“You two have your differences,” he said. “I suggest that you get them ironed out before you get back home. It’s hard enough to track down criminals without dealing with relational issues.”
“There’s more to it than that,” McGrady said and got up from the table again and left abruptly.
“He doesn’t like you at all,” Applegate said after McGrady was out of hearing.
“And a lovely person like me…go figure?” I said.
Sharon returned after McGrady had been gone a couple of minutes.
“You are a lovely person, my dear. If I didn’t trust Thomas here so much, I’d be really jealous of him working with you.”
“I think you have the clear lead in that department, Sharon. You have no peers in this town, or likely any town I know of.”
“You embellish quite well, love. But thanks for saying so.”
The Colonel smiled at me. His pride was showing.
Chapter 34
I was sitting in the back of the courtroom watching the proceedings concerning the man who claimed to have owned my dog before me. He turned and surveyed the courtroom. When our eyes met, he grinned and nodded in my direction. I had checked my firearm before entering the courtroom or else I would have shot him right there. Some rules have actually kept me out of prison, I’m sure.
Every time I looked at Jaz Connell, I thought about Sam and what it must have been like for him to be attached to that brute. Then I wanted to shoot him again. I finally stopped staring at the back of his head and stared at the judge.
We were in court because Connell’s alibi, his so-called girlfriend, had left town for parts unknown and had failed to respond to the DA’s request that she come forth with a statement about Connell’s whereabouts for the dates of the crimes committed. Since she failed to show, the DA proceeded to charge Connell and set this date for the judge to hear the evidence Wineski had against Connell. This preliminary hearing was not going well.
My mind was elsewhere. I must have zoned out from the surroundings. When what seemed like only minutes had passed, I became aware that Wineski was shaking me.
“You alright?” he said.
“Fine. Why do you ask?”
“You’re sitting here, and the room is nearly empty. Everyone has left. I called your name three times and you didn’t answer. I came over and shook you. What’s going on with you?”
“What happened to Connell?”
“Insufficient evidence. The judge threw it out. We need more evidence.”
“For the robberies, you mean?” I said.
“What else is there?”
“He abused my dog.”
“What?” Wineski said.
“Sam…Connell used to abuse him. Think we can pin something on him for that?”
“You’ve had that dog for…what?…several years now?”
“Eight,” I said.
“I don’t think we can dig up any charges of dog abuse or animal cruelty that far back. Besides, these robberies take precedence, I would think,” he said that sarcastically. “At least they do for me. What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t know. Just thinking about Connell and Sam, that’s all.”
“Well, the best way to help Sam in this instance is for you to help me find some substantial evidence linking him with these robberies of late.”
“Okay. I’ll get on with it.”
I stood and headed for the door.
“Clancy,” he raised his voice at my backside.
“Yeah,” I said as I turned back to face him.
“Get some rest. You look horrible.”
“Love you, too, Captain,” I said and left.
I told Rogers what had happened when I got home.
“Sounds as if you need my help.”
“Work your magic, sweetie. I need to put this guy away or I fear he will come after me or Sam or both in due time. Besides that, I want to shoot him.”
“Consider it my priority. However, I want you to continue with your story about Sam’s first case since you so conveniently left out some salient details back when. Tit for tat,” she said. “I’ll dig around on Connell if you will continue filling in those gaps you created years ago.”
I reluctantly agreed. My mind was elsewhere, but I had started filling in the gaps for Rogers in Sam’s first detective adventure with me, so I continued my tale.
“I need some coffee.”
After I brewed a full pot, I sat down on the couch next to Sam and consumed my first cup while I stroked his head and back.
“You left off after Lieutenant Colonel Applegate gave you that piece of paper,” Rogers said.
“Yeah, I did.”
I retrieved another cup and plopped on the couch once more.
“Stop stalling and tell me what happened next,” Rogers said.
The note was what the New Jersey State Patrol had on the young man who had slept with Drew Sizemore. As it turned out, his name was not O D Higgins. The initials O D were a nickname likely given to him by his soccer-mates. He may have even collected that name early in his life, perhaps during high school. At any rate, his full name was Odem Stone Higgins. He was from a small town in the western part of North Carolina.
He had been a star soccer player in high school and had received a partial athletic scholarship to play at Rutgers. Along with the other four team members, he was charged with attempted murder and was serving fifteen years once the jury found all five of them guilty. The guy who had set the fire to the one cross was given twenty-five to life for his participation. I suspected that the severity of the sentences was because it was proven to be a hate crime.
Odem Higgins, according to Thomas Applegate’s unofficial report to me, was found dead in the laundry room of the New Jersey state penitentiary from wounds received. He had been stabbed multiple times with a shank. The shank is a weapon fashioned out of a metal object with some type of handle attached to it so that it can be used to make life miserable for its victims. In this case, a life was ended. Like most crimes inside a prison, it is nearly impossible to ascertain who did it and why. The shank used in Higgins’ death was hidden inside of a small, wooden crucifix. Apparently, the prison woodshop had been making several dozen of these crucifixes during that year with many of them turning out to be shanks in disguise. Great place to hide a lethal weapon. A long, sharp nail attached to one of the arms of the cross. Clever place to hide it. Clever and deadly.
