by Joel Goldman
Jennings shot a quick glance at Ammara when I mentioned Brett’s name.
“You want to help Roni, work with me and maybe I can help her and you.”
“Work with you, how?”
“Give me your cell phone.”
He added his name and number to my contacts and tossed the phone back to me.
“Anything you get on the stolen guns, I hear about it, including anything you get from Roni Chase. Doesn’t matter who it involves or what it is, it comes to me. I call you, you answer. You don’t put me on hold, you don’t promise to call me back. We tell you to wear a wire, you wear a wire.”
He was giving orders, not asking for suggestions, but he didn’t own me, at least not yet. Going along was a promise I’d decide later whether to keep.
“Understood. You think Roni knows something about the guns, or do you want to use me and her to get to Brett Staley?”
This time, he held his poker face, making me wish Kate were here to read it for me.
“I’m saying Roni Chase’s life can get real complicated. You want to help her, I’m telling you how.”
“And what do I get for being your butt boy?”
He looked at Ammara again, nodding.
“Copies of the files on the Martin and Montgomery missing children,” she said.
“I need those files, but that won’t help Roni.”
“Sorry, Jack, it’s the best deal I could get. Half a loaf, you know what I mean.”
“How does an ATF hump get copies of missing person files?”
“He didn’t get them. I did. KCPD asked for our help on both cases. Jennings made the deal with our new SAC, Debra Williams, and I’m stuck with it.”
I looked at Jennings. His face was flat, impassive, a brick wall shutting out further negotiations until I had something more to offer than cooperation. He and Adrienne Nardelli were dealing from the same deck. Knowledge was power. They had it, and I needed it.
“When do I get the files?”
“Right now,” Ammara said. “They’re in the car.”
“Who do I deal with? You or asshole?”
She shrugged. “Asshole.”
“Hey!” Jennings said. “I’m standing right here.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Give me the files.”
“One last thing,” he said. “You tell anyone about this, our deal is off and Roni Chase goes away.”
The lights were off when I walked in the house, lurching on uncertain legs, bracing myself against walls, countertops, and furniture. Roxy and Ruby were fast asleep, back-to-back, in their doggie bed on the kitchen floor. I left the files Ammara gave me on the kitchen table, my brain too fogged to make sense of them.
When Joy moved in, she took the bedroom that had been Lucy’s. We didn’t start sleeping together for a couple of months, and when we did, it was for comfort, sex one of the last things to come back into our relationship and then, only occasionally, given her condition. We were intimate in other ways, though, that held us together, knowing that we were sharing the last months of her life with one another.
Even then, we didn’t sleep together every night. It wasn’t something we discussed or negotiated. There were times one of us needed the other, and there were times we needed to be alone. We just let it happen as if that part of our life had an identity and will of its own, sometimes going a week or more together or alone as our uneven rhythms dictated, Joy keeping her clothes and toiletries in the other bedroom and bath.
Climbing the stairs, seeing the door to her room closed and mine open, I understood why she wanted it this way. She’d lost too much—our children, our marriage, and the certainty she’d be alive from one day to the next—to trust the future or me enough not to need a place of her own.
Chapter Thirty-seven
I don’t get misty-eyed when I walk into a courthouse, kvelling over the nobility of the law. I’ve learned that justice is more myopic than blind, judges working crossword puzzles at the bench while jurors sleep through trials and lawyers stumble over closing arguments buzzed from a three-martini lunch. I’ve seen suspects do the perp walk one day and the freedom walk the next, their fate a commodity traded among plea-bargaining prosecutors and defense counsel like baseball cards at an autograph show.
In spite of all that, I was knocked back when I stepped off the bus and saw Roni Chase standing on the steps of the Jackson County Courthouse flanked by Ethan Bonner and Kate Scranton, waving to me, her smile so wide I could count her molars. I looked around. Cars passed back and forth on Twelfth Street in front of the courthouse. People flowed around me on the sidewalk. A pushcart vendor was setting up shop offering bagels, pretzels, and brats. A northbound bus stopped at the intersection of Twelfth and Oak, people getting on and off, the bus pulling away in a sooty cloud of diesel exhaust. Braylon Jennings emerged from the fog, tipping his ball cap at me before turning and walking away, letting me know that he’d made good on his end of our deal and, PS, now he owned me. Roni skipped down the steps, threw her arms around me, and planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek.
“Oh my God, Jack! Can you believe it? They dropped the charges! I didn’t even have to go in front of the judge! I don’t know how to thank you for getting me such an awesome lawyer!”
Bonner took his time, ambling down the steps, not offering a high five. We exchanged looks, his full of questions, mine saying don’t ask me.
“Quincy Carter called me this morning,” Bonner said. “Told me they were dropping the charges.”
“Any explanation?” I asked.
“None, but Carter said not to get cocky because things could change. My guess is the prosecuting attorney didn’t want to get too far ahead of himself. If he moves on Roni before he’s ready to go after the shooter, he’s got to turn his evidence over to me in discovery. He might be afraid that could hamstring him.”
