“Another?” Eli Walker asked as he glanced and smiled, “I’ve been keeping a close eye on you and that partner of yours, you seem like a good pairing. It’s not often I see two bright young sparks teamed up together, almost like something from a television show wouldn’t you agree?” said Walker as he clasped his drink in his hand.
“I don’t see the obsession,” Ryan replied,
“Obsession with what?”
“With me, what makes me so different to any other cop on the force? How come it should always fall to me to make a difference?” asked Ryan as he knocked back yet another drink.
“Well boy that’s just the way it is these days, it seems all people need is a hero, all people want is someone to protect them and unfortunately for you, it has fallen upon your doorstep. The world is a messed up place and people like to believe one man alone can fix it for the rest,” said Eli. “Leave the bottle,” he then told a passing waiter, he refilled his glass before raising and offered a toast, “to bright young sparks.”
Ryan also raised his glass and continued to guzzle the contents as things began to get a little bit blurry and blue for the young detective.
“I suppose that you aren’t comfortable with your current situation then?” Eli asked,
“Define ‘comfortable’ then,”
“I’m talking strictly in dollars and change my boy, something can always be done about that.”
Ryan began to feel confused, he couldn’t tell whether it was the strong liqueurs deteriorating his inhibitions but it sounded almost like Eli was befriending the young detective.
“...And are you offering me a bribe?” Ryan asked with a cheapish grin. Eli quickly deflected Ryan’s attempt at a joke, as he just kept ordering more and more drinks to their table.
Chapter III
The next morning as Ryan awoke to the sound of Harry’s car horn blaring from the street below, the deafening sound reverberated in between his ears and his eyes were bloodshot as they tried to open, he could see the distinct outline of his once slender wife Jessica start to enter his field of vision simply looking down at him with an indifferent look on her face, it was then that he realised he had fallen asleep on the sofa in their living room rather than coming upstairs when he finally got home. Still in the same cheap and wrinkled suit from the night before Ryan grabbed his coat, his scarf and his keys from the bowl by the back door and headed down the steep steps and into Harry’s sedan. It was crisp that morning and the breeze gave him a distinct numbing feeling when he breathed in.
“Look who’s finally up. We’ve got to rush we have something, apparently a vagrant told a patrolman at around 6am this morning, while he was escorting him to a more dilapidated area further down the road from 18th Street that he saw our girl leaving a swanky Italian wine bar called Romulus on that road just before midnight. So he saw our victim possibly for the last time.”
The police scanner in Harry’s car wasn’t working very well it sounded almost obsolete,
“O’Neill report to the Northwest corner of 18th Street your patrolman is keeping the suspect there for you, over.”
“Roger that, heading there now will be arriving shortly, over,” Harry replied using his end of the radio, when he was done he just pitched it back across to Ryan who calmly placed it back in the docking station of the radio.
As the car pulled up outside Romulus bar Ryan was amazed to see people drinking inside at ten o’clock in the morning. The wind was still fierce as the two donned long wool coats and scarves walking towards the patrolman and his vagrant. The man simply pointed to the bar and was then helped along his way further down the street as Harry held the door open for them to saunter in from out of the cold. The sound of yet more jazz music filled Ryan’s ears. He had seen enough live jazz and decorated mix drinks to last him a few months, although Romulus was strictly an Italian wine bar, it hardly hosted much of a classy clientele at that time of the morning.
“Have you seen this girl?” Harry inquired as he handed an image of the girl’s face from the morgue to the bartender. The man simply dismissed the picture and handed it back shrugging his shoulders,
“At least tell me that camera above the bar works,” Harry asked,
“Nope, purely for show,” replied the bartender who then carried on taking orders.
Harry then continued to pass the photo around some of the regulars who were bracing against the bar as they drank their cheap wine. When he reached the end one of the figures said.
“Yeah, I saw her, she was arguing with some rough looking guy, the pair of them were regulars here although he was a bit of a racist, short hair, he was wearing a hat, about average height I would say, he had tattoos as well,” said the man as he continued lifting his drink towards his mouth.
“How did you know he had short hair? I thought you said he was wearing a hat,” Harry asked the drunk,
“Oh yeah, OK, forget the hat he just had short hair,” he replied,
“This is a waste of time, the DA is never going to put a raging alcoholic on the stand to be brutalised during a cross examination,” Ryan thought to himself.
“What time did they leave? C’mon think,” asked Harry as he pressured the man into giving an answer.
“Let me see I was on my, third bottle at that time so, around midnight.” The man just laughed, as he poured himself another glass killing off the rest of the bottle Harry just reached across and quaffed it down before the man could. He stopped laughing and a serious look of sobriety towards Harry was on his face.
