by Corey Brown
“Are you kidding? We want ‘em both. A one, two punch could make our careers. This whole mess has book or movie deal written all over it.”
Slater gives Hansen a look, he is skeptical but there new light in his eyes. A movie deal, he thinks, yeah… He says, “It might be tough. The Quarter is out of our district.”
Hansen sees that light in Slater’s eyes, senses the wheels turning and shrugs. “Call the captain.”
Down the hall, Cody touches Jamie’s cheek then kisses her. Jamie looks at him, her nerves are still raw.
“Cody, I’ve never been so scared,” she says. “That man, he shot at me. He tried to kill me.”
“I was out of my mind on the way over,” Cody says. “I can’t believe I let you come here.”
She looks at him “How could you know?”
“This is what I do, Jamie, it’s my job. I should’ve known better.”
“It’s not your fault, Cody.”
“It is my fault. I----”
“Oh, honey,” Jamie says, cutting him short. “This isn’t about the Skulls. Forgive yourself, you couldn’t have known.”
Cody narrows his eyes and emotions square off: anger faces humility. Her presumption irritates him. Cody’s shoulders drop slightly. How did she know? Was it that obvious? But she was right, it was true. Those boys, those goddamned Skulls, were always sitting in the cheap seats, heckling, criticizing him. Reminding him.
“I’m just glad you’re safe,” Cody says, retreating. “Someone must’ve been watching over you.”
She pulls away, looks at him curiously. “What do you mean? Why do you say that?”
Cody shrugs. “I don’t mean anything by it. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Jamie tips her head downward and stares at the floor.
“Cody,” Jamie starts to say something but then shakes her head. “Oh, never mind. You won’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
“No, forget it.”
Cody lifts her chin, presses his cheek against hers and whispers, “Tell me.”
“That man,” Jamie says, her voice a whisper, too. “The one who shot at me, he didn’t miss.”
Cody’s look gives away his question before he asks it. “What do you mean?” he says. “Of course he missed you. You’re alive, he missed.”
“I know it sounds crazy.” Jamie hesitates, hardly believing her own thoughts. “But somebody was watching over me. That guy came out of the bedroom, his gun was pointed right at me and he pulled the trigger. But someone came through the window and hit him. I saw the glass break. I saw the man with the gun fall, I saw him get knocked over. That’s why he missed. Someone saved my life.”
“What do you mean someone hit him?” Cody says. “Who hit him?”
Jamie puts a hand to her forehead and rubs. “I don’t know. I didn’t see him or her….or it.”
“Honey, you’re not making any sense. Maybe----”
“No,” Jamie says, interrupting. “It’s true. I saw the glass break, the gunman fell like he was pushed. But no one else was there. No one I could see.”
Cody holds Jamie at arm’s length, looks at her intently. Part of him wants to dismiss her words as nonsense. Jamie is a middle class, suburban housewife. She works on United Way fundraisers, helps out at school board meetings, and takes care of her family. Her life doesn’t include assassins and violence and murder. She has never been through anything like this.
Still, he thinks, Jamie has a way of sensing things. She can import the subtleties of conversation or body language in ways that escape Cody. It would certainly be hard to miss somebody coming to her rescue through a glass window. But the window is three stories up, just where would that someone come from?
“Okay,” Cody says. “I believe you. I don’t know what it means and I don’t understand it, but I believe you. How did you end up here, instead of going downstairs?”
“I don’t know.” Jamie sighs, she is exhausted. “I was so scared, I just ran. I must’ve turned the wrong way. Thank God the apartment at the end was open. I went in and locked the door. I didn’t know you were here until you called my name.” Her lower lip starts to quiver and tears slip out the corners of her eyes. “I thought he was going to kill me.” Jamie says, quietly. “I can’t believe Julia’s dead.”
Cody pulls her close again and says, “I know, I know, it’s awful. Listen, Jamie, did you get a good look at the gunman? Did he get a good look at you?”
“I couldn’t see his face. He was wearing a ski mask or something. It was black or dark blue, I think.”
“What about you?” Cody says. “Did he see your face?”
Jamie shakes her head slowly, shrugs. “I’m not sure. He must have, I was looking right at him.”
Hooking Jamie’s arm with his own, Cody starts to walk back to Julia’s apartment.
“Okay,” Cody says, his voice low and serious. “From this point on, I am the only one you give any details. You’ll have to talk to other cops. I’m certain Laroche will insist that somebody else interview you. In fact, someone from District Eight will probably do it. But you never got a good look at the gunman. You didn’t see him fall, you didn’t see the window break, you didn’t see a mask and for God sakes you didn’t see his face. You don’t know how tall he is, what he was wearing, you know nothing. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but isn’t that----?”
