As she drove to Harbor House, Carly wondered at the urgency in her partner’s voice. What could have happened that made him take an early out?
Harbor House was a twenty-four-hour diner just outside of Old Towne. It was a place Carly and Joe visited often when they worked together. The setting was great for informal debriefings. Neither of them drank, so a bar wasn’t an option. And when something happened at work that required they unwind, Harbor House was the place. Joe’s wife, Christy, or other cops used to meet them at the diner. Before the divorce, Nick often tagged along. It was therapeutic to talk and debrief one another over coffee after a stressful incident.
Joe met Carly at the door. “Hey, it’s been a while since we’ve come here, huh?” The last time they’d stepped inside Harbor House was after her shooting. Today, he’d just gotten a haircut, and it made the thinning spot on the top of his head more pronounced. Carly decided to hold back on the teasing.
“Yeah, too long. We should visit once in a while to catch up.”
Their favorite corner table was available. The restaurant was fairly crowded for 2:30 in the morning, as much because of the good food as the fact that not much else was open in the area. The waiter recognized both of them, and coffee came quickly. He left a carafe on the table so they would be undisturbed. Carly took a seat in the booth, feeling as relaxed as if she were sitting in her own living room.
“So what’s up?” she asked Joe while he doctored his coffee.
“There was another homicide tonight.”
“Oh, no wonder it got so quiet. No one arrests juvies when big stuff is happening in the field. Where and who?”
“On the west side. I drove over to check the scene out.” He paused, looking grave and older somehow. “It was Cinnamon, two bullets to the head, execution style.”
Carly’s coffee cup stopped midway to her mouth. “No way.”
“I couldn’t believe it myself.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “When I got there, they were still waiting on the coroner to check her for ID. I told Corbin who she was. His team drew the case.”
“Did you tell him we talked to her the other night?”
“No, after I told him who I thought she was, he really wasn’t interested in what I had to say. I told him I knew her from my beat. She was quite a ways out of her neighborhood when she was killed.”
Carly set her cup down. Did this new twist have something to do with Jeff’s ravings? I trust Joe, no matter what Jeff said. “I think I should tell you about a strange conversation I had with Jeff Hanks.”
“Jeff Hanks? The guy in dope?”
Carly nodded and gave Joe the play-by-play.
Joe listened thoughtfully. “That’s interesting. Especially in light of all the weird stuff that we’ve been hearing on the street.”
“What kind of weird stuff?”
“Gossip, specifically about the late Teresa Burke. The buzz is she was getting kickbacks on all the redevelopment funds.”
“Teresa Burke, dirty?” Carly felt her jaw drop. That was like saying Mother Teresa was a poser.
Joe nodded. “She built a nice front, didn’t she?”
“I’ll say. That shocks me just about as much as hearing about Cinnamon.”
“That’s not all.” Joe leaned forward. “There’s also talk that someone in narcotics is on the take and covering for a big-time drug dealer. It’s like there’s dirty laundry under every rock.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Jeff. What do you think about his accusation that I was put in juvenile to calm down the press, to keep someone like Alex Trejo from uncovering something?”
“Well, as long as I’ve been here, I’ve never noticed the department go out of the way to get publicity. But low profile has definitely become more the norm lately than I can ever remember. Even the PIOs haven’t initiated any programs to generate publicity. And vice and narcotics seem to avoid any situation that might result in high-profile arrests. The last big drug seizure was about six months ago. Remember when Hanks got that award?”
“Yep, Mayor Burke presented it to him.”
“Since then, all narco can manage is nickel-and-dime stuff. Anytime they get wind of something big, it never pans out. I talked to a buddy in narco two weeks ago; he thought the guy on the take was Hanks.”
“Why Jeff?” Carly refilled her cup, brows knit in irritation, hating the way gossip spread like wildfire. It was every bit as destructive.
