by Don Weston
My heart sank. “So why did Clemons take him off the case?”
“Same reason he should never have put him on, I guess. He botched the security detail at the hospital which got Darrin killed. Then he nearly got you killed on the way home from the funeral home when The Jet tried to shoot you again.”
“Steve couldn’t have done much about the shooting on our way home from the funeral home,” I said. “It was my own fault. I was supposed to be home recuperating.”
“But it was Steve’s responsibility to make sure you stayed home, and he blew it. And I heard a rumor you had visited the Mayor just before that incident. Is that true?”
“I guess I didn’t care much about what might happen to Steve.” I groaned. “I was mad because I thought he wanted to keep me from finding Darrin’s killer.”
“Can you see it from his point of view?” Richardson said. “He’s trying to find your brother’s killer and keep you safe and maybe have a chance to get his career back on track.”
“I think I’ve had enough shooting practice,” I said.
Richards nodded.
“Did he ever say . . . to anyone . . . he thought I was gay?” I could tell I surprised him because his face became more animated.
“Are you?” he said. “I mean, I never would have thought it.”
“No, I’m not! I just wondered if he ever mentioned it. Even if he was joking.”
“I never heard him say anything like that. He called you a bitch a couple of times . . .”
“I can live with that,” I said. “I can be a bitch when I don’t get my way.”
I spent the twenty-minute drive to the Central Precinct downtown rehearsing what I wanted to say to Steve. My emotions were raw, and I tried not to cry and ruin my makeup before I saw him. I was still dressed in my black Nike sweat suit and smelled of gun powder from the shooting range. My makeup was the last bastion of femininity, and I so wanted to be more feminine these days.
I walked straight into Steve’s office, if you can call it that. It consisted of a small desk in a cubbyhole near the records file room. Not all of the records were in their home, however. A good amount of them were on his dingy walnut desk and they were stacked so high I could barely see Steve slumped behind his fortress of solitude.
“I want to talk to you,” I said, slamming the door harder than I intended.
“This is a surprise.” He scooted his chair on wheels to the side of the desk and cleared a stack of files from a nearby chair. “Sit down. I’m glad you stopped by.”
His appearance shocked me. His face was haggard and defeated. His eyes poised above dark puffy half circles. His rumpled brown suit added to his sad sack appearance. I thought I smelled a faint odor of liquor on him.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Me? Oh, I’m fine. But I wanted to talk to you before any rumors made it your way.”
“Well, they already have; that’s why I’m here.”
“I’m sorry. I would rather you heard the news from me.”
“I would rather you had told me yourself too. Why did you keep silent about this for so long?”
Steve’s dark eyes fixated on me. “I only found out this morning.”
“I’m confused,” I said. “You only just found out that you hated me and that I’m a bitch?”
“What are you talking about? I’ve known you were a bitch since the first day we were partners.” He grinned. “But what is this about me hating you?”
I told Steve about the rumors I heard earlier at the gun range but didn’t mention Richards as the source. He listened intently, his face turned redder as I unraveled the facts.
“That was a long time ago,” he said finally. “I don’t hate you!” He pushed a stack of files off his desk, stood and kicked his chair over. “This is the last straw.”
“It’s not true?” I asked.
“Shit!” He blew air out of his cheeks and made a moaning sound.
“I owe you an apology. I have blamed you for my misfortunes and I did speak badly about you on several occasions. At the time I was venting and it felt good to blame someone other than myself. But in the last year or so I realized I was the only one responsible for what happened to me.
“I stood up for you because more, often than not, you were doing the right thing. Sometimes it got us in hot water, but I could have reined you in more than I did. You see, at the time I had a crush on you so I let you get away with more crap than I should have.”
I swayed into the back of my chair and my heart skipped a beat. “You had a crush on me?”
His eyes darted to the floor and gradually rose to see my reaction. “Yeah, but you know. It wouldn’t have done for us to have a physical relationship because we were partners.”
“And later? After I left?”
“You were in hot water with the city and a lot of the heat came back to me. I guess I was distancing myself from you to avoid the flack.”
“But I was off duty when I banged Chris’s head in the revolving door.”
“I know. I know. But I was your superior and I should have had control of you. That was the feeling of the Chief and he was right. If I’d done a better job holding you accountable, maybe you’d still be on the force and I’d be a Captain by now.”
“I think I would have found a way to get booted eventually,” I said. “I don’t like to follow orders. It has nothing to do with you.”
He smiled a bit and leaned forward. “Thanks. But like I said, I’ve figured out I’m the only one responsible for my troubles. I wanted to head the investigation of Darrin’s death to make up for the way I treated you in the past. The Mayor wanted the Chief to put one of his boys in charge, and I convinced him otherwise.”
“How’d you do that”?
“It wasn’t by telling him I could keep you in line. That was his idea.” He grinned. “I told him it might not be in his best interest if word got out he was putting it to the wife of his city auditor.”
“You knew about their affair?”
