“I…I hear things. Maybe…maybe it just talk, but, it don’t sound good.”
“What kind of things?”
“There was this guy…he was tortured,” the old man said. “They strangled him good. Wrapped a rope around his neck…tied it to his hands and feet, too. Pushed up underneath him like, yeah?” Brown shook his head. “For a while he’d be able to keep his legs underneath, ya know, but slowly he would get tired.”
Berlin stepped closer to the two men. This was starting to sound vaguely familiar to him.
“Anyway, as he let go from gettin’ tired, the rope would tighten…strangling him.”
“Hard way to go,” Berlin said.
“Clay did this?” Mitchell said.
“Nah, nah. Clay wouldn’t get involved in somethin’ like dat. His muscle did it. But, the word…it would come from X. Always from X.”
“X?”
“Yeah. X. They call him X.”
“Okay.”
“He don’t mess around, no sir,” Brown said. “Lotta noise in these parts about X. Old Town, too.”
“That far?” Mitchell asked.
Brown nodded. “He got people everywhere. Word is, he with Marco now.”
Remy Marco was the big player in Old Town. This is not what Berlin wanted to hear right now. The last thing the area needed was two guys like that, joining forces.
Three men suddenly stumbled in their direction, wearing ratty clothing and somber faces. One of them had teeth missing, another had a beard that reached down to his navel, and the last had a ball cap that read US Navy on its top. They shuffled their feet in unison and watched with leering eyes.
Brown turned away from the detectives and said in a hushed voice, “I said too much. I should go now.”
“Brown, hold up,” Mitchell called. “I’d like to—”
“No,” Brown said, watching the three men ambling by. “Can’t. Too many eyes and ears.”
“Okay,” Mitchell said, studying the three homeless men. He waited until they were out earshot before he passed Brown some cash. “Take this, then. For your troubles.”
Brown looked down at the bills. “This is too much. I can’t—”
“You can,” Mitchell said. “Go on, now. You take care of yourself.”
Downtown Brown was appreciative and made his exit down a dirt driveway. A moment later he was out of sight, disappearing back into The Jungle.
“All right. What now?” Mitchell asked, pleased with himself.
“Let’s go see if we can track down this Exodus Clay.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
“I’m fresh out of good ideas, Mitch. It can’t hurt.”
CHAPTER 19
“Anything?”
Mitchell shook his head, and mumbled, “no,” his mouth full of food. Pieces of hot dog bun fell to the street below him. He kicked them aside as the seagulls came, swooping down for it.
Berlin watched closely under the guise of his sunglasses. He licked his vanilla ice cream as it ran down the side of the cone. “This guy better hurry or I’m gonna run out of ice cream here.”
Mitchell gave a small laugh and stuffed the rest of his hot dog into his mouth. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and tossed it in the trashcan beside him. “Look, maybe we should call it a day? We’re way out of our jurisdiction here.”
“Yeah, I know. A few more minutes, then we’ll call it quits, all right?”
“We don’t even know what he looks like, man. How we gonna be able to spot him?”
“Oh, we’ll spot him. He’s a big black lad, just like you, partner. There isn’t a lot of folk like you ‘round these parts, in case you haven’t noticed.”
They waited on a park bench in Simcoe Park amidst all the other tourists and residents of historic Old Town. If it were any other town, they would stick out like a brown bear in the snow-covered Arctic Circle. But in Old Town, tourists took command of the city throughout the spring and summer seasons. They came from all over: France, Russia, Japan, you name it. It was a town full of charm and historic homes that dated back to the early 1800s.
The late afternoon sun draped over the main street, its rays bursting through the stone pillars of the cenotaph and clock tower casting strange-shaped shadows down onto the two detectives faces. It was starting to turn into a scorcher.
Mitchell moved his face from side to side, the sun’s beams playing tricks with his eyes. “Maybe we should go meet someone at the Sheriff’s Office.”
“Why?” Berlin asked.