“According to my buddy, the last few months he’s been Mr. Mysterious. Sometimes he shows up for work; sometimes he doesn’t. Sergeant Roberts always signs his time cards without question. Some of the guys complained to him about Jeff, but nothing was ever done. Then rumors hit about Jeff having an affair with Teresa Burke. Everyone decided it must be true; the only explanation for Jeff getting away with all he did was because he was sleeping with the mayor.”
Carly sipped her coffee and digested Joe’s words. Is Jeff the bad guy in all this? Is he just trying to manipulate me? “Who’s who in the zoo? Jeff even insinuated the city council was corrupt. He told me he was working on a task force with the DEA and the FBI. Was that a lie? And what does any of this have to do with Cinnamon?”
“I don’t know. It just seems awfully coincidental; the night after we talk to her, she gets whacked.” He shook his head. “As for Jeff and narcotics, I do know that the feds stay away from Las Playas. Nickel-and-dime stuff isn’t what they’re after. Plus our narco detail has gained a rep for always getting burned. Except for occasional surveillance and helping out other agencies, the PD’s narcotics division has become a laughingstock. I’ve never met Jeff, but my friend says there are two different men calling themselves Jeff Hanks. The one before the award was a supercop, savvy and on the ball. But after the award, he changed into a quiet, secretive slug.”
“Jeff did look like a tweaker at the restaurant.” Carly sighed, her head aching with the mess. “Is there more to Teresa’s murder than a carjacking? Was she a bad guy or is the bad guy a cop?”
“That’s the sweepstakes question, and I don’t have any answers. I’m just telling you what I’ve heard. Another outrageous story floating around that I know is true concerns Craven’s.”
Craven’s was a notorious topless bar, constantly being cited for pages and pages of violations. Every kind of vice imaginable was available at Craven’s. “Before I went to juvie, we handled several disturbance calls there, if I remember right.”
Joe nodded and went on. “Well, patrol guys were told to lay off, that any problems there would be handled by special enforcement. The word on the street now is Craven’s is the place to be. Business is better than ever because the cops are hands-off.”
“And SE is ignoring things?”
“All they’re doing are pet projects for Garrison or the city council. And one of my snitches says Galen Burke is a regular at Craven’s.”
“The grieving widower?” Carly trusted Joe’s snitches. Any good street cop developed unusual avenues of information in their beat. There was a tremendous population of street people—homeless, prostitutes, sick, lame, and lazy—who saw and heard everything. Experience taught a cop how to sift through the nonsense to the good stuff. Carly and Joe cultivated several people. Sometimes it was as easy as buying someone a burger now and then. Other times it required some wrangling with DAs to get charges reduced. Often the information gathered was as good as gold.
Joe nodded. “Some vice guys did make the mistake of issuing citations at Craven’s about a month ago. Turns out Burke was there. He didn’t get cited, but someone saw him. The next day city councilmen had a fit. The vice boss stood up for his guys, but now they stay away. As for patrol, well, Garrison is our boss, but he would never stick up for us, so we stay clear. If Jeff is convinced someone in the department is trying to frame those kids—” he hiked a shoulder—“I could see it, with help from someone in city hall.”
Carly shook her head. “I don’t want to think anyone who wears the uniform is corrupt. Some b
ureaucrat in city hall, maybe, but I can’t imagine any fellow officer is as rotten as Jeff seems to think.”
“We never want to see it, do we? Not when it’s our own. I’m afraid Jeff might be right: somewhere in our world there might be someone who’s forgotten what it means to be a law enforcement officer.” Joe’s expression was grim. His words sent a chill up Carly’s spine, and she grasped her hot coffee mug in both hands to fight it off.
13
“We never want to see it, do we?”
Carly heard Joe’s question over and over in her mind. He was so right. Whether they were discussing Jeff, Garrison, or Tucker, she didn’t want to think a fellow cop was corrupt.
She unlocked her apartment door around 4:00 a.m., head spinning with too much information. Her stomach was in a free fall, as if the ground had dropped suddenly away from her feet and she was going down, no end in sight. The relative safety of home did nothing to stop the fall. Only Maddie greeted her; Andrea was out, which was not unusual. Nurses worked twelve-hour shifts, and Andi sometimes napped in the nurses’ locker room before coming home. The dog bounded to the front door, happy to see her mistress and anxious for a walk. But canine exuberance did nothing to raise Carly’s spirits.