I shared my new-found information with McGrady on our long ride back to Norfolk the day after Applegate had given me the paper.
“Why didn’t he give that info to me?” McGrady said.
“I suppose because I was the one who initiated the phone call and started him on his search.”
“He knew I was the lead detective,” he said.
“Yes, I suppose so. I told him you were the official police presence on the case. Sometimes you don’t act like the lead detective.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you are phoning it in or biding your time or just coasting. Hard to say. You’re not trying to do solid police work. You act like you don’t even care.”
“I don’t care one whit about these homos,” he said.
“Look, I can’t change the way you feel about that. But when it comes to finding murderers, we work for the state and that means, indirectly, we work for the victims.”
“What’s this we business? I work for the state. You work for yourself.”
“Tell you what, McGrady, you don’t have to like me, and you don’t have to even work with me, except when Wineski tells you to do so. But you need to get this. I plan to solve this case. If you want to help, that’s good with me. Otherwise, stay out of my way.”
“For a broad, you sound awful tough.”
“For a police detective, you act like a wimp,” I said.
Our little exchange before we had even left the Garden State kept the car quiet for an hour or two. Sam slept and I drove. The tension inside our s
mall quarters was considerable. I was doing my best to control my anger. I had plenty more to say to McGrady, but I restrained myself from letting him have it. I wondered how a man, or anyone for that matter, could get to this point in life. How does one stop caring about their work, their profession, their life?
We stopped for a bathroom break and lunch after we crossed into Virginia. McGrady said he wanted some sweet tea for a change, something that was foreign in the land we had left. It was early afternoon. We still had a few miles to go before Norfolk. I was tired but anxious to get home. I wanted to be rid of the man who was riding in my car.
The diner where we stopped was one of those large, excavated places where truck drivers and their rigs could pull off the road, fill up, and rest. It was spacious inside and out. The drivers had some amenities offered to them by the owners of the diner. In addition to food, there were showers, pool tables, one or two computer stations, and a one-arm bandit neatly hidden behind an outdated pinball machine. The legality of that slot machine was dubious at best.
The food turned out to be good. McGrady ordered his usual hamburger and fries. They advertised a Cuban sandwich which sounded appealing to me, so I opted for something novel. They made their Cuban with some crusty bread, shreds of pork, pickles, onions, lettuce, and some tangy mustard. For me, it was worth the price of admission. In case I ever come this way again, I wanted to remember this spot and this sandwich.
McGrady enjoyed his hamburger so much that he ordered a second one. I added another one to McGrady’s order on behalf of Sam. While they were fixing Sam’s order to go and McGrady’s second, I walked around the gift shop to see if anything caught my eye.
Nothing seduced me, so I returned to McGrady’s spot and sat down. I noticed two hamburgers in front of me.
“I ordered one. I think the waitress made a mistake,” I said.
“I got one for the dog. One is probably not enough. He’s a big dog,” McGrady said.
“Thanks, McGrady. Sam will appreciate the gesture.”
“Say nothing of it,” he muttered and chomped away on his hamburger and the few fries he had left from his original order.
“My baby sister, Alyce, ran away from home a while back,” he said, unexpectedly.
“Did you ever find her?”
“Yeah, ran into her in Chicago. She was living on the streets some, then in some dive, back alley grease-way or some such trashy place. Begged her to go back to Mom. Dad was dead by then. She just laughed at me. Said there was nothing back there for her. She was different.”
He stopped telling me about Alyce and stared at his unfinished hamburger. He stared at it for a long time.
I sat quietly and waited for him to speak again, just in case he might.
He put the hamburger down and looked into my eyes with both pain and anger blended.
“Told me she was a lesbian, that our precious daddy had molested her when she was twelve. The first time. Said she wanted nothing to do with men ever again. Females were nicer, she said to me. That’s why she ran. Left when she was fifteen. Damn, Clancy. Three years my old man did that to her. I knew nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“Bad stuff,” I said.
“The worst when it’s someone you love. I got no love for my old man. Not much for my mama ’cause I think she knew about it. She’s dead, too, now. If he weren’t dead when I found out, I would’ve killed him. What does that make me, Clancy?”
“A loving brother,” I said.
A tear rolled down his cheek and landed on the plate in front of him next to his hamburger.
I had nothing more to say.
Chapter 35
I was sitting across from Wineski’s desk. This spot was beginning to be all too familiar. I was comfortable enough, but I wasn’t convinced that I liked being in this spot with my old boss sitting across from me with authority. I thought I had left that position.
We were waiting for McGrady to show up. He wanted both of us to give a report. Wineski likely believed he would have a more balanced report if McGrady was included. Or maybe he was simply trying to justify keeping McGrady on as a police detective.
