by Rick Reed
The box under his arm was as dirty and worn as Coin. It not only held all of his earthly possessions, but doubled as a shoeshine stand. He divided his time between the tiny park on Main Street in downtown, where he offered to shine shoes for two bucks, and sitting on the curb outside the new South Side police substation in Haynie’s Corner. He was homeless but not afraid of the police like most of his kind. Hell, he gave information to most of them and a professional shoeshine to boot. He discovered a lifetime ago that when he was asked a question by a cop, it went easier for him if he cooperated and went even better if he had information. If he didn’t have any information, he made something up to turn a few coins. That, and shining shoes, was how he got the nickname Coin. No one knew his real name. No one cared.
Over the years he had burned too many cops with “doctored” information, and now he mostly made money by shining shoes. Sometimes though, he could make a little money by witnessing for attorneys in civil injury cases. He saw whatever they said he saw. This was usually good for a bottle of hooch and a couple of nights in one of the cheap motels on Fares Avenue, sometimes with a hooker and he didn’t care how old, what they looked like, and he didn’t even think about venereal disease—his or hers.
He was small enough to slide in a basement window, so he spent most of his summer nights in the abandoned Riverbend Playhouse on Haynie’s Corner. Then the Riverbend had burned down and he was forced to spend a night or two under the Pigeon Creek Bridge sleeping on a piece of cardboard, but in the end he returned to the Riverbend. It smelled charred after the fire, but it was better than sleeping on the wet ground or going to the mission, where they lectured all the time about drinking and the hobos stole his booze and stunk even worse than he did.
Coin was approaching his basement window when he noticed the cop leaning against the wall watching him. By instinct, he turned to walk the other way and bumped into someone that had come up behind him.
“Excuse me,” Coin said and tried to move around the man, but a strong hand closed around his arm.
“Hold on, Coin,” Jack said.
Coin’s eyes widened. “Oh. It’s you. Uh, you need a shine Detective Murphy? I’m pretty busy now, but I can get to you later.”
Jack held Coin’s arm and said, “I’m not looking for a shine, Coin. We need to talk.”
“Uh . . . what about, Detective Murphy?” he asked and licked cracked lips.
Liddell pushed away from the wall and said, “Lookie here. We need to know what you and the ATF guy talked about.”
“AT what? Oh you mean those guys. I don’t know any of them personally . . . like I know you guys,” Coin said. “I’ve seen some of them around, a’ course. Can I go now?”
“His name was Killian,” Jack said. “Black guy. You talked to him a few days ago.”
Coin dropped his precious box and bolted down the alleyway. The sole of one shoe was loose and made a desperate “flap, flap, flap” noise each time it struck the ground. He hit loose gravel and went down hard, rolling head over heels and landing against a brick wall.
“Shit!” Jack said. He and Liddell walked over and checked him for injuries.
Coin had only scrapes. It was the luck of the drunk. They never seemed to get hurt. He tried to get to his feet but Jack pulled him into a sitting position and put a hand on one bony shoulder.
“What’s the matter with you, Coin? Why’d you run?”
Coin’s eyes shifted right and left like a trapped animal. His long arms wrapped around his chest and he rocked. “I don’t know nuthin’, Detective Murphy. I swear. I ain’t done nuthin’.”
Jack pulled Coin to his feet and asked, “What don’t you know, Coin?”
“I don’t know nuthin’ about that black guy. I didn’t even know he was what you said.”
“ATF?” Jack asked. Coin’s Adam’s apple bobbed up down while he tried to swallow. “Talk to me, Coin.”
“Just leave me alone! I don’t hurt no one. I just drink and don’t bother no one.” His face scrunched up but there were no tears, only true panic in the expression. “I won’t say nuthin’ to no one. Honest. I won’t say nuthin’.”
“What won’t you say to anyone?” Jack demanded.
Tears ran down Coin’s dirty cheeks, leaving trails like a flash flood cutting down a dusty ravine.
“I promise,” Coin cried louder. “I won’t say nuthin’ to no one! I swear to God, Murphy. You know me, Liddell. Tell him I won’t talk.”
