by W E DeVore
Sanger looked ill.
She picked her hot dog back up and half-heartedly told the pitcher to throw a strike. “She ever talk to you about Savion?”
“Just that she agreed that it was probably an accident. That there was a side of Savion he tried to hide from most people. She said he did more drugs than anyone knew, and he was friends with some drug dealer.”
“That drug dealer is Urian Galanos,” she said. “He and his wife came to Savion’s funeral. Savion and Karen - that’s Urian’s new wife - were working on some art installation. Urian said Savion wanted to kill himself last November because his girlfriend broke up with him. But he seemed better this spring.”
“So, the baby is Savion’s?” he asked.
“It’s possible. If she was seeing the two of you at the same time. But it’s not likely. When Savion and I were dating, he wanted to know if I ever wanted a family. He said that because of his condition, it was highly unlikely he’d ever be able to father a child.”
“But highly unlikely is still a possibility,” he said.
“Yes, it is. But I think it’s yours, cowboy. She could be lying to Stanley, not you. It’s not like he’ll be around to figure it out.” She looked at him sympathetically. “I wish I could tell you otherwise.”
“Why?”
“Because Tori is the one that killed Savion.”
Sanger turned and raged in a low whisper, “I told you to fucking drop it, Clementine. Savion’s death was an accident. Let it go.”
“You want to bark at me some more, Spot, or you want to shut the fuck up and listen to what I have to say?” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “Last night, when Stanley told everyone in the studio that Tori was pregnant, Charlie freaked. He said he’d given her the rest of his coke, the night of the party. Like you said, cocaine is the first drug listed on the Epilepsy Society’s website in the ‘to not to’ column. Three or four bumps in a tequila shot would just about do the trick, don’t you think? She could have even put it into both shots. A little coke wouldn’t hurt her, just pep her up a bit. Now, you know her better than me, but she seemed a whole lot edgier than she did earlier in the evening by the time I finished playing with Stanley. What do you think?”
“Fuck!” Sanger screamed. The father of the young family sitting beside them shot him a dirty look.
“Tourette’s,” Q explained with an apologetic smile.
Sanger stood up and marched into the stands. Q ran after him as he stormed out into the parking lot. He yelled in rage and kicked the back tire on his truck, white-knuckle gripping the top of the bed. She stood back and watched him in concerned silence until he collapsed to the pavement, kneeling and covering his face. Q walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder.
“She said she loved me,” he said from behind his hands.
“She probably does. You’re pretty lovable, even when you’re being a slut.”
He laughed and uncovered his face, turning to look up at her.
“How do you do that?” he asked.
She squatted beside him. “How do I do what, Aaron?”
“Make it all go away, and don’t tell me you’re the Archangel; I want to know how you do it.”
“Years of hanging out with Charlie Bourdel. Never use sympathy when a mild insult will do.” She winked at him.
“Will you forgive me?” he asked. “For breaking my promise to you?”
“I suppose I could be persuaded, seeing as how you’re my best friend and all. You get one broken promise. Next time I’m gonna kick your ass,” she said, pulling him to his feet. “Come here, cowboy.”
He inhaled deeply, and she held him to her for several long minutes.
“Thank you, Clementine,” he said into her hair.
“For what, cowboy?”
“For all of it. Being my friend. Forgiving me. Solving my case for me.”
“I did, didn’t I? That means I’m three for three. What’s my prize?” she asked.
He pulled back and gave her a sad smile. “Don’t go getting a big head about it. I’m still the detective.”
She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Says you, Sanger.”
They got into the truck and he stared out the windshield and asked, “Does Tori know? About the will changing?
Q shook her head. “Not yet, I don’t think. The reason Stanley told me everything was so I could testify if it ever went to court. I’m supposed to go over there this evening to witness the new will.”