“Well, if this Clay isn’t going to show his face, we might as well accomplish somethin’ while we’re here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What about the body that Ol’ Brown was tellin’ us about?”
Berlin nodded. “I know about that already.”
Mitchell shot him a look, his eyes bugging out of his head. “What?”
“Didn’t know it was Clay that did it, though.”
“What else aren’t you tellin’ me?”
“Hector Sousa was his name.”
“Sousa. What is that? Portuguese?”
“Yeah. It was about a girl.”
“What girl?”
“I dunno, some broad,” Berlin said. “It’s said that he made a pass at her, or called her a hooker or somethin’, at some bar. Anyway, that didn’t sit too well with Clay, I guess. One of his goons musta grabbed him on the way out. Took him for a ride and that was that. No more Hector Sousa.”
“So why don’t we go talk to the locals about it?”
“Because that’s not why we’re here, Mitch. I don’t care about that right now. I’m more interested to know if he had something to do with our dead cop.”
Mitchell said nothing.
Berlin pulled his sunglasses down so that he could look Mitchell in the eyes, sensing his frustration. “Fine,” he said. “If our boy doesn’t show in the next ten minutes or so, we’ll go talk to the locals, okay?”
“Okay.”
“But I’m tellin’ ya right now, they ain’t gonna be pleased to see us. Dropping by, unannounced like this.”
“This was your idea,” Mitchell said.
They waited, time passed, Berlin picked at his teeth with a fingernail while Mitchell was content on watching a boy play with his dog in the large park behind them. It looked like a Beagle.
Berlin noticed that Mitchell was looking behind them and looked over his shoulder to investigate for himself. “You got kids?”
“Of course. You know I do.”
“Oh, right.” He had forgotten, of course.
“No boys, though. Always wanted a boy. Don’t get me wrong, the girls are great but—”
“No, I understand.” He really did. He and Kate had naturally wanted kids and they would have, if life hadn’t chosen to intervene. Berlin’s mind drifted elsewhere, as he saw a young baby boy take his first steps, then he was in a park on the receiving end of a game of catch with an older version of the same boy. He had blond hair like his father.
Wait. No. This isn’t right.
“You and the wife,” Mitchell started to say, pulling Berlin out of his daydreams. “You never had any kids, right?”
“No,” Berlin said.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. That was stupid of me.”
“Forget it, Mitch.” Berlin paused. “Ugh, where is this guy?”
Was Brown right? Were Marco and Clay teaming up?
Berlin’s eyes went back to the street. The tourists were everywhere: parked in every square inch, crowding every crosswalk, and causing traffic to snake to a crawl. They took photos, posing in front of The Prince of Wales hotel, on the street with the horse carriages, even in front of storefronts. The fudge store and the ice cream shops were the main attractions. Sometimes people made him sick.
But then again, Old Town did have a store completely dedicated to Christmas that was open year round.
“Look at them. Not a care in the world,” Berlin
muttered.
“What’s that?” Mitchell asked.
“Nothing.”
Berlin continued to scan the crowd. He honed in on an older gentleman, holding a camera with an extended lens, and noticed that he looked like he was staring right at Berlin.
Was he looking at me? Or is it just my imagination?
Berlin glared back as if the unwanted attention would make the man uncomfortable and make him move elsewhere.
“Oh, lookee here,” Mitchell said.
Berlin turned to look. “Where’d they come from?”
“The Apothecary.”
Berlin looked back at the older gentleman, but he was already gone. He stood up and said, “Let’s go.”
Mitchell frowned. “Wait, what?”
But it was too late. Berlin was already on the move. He jogged across the street and headed to the driveway behind the Apothecary Museum. A four-foot white wooden fence paraded around its perimeter. The lot in the back of the building was small. It was currently occupied by a mocha steel metallic Cadillac Escalade, a red metallic GMC Sierra Denali and, finally, a black BMW 7 Series. The two luxury-sized vehicles took up most of the space.