“I’d seen them together a couple of times. He said I was blackmailing him, and I told him to call it whatever he wanted, but if he didn’t put me in charge I’d go to the media.”
“Steve, that’s so unlike you.”
“Yeah, well it blew up in my face.”
“But why did he take you off the case if you’re holding all this leverage against him. Isn’t he afraid you’ll go to the press?”
Steve slunk in his chair and ran his fingers through his stringy brown hair. “I don’t know, but I don’t like the way things are unfolding. The Chief gave me the news this morning. I got called into his office along with Detective Richards. I was out; Richards was brought in as lead detective, and the Chief assigned Officer McGraw to the team for continuity.”
That surprised me. Richards hadn’t mentioned anything about his promotion. “Did the Chief give a reason for taking you off the case?”
“About a hundred of them. He was hot after you called us on our procedures at Darrin’s funeral.”
I winced. “I’m sorry.”
“You were right on. I was against it myself, but Mayor Clemons insisted. The jerk. He set the whole thing up and then his bright cop, McGraw, kept losing you.”
“McGraw reported to Clemons?” I said.
“Of course. You’ve got to know, in a volatile setup like this, the Mayor is going to have some ears on the inside. McGraw was assigned to head the surveillance on you by Clemons himself. McGraw flubbed it, and I got the blame.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“I gave that up about a year ago and no matter what you do, I promise, I’ll never blame you again.”
“You feel sorry for me because I got shot and Darrin’s dead.”
“I blame myself for Darrin’s death. I thought I had it covered. There’s no way a sniper should have been up in the hospital parking structure. The Mayor’s right there. I’m totally to blame.”
I didn’t say anything. Maybe beca
use I also suspected it was his fault. That had always troubled me. No one should have gotten by Steve’s team. But it also bothered me that Steve was up in the parking structure when the shots were fired. Why didn’t he see anything?
“Billie, there’s something else. I may be imagining this, but I don’t think so.”
“What?”
“I think I might be a suspect in Darrin’s murder.”
“What?” I tried to act surprised.
“It’s the way things are unfolding. Effectively I’m on paid leave. They’ve got me here filing records instead of out in the field. It’s supposed to be a punishment, but it feels like I’m in the frame.”
“You mean for Darrin’s murder?”
“Not just Darrin’s murder, but the attempts on your life too, including when you were shot in the warehouse. They’re going through my phone records. I think they’re searching for any calls I might have made to The Jet. And I was on the scene during both of the other attempts.”
“But you were at my house when The Jet was shot.”
He shook his head. “I only got to your house ten minutes before you. Before that I was following another dead-end lead. The address my informant gave me was out in North Portland and didn’t exist.”
“North Portland? Anywhere near Cathedral Park?”
“About three miles, but I never got a call on the shooting. I could have been there in a few minutes, but for some reason communications got mucked up and no one called me. Could be they suspected me even then.”
“Then you don’t have an alibi.”
“No.” He said. “I could easily have shot him and returned to your house.”
“Did you know I was at the Pirate Festival when The Jet was shot?”
“Shit no. What were you doing there?”
“He wanted to warn me about something. He told me not to trust the police. He was about to tell me why, when he was shot to death.”
“Oh my God, you must believe me. I didn’t try to have you killed. I’m being set up. You do believe me, don’t you?”
“That depends on how you answer my next question, and I want you think carefully before you answer it.”
“Okay,” he said, dead serious.
“Did you ever say or imply to anyone you thought I might be gay?”
He jerked his head back, his eyes opened wide and he laughed out loud.
“You? A lesbian? Okay I can understand why someone who doesn’t know you might think so, but honest, never in my life. You hit on me so many times I couldn’t have kept track with a scorecard. It was all I could do to act like I wasn’t interested. One thing I didn’t want to do was get demoted for having a relationship with my partner. Ethically it’s just wrong. I’m old school and you represent a new breed of police officer so I don’t think you ever got that, did you?”
I felt my face blush. Was it excitement or embarrassment?
“Did I answer your question correctly?” he said. “Now do you believe me when I say I didn’t try to kill you or your brother?”
I hugged him. “Of course, I do.”
I had to say it. But in my heart a doubt lingered. I tried to brush it away, but . . .
Chapter 21
“I can’t get Mrs. Fleming on the phone,” Angel said. “I’ve tried all day, but it rings forever and then goes to message.”
“Funny she would call and then not be available when we try to call her back,” I said. “Is she still at the same hotel?”
“Yeah, The Comfort Suites on Airport Way. I called the desk, but they said they haven’t seen her today.”
“Have there been any other calls?”
“No. It’s been really quiet this afternoon. I haven’t even heard from your brothers.”
“I talked to them after I met Richards at the shooting range,” I said. “Dag said Chris has gone missing again. Dan’s been filling in over at the East Precinct. He said Jason is out on patrol in East County too. He thinks the Chief is keeping them at arm’s length so they can’t do any snooping into Darrin’s murder case.”
I checked my watch. It was five-thirty and City Hall offices were surely locked up by now. I wanted to have another crack at the layout later in the evening to find out why The Jet snuck in and what he might have learned.
