Friend of the Departed

by Frank Zafiro

  “How long?”

  She shrugged. “A very long while, I suspect. But I don’t think he was, honestly.”

  I paused, then asked, “You said he was married to his work. So he put in a lot of hours?”

  “Yes. Very many.”

  “Was he good at his job?”

  Marie bristled slightly. “He didn’t have a job. He had a career. And yes, he was very talented at it.”

  “You sound defensive.”

  “Just because I was no longer in love with him doesn’t mean I didn’t care for him, or admire him. He was a good man.”

  “A good man without enemies, and who was good at his job,” I mused.

  “Yes. What’s the point?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m sitting here trying to figure that out. I believe you when you tell me you didn’t kill him. I don’t know that I should, but I do.” I turned to Jeni. “And I believe you, too.”

  “I’m thrilled,” she said.

  I ignored her dripping sarcasm. “But logically, your case is a mess. On the one hand, there’s you as a primary suspect, having an affair, and with damage to your vehicle that fits how the victim was killed. Plus all the insurance, with you as beneficiary. Pretty damning. On the other hand, we’ve got…nothing. Henry’s a hard-working guy with no enemies, no rivals of any kind. Everyone likes him because he’s a good guy. He works hard at his job, his company is doing well, he’s probably not even having an affair, so—”

  “Wait,” said Marie. “What did you say?”

  “Which part?”

  “About the company.”

  I stopped for a second, then repeated, “I said that he works hard at his job, and that his company was doing well.”

  She shook her head. “No, that’s not right. Business was down. Significantly. He had even been talking about selling the house if he stayed at Stoker, Shelley, and Bynes.”

  I sat there, dumbstruck. “Business was bad?”

  Marie nodded. “Everyone was struggling. Henry less than some, but all of the accounts were down, and some clients were pulling out and electing to manage their own accounts online. Henry was seriously considering striking out on his own, and working out of the house in order to minimize expenses.”

  I let her words sink in.

  Thad Richards had lied to me. And I couldn’t think of a single good reason for it that didn’t change the complexion of this case.

  “He was going to leave Stoker, Shelley, and Bynes?”

  Marie nodded. “It was a possibility.”

  “How likely of one?”

  “For him to tell me, as distant as we’d become, I’d say it was almost a certainty. He said it would affect me, so I should know about it.”

  “Had he set a date?”

  “I don’t know,” Marie said. “But I imagine he would have given them thirty days’ notice. There would have been buyout provisions to work out.”

  “Did you know about the life insurance?” I asked Marie.

  She nodded. “We had a policy, yes. The police made a very big deal about it.”

  “No, I mean the one the business had on him.”

  Marie just stared at me.

  “The ‘important man’ policy?” I tried.

  Marie shook her head slowly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  39

  I spent another twenty minutes talking with Marie, but she didn’t have anything more of note to share.

  When I rose to leave, she gestured toward Jeni and herself. “What about this?”

  “What about it?” I asked.

  “She means, are you going to tell anyone about it,” Jeni put in.

  I shook my head. “No one who would care.”

  “That’s not very comforting,” said Marie.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not going to run around broadcasting that you’re having an affair, if that’s what you’re worried about. But Harrity needs to know, if he takes your case.”

  “Will he?”

  “I can’t answer for him.”

  “No,” Marie said, “but you made it clear that he will listen to your recommendation. What are you going to tell him?”

  I hesitated. “I have another stop to make before I decide.”

  “What stop?”

  “I’m going back to Henry’s office to have a chat with Thad Richards.”

  She digested that, then nodded. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  “So do I.”

  I told them both goodbye, and left the house.

  40

  I almost made it off King Pigeon Lane before the red and blue lights appeared behind me. I pulled to the side of the road and kept my hands on the steering wheel.

  Detective Cole stalked up to my car with Dan-o trailing behind. He tore open my driver’s door and clamped his hands onto my shoulder and collar.

  “Wait—” I started to say, but too slowly.

  Cole jerked me hard, but my seatbelt caught. His eyes widened slightly and he cursed. A moment later, he snapped open a knife with a hooked blade.

  “Wait!” I said again, but he ignored me. One swift flick of the wrist and he’d slashed my seatbelt. The knife disappeared in the same fluid motion. Without hesitation, Cole ripped me out of the driver’s seat. His powerful grip on my shoulder sent pulses of pain throughout my upper body, but when my foot hit the pavement and all my weight came down on my bad knee, white pain lanced through my leg and into my lower stomach. I let out a guttural cry as I crumpled toward the ground.

  Somehow, Cole kept me from falling entirely. He swung me around, planting me face first into the side of the car. I grunted when my cheek hit the window. Cole muscled me into a near-standing position, cranking on my wrist. I went up on my toes involuntarily.

  “Knock it off!” I wheezed at him.

  He leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “You couldn’t listen, could you? You had to be a smart guy.”

  He sounded like the guy who attacked me in the alley, and the irony of that made me grin.

  “What’s so funny?” Cole growled.

  “You,” I said. “You’re a fucking joke.”

