The Children of Eli

by Mike Cranny

  She said, “Yes,” and put her hand on his arm, letting it linger there for a second. Then she turned forward, looked out into the darkness and the rain. Suddenly, the scanner squawked and she turned up the volume.

  “A homicide at a restaurant called the Zuider Zee,” she said. “That’s the place John Robbie’s girlfriend runs.”

  Archie swore. He flicked on the emergency lights, reversed direction and spun the car through a river of water. The Zuider Zee was on the other side of town and they could get there faster if he used an access road that ran like a by-pass around the town. He accelerated down the highway, trying not to hydroplane and then made a sharp left into the road access. Someone on a dirt bike almost cut him off as he made the turn, forcing him to cut the wheel hard to avoid a collision. He slammed on the brakes, hand on the door ready to exit.

  The bike skidded to a stop and the rider righted his machine. For a moment the two vehicles stopped side by side, the rain dancing through the bright arcs of their headlights. Archie looked across at the sodden figure crouched over the handlebars, unrecognizable because of his helmet but familiar nonetheless. Then the bike accelerated away and was gone down the road into the rain before Archie could react. For a moment, he thought about going after it, but decided against it.

  “No license plate,” Patsy said.

  “Forget about it. We’re not going to catch the bastard in this weather and on this road. Call it in though. Maybe there’s a cruiser close enough to intercept.”

  She called in, confirmed what Archie already suspected — that no cruisers were in the area.

  Archie swore, looked off into the rain in the direction the bike had gone. Then he put his emergency lights on and accelerated towards the Zuider Zee.

  Emergency vehicles had taken over the parking lot when he got there. Ray Jameson’s Ford was there too. Archie slammed the dash with the heel of his hand.

  “Shit!”

  Patsy looked at him.

  “Relax,” she said. “No reason he shouldn’t be here.”

  Archie said nothing, got out of the car, slammed the door behind him, regretted doing so. He heard her door close, the normalcy of the sound a reprimand to him. She paralleled him as they walked towards the brightly lit restaurant; she ducked under the caution tape he stepped over. They climbed the three steps to the porch together. She followed him through the door and into the dining room. Jameson’s sidekick, Reddin, was sitting at a table drinking coffee, a baseball cap in an evidence bag on the table in front of him. Reddin saw Archie, raised his cup in salute, grinning he said, “You fucked up here, buddy.” He leered at Patsy who ignored him.

  They continued on through the kitchen, towards the bungalow and the sounds of activity there. Jameson, a cold cigar clenched in his teeth, scowled when he saw Archie. Archie looked beyond him to Bonnie Tran’s body on the bed; a dark bruise on her neck and a red cord that had been used to strangle her lying on the floor near her outstretched arm.

  “You should have brought him in, chief,” Jameson said. “Robbie got to her. He was here not a half hour ago — took off on a dirt bike.”

  Archie could think of nothing to say. Was it true that he had almost collided with the man he’d been trying to arrest and who had, apparently, killed again? Jameson pushed the point home.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I guess he got fed up with her or maybe she threatened to rat him out. He probably thought he had a good reason.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You got above yourself, chief. Too much too fast,” Jameson said.

  “You’re sure Robbie was here?” Archie asked.

  “He was here. He went out the back door while we were still out front. Guess he wanted to shut her up.”

  “Why didn’t you arrest him?”

  Jameson’s eyes narrowed.

  “Chad saw him first, almost got a shot at him before he took off out into the rain.”

  “And then what?”

  “He took off on a dirt bike down the dirt road at the back. We got his cap though.”

  Archie shook his head.

  “You got his cap.”

  “So fucking what? You’re not involved here,” Reddin said.

  “Did anyone go after him?” Patsy asked.

  “No, sweetheart, nobody went after the guy that soon to be ex-Detective Stevens should have nailed a week ago. Not yet anyway.”

  “I’d like to look around. You have a problem with that, Ray?’

  “Like I said, you got no business here now.” Jameson punched in a number on his cellphone, lit a cigar. “I think it’s time you got your ass out of here.”