“We need to get you down to the station to view some photographs of potential suspects,” Ryan told the man. As the three of them were leaving Romulus the bartender called out for the man holding up a small leather pad as if to say he hadn’t yet paid his bill, the ailing drunk man then looked at Harry with a stern look on his face who was reluctantly forced to pay his bill with a sneering smile from ear to ear as he placed the money for the drunk man’s tab and walked out the front doors.
Later that afternoon as the witness was unable to ID anyone matching a description from the photographs, an identity parade was arranged with five previously convicted criminals all matching the description who lived in the local area. As the middle aged man gazed intently at all five of them he eventually identified number three as the man after many minutes of attempting to keep his balance.
“How is this man still slightly drunk?” Ryan whispered to Harry as the both stood behind the man, “He’s had more coffee than the entire station this morning, how can we even be so sure that it is even number three?”
“Worth a try,” stated Harry.
Several minutes later after the others were released number three was taken to a nearby holding room down the end of the narrow hallway of the station.
“Are you not coming in?” Asked Ryan to Harry who instead walked into the observation room to view the questioning from behind the one way mirror. As Ryan entered holding a file and reading it carefully he eventually placed it on the table and sat down in front of the man. His eyes were wide with his tattoos clearly visible from his wrists to his neck as he never broke his stare at Ryan as he opened with,
“Wayne Peterson, aged thirty five, recently out on parole after serving fifteen years of a twenty five year sentence for the brutal murder of Jamal Davis in a bar fight in 1977.” Peterson just sat still leering at Ryan, not saying a word, he then continued,
“history of racial abuse and violence towards African Americans, brought up in foster care until you were sixteen when you first went to jail.”
“Lawyer,” Peterson simply replied.
Meanwhile in the observation room Harry was joined by district attorney Walker who had taken a keen interest in Peterson,
“Why is this scum still here and not back in jail?” Said Walker as he looked down at Harry who was sat on the edge of the desk fidgeting uncomfortably with his arms folded tightly and a bead of sweat running down his forehead onto his clean white shirt,
“I’
m not sure, he’s out on parole but it won’t be enough to keep him on anything,” replied Harry.
Nothing made Walker angrier than the idea of parole for violent criminals, if Walker had his way he would sweep the streets clean of these undesirables, everything about Walker sounded almost like a campaign slogan. As Peterson’s city appointed lawyer arrived, another bad haircut and a creased suit type who made it clear that his client was not out past his curfew and in violation of his parole, Peterson was immediately released as the detectives had nothing to hold him with, once again they had no leg to stand on in the case, it was going cold.
Chapter IV
That evening as Harry sat perched on a bar stool at Mickey’s in front of the one working television, he screams in anguish as he loses more money on yet another losing bet he has placed. Harry sat just staring blankly into the bottom of his empty shot glass with bright green cocktail umbrella poking from behind his ear. He was about to grab his suit jacket from atop the bar and leave, suddenly, Walker sat down next to him,
“I heard you had to cut Peterson loose, that’s a real shame,” Harry failed to respond, “how much are you down this time with the bets? C’mon, this round is on me, maybe you can help me with something else important now.” Harry was too proud to admit that he could be bought but he was desperate. He sat down on his warm bar stool again now with a refilled shot glass. Walker began to recount his previous election defeat for the city council and how only a hard stance on crime would help him attract more voters. He then mentioned Wayne Peterson’s name, Harry looked up at Walker, he had garnered his interest.
“We send a violent racial criminal back to jail for violating his parole and you are made to look good again in the eyes of the voting public? Democracy at work again,” Harry spouted, as Walker simply nodded adding,
“Well plan A didn’t work, so if you help me again this time, I’ll help you settle your debts once more.”
Harry was weak and couldn’t afford to be exposed by Walker for what he was, the force wouldn’t take too kindly to a gambling man, reluctantly he agreed to help Walker get his way like so many do. So the both of them sat there long into the night discussing what they would do until Walker told Harry a narcotics charge would be enough to send Peterson back to jail and to steal heroin from a local drug bust that went down last week which was housed in the evidence locker down at the station. Walker would then arrange to serve Peterson with a surprise parole inspection where he would plant the evidence for his parole officer to find.
* * *
The next day before the morning rush, Harry entered the station with a slightly large raincoat on when it wasn’t even drizzling. Only one thought was on his mind and it wasn’t to catch a criminal but to become one. He noticed the plaque on the wall of the main reception that read “To protect and serve” which implied protecting and serving the public, not Eli Walker. As he continued down into the basement where Daniel’s lab was he made a sharp left towards the evidence lockers. This hallway is where cases go to die, rooms filled to the brim with unsolved files and police reports, box after box stacked on top of one another. While Harry swiped his key card through security and signed in he couldn’t help but realise he was taking all the risk, all the liability was on him. Walker was hardly perfect but there was nothing that would ever tie him to this.