  He didn’t respond immediately. Then I felt him pull back slightly. I realized what he was doing and tensed, but the pain in my kidney exploded at almost the same time. I gasped and slid down the car, but Cole’s grip stopped me.

  “A joke, huh? How’s that for a punch line, asshole?”

  I didn’t reply. Some movement in my peripheral vision caught my attention, and I focused on it. Dan-o was stepping in.

  “I can take him, Cole.”

  “I got him,” Cole snapped.

  With smooth movements, Cole withdrew his cuffs and ratcheted them onto my wrists. I winced when the cold metal bit into my wrist bone.

  “You gonna double lock those?” I said.

  “Double lock your mouth,” Cole told me as he led me back to the car and stuffed me into the back seat.

  The ride to the station was a quiet one. Cole drove while Dan-o followed in my car. I sat in silence, trying to figure out how much trouble I was actually in.

  We pulled into the same building as before, and Cole walked me into the interview room next to the one I’d been in before. He shoved me into a seat and left the room without uncuffing me. Dan-o appeared at the door a minute later. I turned and raised the handcuffs toward him. He hesitated, then came into the room.

  “Thanks,” I said as he unlocked the handcuffs.

  “Don’t thank me,” he said. “You should’ve stayed away from this case.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we told you to.”

  “It’s a free country,” I said. “Or I thought it was. I wasn’t aware I was living in a police state.”

  He gave me a baleful look and held up the cuffs. “Maybe I should have left these on.”

  I shook my head. “Taking those off is probably what’ll save you when I file a police brutality lawsuit.”

  He st
ared at me for a long while. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  “Sure I do,” I said. “You’re the guy who wasn’t a total asshole last time around.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, from before. When you were on the job.”

  A cold, sinking feeling filled my gut. “I don’t,” I admitted. “Should I?”

  “Probably not,” Dan-o said. “I was a Co-op at the time, going to the community college and volunteering for the department. We only met once, and that was out at the range. You were qualifying and I was stapling targets.”

  I thought about it, looking at his face and trying to place it. His hair was dark brown and bushy. Remnants of light pockmark scars showed on his face where the beard didn’t cover. After a few moments, I shook my head. “Sorry, I don’t remember you.”

  He shrugged. “No reason you should. But I remember you. Working graveyard with Tom Chisolm, taking out those gangbangers like you did. Getting the Scarface Robber.”

  “Chisolm got Scarface,” I whispered.

  Dan-o didn’t seem to hear me. “You were the guy me and all my friends in the program wanted to be.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, well, I know how this story ends. So we don’t have to go any further down memory lane.”

  He stared at me for a while longer, then shook his head, his expression pitiful. “Jesus, man. What happened to you?”

  He seemed to be waiting for an answer of some kind, but I didn’t have one for him. I met his gaze silently, and after a little while, he turned and walked away without a word.

  41

  It was at least another half hour before the door opened again. In trooped Richie Matsuda, along with Cole, Dan-o, and another cop I didn’t know.

  But I knew the last face that came in.

  Katie MacLeod.

  She looked almost the same as the last time I saw her. Her pretty features were masked with a professional blankness that almost hid her anger. I don’t think someone who hadn’t known her would have been able to see it seeping around the edges of her façade. But I had known her.

  I had loved her, and she had loved me.

  But that was a long time ago.

  What happened to you?

  Dan-o’s words rang in my ears, but it was Katie’s voice I heard.

  There were enough chairs in the interview room for Matsuda, Katie, and the guy I didn’t know to sit down across from me. Dan-o hung back by the door, and Cole leaned against the wall behind the seated trio, crossing his arms and glaring at me.

  I ignored them all, and looked at Katie.

  I tried to find something in those eyes, some vestige of caring that might at least translate into a fair hearing. She reflected back a cold stoicism that I had no problem recognizing. It was the mask she showed the world. The one that said she was tough and nothing could hurt her. I suppose it’s a mask we all wear from time to time, but it seemed like she wore it more often than most.

  There was no getting past it.

  And the truth was, after the way I treated her, I didn’t deserve to get past it.

  But those were memories I didn’t want to relive today.

  I tore my gaze away from her and to the man I didn’t know. He had the air of a boss, and it didn’t take long to find out I was right about that.

  “I’m Sergeant Kinkaid,” he said, his tone somehow both cold and sharp at the same time. “And you are taking up my time.”

  I raised my hands in a futile gesture. “I didn’t ask to come here.”

  “What were you doing at Marie Brassart’s house?”

  “Exchanging banana bread recipes.”

  Cole took a step forward, but Kinkaid held out his hand, stopping him. “You were warned not to interfere with this investigation, were you not?”

  “I was.”

  “But you did so anyway. Why?”

  “I don’t see as how that’s any of your business.”

  Kinkaid scowled. “Not my business, huh?” He leaned forward. “Do you understand what it is we do here? This is not some bike theft recovery unit. We investigate homicides. Murders. Do you get that?”

  “Homicide, step aside,” I quoted. It was an old police maxim. “So what?”