Is Jeff a killer? Is Garrison on the take? Is Londy innocent? If someone in the department was dirty and orchestrating the investigation, the picture was bleak. Carly’s mind stretched, grasping for answers to unknown questions.
Looking down at the dog, Carly decided an immediate course of action was a walk. Maddie bounced around, demanding her daily exercise.
“Sorry, sweetheart. You must really need to go out.” Carly tried unsuccessfully to leave her turbulent thoughts in the apartment. Disturbing suspicions about police corruption walked alongside her and the dog. She stopped and let Maddie off her leash at a vacant lot and leaned against a streetlight while the dog frolicked.
The sound of waves breaking in the distance was the only noise disturbing an otherwise-quiet night.
Try as she might, Carly’s mind wouldn’t empty. Chaotic thoughts drifted to her father. I wish Dad were here, more than I can say. I could’ve talked to him about all this. He would’ve listened and come up with a plan or an idea.
Mom’s prayers just don’t cut it. Thinking of Mom and prayer led unavoidably to an image of Dora Akins bowing her head with her son at the station. After the prayer, the pair had seemed to have a sort of peace.
Since Dad died, Carly had seen her mother assume the same prayerful posture more times than she cared to remember. Mom always said prayer gave a person peace. But what peace was found in a premature death? Carly had prayed that her dad’s cancer would be cured. As his illness progressed, she had felt desperate and anxious, not peaceful. Carly blew out a disgusted breath and whistled for Maddie.
“Peace?” She spit the word out loud as she hooked Maddie’s leash. Her own voice startled her, and she looked up into a dark, starless sky. I just don’t believe you’re there, and if you are, you’re flat-out mean. Why my mom trusts you, I’ll never understand. You took my dad. I’ll never forgive you. Angry, frustrated tears started as she remembered her father’s death. I’ll never have peace if it means praying to a sadistic God.
* * *
Carly woke earlier than she wanted to but couldn’t go back to sleep. She could hear Andi in the living room on the phone, probably talking to her mother from the tone of the conversation. Andrea’s mother had been married four times and was contemplating a fifth trip down the aisle, and Andi didn’t approve.
Yawning, Carly gave up on sleep and got out of bed. She rinsed her face off and shuffled into the kitchen to feed the dog and grab some coffee. The apartment smelled of nail polish. She could see Andi on the couch, the phone cradled between her ear and shoulder while she painted her toenails and listened to her mother. She saw Carly and rolled her eyes.
Carly fed the dog, grabbed the paper, and poured a cup of coffee to take back to her room. She stopped short in the hall before her bedroom door when the paper’s headline jumped off the page and grabbed her by the throat.
Local Narcotics Officer Wanted for Questioning in Prostitute’s Death
The words erased all sleep fog from Carly’s mind. Trejo’s byline named Jeff Hanks and stopped just short of saying he’d shot Cinnamon. It said he was suspended and wanted for questioning. It was typical Trejo: corrupt cops running amok.
“No way!”
Andrea looked her way and frowned. She got up and walked on her heels to where Carly stood and read over her shoulder. Her eyes got wide.
“Have to go, Mom,” she said, interrupting the chatter Carly could hear coming from the other end of the line. “Love you; I’ll call you later.” Slapping the phone closed, she yanked the paper from Carly.
“I can’t believe it. And we were just talking about him sleeping with Teresa Burke. Do you think he killed her too?” Andrea’s eyes were bright with the hope of fresh gossip.
“I sincerely hope he didn’t kill anybody. Poor Elaine! I’d better call her.” She stepped around Andi and hurried to find her phone.
“It says in the paper that Elaine hasn’t seen him for two weeks, but it doesn’t name her, of course; just says ‘wife.’” Andrea followed her, rambling on as she read the article, but Carly only half paid attention as she looked for her cell phone. She hadn’t talked to Elaine since the separation, couldn’t bring herself to be a third wheel, to be just Carly when it was always Nick, Carly, Elaine, and Jeff.
