by Jo Goodman
“Oh,” she said, a touch embarrassed. “I suppose you already know who I am.”
“I do, but it’s good to meet you formally.” The lieutenant smiled genially as he took the seat that Butz had occupied. Taller and broader than the officer before him, he pushed the chair back to make room for himself at the table. He was dressed casually in jeans and a black polo shirt. His badge was attached to his belt. In his forties, his dark hair was spiked with gray threads but showed no signs of receding. He had an angular, clean-shaven face with a knob of chin that sported a dimple front and center. “I’ve seen you at the courthouse from time to time and someone told me what you do at the Ridge. I guess you were there to provide testimony.”
Ramsey was fairly certain he meant to put her at ease, but the opposite was true. She had no idea why an officer from the task force would be interested in anything she had to say. “I’m sure that’s it,” she said. “It’s the only reason I have to be at the courthouse. Well, that and the occasional speeding ticket, but that’s magistrate’s court.” She was blathering. It was official. Goodfellow’s genial smile was still in evidence. To Ramsey, that meant he was humoring her. She decided to get him to the point of whatever this was.
“You were at the Ridge this afternoon,” she said. “I saw you in paints.”
“That’s right.” He pointed to the camera with one hand as he slipped the other under the table. “Just so you know, I’m making a recording of our conversation.”
Ramsey looked up at the red light and then back at Goodfellow. “I don’t understand.”
“I have some questions, and I’d rather record than write. Are you okay with that?”
Ramsey wasn’t sure her answer mattered. She decided to go along with it for now. If there was one word she knew how to say and when to say it, the word was lawyer. She nodded her assent.
Goodfellow rubbed his dimpled chin. “Were you working at the Ridge today?”
“No. I was shopping.”
“Ah. What do they call it when you spend your time off doing something similar to your work?”
“A busman’s holiday.”
Goodfellow snapped his fingers. “That’s right. A busman’s holiday.” He considered that a moment before he said, “So it was a coincidence that you were there when the task force arrived.”
Ramsey frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. Is that a question?”
“It can be.”
“Then, yes, it was a coincidence, and right now I’m regretting I didn’t go to Kroger.”
“You weren’t tipped off? That’s a question, by the way.”
“Tipped off? You mean did I know the task force was moving in today? How would I know something like that?” As soon as the words were out, she did a mental head slap, and then realized that judging by the gently mocking expression on the lieutenant’s face even a mental head slap left its mark. Still, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. If he had an accusation, he needed to be clear about it. She pressed her lips together to keep from saying another word.
“All right,” he said when she offered nothing else. “I understand that you and Officer Day are seeing each other. Dating. In a relationship. Whatever it’s called. I’ve been married sixteen years. I don’t know any longer.”
“We’re friendly.” She gave him a wan smile. If Goodfellow wanted to know if they were sleeping together, he damn well would have to ask. Apparently, that was TMI or immaterial because the lieutenant was finally coming to his point.
“He’s new to the task force. Did he tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“What about today’s raid? Did he mention it?”
“No.”
“But you were his source for the lot numbers on the paint cans.”
“There you go, detective. That’s statement, not a question.”
“Were you his source?”
“Yes. That was before he was asked to join the task force.”
Thoughtful, Goodfellow nodded. “It was obvious that his source for the lots was someone working at the Ridge, but he wouldn’t say who. I put that together later when you had the trouble at your house and Chief Bailey asked me to send Day to respond.”
“That’s why you’re in charge.”
He chuckled. “Now, if you had said that all snotty-like, I would take offense, but you made that sound sincere.”
“It’s a happy talent.”
“I see that.” He shifted in his seat, stretched his legs under the table. “Tell me about Paul Shippensmith.”
She sighed. “It would be better if you were specific. He’s been my manager for a few years. You probably want broad strokes not boring details.”
“You’re right. Broad strokes.”
“He’s ambitious. He’s interested in climbing the corporate ladder. Except when he’s enforcing obscure rules to make someone’s life miserable, he’s largely fair in his dealing with employees. He blows hot and cold. Either he’s micromanaging or taking long lunches with his phone turned off. Is that broad enough for you?”
“Pretty good. How did you get along with him?”
“Okay, I suppose. He made me crazy when he was up in my business, second-guessing my decisions. Like when he took me to task for letting a couple of girls go when they were trying to make off with fifty or so bucks in merchandise and then he won’t let me report a woman who was trying to steal ten times that amount because of who she is. Looking back, I suspect that kind of thing has happened before.” Ramsey always wondered what had happened to the recording of Kay Dobbs swinging that frozen turkey at her head. Knowing now that Kay was a person of no small consequence in the community, it seemed likely that Paul had sabotaged the video. What she didn’t know, and didn’t want to know, was if he’d ever indicated as much to Kay. The thought that he might have held that over Kay’s head in return for some sort of favored status nauseated her.
“What is it?” asked Goodfellow. “What aren’t you saying?”
“It’s nothing. An odd thought.”
The trooper gave her a pass. “Did you mention the raid to him?”
“How could I? I already told you I didn’t know about it.”
