by Paul Spencer
“Okay guys, take it easy,” I said. “Both of you. Gradzinski, we need to talk.”
“So talk,” he said.
“I want to know why you left me that note yesterday.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about. I know what you did to Aaron Jones. And if you think I’m going to sit back and do nothing while you take a shot at me, you’re mistaken.”
“Who the fuck is Aaron Jones?”
I hesitated. Gradzinski seemed genuinely confused. “Look, I remember what you said at the end of your trial. About coming for me. Well, here I am.”
“You’re fucking paranoid, Wray. If I wanted you hurt, you wouldn’t be standing here now. One of the Brothers would have taken care of it a long time ago. Now why don’t you and your girlfriend get the fuck out of here, or Tyson here is gonna get some exercise.” He jerked the dog’s leash and glared at me.
I was all out of tough guy lines, and I didn’t know what else to do. “Okay, fine. We’re going,” I said. “Come on, Tony.”
We got back in the car. I dusted some broken glass off my seat, then started up and carefully drove away. Gradzinski stood there staring at us until we turned off his street.
“Nice guy,” Tony said.
“Yeah, he’s a charmer, all right.” I shook my head. “I guess it wasn’t him after all. He’s not that good an actor. He really didn’t know what I was talking about.”
“I agree. So what now?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I thought I’d figured it out. Now we’re back to square one. I need to do something about this window, then I guess I could go install that webcam in my door, maybe catch someone that way.”
“Okay, but I’m coming with you.”
“No need for that. You’ve done enough already. Besides, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than holding my hand.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mick. I told you, we’re gonna get to the bottom of this together.”
“What about your work?”
“I’m between cases right now. So no problem there.” Tony sighed. “Let’s go back to my place and get the stuff.”
We stopped at a hardware store for clear plastic and duct tape. Back at Tony’s place, I knocked the remaining glass out of the driver’s side window frame and patched it as best I could. When I’d finished cleaning up, I went back inside and packed up my stuff. He gave me the webcam and the laptop he’d been using for research.
“We can use that for the webcam feed,” he said.
“You want a ride over to my place?”
“No, you go ahead. I’m going to stop at the store for a few supplies.” Tony grabbed my shoulder as we headed out. “Mick, keep your eyes open.”
“Trust me, I will.”
I threw my stuff in my car and drove home. As I drove, I wracked my brain for other options. The debacle with Gradzinski this morning left me frustrated. I didn’t know of anyone else with a connection to Aaron and me, other than the Holman’s crew. And those guys were even less likely to be a killer than me. I banged my fist on the steering wheel.
I found a parking space across the street from my building. There didn’t appear to be anyone hanging around, so I grabbed my bag and went inside.
Tony arrived about fifteen minutes later, and we went to work installing the webcam in the spy hole in my door. It took us a couple of hours, but when we were done, it was impossible to tell from the outside that the spy hole had been replaced. We set the laptop on the small desk by the door, where my old one had been before the cops took it. I sat at the desk while Tony stepped outside and put his eye up to the camera. Sure enough, there was his face, distorted into a clownish grin by the fish eye lens.
“Back off a little,” I shouted.
He stepped back to about where a regular visitor would be. The camera captured him from the waist up.
“Okay, now walk down the hall.”
Tony walked away from my door towards the exit. The camera tracked him for a few yards before he slipped out of shot.
I opened the door. “Okay, you can come back now.”
Tony came back inside. “How was it?”
“Good. Clear shot when you’re stood there, and good for a ways down the hall.”
“Great. One more thing,” he said, and hunched over the laptop. He played with the keyboard for a while. “There, it’s done. I’ve set the recorder to do frame grabs once a second. There’s enough capacity for at least 48 hours of tracking. So we can come by every day or so, scan the footage, and wipe it if there’s nothing there.”
“Tony, I can do it when I get home from work.”
“What do you mean, work?”
“I’m going back to work tomorrow. I told you, I can’t just sit around.”