“Nice, Aaron, really fucking nice,” he muttered. “We’ve got to go find Stanley.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I’ve been pressuring her about leaving Stanley since the day she told me she was pregnant. I told her I wouldn’t be with her or break it off with Yvie if she doesn’t leave him,” he said. “I wasn’t going to let her lie to him like that. When she came to my house last night, she said it would be over in just a couple more weeks, she just had to take care of a few more things. But you just said Stanley has months.”
“At least three or four, maybe six. But he’s not in treatment, Aaron. Just pain management. She’d have to arrange a nurse at the very least before she bails,” she explained. “He’s been going downhill really fast since Savion’s funeral.”
“Going down how?” he asked, his tone growing more serious.
“Just really tired. Like he’s not all there. His memory is for shit. He has good days and bad. Tori’s been making him drink these superfood drinks at every meal, to try to help, but he’s just getting weaker. I brought him biscuits and gravy yesterday morning and dumped out the one he was going to have for breakfast. Figured if he was going to die faster, he may as well have a decent meal in him. But Aaron,” she paused, her brain wrestling with her lips to form the words. “He thinks it’s spreading. Maybe Tori knows something that I don’t.”
“How was he yesterday?”
“Great. A little stoned on medical marijuana, but so was I.” She winked at him. “Don’t judge, I was hung for Jesus yesterday, thanks to you. But he made it all day.”
“All day without drinking that stuff that Tori’s been giving him,” he clarified.
“I guess.”
He pulled onto the highway. “You know how easy it is to O.D. on the shit they give cancer patients? My mom even overdosed once, and she was a damned oncologist.”
“What are you saying, Aaron?” she asked, terrified.
“She’s poisoning Stanley with his own fucking meds, trying to get him to O.D. Guess what else causes severe seizures in epileptics?”
“Hardcore pain management meds?” she guessed, feeling sick.
“That’s what killed Savion. That’s why he had another seizure. Stanley gave him a drink of his poison smoothie.” He cursed. “I made them rerun the toxicology panel when it came up positive for narcotics, god damn it.”
Q shook her head. “No, I drank like a quarter of the thing yesterday. I was fine.”
“How’d you feel after?”
“I don’t know, I was high,” she said, “I’d just taken a few hits of weed.”
“And how was your hangover after?” he asked, matter-of-factly.
“Gone….” she said, suddenly realizing it was true.
“Like I said, we’ve got to get to Stanley.”
Sanger drove in determined silence, passing as many cars as he safely could, trying to make good time.
“She wouldn’t kill him,” Q argued. “Would she? I mean, he’s dying. What’s the point?”
“Maybe she found out he’s changing the will,” he guessed. “Maybe she thinks she got away with killing Savion and thinks she can do it again.”
“Maybe she really is in love with you, cowboy,” Q said quietly. “Maybe she’s scared she’ll lose you and she’s doing the only thing she can think of to hold onto you.”
He glanced her way as he exited the highway and turned onto Esplanade. “Maybe that doesn’t matter to me anymore. She could have told me Stanley was sick. She could have told me about
her fucking husband in the first place.”
“Could she?” Q asked.
Sanger came to a screeching halt in front of Stanley’s house and got out of the truck without answering her question. He ran up the steps to the front door and Q followed him. After he rang the doorbell multiple times without someone answering, she pulled him down the steps and around the side of the house to the studio.
She opened the door and called out for Stanley before she saw him. He was laying on the couch in the lounge, one arm on his stomach, the other dangling to the ground. A glass of anejo spilled onto the carpet. Sanger cursed and pushed past Q to check his pulse. She pulled out her phone and called 911, pacing back and forth while Sanger futilely attempted to get Stanley to wake up.
◆◆◆
Q sat on a stiff waiting room chair in the Emergency Room, her knees urgently bouncing up and down. Sanger stood nearby, leaning against the wall, arms folded, jaw set, looking out the window into the parking lot. Walter was pacing outside, chewing on an unlit cigar. When she’d called to tell him about Stanley, she demanded that he not tell Tori. He hadn’t listened.
