Charlie-316

by Colin Conway

  Farrell nodded in agreement. “That’s true. Source?”

  “Pomeroy, with you and Flowers in support.”

  Farrell glanced at his watch. “Let’s finish up. Flowers should be here soon.”

  “Okay. Garrett gets released from jail on his own recognizance. He is fully engaged in the play now, working me, working people he knows, trying to get everyone riled up that he’s a victim. He gets a gun from somewhere, maybe his buddy Tillman, maybe he’s always had it. Either way, Talbott catches up to him. No matter who shot first, the end result is Talbott is dead, and Garrett shot him.”

  “Source?”

  “Tillman.”

  “Who is uncooperative.”

  “We’ll impeach his testimony. The other witnesses saw Talbott shoot, right?”

  “Yes, but they can’t identify the other man.”

  “If we find the gun Garrett used, that’ll link him.”

  “What’s the chance of that?”

  Clint shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s a tough one. I’ll have to run down any place connected with Tillman, and with the barbershop owner, Oakley. Plus, his mother. Maybe he hid it somewhere in one of those places.”

  Farrell gave him a dubious look but didn’t argue. “Then what?”

  “Garrett knows that things are falling apart, therefore he goes to Ocampo’s house and blows away all four people. That solves Hollander’s quadruple.”

  “Source?”

  “Nona Henry, my witness. Any DNA Hollander and Hill turn up. And the gun. Plus, Pomeroy will tie Garrett to Ocampo with his testimony.”

  “The DNA search is a needle in a haystack,” Farrell said.

  “So is the gun,” Clint admitted.

  “Which leaves your elderly witness and Pomeroy.”

  Clint nodded. “That’ll be enough. Pomeroy will do the lion’s share of the work, and Mrs. Henry will add credibility to it with her identification.”

  Farrell thought about everything they’d covered. The majority of it was weak or circumstantial, unless they discovered the gun. Pomeroy’s testimony would tie it all together.

  “All right,” he said, “let’s talk about what to offer Pomeroy. You think it’ll have to be full immunity?”

  “I don’t like that,” Clint said. “I think he’ll go for much less. He’s weak.”

  The phone on Farrell’s desk rang. He rose and walked to it, snatching the receiver. “This better be you, Dan.”

  “It’s me, Cap.”

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m…I’m up at Pomeroy’s house.”

  “Well, bring him down here.”

  “I can’t, Captain. He killed himself.”

  “He what?”

  “He sat down on his kitchen floor and cut his wrists. Hours ago, by the look of it. I’m about to call medics and patrol.”

  “Jesus,” Farrell whispered.

  “Do you have any orders, sir? Before I get started?”

  “No,” Farrell said, clearing his throat. “I’ll call the chief. Keep me updated.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Farrell hung up. He turned to Clint, who was eyeing him warily.

  “What is it?”

  “Pomeroy killed himself.”

  “God damnit!” Clint yelled, slapping the table in frustration.

  Farrell sat down, shaking his head and trying to get his bearings before he called the chief. Finally, he looked up at Clint, whose jaw was clenching and unclenching with rage. “We have to keep this to ourselves for now,” he said.

  “Pomeroy,” Clint said through gritted teeth. “He was the key.”

  “We have to figure out how to bring this forward without him,” Farrell said.

  “There’s gotta be a way,” Clint insisted urgently. “I’ll keep at it.”

  “Until we’ve got something,” Farrell said, “we have to keep it between us.”

  Clint looked at him. “I’ll go interview Garrett later this morning. After they get him processed in. I’ll work him for a confession. That’s the best shot we have.”

  It might be the only shot, Farrell thought.

  “Do it,” he said.

  Chapter 51

  As he walked up the sidewalk toward city hall, Cody Lofton’s head wasn’t in the game.

  It was still back in his apartment with Amanda Donahue where they had spent the entire night together. When the alarm on his phone signaled it was time to wake, Lofton did so with reluctance.

  Since Lofton knew the mayor would expect him early, he slid quietly from under the sheet. He padded into the shower and turned on the water.

  He closed his eyes and let the hot water wake him not only to the morning, but to reality.

  Cody Lofton knew he had made a cardinal mistake. He’d let himself become emotionally exposed to the most powerful woman he’d ever met. It wasn’t money or power she had that scared him. What scared him most was the undefinable it.

  If she turned on him now, he was ruined. If this was a ploy to weaken his standing with the mayor, it had worked.

  Everything he had strived for could be undone due to a moment of weakness. He’d never wanted a woman like this in his life nor to even come close to one. Lofton turned up the temperature even hotter until it was almost scalding. The pain was a reminder of what might be coming his way if he didn’t pay attention.

  The shower door clicked, and he opened his eyes. Amanda stuck her hand in the shower. “Good Lord!”

  Lofton turned the temperature down slightly.

  She stepped in and wetted her hair. Her mascara from the previous night ran slightly. She looked in the shower’s mirror and wiped it from her face.

  She faced Lofton and he stood silently.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  “I—,” he started and then shrugged when he couldn’t find the words.