“Mick, that’s crazy. We still don’t know if it’s someone at work who wants you dead. And besides, you can’t stay here alone.”
“Maybe no one wants me dead. Maybe the coaster was just a prank. Either way, I’ve got to get on with my life. And now I’ve got security.” I pointed at the laptop.
“Fat lot of good that will do if someone comes after you. At least let me loan you a gun.”
“I told you already. No guns for me, Tony. I don’t have the first clue how to use one. I’m more likely to hurt myself than save myself.” I stood up. “Look, we can still do something tonight. Let’s go over to Holman’s. We can see if any of the people I saw Friday were there, ask them a few questions. And besides, I’m getting hungry.”
Tony looked at me in mock horror. “No way in hell am I eating at that grease pit.”
“All right, you win,” I said. “You can choose the restaurant. But then we go to Holman’s and see what we can find out.”
“That’s more like it.” Tony smiled and grabbed his jacket.
Chapter 12 – Holy Man
There were more than a dozen restaurants within walking distance of my apartment, ranging in quality from dive bars like Holman’s to some of Portland’s finest. Tony, being a food freak, chose Navarre, which definitely belonged in the latter category. Navarre served a constantly changing menu of small plates, and Tony settled in to work his way through a good portion of the night’s offerings. I kept up for a while, then just sat back and drank beer until he was done.
We paid up and headed out for the short walk back to Holman’s. It wasn’t raining hard, but the wind had a nasty bite to it. Normally, 28th Avenue would have been crowded with people bouncing between restaurants and bars, even on a Sunday. But there weren’t many people out and about tonight.
Holman’s was almost empty. It was still early, a little after seven. I looked around the room, but I didn’t recognize any of the customers. There was one person I knew, though. Jeremy was back behind the bar.
We grabbed seats at the bar. Jeremy saw me, and hesitated for a moment before he came over.
“Hi Mick,” he said. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve had better weekends.”
“Mick, about before, the cops –”
“Look, I told you already, we’re cool.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Anyway, there’s someone I want you to meet. This is Tony. He’s an old friend. Tony, this is Jeremy.”
“Nice to meet you, Tony” Jeremy said. They shook hands. “Can I get you guys something?”
“Beer for me,” I said. “Guinness. Tony?”
“I’ll take a martini. Hendrick’s, stirred, with a twist.”
Jeremy raised his eyebrows at me, then went to make our drinks.
“What’s his deal?” Tony said.
“Don’t mind him. I’m guessing he doesn’t get too many people in here naming their gin when they order martinis, that’s all.”
Jeremy came back with our drinks. “There you go, guys.”
“Thanks, Jeremy,” I said. “Hey, since it isn’t busy, do you mind if we ask you a couple of questions? We’re trying to figure out what
went down with Aaron.”
Jeremy looked hesitant. “I’m not sure I know anything. But sure, ask me what you like if you think it will help.”
“Okay. First of all, did anything weird happen after I left on Friday?”
“Not really. Aaron was indignant, calling you names and everything, but everyone just ignored him. He went to the bathroom, and he came back a few minutes later with paper towel wadded up in his nose. It looked silly. Then he left. He didn’t even pay for his drink.”
“Did anyone leave with him? Did you see anyone follow him out?”
“No, he left alone.”
Tony tapped his finger against the stem of his martini glass. “Did you know he was a pedophile?”
Jeremy looked like he’d been slapped. “What? Was he really? My goodness, no.”
“Yeah,” I said. “He was busted for messing with kids at some church camp about five years back.”
“No way! Which church?”
I looked at Tony. “Servants of Christ, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” He drank some of his martini.
Jeremy frowned. “Oh, not them.”
“Why?” I said. “What’s up with them?”
“Servants of Christ is more of a cult than a church,” Jeremy said. “I looked into them after I was born again, but they were way too intense for me. They’re hard core Old Testament types. Fire and brimstone, women must obey their man at all times, literal interpretation of scripture, that kind of stuff.”