  “So, do you realize what the penalty is for interfering with a homicide investigation?”

  I shook my head. “No. Do you know what the penalty is for an unlawful use of force under the color of authority?”

  Confusion crept into his expression. “What are you talking about?”

  I bobbed my head toward Cole. “When he took me into custody, he punched me in the kidney for no reason.”

  “You fucking liar!” Cole barked.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Liar?” I glanced over at Dan-o, then back to Kinkaid. “Ask Daniel. He was there.”

  Kinkaid looked over at Dan-o.

  Dan-o shifted from foot to foot, looking down at the floor, which was answer enough for everyone else in the room.

  Kinkaid turned back to me. “You want to file a complaint, you go ahead.”

  “You want to charge me,” I countered, “you go ahead.”

  Kinkaid fell silent, contemplating me. “So that’s how it is?” he finally asked.

  “That’s how it is.”

  “It’s bullshit, Sarge,” Cole protested. He glanced nervously over at Dan-o, then at me. “He can’t prove shit.”

  Kinkaid didn’t answer him. He continued to stare, his gaze boring into me, as if taking stock of everything he saw there. I put my own mask in place, but I was pretty sure the anger and sarcasm was spilling out around the edges way worse than Katie’s.

  Finally, he said, “You do realize that by inserting yourself into this investigation, you’ve made yourself into a suspect?”

  “I don’t care. I didn’t have anything to do with Henry Brassart’s death.”

  “Perhaps not. But now we have to explore that possibility.”

  “That’s your problem.”

  He shook his head. “No, Mr. Kopriva, I assure you that it is not. It is very much your problem.”

  I raised my hands in mock surrender. “Do your best. If you keep me here, I want to talk to my attorney. And Internal Affairs. Is Lieutenant Hart still running that show?”

  Kinkaid didn’t rattle. “You can call IA on your own time. We’re not holding you.”

  I pushed back from the table. “Good. Then give me my wallet and my keys, and I’ll be going.”

  Kinkaid sat still for another moment or two, then he stood. “If you’re involved in this even in the slightest, I will bury you. If you obstruct my detectives in their investigation, I will charge you with that.”

  “Sounds like you’re threatening me, Sergeant.”

  “Add it to your list when you go to IA,” Kinkaid said coolly. He turned to leave. “Give him his property,” he told Dan-o on the way out.

  Matsuda rose to follow, and Katie followed suit. I watched her, but she didn’t meet my eye at first. Then, before she turned away, she looked up. Her expression was flat and icy. “What happened to you?” she whispered.

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t have an answer.

  It didn’t matter, because she didn’t wait for one, anyway. Matsuda left, and she followed. Cole stayed back for a few moments longer, trying his best to intimidate me with his hot glare. I ignored him, focusing on Dan-o. “My things?” I prompted him.

  Dan-o reached into the cargo pocket of his pants and removed the plastic bag with my keys and wallet inside. He tossed them onto the table in front of me. Then he turned and joined the cop parade, leaving the room.

  Cole stepped forward and put his hand down on the plastic bag. “You think you just won, don’t you?”

  I stood up. “If you’re going to throw me a beating, get to it. I’ve got someplace to be.”

  Cole’s hot stare drilled into me, but I didn’t care. I let it wash past me, and waited. I’d been bluffing about the IA complaint and the lawsuit, but if he came at me now, I’d have to rethink th
at particular stance.

  He wasn’t that stupid, though. Instead, he settled for flicking the bag onto the floor before he turned and stalked from the room.

  “Jesus,” I muttered as I leaned down to pick up my things. “What are you, in third grade?”

  I removed my wallet and keys from the plastic bag and put them in my pockets. A moment later another shape appeared in the doorway.

  Katie.

  She stared at me for a long moment, and I stared back. Her expression was hard to read, and I’m sure mine was, too. Conflicting emotions surged through me – anger, guilt, regret, and bittersweet loss, all swirling around in my chest and gut.

  “What do you want?” I finally asked her.

  She closed the door behind herself but didn’t move any closer to me. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “This.” She swept her hand widely. “All of this…this bullshit.”

  I blinked. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

  Her eyes widened. “You want specifics? All right. How about this: why are you working for a scumbag defense attorney like Harrity?”

  “He’s not a scumbag.”

  “He gets guilty criminals off scot free. That sounds like a scumbag to me.”

  “Maybe if cops like your partner Richie did their jobs halfway decent, that wouldn’t happen.”

  She shook her head. “You can honestly stand there and say that to me? After you’ve done this job?”

  “Yeah, well, that was a long time ago. A lot has changed. I see the world differently.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Why are you in here, Katie?”

  She stared at me, not answering.

  “No, really,” I said. “The last time I saw you was over a year ago when you were having me arrested. You made it pretty clear you didn’t give a shit about me then. So why are we even having this conversation?”

  Her jaw clenched, but I noticed a glassy sheen of tears appear in her eyes. In that moment, my anger dulled, and I remembered what it had been like to be with her. How passionately she loved, how completely. And how slow she’d always been to trust anyone.