  “You knew this would happen eventually, didn’t you?”

  He shook his head. “Never in a million years.”

  “For a guy who thinks he’s got his act together, you’re kind of clueless.”

  He started to say something, but she moved forward and kissed him…

  “Cody!” a woman’s voice shouted, breaking his reverie.

  Lofton shook the thoughts of last night from his head. He was almost to the front door of city hall when Kelly Davis, the reporter from the Spokesman-Review, hurried toward him.

  “Got a minute?”

  Lofton nodded, but realized her notebook was in her hands.

  “What can you tell me about the shooting in Liberty Lake yesterday?”

  “No comment.”

  “A detective from the Spokane Police Department is murdered and you say no comment.”

  Lofton stared at her.

  “What about the reports that Garrett was arrested this morning on his warrant?”

  “I’m unaware of that.”

  “Are you also unaware that there is a crime scene at a northside house, right now? Suicide victim.”

  Lofton shrugged. “I don’t usually get briefed on suicides.”

  “This one is a cop.”

  Lofton didn’t reply, keeping his expression neutral, but his mind was buzzing.

  “You’ve got one murdered cop,” Davis detailed, “one in jail for assault, and one that just killed himself. What’s going on inside the police department?”

  “It seems you know more than me this morning,” Lofton said, pushing past Davis on his way into city hall. When he was alone, he pulled out his cell phone and saw multiple text messages from Lieutenant Dan Flowers alerting him to everything that Davis had just said.

  “Shit!” he yelled.

  On the seventh floor, the mayor was waiting in the doorway of his office.

  “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Slow start,” Lofton said.

  “Where the hell is Amanda?” The mayor looked toward her desk, like he
was expecting her to appear out of nowhere.

  “How would I know?”

  Sikes studied him, a sneer appeared for a split-second.

  “Have you heard the news?” Sikes asked

  “About what? The murdered detective, Garrett’s arrest for his warrant, or the police officer’s suicide?”

  Sikes shook his head. “I’m always amazed at where you get your information.”

  “Don’t be,” Lofton said. “I was bum rushed by Kelly Davis at the front door. She’s the one that brought me up to speed on everything.”

  “What did you say?”

  “No comment.”

  “Seriously?”

  “What else could I say? I didn’t know how to respond.”

  “Didn’t you watch the news this morning? The national coverage was horrible when they found out about Garrett’s arrest.”

  “I didn’t see it.”

  “Our city is under siege and you’ve got your head in the clouds. Just what were you doing that was so important that you couldn’t pay attention to what was going on in our city?”

  The elevators dinged, and Amanda Donahue walked in. Her hair was perfect and bounced slightly as she walked. She wore a basic mini-skirt and blouse. Amanda smiled broadly at Lofton, but the smile faded slightly when she saw the mayor. “Good morning, sir.”

  He smiled at Amanda. “Give us a minute.” The mayor then inhaled deeply and looked at Lofton. “Get in there,” he said, thumbing toward his office.

  Lofton stepped inside and turned around as Sikes moved toward him, his finger in his face. “Did you?”

  He lifted his hands in the surrender position. “Did I what?”

  “You know I was working that.”

  Lofton shook his head. “I had no idea.”

  Sikes scrunched his lips before speaking. “You know damn well. You’re not stupid.”

  “Neither is your wife.”

  The mayor stared at Lofton. “Are you saying you did me a favor? Because I’m not going to fall for some stupid bullshit like that.”

  “I did it for myself,” Lofton said, “but don’t you think we have more important things to worry about?”

  The mayor shook his head and threw his hands in the air. “I just want it to all go away. Where the hell is Baumgartner?”

  “You told him you were too busy to meet with him today.”

  “Get him on the phone, then jerk his chain and get us some updates.”

  Lofton stared at the mayor.

  “When we get past all this,” Sikes said, making a circle in the air before pointing in the direction of Amanda’s desk, “we’re going to deal with what’s happening out there. You might have just fucked your career, buddy boy.”

  Chapter 52

  Detective Wardell Clint sat waiting in the jail interview room, practicing the deep breathing techniques he’d learned in aikido all those years ago. He focused on the inhale. Once it was fully completed, he allowed himself a few moments to finalize his interview strategy, then focused on the exhale. Limiting his thinking about the case to a small window of time forced him to focus on strategy, facts, and details, not emotion. He couldn’t afford to let emotion run this interview, no matter how deeply betrayed he felt right now.

  The corrections officer that escorted Garrett was a friendly country boy nicknamed Tater. Clint had always had good interactions with Tater throughout his career, but now all he got was a cold glare and formality from the big man as he unlocked Garrett’s transport cuffs.

  “You are limited to thirty minutes, Detective,” Tater said stiffly. “I’ll be outside the door, at the end of the hall, monitoring the video feed. If either of you wish to terminate this interview, turn to the camera up in the corner and give a wave.”

  Clint gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

  “Thanks, Tater,” Garrett said.

  “You bet.”