Tori finally emerged into the waiting room.
“He’s going to be ok. He took too many damn pills. I’ve been on him about it. He forgets he takes them, and doesn’t write it down. He got lucky,” she said, exhaling slowly. “Thanks for waiting, but y’all can go.”
Sanger looked at Q before saying, “I’ll need to talk to him, Tori.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Police business,” he said, walking past her.
“Clementine,” he called. “You’re with me.”
Q stood up to follow him and Tori stopped them. “What’s going on, Aaron? Why are you taking Q back with you?”
“She’s a witness, Tori,” he said. “You’ll have to wait here. I need to question him without you.”
Tori’s eyebrows stitched together. “A witness to what?”
“To another member of the immediate Gerard family getting poisoned with narcotics,” he explained, carefully enunciating every word.
He pushed past her and Q followed closely after, cowering behind him, more than a little intimidated by the commanding presence of Aaron Sanger when he was in full NOPD mode.
She tried to soften him a little and said, “You’re scary when you’re bad cop, Sanger.”
He glanced back at her. “Shut up, Clementine.”
She widened her eyes before looking down and mumbling, “Yes, sir.”
They walked into Stanley’s room. His doctor was sitting on the edge of the bed next to Stanley. He was undoubtedly flirting with her and she was undoubtedly charmed.
“Jesus Christ, old man,” Q exclaimed. “You just O.D.’d and you’re making a play for your doctor?”
Sanger scowled at her and Stanley winked. “Can’t help it, young blood. I am high as a motherfucking kite right now.”
The doctor stood up and approached them. “Sorry, no visitors yet.”
Sanger held up his badge. “NOPD. I need to speak to him about a murder investigation.”
The doctor nodded at Q. “And your little assistant?”
Stanley chimed in from the bed. “That’s my daughter.”
The doctor coolly regarded Stanley’s rich mahogany complexion and Q’s ivory one.
Q shrugged. “Melatonin deficiency.”
The doctor laughed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I bet. I can see the family resemblance, though.”
She walked back over to Stanley and said, “Get some rest, Mr. Gerard. You were lucky. From now on, you read the instructions on your meds. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, admiring the doctor’s rear end as she left the room.
Q walked to the bed and sat by his side. “What in the hell were you thinking, old man? Those pain meds you’re on are serious business.”
“I know that, Q,” he said. “I haven’t been taking but one in the morning and a couple before bed unless something is really wrong that day. Mostly, I smoke that weed my friend in California sends me.”
“Tori says you forget when you take your meds and take them again,” she scolded.
“I don’t,” he said. “At least I think I don’t.”
Sanger came closer and asked, “What did you eat today?”
“Biscuits and eggs this morning. Walter and I grabbed a po’ boy for lunch. Then I got a hankering for one of the drinks Tori makes. She made me one and I went down to the studio to listen to a few of the mixes.”
“What happened after you drank it?” Sanger asked, already knowing the answer.
“I couldn’t finish the smoothie. It just didn’t taste right, so I made a real drink and laid down on the couch. I woke up here.”
Q looked up at Sanger. “You should test the anejo, too.”
He nodded.
“Test it for what?” Stanley asked.
“We think you’ve been getting a few extra pain meds in unexpected places,” Q said, taking his hand. “You need to stay here in the hospital for a few days and don’t eat or drink anything but what they give you.”
He shook his head. “No. I’m not dying in a fucking hospital, Q.”
“Who said anything about dying? It’s just until Sanger can run some tests at your house,” she said, trying to placate him. “The police are going to test your blender and your private bar, just to make sure.”
“Make sure of what?” Stanley asked, looking from Q to Sanger.
Sanger shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “I think your wife is trying to kill you.”
“Sanger,” Q exclaimed. “What the fuck? You couldn’t ease into it?”
Stanley squeezed her hand and said, “It’s ok, young blood.” He glanced up at Sanger. “Did Q tell you I was dying? I’ve got six months at the outside. Just how many dying men you see get murdered, detective? I know my wife. She’s not that impatient.”
