Some Degree of Murder rcc-5

by Frank Zafiro

  I didn’t answer right away.

  She forged ahead. “I know I cost a lot. I know money is tight with the divorce. But I’m not just some glorified babysitter. I work hard for you and I take good care of Ben. And I don’t cost as much as-“

  “I’m sorry.”

  She stopped and looked at me. “Okay. Then what’s wrong?”

  I shrugged. “Long day, is all. And no wife to yell at when I get home. Sorry.”

  Teri gave me a look. I couldn’t tell if it was confusion or pity.

  “You eat at all?”

  “No. I was just about to make Ben some Mac and Cheese before you came home.”

  “Stay, then. I’ll cook. You can eat with us.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “All right. I have to work on some math, though.”

  “Well, I won’t be any help there. Fear of math is what kept me from going to college.”

  That got her to smile just a little. I went into my bedroom and shed my shoulder holster, badge, cuffs and ID card. As always, the pager, my electronic leash, remained on my belt. I thought about changing clothes, but one look at the clock changed my mind. I’d just be undressing again in a couple hours to go to sleep.

  I walked down the hall to Ben’s room. He sat in front of his computer, moving the mouse deliberately and clicking. I watched him for a minute before he noticed me.

  “Hey, Uncle John.” He pressed a button and paused his game.

  “Hey, kiddo. Whacha playing?”

  “Swords of the Eastern March.”

  “War game?”

  He shook his head. “Nah. It’s a fantasy role-playing game. Pretty cool.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He rolled back from the desk and glided over to me in his wheelchair. I leaned down and gave him a hug. “You were gone a long time.”

  I tousled his hair gently. “Got another hard case last night. Then I spent all day working on it.”

  “Is it that girl they found?”

  “How’d you know about that?”

  “The TV news. I watch it at five with Teri.”

  That surprised me. I didn’t know they watched the news.

  “I see. You finish your homework?”

  He gave me a look only twelve year olds can. “Of course.”

  Back in the kitchen, I put some hamburger in a skillet and browned it. I found one tomato and some lettuce, but no green onions. I sipped my Kokanee and chopped the vegetables while Teri sat at the kitchen table and did her math. She must have turned on the stereo, because John Mellencamp was singing about Jack and Diane from the living room. Twenty years old and she listens to classic rock. Hates rap. Votes Republican, even though she’s pro-choice. Takes good care of Ben and works the odd hours I need. And then I go and snap at her. Real smart.

  I turned to grating cheese and stirring the meat. When it was ready, I added taco seasoning from a packet. I finished mixing it in, grabbed some crisp shells from the cupboard and called it good.

  Teri helped set the table.

  “Ben! Dinner!” I called.

  A few moments later, he rolled into the dining room. “Tacos?”

  “Yeah. My specialty.”

  Ben smiled. “It’s all you can make.”

  “That’s why it’s my specialty. Besides, I make other stuff.”

  Teri and Ben both gave me a look. I ignored them and finished putting the food on the table.

  “Toast doesn’t count,” Ben said.

  “Cold cereal, either,” Teri added.

  “Great,” I told them both. “Go ahead and perpetuate that good cop/bad cook stereotype. Why don’t you just make a donut joke while you’re at it?”

  Ben was smiling as he made his taco. I thought Teri was, too, though it was hard to tell through her glasses and tight lips.

  Maybe she’s one of those people who smiles on the inside, I thought. Mellencamp started singing Human Wheels. She must have put in the Greatest Hits CD.

  “You get your math done?” I asked her, putting a taco together.

  “Most of it. It’s kinda hard.” She scooped meat into her shell.

  The telephone rang. I looked at it hanging on the wall just inside the kitchen and hesitated. I was done with on-call now that the weekend was over, but if they had a call-out and couldn’t reach the on-call detective, they started walking down the list. It was hard to believe they’d get all the way down to me now that I was at the bottom again, but you never knew.

  I got up and answered. “Hello?”

  “John? It’s me.”

  Stephanie. Great.

  “What do you want?” I walked around the corner from the dining room and deep into the kitchen, stretching out the cord.

  “You don’t have to be rude,” she said.

  “I’m not being rude. Just direct.”

  “No, it’s rude.”

  “What do you want, Stephanie? You didn’t call to teach me phone etiquette.”

  “I wanted to remind you to send my check.”

  “I sent it to you right after I got my first paycheck this month. You didn’t get it?”

  “I did. I mean the check from this coming paycheck.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I’m serious. You get paid this Friday. I checked at the credit union.”

  “So what? I don’t have to pay you again until the 31. It’s in the divorce decree.”

  “John, you get paid every two weeks and this is a three pay-period month. You get paid on the first, the fifteenth and the twenty-ninth. You need to pay alimony out of every check. You get a third check, I get a third check.”

  Unbelievable. “That’s not what the decree says.”

  “It is what the decree says.”

  “You want me to go pull it out and fucking read it to you?” I raised my voice.

  “Don’t curse at me.”

  “It says twice a month. On the 15and the last day of the month.” I lowered my voice to a loud whisper. “I read the fucking papers, Stephanie.”