From the back, two Georgian style windows with shutters were visible, followed by a rear entrance. Its clapboard cladding solidified its late nineteenth-century characteristics.
“Excuse me?” Berlin casually said to the three men.
“Yeah?” One of them said.
Berlin gave a smile. “I just wanted to let you know that you can’t park here. Private property. You’re going to have to move these vehicles.”
The man scowled. “Says who? You don’t look like no ticket monkey to me.”
“And you’d be right.”
“What’s the trouble?” A larger man said as he stepped out of the back entrance and joined the other three men.
Berlin studied him carefully and surmised that this was their man, Exodus Clay. He had tan skin, black hair that was cut short, and a full short beard that covered his face. He was dressed in dark blue jeans and a gray long-sleeved shirt that looked as though he might split it open if he moved too swiftly. There was no hiding his muscled figure underneath his clothes. Tattoos stuck out from underneath his sleeves. It was too hard to make out what they were exactly from where Berlin stood. He wore a black-banded wristwatch that sparkled in the sunlight and expressed luxury.
Berlin came up to the wooden fence and rested his hands on top. “I was just telling your fellas here that they gotta move the vehicles. It’s private property.”
Exodus Clay came down the steps and walked to the other side of the fence to greet Berlin and Mitchell. “Who are you to be tellin’ them anything?”
“We’re Gardens PD,” Berlin said, flashing his badge. Mitchell did the same, right on cue.
Clay whistled. “Long way from home, Officers. Whatcha doin’ out here bossin’ my boys around?”
“You’re a long way from home, too, Mr. Clay. What’s your business out here? You wouldn’t by any chance be meeting with Remy Marco, would you?”
Clay shook his head. “Shoot, dawg, never heard of him. We just takin’ in some history, is all. Weren’t we, boys?”
“Yeah,” the others grumbled quietly. Clay had taught them well. They played their role to perfection. Nothing but a bunch of big dumb Neanderthals.
Clay smiled mockingly. “They got some great stuff in there, Officer. You should check it out while you’re here.”
Berlin avoided Clay’s eyes, looking down the street at the tourists moving about. “You are Exodus Clay, though, right?”
Clay shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, that’s me. So what? You here to arrest me or somethin’? We ain’t done nuthin’ wrong, Officer. Honest.”
Berlin glanced at Mitchell who looked frozen in place.
Clay kept staring and said, “Unless you got a warrant or somethin’, I think you two should beat it. I got more important things to be doin’ right now than talkin’ wit you.”
“You know the name, Tim Scott?” Berlin asked.
Clay was quiet for a moment. A moment too long. Berlin read the tell and knew before he even opened his mouth that he was lying. “Can’t say that I do,” Clay finally said. “What’s this about?”
“If you don’t know the name, then I guess that you’re not going to be very useful to me, Clay. So, just move along now.”
Clay looked back at his three men, saying, “Ya heard the man. Let’s go.”
They came down the steps one after another, not speaking a word. After getting into the Cadillac Escalade, one hung outside the car door and waited for Clay. He took one last look at Berlin and Mitchell, shaking his head, before finally jumping inside the vehicle. The Escalade reversed out of the lot onto King Street, made a right at the corner onto Queen Street, and then disappeared amidst the traffic headed out of Old Town.
“What do you think?” Berlin said, turning, looking at Mitchell.
“Are you kidding? You’re out of your mind. What do you think you’re doing?”
Berlin raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You can’t just…you can’t be doin’ people like that.”
Berlin put his hands up in defense. “Relax, kid. Take it easy.”
“We should be workin’ the evidence. Not out here harassing a local thug.”
Berlin sighed. “What evidence, Mitch? So far, we got nothing. No trace, no gun, no crime scene. Nothing.”
“Yeah, but—” Mitchell started to protest.
“No. No but. We know how Scott died. Two in the chest. Now we need to find out the why and the who. Clay’s dirty. He knew Scott. I saw it in his eyes. The recognition. ”
“Berlin.”
