by Ben Rehder
“Roy, I killed him,” Mia said. Her eyes were wide and unfocused.
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “And you saved my life. Here, sit down.”
I helped her back into the van. Then I dialed 911.
Many violent crimes are solved quickly and easily simply because the perpetrator acts out of anger or impulse. That’s what had happened here. Damon Tate had seen an opportunity and he hadn’t been able to resist it. Same as when Jankowski had hit Lennox with his SUV. Stupid. It had cost Damon Tate his life. On the plus side for us, the physical evidence would be overwhelming, and it was well documented that Damon Tate had a reason for seeking revenge against me.
But, of course, we were both taken to APD headquarters and asked to provide a statement, which we did, separately. The woman interviewing me was an investigator named Delma Watson. I’d never met her, but she was friendly enough. Not pushy or officious.
It took me a while to explain all of the backstory leading up to the shooting, and she left the room a couple of times to check on things, but I was done within two hours—mostly because I told her at that point that I had nothing more to add and that I was not interested in repeating my story again. It’s not that cops necessarily think you’re lying, but they want you to tell your story several times so they can look for inconsistencies. My story was consistent, because it was the truth. Also, it was probably plain to Delma Watson that the Tate brothers were bad guys who brought trouble onto themselves.
When I stepped into the lobby and checked my phone, I saw that Doris Donovan had sent me a text: I see a housekeeper at the cabin behind me. Should I check the camera?
Honest to God, my first thought was, What camera? What is she talking about? That’s how distracted I was by the current situation. Okay, the trail camera aimed at Brandi Sloan’s cabin. If Brandi was staying in there, Ingrid would’ve requested a hold on maid service. If the housekeeper was in there, it was logical to conclude that Ingrid had picked Brandi up last night or this morning.
Yes, please, I replied. But maybe wait until the housekeeper is gone. And let me know if you get anything good.
She sent me a thumbs-up.
I’d left her with a card reader that could be plugged directly into her phone. Handy gizmo. Just take the SD card from the camera and insert it into the reader, and there you go—the photos can be viewed on your phone, then emailed or texted.
I was just about to text Mia when she appeared in the lobby and headed toward me. When she got close, I raised my eyebrows, saying, Well?
“It went fine. Let’s go home, okay? I just want to go home.”
We had to grab an Uber, because the van was in police custody for the time being.
At home, Mia wanted a drink, so I made her one, and a little later I grilled some chicken, but she only ate a few bites. Then she went to bed, and frankly, I had no idea if that was the best thing for her or not.
I sat down on the couch and pulled my phone out. I had turned it off earlier in order to give Mia my full attention.
First thing I saw was a text from Doris Donovan. No message, just two photos.
The first one showed Brandi Sloan standing on the porch of the little cabin she’d inhabited for a day. The photo had been taken this morning, not long after sunrise. It was a profile shot as she looked toward the little drive leading up to the cabin. The photo was crisp and clear. No mistaking who it was. She was waiting for someone. Easy to guess who.
Turned out a guess wasn’t necessary, because there was Ingrid Sloan in the second photo, standing beside Brandi on the porch. Probably saying, “You sure you got everything?” before they loaded her suitcase into the car and took off.
I sent Doris a text: That’s what you call a slam dunk.
A minute later, she said, What now? Should I stay here?
I told her I would think about next steps and call her in the morning, and she should come on home whenever she was ready.
Then I made another drink, this one for myself.
34
I know a lot of people—mostly men—who talk in cavalier terms about the circumstances in which they would kill someone. In some cases, they’ve even played the scene out in their heads. A burglar breaking in at night. A meth head robbing a convenience store. Mugger, carjacker, some scumbag running from the cops. Oh, I’d totally blow that guy away. Wouldn’t bother me in the least.
But, yeah, it would, even if the person you killed was evil to the core. I’ve seen it firsthand in some cops I know, and now I was seeing it in Mia.
She slept late the next morning. Until ten o’clock. When she finally came out of the bedroom, she had bags under her eyes, but she gave me a weak smile. I offered to make her breakfast, but she wasn’t interested.
I gave her a hug and she hugged back. Hard. Like she couldn’t bear to let go.
“I’ll be okay,” she whispered into my ear.
I hadn’t said anything, but she’d seen it in my face. We took a seat on the couch.
She said, “It’s just that…I don’t know what to do. What am I supposed to do?”
“Want my opinion?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want this to sound callous, but you don’t have to do anything. What I mean is, you don’t have to feel a certain way about what happened. Whatever you feel is okay. You might think you’re supposed to feel guilty or remorseful, but if you don’t, there’s nothing wrong with that. If you feel relief or anger or anything else, whose business is that but yours?”
“Do you feel guilty about shooting Nathaniel Tate?”