  “I said, don’t curse at me. It’s crude.”

  I wanted to scream every curse word I’d ever learned at her.

  “Don’t try to con me,” I said.

  “I just want what is rightfully mine,” she said. “Are you going to send a check or do I need to call my attorney?”

  I ground my teeth and said nothing.

  “John? What’s it to be?”

  I opened my mouth and closed it before I let the words slip out. I forced them back down and tried to remember Stephanie before the divorce. Tried to remember her smile. Her hands on my face. Making love in the mornings. How she was with Ben right after the accident.

  None of it worked. All I could see was her bitter face and her hand extended out. Pay me.

  “Go ahead and call your lawyer,” I said and hung up.

  When I walked back into the dining room, Ben and Teri eyed me carefully as I slammed the receiver into the cradle. Both returned to their meal and we all ate without a word. I tore into my second taco and finished my Kokanee in less than two minutes.

  After my second taco, I was suddenly full. My stomach roiled from the previous night’s drunk and too much coffee all day. My eyes hurt from staring at reports all day long, none of which ended up having anything to do with my murder case. And now a Stephanie headache was starting.

  Teri rose and put her plate in the sink. She gathered up her backpack and gave Ben a small wave. “See ya tomorrow.”

  Ben waved back with his taco.

  “Bye, John.”

  “Bye.”

  “Thanks for dinner,” she said and slipped out the back door. Ben ate quietly and I stared at my empty Kokanee bottle while we both listened to Teri’s Honda Accord start up and pull out into the alley, then drive away. Mellencamp began singing Love and Happiness.

  I rose and grabbed his plate and mine. I put them in the sink on top of Teri’s. Ben sat at the table, staring at the tablecloth. I grabbed the last Kokanee and sat back d
own at the table.

  “You want one?” I asked him, twisting off the cap.

  He shook his head, not taking the bait.

  I sipped my Kokanee while he wheeled into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. I knew that when he was finished, I would need to help change him into some pajamas and lift him into bed. I thought about what I would say to him after tucking him in.

  But when the time came, I kissed him on the top of his head and said, “Sleep well, buddy. See you in the morning.”

  “Love you,” he said.

  “You, too.”

  I turned off his light and wished for more Kokanee, but the fridge was empty and I left it that way.

  Tuesday, April 13th Davenport Hotel, Morning

  VIRGIL

  My luck had improved with cabs since the visit to the cemetery. After the hotel concierge called, River City Taxi sent over a clean, white Taurus. The driver was a pudgy ball of a man with shiny silver hair. I climbed into the cab and he asked in a low, gravelly voice. “Where to?”

  I rattled off the location from memory. He glanced over his shoulder at me with a disapproving look.

  “What?”

  He turned forward and shook his head. “Nothing.”

  The cab lurched forward as he pulled away from the curb. A couple of minutes later we were hurtling east on I-90. The cabbie never said a word while we were on the freeway and I didn’t try to get him to talk. I stared out at the passing landscape, absently wondering what life would have been like if I stayed.

  At the Altamont Avenue exit, the car swayed when the cabbie turned to the off ramp. We were on Third Avenue as we approached Altamont and a dirty 7-11 occupied the southwest corner.

  “Stop here.”

  “But this isn’t where you said you wanted to go.”

  His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror and I pointed over at the convenience store.

  The car bounced into the parking lot before pulling in front of the building. A smirk grew on the cabby’s face and he shrugged. “You don’t belong here,” he said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “It’s rough.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Want me to wait?”

  I pulled my money clip from my pocket and peeled off a ten dollar bill. He reached over his shoulder and carefully took the money from me.

  “Need change?”

  With a shake of my head, I climbed out and swung the cab door shut.

  Inside the 7-11, a blast of cold air from the vents and Bon Jovi from the speakers shocked my system. It was April in River City which was definitely too early for air conditioning.

  The clerk behind the counter was a heavy-set black man with a round face and sleepy eyes. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he wheezed as he walked.

  From a back cooler, I pulled out a bottle of water and went to the counter.

  “Good morning, sir,” the clerk wheezed.

  “You get a lot of kids coming in here?”

  His eyes challenged mine. “Why?”

  I put my bottle of water on the counter and pulled out a picture. “You ever seen this girl in here before?”

  “You a cop?”

  ”No.”

  “Why you want her then?”

  “She’s my daughter.”

  He watched me for a minute before deciding to speak. “Yeah, she came in here a while back. Haven’t seen her in at least three, maybe four weeks.” His breathing was shallow as he spoke. “She really liked those Chic-O-Sticks.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Those orange sticks,” he said pointing at the candy rack.

  “She ever tell you where she was staying?”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know. Did she?”

  “She never said.”

  “She ever come in here with anyone?”

  He rolled his eyes up as he thought. “I don’t think so. She was a nice kid though. Polite.”

  I searched his eyes and knew he was holding something back. His eyes flicked away from me but quickly returned. “What else?” I asked.

  He pointed at the picture. “She didn’t look like that.”

  “What’d she look like?”