“You feel like going for a ride?” I asked Angel.
“Where to?”
“The Comfort Suites. I have this uneasy feeling Stella Fleming held something back from me the last time we talked and now I’m concerned about her safety.”
We left the house by the back door and entered the garage through the side. The sun was an hour and a half from setting, but the lighting inside the garage was dim and shadows filled the gaps. I pushed the automatic door-opener button and waited for it to lift. It didn’t open. I pushed the button again and nothing happened. I flipped the light switch and the bulb failed too.
Angel bumped into me. “What’s the matter?”
“I think the power’s out. The door won’t open and the light won’t turn on.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Angel said. “The house lights are on and there’s not enough power out here to trip a fuse.”
I walked to the rear bumper of my car and squinted to see if any wires were loosened at the garage door opener apparatus. As my eyes became used to the darkness, I spotted a stray white wire from the garage door leading up to the ceiling where it joined another white wire leading back to the overhead motor. The wire appeared caught at the edge of the guide rail which tracked the pulley system.
“Maybe this wire got snagged when the door closed or opened last,” I said.
“Hmm,” Angel said. “What about the overhead garage door light?”
“Probably just burned out.”
“Well how are we going to get the damn door open?” Angel said.
“Dan showed me what to do when this happens.” I walked toward the door opening, reached up and grabbed a small wooden handle dangling from a braided rope overhead and pulled. A metal plate unlatched from the garage door, separating the door from the pulley system.
“Now we can lift the door manually.”
I wedged myself between the door and car bumper, grabbed the metal handle in the middle of the door, and tugged. The door opened a couple inches before I had to stop.
“I think I pulled a stitch. Can you help me?” Angel stood a few feet away at the edge of the garage door, staring.
“What is that?” she said.
“What is what?”
“If the power is off to the garage door, why is the little red light on?”
She pointed to a little plastic sensor box, which shot a red beam across the width of the door to stop the garage door from closing if a child or some object lay in its path. I bent over the sensor box and felt more wires I’d missed before in the dark. These wires were black. They led in another direction from the white ones.
Were the black wires also part of the garage mechanism? I squatted and ran my fingers back along the black wires between odd pieces of wood, lawn chairs and other junk leaning against the wall. After following the wire hand-over-hand for about seven feet, I stopped and gawked up at the other set of wires overhead. Why would there be two sets of wires?
Angel watched intently, and I ran my fingers along the cord for another foot or so when I felt it. It was smooth, metallic and tube shaped.
“Uh Oh!” I sputtered. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What is it?” Angel said.
“A big pipe bomb.”
We scurried back around the front of my car and I bumped my hand and my keys against a headlight. The car’s horn bleated in steady increments. It scared the hell out of us and we ran for the door. It wasn’t until we got outside and away from the garage, that I realized I had accidently triggered the fob on my keychain which set off the remote car alarm.
My garage is detached and about fifteen feet from the side of my house and we were at the back corner of the house. When I managed to tap the
remote fob on my key chain to stop the bleating of the car horn, three things happened concurrently.
First, the horn went silent. Second, my garage left the ground in thousands of various sized debris. Third, the blast laid us out on the grass like helpless fish floundering out of water.
Some of the smaller pieces fell on us, but I lay in stunned amazement at seeing most of them shoot straight up in the air as high as 100 feet.
“Jeez,” Angel said. “I can’t hear anything, except a ringing in my ears.”
“The bomb went off,” I said to no one in particular. I sat up and rubbed my ears to stop the ringing. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll live, but that’s more than I can say for your car. Make the ringing stop.”
There were flames coming from where the garage used to be. They quickly engulfed the shell of the building and shot up 50 feet over my car.
“I didn’t like that car anyway.” I lied. It was a 1990 Mazda Miata, a cool little red convertible with a cherry body and troublesome engine, and I loved it. “I’m going to get a better car.”
I noticed a figure pacing around the driveway in front. It started toward us, and I instinctively reached for my purse to get my gun only to realize I’d left my bag on the hood of my car.
“Damn,” I said, “my purse is burning up in there.”
“I’ve got mine,” Angel said. “Do you want me to call 9-1-1?”
“I need a gun.”
“Why didn’t you say so.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a snub-nosed revolver. I grabbed it and raised it toward the dim figure approaching.”
“Hey, hold on; it’s me.”
“How did you get here so fast?” My eyes slowly focused on Steve.
“Thank God you two are all right. I thought the worst when I heard the explosion.”
“You were here when it blew up?” Angel said.
“Yeah, I thought I’d stop by and make sure Billie was doing okay. I was on the front porch ringing the doorbell when I heard the car alarm go off. Then all hell broke loose. The blast practically knocked me on my butt. What happened?”
“Pipe bomb,” I said, deciding to lower my gun. “A big pipe bomb.”
Angel and I staggered up off the ground and walked toward the front yard. When we got there, we saw Earl sitting in a blue BMW across the street. He stared at the garage in awe.