“What won’t you say?” Jack yelled. He grabbed Coin by both shoulders and shook him like a rag doll.
“About the cops!” Coin yelled. Then, he put a finger to his lips and in a whisper, said, “I won’t say nuthin’ about the cops.”
Jack let him go. “It’s okay to talk to us. It’ll be our secret. Tell us about the cops, Coin.”
Coin’s eyes darted from Jack to Liddell. “I can’t, Murphy. They’ll kill me.”
* * *
Jack stayed with Coin while Liddell went to buy a bottle of Wild Turkey. When Liddell returned, Jack sat with Coin on the side steps of the Riverbend Playhouse. He uncapped the bottle and said, “Okay, Coin. Talk.”
Coin wiped at his mouth and said, “It was me. I lied to the black guy . . .”
“Killian. The ATF Agent,” Jack said.
“I don’t know what that is,” Coin said. Jack asked him to describe ‘the black guy’ he had talked to. It was Killian, no doubt.
Coin’s eyes shifted from Jack to the bottle, to Jack, back to the bottle, like a game of tennis until Jack screwed the cap back on the bottle.
“Okay. Okay. I lied to him and said I heard it from a hobo. I was the one that heard those two cops in the shack. You gotta get me in the Witness Protection thing.”
“Tell me, and I’ll make sure the bad guys don’t get you,” Jack said.
Out of habit, Coin nervously rubbed the fingers and thumb of a hand together.
“I’m asking nicely,” Jack said with a scowl on his face. “Tell me or we go downtown and I tell everyone that you talked.”
Coin swallowed hard. “Well. It was hotter’n it is today. I was sharing a bottle with a guy I met over by that garage door place. You know the place?”
“Overhead Garage Doors on Kentucky Avenue,” Liddell said.
Coin’s head bobbed. “I was sharing a bottle with this guy and it was hotter’n blazes. He said he knew a place where it’d be cooler. Se we went to those empty buildings by the train tracks . . .”
“Where? What buildings?” Jack asked. Coin stretched out a bony arm pointing.
“Over there. The big buildings. I used to sleep in them but the cops kept running me off, so I came over here.”
“Coin, what about the buildings and the guy?” Jack asked.
“That’s where my buddy said he came in town from.” He grinned and said, “I ain’t never met a real hobo before. I mean I’m homeless n’ shit, but he ain’t got nuthin’ but the clothes he was wearing and . . .”
Jack unscrewed the cap again. Coin’s eyes were drawn to it like a moth to a flame. “Coin, focus,” Jack said. “Tell us what you heard at the shack, and I’ll let you have some.”
Coin’s words came out in a blur. He told them that he had followed the guy to a wood shack, and the way he described the area, it was the old warehouse district.
“We climbed over the fence,” Coin said. “I tore my jeans on it. He showed me a spot in back where we could crawl down in the underneath. It was cool down there in the dirt. We drank and then my buddy went to get some more an’ told me to stay where I was. So I did, and that was when I heard someone coming. They was up in the shack over top. I heard heavy footsteps an’ talking. Then they stopped talking an’ I thought they was gone. I started to crawl out, but I heard laughin’ an’ they started talking again. I was curious an’ there was a board missing up there so I scooched over and took a peek. There was two of ’em, an’ they was police. I hoped they wasn’t lookin’ for me. They talked a little more, then they left.
My buddy, he never come back, an’ I was worried the cops was there for me so I ran away.”
“When did you tell Killian all this?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know. It wasn’t long after is all I know. He always gives me money an’ don’t even expect nothing. So I told him what I saw. He’s a real generous guy, ya’ know that, Detective Murphy? A real gentleman.”
“Did you know the two policemen?” Jack asked.
Coin said, “Naw suh. I just saw uniforms an’ guns, an’ I scooched back so they wouldn’t find me.”
Jack didn’t believe him. Coin knew every cop in the city. But he was scared. Jack didn’t blame him for not telling whom he’d seen, but he needed the information. He handed the bottle to Coin, who tipped it up and had half of it drunk before Jack could wrest it away from him.