  His tongue darted across his lips before rubbing them together. “Strung out.”

  “Dope?”

  The big man shrugged. “I don’t know, but she looked like she’d seen better days.”

  He rang up my water and I dropped two dollars into his hand. Outside the store, I opened the bottle and took a swig.

  River City is divided into four sectors by two streets-Sprague, which runs east to west, and Division, which runs north to south. This makes finding your way around the city fairly easy. The streets south of Sprague run in consecutive numbers. I was three blocks from where the newspaper article in my pocket said she was found.

  As far as newspaper articles go there was a lot of speculation and very little facts in the narrative. The detective handling the case was non-committal in his responses. They must train them in the academy to dodge questions. I’d been in town two days and nothing new on her murder was in either the newspaper or on the local news. Another girl was found dead so she was getting the few minutes of airtime devoted to sensational stories. The rest of the time was spent lamenting the city’s current budget crisis and a certain city council member who was discovered to have a lesbian lover.

  I headed northbound on Altamont until I found the bingo lot where her body was found. I could smell shit somewhere in the area. The morning sun was out and there was still light dew on the weeds sprinkled around the lot. My nose crinkled reflexively as I tried to shake off the stink.

  The article in my pocket said she was found next to a dumpster behind the bingo hall. I walked slowly over to the area, trying hard to keep the anger from boiling over. The only green dumpster stood next to the building and the surrounding fence line. Nothing remained on the ground near the dumpster. I couldn’t determine exactly where she was found. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands and my teeth ground into each other.

  The smell of shit dragged me back to reality. I unclenched my fists and checked my shoes to see if I was the one carrying the smell around.

  Turning away from the dumpster, I pulled out a soft pack of Camels and shook a cigarette free. I lit it up, hoping to calm my nerves and kill the smell of crap that hung in the area. When it did neither, I left the parking lot.

  I wandered the streets, watching the area’s inhabitants and their activity. With black slacks and a polo shirt underneath a clean black jacket, I stood out like a blood stain on white carpet. For that reason I spent some time dropping into a couple of antique shops, a car parts outlet and an adult book store. All of the businesses, especially the sex shop, were dingy and depressing. The clerks stood behind their counters with watchful eyes, waiting for someone to snatch an item and bolt from their shops.

  Outside the stores, the eyes of the street were more watchful. Slow moving Buicks with middle-aged men behind the wheels prowled the streets. Their eyes flashed past the blacks who stood in the doorways of defunct businesses, waiting for the right customer to request their product. But the drivers didn’t want dope. They were looking for the drug that only men need.

  A number of women and girls in tight skirts sauntered up and down the sidewalks. Their slow walks emphasized their hips and signaled prospects that they were on the menu.

  More police cars traveled through this area in a half-hour than I had seen anywhere else in the world. All it told me was that everyone knew the action was down here. And no one seemed to be hiding it.

  Near the west end of the Sprague strip, sat a club house for the Brotherhood of the Southern Cross. Four mean looking Harleys stood out front of the square, white building. Heavy steel bars covered the windows and the front door. Two cameras, each at an opposite end, monitored the front of the building. I didn’t walk around to the back, but I was sure there would be cameras around there as well
.

  Next to the clubhouse was the La Playa Motel and across the street was the Palms Motel. Two low cost stop-and-flops for the hookers and johns. I turned around and stared back down Sprague towards the activity. Cars whizzed past in both directions while the whores and dealers continued their work. Something nagged at me about the area but I couldn’t place it.

  I finally shoved the thought to the back of my brain and walked back toward downtown, trying to figure out what the hell my daughter was doing in this part of River City.

  Tuesday, April 13 th 1310 hrs Investigative Division

  TOWER

  The smell of fresh coffee caught my attention before Katie MacLeod’s perfume did. I glanced up as she sat the paper coffee cup down on my desk.

  “Black,” she said and winked. “With one hazelnut creamer.”

  I reached for the cup. “What are you drinking?”

  “Foo-foo crap.”

  I sipped the java and nodded my thanks. Katie leaned on the edge of my desk. “Can I run one by you?”

  ”Go ahead.”

  “It’s a burglary case,” she told me. She was a detective third grade and worked in the General Investigative Division, which worked property crimes and lower level crimes against persons. After five years, she could promote to second grade. It took a promotion to Major Crimes or the Sexual Assault Unit to make first grade.

  “Residential?”

  “Yeah. Witness goes over to his friend’s house and as he’s walking up the sidewalk, he sees a guy walking out of the front door of the house with a TV. It’s not his friend, so he yells at the guy. The guy with the TV walks as fast as he can to a Camaro parked on the street, shoves the TV in the back seat, gets in the passenger seat and the car squeals off.”

  “He get the plate?”

  She shook her head. “Just the color and that there was a dent in the rear bumper. So the witness goes into the house and sees the TV missing and some things tossed around. He waits for his friend, the victim, to get home. When the victim gets home an hour later, they both hop in the victim’s car and start driving around looking for this dark blue Camaro.”

  “So?” I asked.

  She smiled. “So, they found it.”