  “When I’m ready, Ray.”

  Jameson tried and failed to stare Archie down. Then he came forward, trying to intimidate, trying to make Archie move out of his way. They stood nose-to-nose, eyeball-to-eyeball. At last, Jameson looked away for the briefest of moments, and eased back.

  “Amuse yourself then,” he said.

  “How come you happened to be here, Ray?”

  “Like I’d account to you.”

  There was so much contempt in his voice that, for a moment, Archie suddenly felt like dropping him, felt like driving the man’s nose into his face. Instead he walked away and got on with what he had to do.

  He took his time. Patsy seemed unsure of her role but she stayed close to him. He saw an empty Black Cat can on Bonnie’s dresser and knew from experience that only money or dope would have been stored in it. He glanced at Bonnie’s body and suddenly had the overpowering feeling that he had been in some way responsible for her death. That shook him.

  When he’d been there as long as he could stand it, he went out of the room, past Reddin, past cops stringing out the caution tape and into the parking lot. Patsy followed; he saw the look of concern plain on her face. He felt sick to his stomach. At the car, he stood in the rain, his hand on the door handle, waiting until the waves of nausea subsided. Patsy got into the car, looked out the window into the rain. He didn’t know what she was thinking and, at that moment, he didn’t care. Through the window, he heard Fricke’s voice on the radio — a demand that Archie come in immediately.

  CHAPTER 2 8

  The drive back to headquarters with Patsy involved an uncomfortable silence. When she had tried to talk to him, Archie grew sullen and withdrawn so she gave up trying. Parting at the station door, they adjourned to their separate offices without words. He was losing control of events and he knew she knew it.

  He was barely inside when Fricke called him on the interoffice line and ordered him to his office. Archie was not in the mood for a dressing-down from Fricke. He wanted to ignore the summons but that really was out of the question. He kept his jacket on and stalked down the hall. Fricke was busy signing papers, watched over by Chad Reddin, who had returned from the crime scene. Reddin was leaning against a filing cabinet, a phony look of sympathy pasted onto his face.

  Archie took a position near the wall opposite Reddin; his black mood deepened. He waited, watching Fricke work over the thick barrel of his fountain pen. Fricke was taking his time, putting off whatever he thought he had to say.

  “Doesn’t make any sense at all,” Fricke said. “All these killings and then John Robbie tooling around like he hasn’t got a care in the world don’t make sense.”

  He paused, maybe to let Archie agree with him, or maybe to get some conversation going. Archie kept his thoughts to himself.

  “We needed John Robbie in custody, Archie,” Fricke said.

  “We’re still looking.”

  “Bonnie’s death means that you screwed up. You should have had Robbie — not taken off in working hours to go diving. You got an explanation for that?”

  “Not right now.”

  “The thing is, Archie…,” Fricke said.

  Reddin pushed himself away from the filing cabinet like he was a bouncer about to eject a troublesome guest from a nightclub. Archie had heard that he had been a bouncer before he be
came a cop. He had the look anyway.

  “What he’s trying to say, Stevens, is that you can’t do the job. You got no sense of what your priorities ought to be and that’s an obvious fact.”

  Archie looked at Fricke.

  “What’s he doing here anyway?”

  Fricke started to say something but Reddin interrupted.

  “It’s no fucking wonder,” he said. “A guy comes right off the fucking reservation and figures he knows everything. You do a few courses and then you get promoted over what you should. There’s no fucking way that’s right.”

  “Shut up, Chad,” Fricke said. “I’ll handle this.”

  “I’m just saying the truth, Cal. It’s what everybody’s saying.”

  Fricke, on the verge of rising, sat back in his chair. Archie wondered if he agreed with Reddin. Reddin wasn’t finished.

  “You’re too much like your old man — a fucking loser. Ray says so.”

  Archie caught his breath, told himself to walk away. He even turned to go but halfway to the door, the wild thing got loose. He pivoted on the balls of his feet as he grabbed Reddin’s shirt and slammed him into the cabinets, upsetting the bowling trophies Fricke had displayed there. Reddin swore and shoved back. Fricke bulked in between the two men.