“Did you change the will, Stanley?” Q asked.
“Not yet.”
“Maybe she’s afraid you’ll find out the baby’s not yours,” she suggested. “The prenup makes sure she gets nothing if she’s unfaithful, right?”
“Sure, but I wouldn’t do that to her. It was my lawyer’s idea, not mine. But I wouldn’t do that to her. It was my lawyer’s idea, not mine. He didn’t want a repeat of marriage number three. God damn, that was a mess.” He paused for a moment before saying, “Look, young blood. They’re making me spend the night here, then I get out. I’m going home. I’m going to finish mixing that record with Walter and Lorene and that’s that. I’m not spending a minute longer in a hospital than I have to.”
“Stanley, she could hurt you,” Q insisted.
“Walter always figured I’d get offed by a jealous woman or her husband. He loves being right.”
Icy understanding washed over her. “You knew.”
Stanley looked out the window. “Of course, I knew. I was kind of hoping she’d let me finish the record, though.”
“Why did you let her hurt you?” she asked in horror.
He gave her a sad smile and squeezed her hand. “I don’t want to die of cancer, young blood. It’s a fucked up way to go. I didn’t want to die an incontinent old man.”
Sanger cleared his throat and asked, “Does she know? That you’re letting her do this to you?”
Stanley shook his head. “No. I didn’t want to scare her off. I found an extra bottle of meds a few months back. Thought maybe she’d picked up a habit…”
“How do you think she got the extra meds?” Sanger interrupted.
“I can take up to four pills a day, but I hate the shit. Even in the seventies. Loretta and Cinco - Walter even – they’d all snort coke, take downers. I never liked it. Numbed my ears. Turned on this high pitch noise that wouldn’t go away until I came down.” He exhaled slowly. “At first, my meds were lasting me twice as long as they were supposed to, because I wouldn’t take them except to sleep. All she had to do was keep filling the prescription on tim
e and save the extra back. But that ringing I get in my ears? That’s how I knew.”
Chapter 12
The Big Boom
Sanger and Q left Stanley’s room in silence. As they entered the waiting room, Sanger left her side and stalked around the rows of chairs, looking for Tori. When Walter informed him that she’d gone home to get Stanley some things to keep him comfortable, Sanger grabbed Q’s wrist hard and dragged her after him to his truck.
“Aaron, stop it,” she finally said. “You’re hurting me.”
He abruptly let go of her, and she rubbed at her sore arm.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked. “I’m not the fucking perp.”
Sanger pushed his hands back through his hair. “I know that, Clementine. I’m sorry. She’s going home to destroy the evidence. We need to get there.”
Q cursed and followed him to the truck. As Sanger pulled up in front of Stanley’s house, he sat staring blankly at the windshield. She put her hand on his arm.
“You should call Rex, Aaron. I shouldn’t be here.”
He didn’t look at her. “I need you here, Clementine. I can’t do this unless you’re here.”
“Aaron, you don’t have to do this at all. Like you said, she’s probably destroyed any evidence by now, or close to. You could just let it go. We don’t know for sure that what happened to Savion wasn’t an accident,” she said. “Stanley’s going to be ok… well, as ok as a dying man can be. And he knew, Aaron. He’s made his peace with it. It’s not like she’s going to try again.”
Sanger turned and stared at her in horror. “She murdered a man who used to love you. She tried to kill a man who’s like a father to you. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“She’s pregnant with your baby, Aaron,” she replied calmly. “I’m trying to help you. If you have me here as your moral compass, you picked the wrong damned compass. If she’s the one you want, then you don’t have to do this. Not for me. I’ll let it go if you want me to.”
He folded his arms and considered her words. “You read me the riot act a few hours ago, and now you’re giving me a pass. Stanley knew she was killing him and he didn’t care, so now you’re ok with murder?”