“Honestly, not really. Maybe I’d feel different if he’d died, but I don’t know. The important thing is, you did nothing wrong, and he did everything wrong. I wouldn’t be sitting here right now if you hadn’t done what you did. I know how I feel about that, which is grateful. So thank you.”
She grabbed my hand and held it.
“I don’t want to do anything today,” she said. “Just not think about anything or talk to anyone. Not go anywhere.”
“I can understand that,” I said.
“You do whatever you need to do,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“I still need to track down Raul Ablanedo,” I said.
“Just be careful, okay?” she said.
I nodded, but I wasn’t worried now. Damon Tate was dead. Nathaniel Tate was still in the hospital. That left Joe Jankowski, and I doubted he had the guts to come after me himself.
“I’ve got some good news,” I said.
“What is it?”
I showed her the photos Doris had sent earlier. Mia had never met Brandi Sloan, but she’d seen other photos, and she said, “No question about that, is there?”
“Nope.”
“This Doris lady is going to steal my job,” Mia said.
“Or mine. She’ll own this outfit before long. You need to meet her when she gets back.”
“Sounds good. What’re you going to do with the photos?”
“Nothing right now,” I said. “Not until I hear what Raul has to say.”
I waited until Mia ate a small lunch, then I kissed her on the forehead and left to complete the mission we’d had to abort the day before.
I was driving my back-up vehicle, the Camry. Took Fifteenth Street over to Interstate 35, then down to Oltorf. Hung a left on Burton, same as yesterday.
Took two more turns, and then I was in front of Raul’s duplex. There was one vehicle parked in front—a dirty Honda Civic. I’d checked my online resources and knew Raul owned a Civic. The plate matched.
I wasted no time. Walked to the front door and knocked. A man answered a brief moment later. Mid-thirties. Slender. Shaggy black hair and a goatee. A friendly, open face.
; “Raul?” I said.
“Yeah?”
“I’m Roy Ballard,” I said. “I talked to you the other—”
“Right. About Brent.”
I was about to ask if I could come inside, but I was too impatient.
I said, “Last week, a man named Nathaniel Tate came to my house and tried to execute me. He is still in the hospital, because I shot him. You might recognize that name because his brother, Damon, works for Joe Jankowski. Excuse me, he worked for Jankowski. Damon Tate is now dead.”
“Whoa,” Raul said.
“He threatened my partner and me yesterday, so my partner killed him. She had no choice. Have to admit we’re both relieved.”
“I saw about a man getting killed on the news, but they didn’t say who it was,” he said.
“By the way, two days ago, I sat down with Doris Donovan and had a lengthy conversation. We came to the conclusion that you lied to one of us about Brent.”
His expression clouded immediately.
He started to speak, but I said, “You told me you text back and forth regularly. You said he texted you the day before he went missing and you texted him the day after. But Brent told Doris the two of you had had a falling out and hadn’t spoken in a long time. Why the different stories?”
He’d gone pale. “Doris is getting pretty old, so maybe she—”
“She’s sharper than you and me put together,” I said. “Don’t try to play it that way. Here’s what’s going to happen. When I tell the cops about the discrepancy, they’ll dig into your life in ways you wouldn’t expect. They’ll find the truth. The best thing you can do right now is decide to stop lying and limit the damage to your future. I know some cops pretty well, so I’ll help you if I can.”
He looked down at the porch and said, “Well, fuck.”
“Do it for Doris,” I said. “She deserves to know what really happened. She said you were a good person and would do what’s right.”
That was known as a fib. Whatever works in this kind of situation. And it did work. Nothing beats hearing a big, soul-cleansing confession that puts all the missing pieces of a case in place. Raul delivered in a big way.
“I helped Brent with the scam,” he said. “In fact, it was kind of my idea.”
“Tell me how that came about,” I said.
“We’d sit around and drink beer and he’d bitch about his job. Most of his bosses were jerks, and they were pretty sloppy about all the safety requirements at the job sites.”
“Such as what?”
“Like crummy eye and ear protection, or junky ladders and scaffolds. All kinds of shit. It was just dangerous working around there, you know? Brent said it was just a matter of time until someone got hurt bad, but the good news was, they’d probably score a sweet payday from it. And then an idea kind of grew from there.”
“Grew how?” I asked. “You suggested it?”
“Kind of,” he said. “I think I said, ‘Why couldn’t it be you?’ I was kind of joking, but he asked what I meant, and I said he could probably figure out a way to get hurt—or probably fake it—and make them pay for treating their employees like disposable equipment.”
People who committed fraud always had a way to rationalize it.
“And he went for it?” I asked.
“Eventually, yeah. Hey, it’s not like I talked him into it. I just mentioned it and he ended up liking the idea. He went and did a bunch of research on the Internet and stuff.”
“Okay, so he tried his little stunt with the concrete truck, but he ended up getting hurt worse than he intended. Then Jankowski pressed charges and all that. Doris told me Brent had a way out of all his troubles. What was the way?”