  “Archie, I’m reassigning you.”

  “Go to Hell.”

  “I’m not saying that was your fault — but it doesn’t look good for the department. You’re too new and too inexperienced. You know Mayor Estes questioned the fact that you got the Donaldson case in the first place.”

  Archie had a hard time making the words.

  “So you take away my case. What do you figure I’ll do around here?”

  “I don’t know yet. Ray will handle these new killings. You can do something with the Bill Tran gang stuff — maybe. The poaching and all could keep you busy.”

  “This stinks.”

  “Ray’s got seniority, and he’s got support at city hall. The press is all over this fucking thing.”

  “You still got a job at least,” Reddin said.

  Fricke cut him off.

  “Shut up, Chad. You cause way too much trouble.”

  Reddin shrugged, massaged his jaw and then stepped back.

  “Look, Arch, Patsy Kydd can work with you, no problem,” Fricke said. “Ray doesn’t think she has anything to contribute to his investigation anyway.”

  “She’ll help you on clam patrol.”

  “I told you to shut up, Chad,” Fricke said.

  “Can’t help it, Cal. Stevens rankles me no matter what.”

  He focussed on Archie.

  “I heard what your old man looked like when he died? Him dying there, and begging for help, all ripped up.”

  Archie wasn’t sure what happened, just that suddenly Reddin’s face exploded in blood under his fist. All his self-discipline, the holding in, was for nothing. Reddin was bent over. He held his hand to his face, the blood leaking out onto the tiles.

  Archie cocked his fist again but Fricke and some other cops from the squad room were all over him, pulling him back. Nothing much he could do about what had happened now. He was well and truly screwed. He just wished that he’d done more than just tag Reddin. He knew that he’d better start thinking about looking for another job. Fricke reinforced that.

  “You’re suspended, Archie, until further notice.”

  Archie shook off the arms holding him. The other cops backed off. He took another look at Reddin, who was now standing, holding his nose, mad as hell and cursing. Archie made a dismissive hand motion and then stalked off towards the exit.

  Archie was invisible now; other cops passed him in the halls like he had the plague, which left him feeling more isolated than ever. The pain of his humiliation was almost physical and the thought that Reddin had outmanoeuvred him was unbearable. He wanted to pretend that it didn’t matter, that it was just one case that hadn’t worked out, but he knew better.

  His mind was all over the place, like a moth at a lamp, and that didn’t help. He knew that he ought to retreat into professionalism. He ought to go to his office and work, or go back and apologize to Fricke. He did neither. He left the building, got into his car and drove off, heading for the town limits.

  CHAPTER 29

  Shivering, Archie climbed out of the pool, dried himself off, and stood on a flat rock, waited as his uncle Tony cleansed him with sweet grass smoke and eagle feathers. Tony, haloed by the early morning sun and smoke, asked him if he felt better after the Sweat.

  “Less confused, for sure,” Archie said. “Yes, better. Was there an animal, like a mink in there with us last night?”

  “I told you that you had a gift,” Tony said.

  “What was it?”

  “Better to say who. I can’t talk about what you saw without risking offense to him.”

  “I don’t actually believe I saw anything,” Archie said. “I’m not really thinking straight this morning.”

  “You saw what most people couldn’t. Leave it at that for the time being. Did you learn what you wanted in there?”

  Tony nodded in the direction of the still-smoking sweat lodge.

  “I don’t know,” Archie said. “I’m tired and scalded. Now I’m frozen. But I feel stronger and I’m thinking clearer. I wasn’t asking for solutions and didn’t get any.”

  “That’s the way it is sometimes. You get what you need not what you think you need.”

  Archie nodded in agreement. Then he got slowly to his feet.

  “I have to get going, Tony. I’m still employed as far as I know — or maybe I’m not. Thanks for helping me out. You didn’t smell something like coyote last night did you? Just for a second, just before dawn.”