“Seriously? Shit, they must have been pissed when they found out what Aaron did.”
Tony drained his glass. “Maybe even pissed enough to kill him.”
Tony was right. I stared at my beer, trying to figure out what my next move would be. Buchanan said the cops were already investigating whether there was a connection to Aaron’s prior offenses, but did they know about the Servants of Christ aspect? I wanted to know, but I couldn’t call Buchanan and ask him. Time to try a different approach.
“Hold on a second, guys,” I said. I took my new phone out, wandered over by the pool table, and made a call.
“Casey Raife.”
“Ms. Raife, it’s Mick Wray. I need a favor.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, I don’t have much time right now. Can you come to my office? Tomorrow at eleven?”
I sighed. Maybe I wasn’t going to work tomorrow after all. “Yes, okay. See you then.”
Chapter 13 – Next Steps
Tony and I hung around for another couple of drinks. We chatted with Jeremy for a while. He wanted to know all about the investigation into Aaron’s death. I told him what the police had told me, but I left out the bit about the coaster under my door. I wasn’t sure why, but it just didn’t seem like a good idea to tell him.
We settled up and went back to my place. Tony queued up the feed from the webcam, and I watched over his shoulder. Debbie, my next door neighbor, had walked down the hall just after eight and came back about fifteen minutes later, but otherwise nothing had happened.
Tony tried to persuade me to go stay at his place again, but I didn’t want to do it. He kept pushing, and he only relented when I promised to stay inside with the door firmly locked until he came to pick me up to go to Casey’s office in the morning.
After Tony left, I poured myself a vodka cranberry and sat at the computer for a while. I checked my email, but all I had was spam. Nothing new there. I checked back in on the legal blogs I’d been commenting on the night Aaron died, on the off chance that I could find any clues there. One of my comments had provoked a minor response flare, mostly from libertarians who didn’t like me saying that the government had a role in child welfare when there was reason to suspect abuse. Given what I’d learned about Aaron, the whole discussion seemed eerily prescient. I read the responses carefully, looking for any sign of connection to me, or Aaron’s case in general, but it was all just the usual mess of bad spelling and worse grammar. I shut the browser down, checked the deadbolt on the door, and went to bed.
When I got up the next morning, I called my boss and did my best fake cough. He wasn’t happy about me calling in sick. I felt bad. He was in a tough spot, what with us being so far behind schedule, and I wasn’t doing him any favors.
Tony knocked on my door at ten. I had already checked the overnight webcam feed, but there was nothing to see. We got in my car and headed downtown.
Metropolitan Public Defender’s office was on the fifth floor of the Kress Building, a 1920s classical style office block with a glazed terra cotta exterior and decorative inlays. From the outside, it looked beautiful. The inside, or at least the floor Metro occupied, wasn’t as inspiring. The layout hadn’t changed since I had interned there. The central space was filled with a haphazard arrangement of old metal desks for interns and assistants, surrounded on three sides by the lawyers’ offices. A young woman sat at my old desk, peering intently at her computer. Probably the latest intern. I wondered what sort of case she was working on, and was surprised by the pang of nostalgia I felt.
Casey wasn’t there when we arrived, so we sat on the couch in the reception area and waited. She came hurrying in about a half hour later, a bundle of case files under her arm.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, without stopping. “Busy morning in court. Come with me.”
We followed her past the receptionist into her office. She dumped the files on top of the clutter on her desk, and sat down, gesturing at the two chairs on the other side of her desk. Tony and I sat.
Casey frowned at Tony. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”
“You might have seen me around,” he said. “I’m an investigator. I did some work for Metro a couple of years back. My name’s Tony da Costa.”
“Nice to meet you. I assume you’re assisting Mr. Wray?”
“You could say that. We’re old friends.”
“I’m glad to hear he still has a friend. Now, Mr. Wray, what is it you want from me?”