“Tell me exactly what you heard them say,” Jack said, holding the booze just out of Coin’s reach.
Coin told them what he’d heard but it wasn’t much, or his memory was gone with his alcohol-riddled brain cells. Jack and Liddell took turns running the old guy through his story, but it never changed much. Jack gave him the bottle and watched him slouch off toward the South Sector office where he would sleep it off in the park.
The got back in their car and Liddell said, “Modock, Moonie, Moon, or something like that, right?”
“Those might not even be names. Coin’s half a pound short of a brain, Bigfoot.”
“Do you believe him?”
Jack thought about it. “Yeah. He was really shook up when he saw us. I’ve never known him to run from a cop. You think what he heard were nicknames, or was he just making this shit up?”
Liddell thought about that, then said, “I believe that Coin was at that shack and heard or saw something. And with what Walker said about the boot prints, I believe there were two guys in uniform in there. Coin should know the difference between cops and security guards, but he was drunk. Plus, he could only see them through a crack in the floor.”
“If that part about the policemen is true, it kind of makes sense that Killian didn’t tell anyone what he was doing. Two cops talking about getting explosives. Killian was probably afraid—and with good reason—of a leak.”
“I get that,” Liddell said. “He wanted to check Coin’s info out first. Maybe it was just bad timing.”
“No one on our department carries a .40 caliber handgun, Bigfoot. We have to carry the Glock .45s.”
“Maybe they weren’t on duty when they shot Killian. It was a couple of days ago that Coin saw them. Maybe today they were off duty and caught Killian spying on them. Maybe they saw him roll up behind the warehouse.”
Jack thought Bigfoot was right, but that meant they weren’t much further than they were this morning. “Maybe Coin didn’t remember everything . . . or maybe he didn’t tell us.”
Jack’s phone rang and he answered. He listened for a few seconds and disconnected.
“Shit! Better take me downtown, Bigfoot.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jack sat in the captain’s office. Franklin was in his usual place, behind his desk. Chief of Police Marlin Pope sat in a chair against the wall. Deputy Chief Dick paced directly in front of Jack, hands laced behind his back, nose in the air like Franklin Roosevelt, barely containing his glee.
“You’ve done it this time, Murphy,” Deputy Chief Dick said. “I want your badge and gun. I will be insisting on your termination from service.”
“Chief, I don’t—” Captain Franklin said, and Chief Pope cut him off.
“Is Nate Cartwright pressing criminal charges, Captain?” Pope asked.
“No, sir. He claims Detective Murphy beat him while he was handcuffed, but at this time he’s only making a complaint with Internal Affairs. His attorney is making a fuss and wanting his client’s charges dropped. Personally, Chief, I don’t think it will go anywhere. The prosecutor will make some concessions and that will be the end of it.”
Chief Pope sat silent, staring at the floor. He knew Jack had a temper, and most likely had punched the guy out, but not while he was handcuffed. That wasn’t Jack’s reputation.
Deputy Chief Dick interrupted. “I don’t care what the prosecutor does or does not do. We have witnesses to Murphy’s abuse of a prisoner. Internal Affairs assures me the complaint will be substantiated. The victim could change his mind and file charges against this . . . this . . .” he motioned toward Jack, “rogue at any time.”
Pope asked Jack, “Where are you on Killian?”
Jack’s heart sank. He said, “I guess Liddell can take it over. We think Killian was on a clandestine stakeout.” Clandestine—meaning unapproved in this case.
Not surprisingly, Chief Pope said, “Jack, I’m going to have to suspend you with pay until IA can look into the complaint. Or until the prosecutor gives us more information on what is happening with the charges against Cartwright. You know that even if Cartwright is tried and convicted, it won’t stop the IA investigation?”
Jack sat silent. He was in a bad spot and he knew it, but Deputy Chief Dick acted as if he’d been slapped in the face.
“Chief Pope,” Dick said. “I most strongly disagree with that decision. This man should be fired. This isn’t his first violation of department policy. I remind you he shot two alleged suspects only days ago and.... He’s out of control. His partner is out of control. Blanchard intentionally drove . . .”