  “Nope, but I know the coyote is not your friend. If you smell coyote, head for the hills. For you, bear smell is good; coyote smell means danger.”

  “Sure, if you say so. You’ve helped me lots over the years, Tony. I’m just starting to realize how much.”

  “I’m your uncle, which for our people means I’m more like your father. I’m happy when you come to me.”

  “Usually I can handle things but lately it’s like I’m climbing a mountain with a sack of rocks on my back.”

  Tony laughed as he buttoned up his shirt.

  “We all think we can handle things on our own. That’s our big-headedness always getting the better of us — but I know what you mean.”

  Back in the Dodge and still shivering, Archie checked his messages. Thomas Lee had sent him a text, reminding him about the archives information — like it had been Archie’s fault that Lee hadn’t delivered it. Archie made a resolution to try to be more careful with peoples’ feelings, and not only because it was the right thing to do. In the meantime, he was famished. He saw the sign for Avril’s Donut Shop and made the turn.

  Half an hour later, with a Trucker Breakfast under his belt, he was back on the road, fighting the old Dodge’s tendency to drift to the right. He had texted Lee but he still hadn’t had a reply — that worried him a little. He tried Patsy but got the message that she had the day off and was unavailable.

  He thought about recent events, more clearly now after the sweat. He thought it unlikely that Robbie had killed Bonnie Tran. It didn’t jive with anything he knew about the man. Tran would be looking for Bonnie’s killer, certainly. If he decided it was Robbie then Robbie was toast. He ran through the three murders, Donaldson, the decapitated woman, Rochelle, and now Bonnie. The odd one out was Bonnie but what did that mean?

  He reviewed as he drove. He had a good idea what had happened at Nick’s on the night he died. Drugs were involved, likely cocaine. Abalone poaching too, but that was incidental. Robbie had been at Donaldson’s Dive Adventures that night. That was certain. He had found something there that changed everything for him, something more than the body of his partner. And he hadn’t killed Donaldson.

  He tried Lee again but still couldn’t connect. He began to think that maybe Lee was still irked af
ter all. He put that thought aside, avoiding getting into a mood about it. Bonnie Tran’s funeral was the next day. Bill would certainly attend. Archie wanted to talk to him before that. He put in a call to an informant he knew and learned where Tran spent most of his time. As a gangster with a moderately high profile, his location, for many reasons, was the subject of curiosity — and was monitored by many.

  Because Tran likely knew the Dodge he was driving, Archie left it in the parking lot of a mall at the edge of Empire City. Then he took a cab to Magic Nails, an acrylic fingernail outlet in a strip mall — Tran ran his businesses out of the back of the shop.

  Archie found a vantage point in the window of a coffee shop across the highway and watched. Tran came out of the place just after noon. His man, Jumbo, led the way, then Tran, then Scorpion. The three lingered for five minutes or so, smoking and talking. Finally Tran said something to Scorpion and he and Jumbo walked to a black Land Rover, got in and drove out of the parking lot. Tran lit another cigarette, smoked it leisurely, tossed the butt away and went back into Magic Nails. Archie paid for his third coffee, walked out, crossed the road to the front door of Magic Nails and went inside.

  The shop was busy — four or five women were having their nails done. The manager, a tiny Vietnamese woman, looked up from a computer screen and asked Archie if she could help him. Archie shook his head. He walked past her and through the door at the rear. The manager, angry now, followed, a loud and persistent tail.

  At the noise, Bill Tran appeared from out of a side door. He had changed into a white tracksuit, the blue stripes incongruously sporty. He saw Archie, waved the manager back, and motioned Archie to follow him through the scuffed hollow-panel door and into a small office furnished with a small metal desk, an easy chair, a T.V. and little else. Tran turned to face Archie. He half sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms across his chest.

  “I thought you got the message,” he said.

  “I don’t get messages,” Archie said. “It’s a failing of mine.”

  Tran traced the outline of his right orbit with his finger and then examined the tip for whatever he hoped to find there.