possible homicide at law offices in Logan Square.”
That’s where Sharon’s working.
The officer pointed at his partner. “A councilman’s involved. Mayor’s office called it in, so it’s high profile, which is why Kevin’s going with me.”