“All because I have a sickness,” Harry kept repeating to himself as he looked around to see if anyone was in the vicinity. He took out a small pen knife and sliced open one of the heroin bricks that was seized in the bust, and emptied enough to slap Peterson with an “Intent to Distribute” charge into a 112mm sized grip seal plastic bag and tucked it into the pocket of his coat he was wearing before walking back out. When Harry reached the front doorway of the station he saw Walker’s car parked there waiting for him. Harry passed the stolen evidence to Walker through the open window, Walker then said,
“Consider your gambling debt paid.” then drove off leaving Harry just staring at the badge around his neck. He knew he would never be able to forget this, he had betrayed everything he had once stood for in the city, but he had to protect himself, for the sake of his career. Just as Harry gathered his thoughts Ryan pulled up to the station entrance,
“Rare for you to be here at this time isn’t it?” he said as he locked his car door, Harry simply nodded and smiled as the two then turned and walked inside the building. When they had reached their desks, Harry was still agonising over what he had done and he felt sure he was portraying awkward and uncomfortable mannerisms to Ryan. Ellis was waiting for them perched on the edge of Ryan’s cluttered pile of paperwork.
“We’re closing the ‘Jane’ case,” he simply said. Harry noticed a look of dejection course over Ryan’s face; he knew Ryan wanted to get this one. In Ryan’s mind it reminded him of a particularly traumatic moment in his past that he hadn’t shared with anyone, not even Harry, all he could see was the dejected look.
“Sorry boys, at least you don’t have the Commissioner’s job, he has to try and sell this shit to the media this afternoon. He should be retiring any day now after this, it’s just a shame you didn’t have more on your Peterson guy.” Ellis added before walking away and closing his office door. Ryan began to box up what little evidence they had and the pair of them each carried the documents downstairs to file room two. An “unsolved” sticker was then plastered across the side they both stared at the box for a few seconds and its new habitat on a dusty back corner shelf. As the light was switched off in the stained room and Ryan and Harry were leaving, the door was closed and so too was the investigation.
* * *
Three days later midday across town, in a dank and depressing apartment building where the smell of mice and urine was almost overwhelming for a man of Walker’s tastes. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the beautifully kept city of Washington where Eli would spend time attending to his daily activities. He was in the apartment building where Wayne Peterson had been put up since joining the outside world. Walker had somehow managed to convince his parole officer that he could tag along his during a regulation home visit; he undoubtedly would have just gone over his head either way so his parole officer agreed. As officer Stenson knocked on Peterson’s door the clanging and clunking sound of seven or eight locks were heard from the other side of the door. Peterson partly opened the door to see Walker stood behind Stenson with an unusual grin on his face,
“What’s he doing here?” asked Peterson,
“Routine domicile inspection,” replied the parole officer as he forced his way in pushing Wayne to the floor. The towering figure of the district attorney was now standing over him with his gloved left hand in his jacket pocket flicking the stolen evidence carefully with his finger. As Peterson clambered to his feet he was called into the other room, wearing nothing more than a pair of sweatpants, by the officer, Walker took his chance and simply placed it underneath the pillow of Peterson’s fold out sofa bed for Stenson to easily find. His apartment was a tip, the floor covered in debris and waste trash, Walker wasn’t sure if he was treading on carpeting or wood flooring underneath. When Stenson and Peterson returned to the room, Stenson began to search under the mattress. Peterson looked at one of his pillows that was now slightly out of place, he looked back at Walker who plain as day wore a smirk on his face, Walker knew Peterson could tell that this was a set up, he had that’s why Walker had shown up. Sure enough as the officer reached under his pillow out slid a small plastic bag of Heroin from the underside. The officer held it up and lightly dabbed his fingertip and tasted the contents on his tongue,
“Cocaine, maybe heroin, definitely a drug,” he said.
As Peterson lunged for Walker he was stopped by Stenson before he could land a punch, Walker retreated to the hallway as the noticeable clicking noise of a pair of handcuffs could be heard. Peterson was escorted out pleading his innocence but it was falling on deaf ears.
* * *
Ryan and Harry were with Claire at her father’s
retirement party at none other than Mickey’s. As the three drink a toast to Commissioner Daniels,
“So I hear your prime suspect ended up back in jail, suppose that’s sort of a win,” said Claire as she tried to cheer them both up. Harry could see that Ryan was troubled by something, then his phone began to ring, he let it go unanswered,
“Do you think it was Peterson?” Harry asked knowing full well he was the reason he was back in jail.
“No,” Ryan stated as his phone began to ring again, he reached to turn it off,
“Peterson wasn’t smart enough,” he then said.
“Sorry?” replied Harry as he was struggling to hear him over the cheers and laughter of the party in the background.
“Peterson wasn’t smart enough,” Ryan said with a louder tone, he then declared,
“Peterson was a guy who yes, had a racially abusive background, but couldn’t have murdered a young girl without leaving any evidence at all, this crime was too meticulous for a junkie racist.”
Harry simply smiled and nodded yet again then walked off to join the others.
The Sins of a District Page 2