“You don’t buy that,” Kate said. “Your face is full of doubt. Your eyes are too narrow to see your shoes, and your brow is doing a Cro-Magnon crunch.”
He took a breath. “No, I don’t buy it. I didn’t let them interview Roni, so they haven’t even heard her explanation about how the killer could have ended up with her gun. Hell, Roni hasn’t told me either. Any other case, the cops would threaten her with spending the rest of her life doing remakes of Chained Heat to get her to confess and cooperate. I’m good, but this doesn’t make sense. If I didn’t know better, I’d say somebody fixed something.”
“What do you think?” Kate asked me.
Braylon Jennings was working a simple robbery, but he had enough juice to kick a murder suspect to the curb. That the thieves had made off with a cache of guns didn’t change the standard criminal justice calculus. Murder trumps theft every time unless they are tied together. Frank Crenshaw had been murdered while lying in a hospital bed waiting to be charged with killing his wife, and nothing reorders a desperate wounded man’s priorities like a death sentence. If Crenshaw had something to offer the cops besides a guilty plea, killing him was the only way to make certain he kept quiet.
Then everything came together. Jennings suspected that Brett was involved with the robbery of the gun dealer, that he’d sold one of the guns to Frank Crenshaw and killed him so that Frank couldn’t give Brett up in a deal to avoid a death sentence. And, when Roni’s gun proved to be the murder weapon, Jennings and Carter figured that Roni was covering for Brett.
If they were right, Brett would assume that they cut Roni loose because she made a deal, forcing him to try to shut her up just as he had Crenshaw. Jennings had tossed Roni out like chum for the sharks and told me to look the other way while Brett measured her for her funeral dress. The only thing I could do to make things worse for Roni was to open my mouth. She’d be charged again and be just as vulnerable whether she made bail or sat in a cell waiting for someone to do someone a favor.
“I think we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“And I’m not going to,” Roni said. “Yeech, look at me. I need a shower a
nd clean clothes. Can somebody give me a ride home?”
Bonner raised his hand. “I’m in the lot across the street.”
“Hang on a minute. Roni, we need to talk,” I said, taking her by the elbow until we were out of earshot.
“What is it?”
“This isn’t over.”
Her face clouded. “Of course it is. They dropped the charges.”
“For now. Quincy Carter isn’t Santa Claus. He can arrest you again.”
“Why? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then tell me what happened to your gun. Did you loan it to someone? How did Crenshaw’s killer end up with it?”
She folded her arms across her chest, her lips tight. “It’s over, Jack. You don’t have to save me anymore.”
“Why do you think Frank Crenshaw was killed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ve got a good idea. The gun Crenshaw used to kill Marie was one of a bunch of guns stolen from a gun dealer. Crenshaw probably didn’t know that when he bought the gun, but his killer couldn’t take the chance that Crenshaw would give up whoever sold him the gun.”
“I don’t know anything about the robbery.”
“I’m not the one you have to convince.”
“The police don’t think I’m involved or else they wouldn’t have let me go. So, who do I have to convince?”
“Frank Crenshaw’s killer. If he thinks you made a deal with the cops, he’ll come after you.”
She took a step back. “You’re just trying to scare me.”
“That I am. Where’s Brett Staley?”
“Brett? What’s he got to do with this?”
Her voice jumped an octave, her brows arching and eyes widening. I glanced over my shoulder. Kate had moved to the steps and was watching us. She had a clear angle on Roni’s face. I’d wanted to keep our conversation private but welcomed Kate’s read.
“An innocent person would have told your lawyer or me or the cops what happened to your gun. A half-smart but guilty person would at least come up with a plausible lie. But you’re stonewalling—acting like you didn’t even hear the question, which is a piss-poor way of covering up for someone. So tell me, what happened to your gun?”
She looked at the ground, turned away, and then looked at me straight on, teeth clenched.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Did you give your gun to Brett?”
Her eyes were on fire. “No.”
“Did he steal it?”
Her shoulders sagged for an instant. She took a breath, straightening her spine, holding her head up.
“How should I know? I didn’t know it was missing until Detective Carter told me someone used it to kill Frank.”
“Is that why you freaked when Carter asked you to show him the gun? I thought you were going to crawl inside the sofa pillow and hide.”
“Carter scared me, that’s all.”
“Did Brett know Frank Crenshaw?”
“What difference does that make? If that makes him guilty, they’ll have to arrest the whole neighborhood because everybody knows everybody.”
“Have you seen him since we were at the hospital Sunday night?”
“No, but he called me yesterday morning to see if I was okay.”
“Does he know you were arrested?”
“Grandma Lilly told him. I called him as soon they let me go.”
“Did he say anything about your gun?”
“He didn’t answer. I left him a message.”
“I want you to go home, stay home, and stay away from Brett until this is over.”