Berlin started for the car. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s not on the phone right now in that Escalade.”
Mitchell caught up to him. “About what?”
Berlin turned his body sideways, dodging in between the tourists. “He either did the deed himself, or he knows who did. Let him squirm.”
Mitchell did his best to keep up. “It’s not right, man.”
Berlin, looking over his shoulder for Mitchell, rounded the block and stopped on the side street where it was less populated. “Sometimes ya gotta rattle some cages, Mitch,” he said, pointing a finger at him. “Besides, if he didn’t do it, he’d be just as pissed at the added attention now. Thugs like him don’t like attention—not the attention of the law, anyway. Either way, it helps us. Gets us one step closer.”
“One step closer to what?”
“The truth.”
CHAPTER 20
“I know you may not agree with my tactics, Mitch. But stick with me, and you could learn a thing or two.”
“I don’t think—” Mitchell began.
“Hold that thought.” Berlin gripped the steering wheel with his opposite hand and started to reach at his side. “Duty calls.”
“What you doin’? You’re gonna run us off the road!”
They were back on Lakeshore Road, heading back into the city, and Berlin’s cell phone buzzed inside his pant pocket.
“This is Berlin,” he said, finally freeing it from his pocket and holding it up to his ear with his right hand. He drove with his left, the car swaying haphazardly from side to side.
Mitchell frowned and reached over to help maneuver the vehicle. “Hey! It’s you and me in this car, brother.”
Berlin relented and eased down on the brake, pulling over to the shoulder. The car kicked up a puff of smoke as the brakes skidded on dirt and gravel before it finally settled to a stop.
“Sorry about that. Go ahead.” Berlin listened to the other end. “Slow down…I don’t understand. How do you—All right, I’ll be right there. It’s gonna take me a bit, though. I’m not in the city.” He listened again for the reply and then said, “Okay.”
“What was that?” Mitchell asked him.
“We need to get back to the Gardens.”
“What’s happening?”
&nbs
p; Berlin took a look in the side mirror and then pulled the car back onto the road. “That was Scott’s wife. She’s…she sounds hysterical.”
“Scott’s wife? Why is she callin’ you? She coulda just called—”
Berlin pressed on the gas pedal. “But she didn’t, partner. She called me.”
Mitchell took hold of the small handle above the window, bracing himself, as the car picked up speed. “So…what? We’re going to her place?”
“No. I’ll drop you off. I can take care of it.”
“You sure that’s such a good idea?”
Berlin didn’t bother to answer him.
***
Thirty minutes later Berlin dropped Mitchell off at Headquarters downtown and parked outside of Alexandra Scott’s house on Rolls Avenue.
Berlin and the widow, Mrs. Scott, now stood on her front porch. She was visibly shaken, and had been crying, her face puffy and red. She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeves, traces of mascara leaving tiny dark spots on her cuff. She laughed apologetically. “I’m sorry…I’m such a mess right now. I just…I didn’t know what to do.”
He sensed her need for attention and, against his better judgment, gave it to her anyway. “It’s no trouble, Mrs. Scott. And I can assure you, you look as glamorous as the day we first met.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
Should he touch her? Try and console her in some way? He didn’t know. It had been so long. “Why don’t you start at the beginning? I’m not sure that I understood what you were trying to tell me on the phone.”
“Should we go inside? I don’t want to attract any more attention.”
Berlin took a glance around the neighborhood and said, “Sure.”
Once inside, she recounted what happened to her in greater detail. They sat in the living room. This time Berlin had chosen the wide sofa that she had expected him to be sitting in when they had first met.
Two hours ago she had just gotten back home from an appointment, she informed him. She had also made a stop at the grocery store to pick up a few things. Once she put the bags on the kitchen counter, the doorbell rang.
Eyes of the Dead: A Crime and Suspense Thriller (The Gardens Book 1) Page 10