“What if you had known? Would you have wanted to tell him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I guess because I thought he might be involved.”
“Involved.”
“Yes. With the drugs. Look, I don’t have any evidence of that. I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“He took delivery of the paint pallets.”
“Yes, but that’s his job. Sure, he could have sent them back, but it’s not unreasonable to think he was trying to impress corporate. Turn a mistake into a profit for the store.”
“In spite of your personal feelings, you gave him the benefit of the doubt.”
“Yes. I suppose I did.”
“So, when you saw him hustling his ass out of the store today, you didn’t think much about it.”
“How did you…? Oh, you spoke to Wendy. The cashier who checked me out.”
“I did.”
“Then you know I called out to Paul. I was curious about why he was leaving. That struck me as odd.”
“And you followed him to the parking lot.”
“I didn’t really follow him. He went out and I went out. That’s all. I was parked in the customer lot because I wasn’t working and he had his car out in the lower forty. That’s what we call the employee lot. I unloaded my cart, got in the SUV, and I’m pretty sure that’s when I noticed him limping toward his car.”
Goodfellow frowned. “He was limping? The cashier didn’t mention that.”
“Because he wasn’t when he was leaving the store. I went around to the lower forty and pulled up as he was reaching his car. He was struggling. I asked him what happened and he said he got clipped by a car as a customer was backing out of a space.”
The lieutenant rubbed his chin again. “You offered him a ride. Is that what happe
ned?”
“Yes. He didn’t want to go with me, but it was obvious—to me, at least—that he couldn’t drive. It was his right leg. He could barely put any weight on it, and by the time I got him home, he wasn’t able to do even that.”
“You took him home.”
“I really wish you’d ask questions. No, don’t bother. I’m getting used to it. Yes, I took him home. It wasn’t really my choice by then. Jay, that’ s my ex, was with us. You can ask him.”
Goodfellow’s cheeks swelled like a chipmunk’s as he blew out a breath. “That’d be Jay Carpenter, the man Officer Day shot in the arm.”
“That’d be the one.”
“Okay. I imagine Butz has all those details.”
“He should. I gave them to him. Even wrote them down.”
“All right. Back to Shippensmith.”
Ramsey inclined her head. “Do you suspect me of something? Is that why I’m still here and the camera’s running and you’re asking almost questions? I think it’s past time for you to be straight with me.”
“You’re not under arrest.”
“Oh, I’m clear about that.”
“Your name came up when we were asking employees where Shippensmith had gone. We learned that he was last seen in your vehicle.”
Ramsey thought about that. Her eyes widened as what she’d been hearing began to add up. “This is because you think Paul is involved with the drug distribution, and when you heard he was in my car, you started wondering if I was also involved. Do I have that right?”
“We have to follow up all leads.”
“Well, I’m not, and it’s insulting that you or anyone would think so. Why would I provide the lot numbers if I was part of the operation? Why would I even mention anything about Caribbean Coast sales to Sullivan? It doesn’t make sense.”
“As I said, we have to follow up. No one was at the Shippensmith home when my men arrived.”
“I can’t help you there. He refused medical attention. Jay and I helped him inside the house, and his wife was getting an ice bag for his knee. That’s what I know.”
“I appreciate that now.”
Ramsey snorted. “Prove it. Turn the camera off.”
Goodfellow reached under the table. The red light went out. His mouth curved into a lopsided and somewhat remorseful smile. “You want to take a swing at me?”
“I do, but now that I know where the remote is for that camera, and how easy it is for you to get at it, I think I’ll choose a better place and time.”
His shoulders shook once as he stifled a laugh. “Good to know. I’ll give you a wide berth.” He invited her to stand.
Ramsey got to her feet and headed for the door, but before she reached it, it opened. She jumped back as Chief Bailey leaned in for the second time. “Both of you come with me. There’s something I want you to see.”
Now that the door was open, Ramsey could hear there was some kind of commotion in the outer office. She imagined an exchange of fist bumps between the laughter and attaboy exclamations. She looked at Goodfellow. From his puzzled expression, it was the first time he was hearing it as well.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Bailey shook his head. “You have to see it. You, too, John. This’ll wrap up your questions.”
“They’ve just been wrapped,” said Goodfellow.
“Then this is the bow.” He stepped aside to let Ramsey out.
Ramsey walked down the hallway. She knew it was Goodfellow behind her because when she stopped suddenly on the threshold of the outer office, he gripped her by the upper arms and moved her aside so he didn’t bowl her over.
She was bowled over anyway, and she believed it was likely the same for the trooper. He certainly seemed to have lost the power of speech.
With the aid of a walker and a thigh-high black leg brace, Paul Shippensmith stood in the channel between the rows of desks. The on-duty officers were crowded around but not so as to block the view from were Ramsey, Goodfellow, and the chief were standing. Behind the Ridge store manager and a little to one side, Sullivan Day had adopted an at-ease stance.
Ramsey would have abandoned all semblance of dignity and jumped in Sullivan’s arms if Paul hadn’t been in the way, and she still might have shoved her manager aside if he hadn’t been handcuffed to his walker. It was simply one obstacle too many.