“Hiding from his wife, he could have been out doing anything, including murder.”
Carly frowned as Andrea’s voice came through loud and clear. “Alex Trejo just likes to trash police officers, Andi; you know that,” she said as she grabbed her phone from under a pile of paper on her desk.
Her mind was a jumble of disconnected thoughts. Had she or Jeff mentioned Cinnamon last night? No, she’d only talked about the girl with Joe when he told her about Cinnamon’s murder. But when was the girl shot? Jeff was with Carly for at least part of the evening.
Did he leave dinner and commit murder?
The sound of the doorbell sent Maddie into a barking frenzy.
“I’ll get it.” Andi left the bedroom to answer the door.
Carly stopped scrolling through her contacts list and grabbed Maddie. She froze when she heard a male voice in the living room.
“Can you give her a second?” Carly heard her roommate say before Andi stuck her head back in the room. “Carly, Sergeant Tucker is out here. He wants to talk to you.” Her eyebrows arched in question marks. “I’m going to leave you two to chat.” She pointed to her feet. “Now I need a pedicure. Maddie just stomped all over my toes.”
“Sorry. Tell him I’ll be out in a minute.” Carly jumped into some jeans. What on earth is Sergeant Tucker doing in my living room? Is he going to let me back into the investigation? The thought perked her up, but at the same time Carly was wary. There were too many coincidences—first Jeff, then Cinnamon, and now the waiting homicide sergeant.
Though he was supposed to be on her side, Carly went out to face the sergeant as if she were facing a hostile defense attorney, all shields up.
“Hello, Carly. Sorry to drop in unexpectedly.” Tucker smiled. He was dressed casually, slacks and a golf shirt, indicating that maybe his visit wasn’t official. An unofficial visit made Carly wary.
“I was awake.” She struggled to be nonchalant, hoping her uneasiness would fade and that, official or not, he would ask her to be on the investigative team. She motioned for him to take a seat. “Do you want some coffee?”
“No, I won’t be staying long. I just have a few questions.” Tucker sank onto Carly’s couch.
“Questions about . . . ?” She settled into her recliner.
“Well, let me start by showing you something.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet. “Recognize this?”
It was the card Carly had passed to Cinnamon.
“Yes, it’s mine.” She looked for a clu
e in the sergeant’s visage, but like any good cop, his expression was unreadable.
“We found it on the body of a murdered prostitute.”
Carly parried his attempt to shock by staying neutral. “I’d heard she’d been killed, and I just now saw the paper.”
“So you know who I mean. Why did she have your card?”
“Because I gave it to her. I thought she might have some information about the Burke murder.”
“Before or after I told you to stay out of it?” He put the card back in his wallet without taking his eyes off Carly.
Carly felt an uneasy tension creep into her gut. This isn’t about being asked to rejoin the investigation. “After, on my own time, I went and found her.”
“What did she tell you?” The tone of his voice changed at the same time the expression on his face changed. Carly knew the expression. It was the you-can-trust-me face, or I’m-here-to-help face, designed to con anyone out of anything.
“Nothing. She was scared to death; she’d been beaten up.”
The sergeant took a moment to digest this and then changed gears. “Jeff Hanks is a friend of yours, isn’t he?”
“He was my ex-husband’s best man when we were married.” It sure took you a long time to get around to Jeff. What’s your game?
“Have you seen him lately?”
Carly hesitated. “Are you here because of this article?” She pointed to the paper. “Are you accusing Jeff of murder?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m saying: the worst crime I can think of is when a cop changes sides, when he forgets his oath and crosses the line. That’s what happened here. Jeff crossed the line. Yes, he murdered the hooker, and my guess is he killed her because he thought she talked to you.”
“Because she talked to me? What do you mean?” She nearly came out of her chair. He’d done just what she hadn’t wanted him to do, caught her by surprise, and she knew her face showed it.
Accused Page 9