Sam was home sleeping and keeping Rogers company. Actually, I think that Rogers was keeping Sam company. Sam slept more than Rogers. I wondered what Sam thought of a machine that could talk to you. Sam probably didn’t give it much thought. Maybe he was apathetic about the whole thing. Eat, sleep, daily jogs with me, and some work now and then. Road trips were included in that now-and-then work. That was his world and his life. Who knows what he thought of talking machines?
“Good trip?” Wineski said after a couple of cups and some silence.
“Good weather and no accidents,” I said.
“You learn anything?”
“About the case?”
“What else was there to learn?”
“Some things about that old boyhood friend of yours – Colonel Applegate,” I said.
“That old reprobate. I’m surprised you got anything useful from him.”
“Thanks for giving me his contact info. He was invaluable. And that wife of his, wow. She’s a real winner.”
“Oh, yeah, Sharon. She’s something else. Quite a lady and not bad on the eyes. You noticed.”
“Hard to miss. Applegate played hard to get when I asked him out for a meal to thank him and try to glean a last morsel of info. Made it sound like Sharon would be jealous of me, of all people.”
“That was Applegate’s way of complimenting you, my dear. He has a wry sense of humor as well as a wry sense of other things. Keen old bird, he is. One of the best police-types I’ve ever known.”
“He pointed me in a positive direction,” I said.
“So, you have something?”
“Possible leads, nothing more than that.”
McGrady opened the door and entered.
“Traffic,” he mumbled as he sat down. He looked worn out and a bit disheveled. The latter being a normal look.
“Good of you to join us,” Wineski said without changing his pitch.
“So, what have you two got to say for yourselves considering time and money spent on this northern excursion?”
I filled Wineski in on what we had learned about the soccer players attempting to burn the twelve gay men in Millstone.
“We know why Sizemore came south to Norfolk,” I said.
“Okay,” Wineski said.
“Maybe a little more than a hate crime drove him our way,” McGrady added.
I hid my surprise at his concession. Wineski raised his eyebrows.
“What little more?” he asked.
“Those college thugs scared the hell out of Sizemore and his gay friends. But interestingly enough one of those soccer players had a romantic encounter with Sizemore prior to the attempted murder,” McGrady added.
“So you figure that he was running scared as well as running away from something or someone?”
“Could be,” McGrady said.
“Whattaya think, Clancy?” the captain asked.
“The kid that had some kind of relationship with Sizemore got himself killed in prison during his first year of incarceration. That could mean something.”
“To your case?”
“It’s a possible lead,” I said. “Might be nothing more than a long shot.”
“Sounds like a stretch to me,” Wineski said.
“We’re trying to see if there is any more of a connection between that young man – what was his name, Clancy?” McGrady interrupted himself to ask.
“Odem Stone Higgins.”
“Yeah, that kid. We’re trying to see if he’s connected in any way – more than what we presently know – to Sizemore.”
I wanted to turn and ask the disheveled man sitting next to me who he was and what he had done with the real Bill McGrady. I chose to keep my mouth shut since McGrady had no known sense of humor and it was too early in the day for Wineski to break into a smile. Some of my best humor gets shelved when I consider adverse conseq
uences.
“So, where are you two birds flying next?” Wineski said.
“I want to know more about that Odem Higgins kid. McGrady may be onto something here.”
“This was your idea?” Wineski said to McGrady.
McGrady turned pale and looked at me.
“It was mutual,” he said.
“Okay, run with it. But don’t dwell too long on such a thin lead. Keep turning over…,” he paused not knowing how to finish the sentence.
“Whatever there is to turn over and look under, that’s what we’ll do, Captain,” I said.
McGrady and I stood. Wineski came around from behind his desk and followed McGrady through the door. He then abruptly stopped, turned to me and frowned.
“Time’s running out on this, by the way. Big shots downtown want this over and done… or shelved,” he said.
“They need more patience,” I said as I watched McGrady stop at his desk.
“How’d the dog do?” Wineski said.
“Fine. Made some friends, drank a lot of water, and enjoyed some good hamburgers.”
“At my expense, no doubt,” he said.
“He was invaluable.”
“Get out.”
As I was heading for one of the tech guys, I passed McGrady’s desk. He was shuffling some papers. He looked up when I stopped.
“Thanks for not telling the captain the truth about me,” he said.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I said.
“Don’t play dumb, Clancy. It’s beneath you. And just so you know, I still don’t like you.”
“It’s mutual,” I said and walked back to the technical section of the Violent Crimes Unit.
I asked the one whose name tag said he was Milo Strubbles to do some background on Odem Stone Higgins.
“Odd name,” he said.
I wanted to comment but chose not to.
“Which one?”
“Well, the name Stone is a tad more common, I’d say. Odem is the rarity of those three. Higgins is common. I’ll see what I can find for you.”
I wanted to test Rogers over against what the Norfolk Police had at their disposal. I love these little competitions. Machine against man, the ever-present struggle in the modern world. Of course, the man was also using a machine, but likely not a machine as capable as Rogers. My presupposition.
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