I had an idea what it was, but I wanted Raul to say it and admit his participation.
Raul shifted from one foot to the other, plainly agitated.
“Well, it was those same violations, man. All that safety shit. Brent told Jankowski that if he didn’t drop the charges and pay up for his injury, Brent was gonna blow the whistle. He’d been taking pictures and videos for a couple of months on the job site, so all he had to do was send ’em to the state agencies that regulate all that stuff. Jankowski would’ve been looking at some serious fines.”
“How did Brent tell him? In person?”
“On the phone.”
“When was this?”
“Couple of days before he went missing.”
“Did he say how Jankowski reacted?”
“Yeah, he said he was fucking screaming at him, but then he called back and said they could work something out.”
Brent had gotten in over his head and didn’t know it. Jankowski had never had any plans to “work it out.”
“So what happened?”
“Nothing for a few days. Then we’re sitting around on a Saturday and there’s a knock on the door.”
Here it comes, I thought. Damon Tate, most likely, possibly with his brother Nathaniel.
“Brent looks out the window and says, ‘What the hell?’ I ask what’s up, and he says it’s some chick from work named Brandi.”
No matter how many cases I work, I still get thrown a curveball now and then.
“What did she want?” I asked.
“She said Jankowski wanted to work a deal out right now, and she’d take Brent over there to see him. She sounded real nice and apologetic, like it was her job to smooth this sort of thing over whenever Jankowski screwed things up. She said his temper made him say and do some stupid things, but she was on Brent’s side, because she’d been to some of the job sites and he was right—some of them weren’t safe. She was going to work on fixing that.”
“And he believed her?” I asked, finding it hard to keep the incredulity out of my voice. It should’ve been obvious to Brent—and Raul—why she was there.
“Yeah, and to be honest, I did, too. She was pretty slick. She said Jankowski had cooled down and was ready to talk.”
“Where were you during this conversation?”
“I was in the kitchen, but she couldn’t see me. She never knew I was there.”
“So how did Brent respond to the offer?”
“He told her he’d be right down. She went back to her car, and then he asked me what I thought about it, and every fucking day I wish I’d said he shouldn’t go. But I didn’t, and he left—and that was the last time I ever saw him.”
Raul was tearing up, and his remorse was plainly genuine.
“I appreciate you telling me the truth,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “It feels good, to be honest. I’ve been carrying the guilt around. I don’t know if I can ever make up for being so stupid. How would I do that? It’s too late, isn’t it?”
I had to hold my tongue. If Raul hadn’t prodded Brent along in his stupid plan, followed by a second stupid plan, Brent might still be alive. But now was not the time for me to tear into Raul for failing to reveal this information when Brent went missing. I didn’t want to rattle him, because there was another important step to take.
“No, it’s not too late,” I said. “You can still tell it to the cops.”
35
I didn’t mention that it might be smart for him to consult an attorney, but he did, and the result was that two days passed before Raul Ablanedo sat down with the investigators in the Brent Donovan case and told them what he knew—in a limited version. He left out his involvement in the scam and the subsequent blackmail. He only told them about being at Brent’s apartment when Brandi Sloan came to get him.
I wasn’t in the interview room, so I have no idea if the investigators were skeptical or not, but they immediately got a warrant for Raul’s cell records and phone-location data, and when they received the data from his cell provider two days later, it confirmed that Raul was near B
rent’s apartment when he said he was.
I waited until then to call one of the investigators—a young guy I’d never met—and tell him I knew where Brandi Sloan was hiding out. I emailed him the photos while we were talking and he said, “These are dated five days ago.”
“Better late than never,” I said.
“You’ve been withholding information,” he said.
“She had no warrants and wasn’t suspected in a crime,” I said.
“You should have told us anyway,” he said. “She was a missing person.”
“And I found her for you. You’re welcome. Anything else?”
He waited a little too long to reply, so I hung up. Kids these days.
On a happier note, Mia seemed to be coping with her emotions better every day. She told me she wanted to talk to a therapist and I said I was all for it. I’d go with her, if she wanted.
We still hadn’t had any further discussion about us. I was going to let her broach that topic again when she was ready.
That afternoon, while Mia was working out, I took an Uber to retrieve the van from a police impound lot. Then I stopped by to see Doris Donovan, who was back home in Westwood. After we’d settled in around the coffee table in her living room—with a plate of cookies, of course—she said, “Do you think we’ll ever know the complete truth? I mean, I know Jankowski and the Tate brothers and Brandi Sloan were probably all involved, but will we ever know exactly what happened?”
“I wish I could say the answer is yes, but I just don’t know. It might be that only one of them actually knows the specific details.”
“About how Brent was killed?” she asked.
“Right.”
“But Brandi Sloan lured Brent to his death,” she said. “I assume we agree on that.”