“I’ve already terminated the BOLO,” the chief told Goodfellow. He jerked his chin in Sullivan’s direction. “Tell John where you found Mr. Shippensmith.”
“He was being fitted for his brace in the ER while Buddy and I were sitting with the shooting victim. I got up for a drink at the same time the attending was pulling back the curtain on Mr. Shippensmith’s cubicle.”
“So, what? Right place, right time?” asked Goodfellow.
“Yes, sir.”
“Perhaps we should all aspire to your level of dumb luck.”
“I don’t know about that, sir. Not a lick of good police work involved. I can’t take any pride in it.”
“Well, you did shoot someone,” the chief said. “You’ve got that.”
Sullivan managed not to grin. “Mr. Carpenter is going to be fine, by the way. Buddy’s still at the hospital. He asked me to remind you that he needs to be relieved and he needs a ride.”
Bailey pointed to the man closest to the door and made an exit gesture with his thumb. He nodded at Paul but spoke to Sullivan. “What did they give him for pain?”
“Morphine sulfate. Low dose. I was assured it’d be out of his system in a couple of hours, and he can take a combination of one five hundred tab of acetaminophen and a two hundred tab of ibuprofen for pain.” Now Sullivan did give up an ironic grin. “He kept asking for fentanyl.”
“All right. Make him comfortable in holding until he’s ready for some questions. Who was with him at the hospital or did he drive himself there?”
“His wife. She went home. I don’t believe she plans on visiting him any time soon.”
Paul’s features were a series of deeply etched creases, his dark eyebrows a puckered line above his eyes. His mouth was set in a grimace. No one looking at him doubted that he was genuinely in pain, which is why no one suspected that he would be able to thrust himself forward with the walker and one good leg and throw himself at Ramsey.
Goodfellow threw an arm sideways in an effort to protect Ramsey from the assault while Chief Bailey made to step in front of her. Ramsey avoided both of their efforts by ducking and twisting in order to keep herself the target of Paul’s rage. Under her breath, she said, “I’ve got this, guys.” She had no idea if they heard her, but when Paul lifted the walker to make a hard jab at her, neither the detective nor the chief interfered. Ramsey grabbed one of walker’s forward legs, pivoted, and forced Paul to rotate with her. Remarkably, he kept his balance and thrust again as he tried to knock her off her feet.
Just as if there were not eight men with badges in the room who could take him down faster than anyone could say Caribbean Coast, Paul growled at her as he punched forward. “Bitch! You did this!”
Ramsey did not retreat. She grabbed the walker’s other leg and this time didn’t pull or pivot. This time, she pushed. Paul teetered, hopping in an ungainly fashion to stay upright. He held the walker in a white-knuckled grip and was able to remain standing only because she held onto the legs.
She suspected Paul knew what she was going to do the same instant that she decided to do it. She offered him a brightly mocking smile and released the walker.
Paul would have landed hard, perhaps hitting his head on the corner of a metal desk on his way to the floor, but her smile had telegraphed her intent to the person who knew how to read it the best, and Sullivan was there with both arms to catch Paul and lower him to the ground. Ramsey had to take her satisfaction where she could get it. The walker toppled, and by virtue of Paul still being handcuffed to it, trapped him like a cage. It was a nice ending for now.
44
The Ridge manager was taken to
the regional jail and arraigned two days later. He pleaded not guilty and posted bail. His wife was not at the arraignment and refused to pick him up. His attorney arranged a ride for him, but when he arrived home, Cheryl would not let him in the house. In his absence, she’d changed the locks and the passcodes for both garage door pads. He had graduated from walker to cane and used it to raise enough of a ruckus that neighbors called the police. Karl Longabach took his time arriving at the scene and left Paul standing out in the cold when he was invited inside to reason with Cheryl. It required all of Karl’s superior negotiating skills over a cup of Constant Comment tea before Cheryl, in consultation with her lawyer, agreed Paul could come in and stay the night. Karl gave her his solemn promise that he’d check on her throughout his shift.
Although on the face of it, their crimes were vastly different, Jay Carpenter’s trajectory through the legal system was not so different from Paul’s. He was released from the hospital into police custody the day after the shooting and transported to the regional jail. He was provided a public defender once he made it bitterly clear he could not afford an attorney. The defender did a fair job of representing him and prior to the arraignment worked out several plea deals that reduced the shot that he took at Ramsey to reckless brandishing of a firearm. Ramsey’s written statement regarding being forced to drive him to her home as well as her previous encounters with him were all part and parcel of a stalking charge. What remained was all of the financial voodoo that Jay had been doing in his job at Willow Garden Health Systems. Willow Garden terminated Jay’s employment and vowed to weather the negative publicity in order to be seen doing the right thing by supporting his prosecution.
A few days after the arraignment, Ramsey went to see Jay. She did not ask Sullivan to accompany her, nor did she speak to her lawyer before going. It was important to her that she go alone and prove to herself and to Jay that she was unafraid. She knew he would think her courage was due to his present circumstances wearing an unflattering orange jumpsuit and sitting behind a plexiglass shield, but that was the least of it as far as Ramsey was concerned. She was going to take away his power for good.