“Your objection is noted, Deputy Chief,” Pope said. To Jack he said, “Leave your badge and gun here with the captain. Liddell can take over any of your cases that are ongoing. Be sure you catch up your paperwork before you leave the building. Stay in touch.”
Jack stood and brushed past the deputy chief on his way out, muttering, “Bite me.”
Dick turned toward him. “What did you say?” He asked the captain, “What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Excuse me,’” Captain Franklin answered for Jack.
* * *
Liddell was waiting for Jack in the police department lobby.
“This is getting to be a habit,” Liddell said. “In the last three days we’ve been chewed up and spit out by the brass. What’s the plan now?”
“You’re in charge, Bigfoot. I’m suspended pending further.”
“What? They can’t do that. Not now.”
“They can, and they did. I need to clear my head, Bigfoot. I’m going for a walk. I’ll call you later. Let me know what the reverend tells you.”
Liddell stood, mouth agape as Jack wandered down the hall and outside without any clear destination in mind. He’d already forgotten about Double Dick. He was angry with himself for letting his temper get to him. If he had to do it all over, he would never have hit Cartwright—at least not several times.
He meant to tell the captain about Khaled, but he had to get out of there before he did something else he’d be sorry for. He’d tell the captain about Khaled when he had something more than conjecture. He called Liddell and told him not to mention Khaled for now and hung up. Jack was suspended, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t ask a few questions. He still had some rights.
He walked down the busy Evansville streets and thought about what he’d learned so far. It wasn’t much. He hadn’t implicated or eliminated Khaled. Two police officers were involved if Coin was to be believed. And Coin said the two cops were talking about explosives and using names like Modock or Mooney or Moon. They were white, male, and cops, and that was basically all Coin knew. Coin told Killian all of this a few days ago, and then Killian pulls a clandestine stakeout and gets shot. Jack wondered if the shooter thought Killian was dead. Maybe he didn’t intend to leave Killian alive.
Jack called the security number at Deaconess and was assured there were two police officers setting outside the ICU. When he stopped walking, he was surprised to find himself back at the parole office.
Oh, what the hell. I need to talk to someone.
He hesitated at the front door because he didn’t need any more attitude from Hatc
het Face, so he walked around to the back door and found it unlocked. He’d have to mention the safety issue to Susan. Anyone could walk in.
Susan’s office door was open, and he could hear her humming. She saw him in the doorway, and in a voice that wasn’t particularly welcoming, said, “I suppose you need another favor? Who are you going to abuse this time?”
Her words hit a nerve and she saw him wince.
“What happened? Sit down,” she said.
Now that he was here, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know why he’d come. But that wasn’t completely true. Susan wouldn’t turn away a stray, and that was what he felt like now. He was surprised to hear himself say, “I got suspended.”
Instead of a shocked expression she gave him a smile, said, “Oh,” and laughed.
He had forgotten how nice her laugh was. “I’m suspended with pay until Internal Affairs is done with me. Double Dick wants my head on a pike as usual, and I guess I’m giving him all the cause he needs.”
“I won’t ask what you did. If you want to make any further confession, you can go to church. If you want coffee . . .” she said, and seeing the way Jack stared at her she asked, “What?”
“You’re a genius.”
“Of course I am,” she said. “What did I say?”
* * *
A few minutes later they were in her Honda again and headed southeast. Jack called Liddell.
Liddell said, “The IA guy caught me when I dropped you off at headquarters. I just got through talking to him.”
Jack told him about meeting with Susan again. He said, “Reverend Payne might know something about this. I’m headed there with Susan now.”
“The church remark. I get it,” Liddell said. “Are you and Susan . . . you know?”
“Shut up,” Jack said. “I think Payne will talk with her present. He’s a ladies’ man.”
“Oh, that’s the reason you’re with Susan. I get it.”
“Call Walker to see if there’s anything new. Then call the ATF and see if they can hurry the ballistic tests. I’ll call you when we leave the reverend’s,” Jack said and disconnected.