“We’ve found some interesting information about Aaron Jones,” I said. I told her about what we’d learned yesterday, and my conversation with Buchanan. “I need to make sure that Buchanan knows about the Servants of Christ, but I can’t call him myself. He’ll just think I’m trying to snow him. Could you call him? Maybe ask for an update on my situation?”
“I could do that, but I’ve got a better idea,” she said. She picked up the phone and dialed.
“Detective Malone, please.” Casey motioned to us to keep quiet. We waited.
“Ah, Detective,” she said a moment later. “Casey Raife here. I’m calling for an update on the Aaron Jones murder investigation. What is Mr. Wray’s status?”
Her face remained motionless while Malone answered. “Really?” she said. “I’m surprised, given Mr. Jones’s prior record and the fundamentalist connection.”
When Malone answered again, she raised her eyebrows and smiled. “The Servants of Christ,” she said, “I thought you knew.” Then, after another pause, she thanked Malone and hung up.
“Malone didn’t know about the church thing,” she said, “but he does now. And he’ll tell Buchanan he found it himself, rather than admit that we fed it to him. The bad news is that you’re still a suspect, which means they don’t have much in the way of other leads yet.”
I thought of something. “Do you have a copy of the investigation report?”
“No. I have some witness names and numbers, but that’s all. By the way, the guy who claims you threatened to kill Aaron isn’t taking my calls.”
“Great.”
“Don’t worry. They have to give us access to him before they can put him on the stand. And I’ve got calls scheduled with a couple of other witnesses later today. Anyway, what do you want the report for?”
“The cops talked to Aaron’s girlfriend after they found his body. The report should have her details. I want to talk to her.”
“I could try to get the report
through disclosure, but I’m not sure they’d cough it up just yet. They’re under no obligation to give us anything while you haven’t been charged.”
“Do you know her name?” Tony said.
“I think it’s Diane,” I replied. “I remember him talking about her. She used to work at Music Millennium too. I don’t think she’s there anymore.”
“That should be enough,” he said. “Mick, let’s go find a quiet place to get some lunch and make some calls.”
Casey tilted her head and looked at me. “I’d advise you to stay away from her,” she said. “You’re opening yourself up to charges of witness tampering. And any prosecutor worth his salt could make it look like you tried to intimidate her.”
“I know, but I’ve got to do something. Someone wants to kill me, and if he doesn’t get a break on the case soon, Malone is going to be awfully tempted to frame me.”
“I suppose so. But be careful.”
“I will.”
Casey glanced at her watch. “I need to get back over to the Justice Center. Full docket this afternoon.” She stood up and rummaged through the piles of files on her desk. “Let me know if you find anything useful.”
Tony and I left her office. We discussed a couple of options, and settled on lunch at the Red Star. It was close, the food was good, and it would be quiet on a Monday. We got a table on the upper level at the back of the dining room, where the surrounding tables were empty. We ordered lunch and a couple of beers. When the waitress left, Tony pulled out his phone and grinned at me.
“Music Millennium, right?” he said. I nodded.
He tapped the phone a few times, then held it up to his ear.
“Can I speak to the manager please?” Tony made writing motions at me, but I didn’t have a pen. I pulled out my phone, fired up the notes app, and showed it to him. He nodded.
“Hello,” he said, “am I speaking to the manager? Yes? Good. What’s your name please, sir?” There was a brief pause. “Thank you, mister Owens. My name is Alvaro Cortez, and I work for the State of Oregon, Bureau of Labor and Industries. I’m calling because we are investigating a case of unemployment insurance fraud – no, sir, you have done nothing wrong. On the contrary, we believe one of your former employees may have defrauded you and the State. If our figures are correct, you may be due for a refund of up to two thousand dollars. But I need to track down this person, and I was hoping you can help. Her first name is Diane, and I believe she may have been dating Aaron Jones.” Another pause. “Yes, I did hear what happened to Mr. Jones. A terrible tragedy. Do you have Diane’s contact information? Yes, I’ll wait.” Tony smiled at me.