  Tater left, and Garrett settled onto the bench seat across from Clint, rubbing his wrists absently.

  “I see you’re making friends in here,” Clint said.

  “Tater’s good people.”

  Clint shook his head in disbelief. Garrett was going to ride this “man-wronged” horse until it dropped.

  Well, time to drop it.

  He removed an index card from his jacket and read from it without preamble. “I am Wardell Clint, a police detective. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney, and to have said attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you without cost. If you agree to speak with me today, be advised that anything you say may be used as evidence in a criminal proceeding. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”

  “Man, are you serious?”

  Clint knew that the interview room was recorded. The audio feed didn’t go to the guard’s monitoring station, but it was retrievable upon request. He intended to make sure anything Garrett said would make it into court.

  “I am one hundred percent serious,” he said. Then he repeated, “Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”

  Garrett looked at him. Blinked. Then he said, “Yeah, man. I know my rights.”

  “Will you agree to waive these rights and speak with me at this time?”

  “I will reserve my rights,” Garrett said, his tone matching Clint’s formality. “But I will agree to speak with you at this time without the presence of counsel and am fully aware that I may cease to do so at any time by re-asserting my right to remain silent.”

  He gave Clint a smirk that said there-you-go.

  Clint put the card back into his jacket pocket. Ideally, he’d have Garrett sign it but he wasn’t allowed to bring a pen into the interview room. The audio and video would have to do.

  “Did you plan this all along?” he asked.

  “Plan what?” Garrett motioned around him. “Being in jail? Be real, brother.”

  “I’m not your brother,” Clint said, choking back the rage that he’d been struggling with for hours now.

  Garrett shrugged. “We’re all brothers, aren’t we?”

  Clint forced himself to take a deep inhale and let it out slowly while he watched Garrett’s expression. The utter calmness he saw there rattled him more than he wanted to admit. There was a confidence there that shouldn’t be.

  “I believed you,” he said. “You played me.”

  “I didn’t play anybody,” Garrett said, but his eyes were sparkling with dark amusement. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m sitting behind bars for something I didn’t do.”

  “You did, though. We both know that your only way out is through me. Through the truth.”

  “The truth is all I’ve been telling. Somebody else is spinning lies, and I’m the one getting caught up in all that.”

  “This is your last real chance,” Clint said, hoping he didn’t sound like he was pleading. “Tell me the truth, maybe you avoid the needle. Get to see your babies grow up and have lives.”

  The mention of his kids seemed to stir something in Garrett. His eyes narrowed, and his jawline hardened. “You leave my family out of this discussion or we’re done talking.”

  Clint forged ahead. “They’re the only reason I’m even having this conversation. I’ve got enough to put you away for three life terms, and after the way you played me and the system, you deserve it. But they don’t.”

  “I’m warning you,” Garrett growled. “Don’t talk about them.”

  “You shot Talbott,” Clint said.

  Garrett smirked. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Witnesses put you there.”

  “They’re wrong.”

  “They all say Talbott shot at you first, that you fired back in self-defense.”

  “That’s good news for whoever he was shooting at, but it wasn’t me.”

  “Your friend, Derek Tillman, lives right there.”

  “Derek’s all right, I hop
e?”

  “Stop playing this game. Help me understand what happened there.”

  Garrett shook his head. “Brother, you know exactly what happened.”

  “Don’t play the brother card with me,” Clint said. “I didn’t see you at last Sunday dinner.”

  “Fine,” Garrett said with a shrug. “But you know what happened. White people saw a black man and remembered me from all the TV coverage this past week, so that’s who they saw. If it had happened two weeks ago, they’d have sworn they saw Tiger Woods.”

  “Tillman said you were there.”

  “Now, that’s a lie.”

  “Why would your friend lie about that?”

  “He didn’t. You just did. And since the truth is that I was never there, there’s no way Derek would say I was. Man, if you’re just going to lie to me…” He shrugged and glanced meaningfully toward the camera high up in the corner near the ceiling.

  Clint quickly shifted gears. “You killed Pomeroy.”

  Garrett feigned mild surprise. “Detective Pomeroy? He’s dead, too?”

  “All of these denials just make you look cold, Ty. Makes it look premeditated.”

  “I can’t premeditate what I’ve never done.”

  “I know you killed Ocampo along with those other people in his house. Why?”

  “Who are you even talking about? Ocampo?”

  “He deals drugs.”

  “Lots of people deal drugs. This is Spokane.”

  “You went to school with him.”

  “I went to school with lots of people. I’m supposed to remember every one of them?”

  “Only the ones you collude with.”

  Garrett stared at him with an amused expression. “Collude? Is that a fancy word for conspiracy? ’Cause you know a thing or two about that, don’t you, Honey Badger?”

  Clint wanted to grab him. Break bones. Smash cartilage. Make him bleed. Yet he knew better. If he did that, everything fell apart, and things would be like the arm-breaking incident at the Circle K again, only a thousand times worse.

  “Where’s the gun?” he asked, his voice low and tight.

  “What gun?”