She raised her hands to her shoulders, ready to push me away. “Look! I’m going home to clean up and see my mom and grandma. Then I’m going to my office to see if I have any clients left who can pay my fees, and if I want to see my boyfriend, I’ll see him.”
“So now he is your boyfriend? Listen to me, Roni.”
“No, you listen to me, Jack. I’ve known you for two days. I appreciate how you helped me out, but back off. Go find someone else to rescue.”
She strode past me, arms at her sides, fists clenched. I waited until she and Bonner were at the curb.
“Hey, Roni!”
She stopped, turned, and glared at me. “What now?”
“The moon is pink.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Jennings called my cell before they were out of sight, his way of letting me know I was on a short leash.
“What?”
“What did she tell you?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Jack.”
“You’re not my type.”
I snapped the phone shut. Jennings had made a huge investment in this case—cutting deals with the FBI and KCPD, conscripting me, and risking Roni’s life. The question was why he would lay so much on the line for a case that was a blip in the news cycle. Not that gun-dealer robberies and hospital-bed murders weren’t cases that had to be solved. They were. It’s just that they weren’t bet-your-career cases. If Jennings’s gamble didn’t pay off, his would go south with the case, meaning he’d stay on me or make certain someone else did.
Kate waited until they reached Bonner’s car. “So are you going to tell me what that was all about?”
“I pissed her off.”
“I had no idea except that you transformed her from bubbly to boiling. What did you say to her?”
“I told her this wasn’t over, and she didn’t believe me, kept saying she didn’t do anything wrong. I asked her what happened to her gun, and she wouldn’t tell me. The only straight answer I got was when I asked her if she gave the gun to Brett and she told me flat-out no. When I asked her if he could have taken it, she bobbed and weaved, said how should she know.”
“She avoided eye contact and touched her mouth and eyes a lot which are classic deception gestures. There was one time she did look you in the eye. Was that when she told she didn’t give the gun to Brett?”
“Yeah. Said it like she meant it.”
Kate shrugged. “Could be she’s telling the truth.”
“Could be? I thought you were the deception expert.”
“It’s not like on television. One glance and aha, she’s lying or she’s telling the truth. It’s more nuanced than that. I have to have a baseline from talking to her or observing her or watching her on video before I can be more certain. Some people are better liars than others, and some people come across as lying because they’re afraid they won’t be believed.”
“Well, one thing is for certain. She knows more than she’s telling me.”
“Or she thinks she does and she’s afraid she might be right. How strong is her relationship with Brett?”
“She says he’s in love with her but she’s not so sure how she feels about him. They’ve been together a long time, since they were kids, really, but she comes across as more resigned than committed.”
“What makes you say that?”
“We were talking about their relationship yesterday. She said they were comfortable, and I told her she didn’t have to settle for that, but she acted like she did, said that Brett was all she had.”
“Sounds like she’s put too much in the relationship to let it go even if she’d be better off without him,” Kate said.
“Seems likely.”
“And now she’s making bad decisions because of that, maybe passing up better options without realizing it.”
Her voice was loaded with the unmistakable sardonic tone of can you believe anyone could be so stupid?, the message clear. She wasn’t only talking about Roni and Brett. She was talking about us. I didn’t want to go down that road and pretended not to notice.
“She told me to butt out, leave her alone.”
“She fired you?”
“Sort of. I don’t think you can fire someone you never hired and who works for free.”
“Which means you won’t leave her alone. That’s called stalking.”
“I
’ll get Ethan to defend me. He’s good at getting people off, no questions asked.”
“I’ll give you that. What about the phone call?”
“What call?”
“The call you got right after Roni left.”
“It was nothing.”
She sighed. “Fine. We both know you’re lying. Your face was twisted like a man possessed the instant you answered your phone. You pulled it back together, but the expression was there long enough for me to see it. If that was nothing, I’d hate to see you when it’s something.”
“I thought you didn’t make snap judgments.”
“About Roni Chase? No. But you’re another story. I know you.”
“Don’t thin-slice me.” The words came out like razors, the look I gave her just as sharp.
It was an old argument, one that had burdened our relationship from the beginning. Kate couldn’t help what she saw, and there were too many times I didn’t want to be seen. She had no difficulty keeping her observations to herself when she was working, disclosing them as her professional obligations required. It was different with us, she said, love giving her a license to care and share. We had struggled to find a balance between her need to know and my need to hold back.
“Fair enough.”
She bit her lip, turning away, making my stomach churn, the hurt in her voice a reminder that time and distance hadn’t healed the raw places that drove us apart or buried the sweet spots that had brought us together. She was trying to help me, and I’d returned the favor by jumping her because I was angry at Jennings and Roni.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I can’t talk about it right now, but I’ll tell you when I can.”
She gave me a soft half smile, nodding. “It’s okay. I forget that you’re like one of those Chinese boxes full of hidden compartments.”