“Illegal? You bet it is, but I don’t give a shit. Keeping you safe is all I care about right now. Listen closely, you heard a shot in the bedroom and you ran to this apartment. That’s all. Got it?”
“But Cody----”
“Say nothing else.” Cody punctuates each word.
“Okay. I understand.”
“Later, after we get some things handled, you and Todd are going to stay with your folks for a while. Maybe a couple of weeks, or at least until I figure out if someone will come looking for you.”
A wave of fear ripples through Jamie’s body. “Do you think he will?”
“I have no idea. That’s why I’m shipping you off.”
Reaching the apartment door they stop and look inside. Hansen and Slater are still out of sight in the bedroom. Cody starts to go in, saying, “Jamie, I want you to take a look around.”
Out of reflex, Jamie shrinks back from the doorway. Shaking her head, she says in a low voice. “I’m not going back in there, Cody. I don’t want to see Julia. I can’t, I just can’t.”
Cody puts his arm around her shoulder, drawing her close. “I know, honey. I’m not asking you to. Just go back to where you were when you called me. That’s all. Maybe you’ll remember something that will help us later. Just look around, okay?”
She looks at him for a long moment. “I don’t have to see Julia?”
“No,” Cody says. “But remember you’re not looking for anything, you’re just waiting.”
“All right,” Jamie says, cautiously.
As they walk in, Slater and Hansen emerge from the bedroom.
“How do we want to handle this?” Hansen is saying.
“Well, let’s go get Briggs and----” Slater stops short when he sees Jamie. “Mrs. Briggs?”
Jamie nods.
“I’m so sorry about Ms. Turano,” Slater says. “But I’m glad you’re safe.” Then he extends his hand. “I’m Detective Slater. I work with Detective Hansen.”
“Jamie Briggs,” she says, shaking Slater’s hand. “Thank you for coming, Detective, I’m grateful.”
Slater glances at Cody. “It was nothing, your husband did it all,” he says awkwardly. “I just came along for the ride. But you’re welcome.” Slater looks at Cody again, Cody knows what is coming. “Um, Mrs. Briggs,” Slater says. “We need to speak with your husband in private. Please excuse us.”
Raising his eyebrow ever so slightly as a reminder of what the two of them had discussed moments earlier, Cody says. “You wait here. I’ll be right back.”
As the three Detectives walk into the bedroom, Jamie looks around the room
. She walks to the end table near the couch, stepping over a pile of music CDs that have dumped onto the floor, and stoops to pick up her purse.
Entering the bedroom the three detectives stop and stare at Julia Turano’s lifeless body. A pool of blood encircles her head, catching in the irregularities of the wood floor and spiking off at odd angles.
“Give us a minute, will you?” Slater says, looking at a uniformed policeman. The cop eyes Slater for a moment, obviously annoyed but then walks out. Before Cody can speak Slater says, “Look, Briggs. I didn’t mean to be a prick back at the morgue. I didn’t know it was your wife.”
“Forget it,” Cody says with a quick smile. “I understand. Look, can you guys stick around until the CS investigators are done? It might be helpful.”
Slater and Hansen glance at each other then Hansen says, “Cody, the Wheaton case is ours again. When Laroche got wind that your wife was involved he told our captain you were out.”
“How’d he find out so fast?”
“It would’ve happened sooner or later. You can’t investigate this thing, at the very least there’s a conflict of interest. You’re way too close to it. Besides, chances are good none of us will be handling this particular case. It’ll probably go to District Eight homicide.”
“All the more reason I should still have Nick’s case. Eight has Julia’s murder, I have Nick’s. No conflict there.”
Julia Turano had landed as if she had fallen asleep on the floor. Lying on her back, one knee raised almost delicately, her hips slightly twisted, her face turned away and one cheek gently touching the wooden floorboards.
For just an instant, Cody feels a peculiar tingling in the back of his throat—or is it a bristling on the back of his neck? Something, maybe that tingly sensation, makes Cody look down at her.
And now Julia’s face is no longer turned away, cheek resting on the floor. Now she is staring right at him.
Cody watches, feeling his gut turn sour, as Julia reaches up and touches her forehead, her fingers exploring the bullet hole, her eyes registering surprise. Then, with a look of confusion, she examines the blood on her fingertips.
“What happened to me, Cody?” Julia says. “Why are you here?”
“Hey, man.” Hansen puts a hand on Cody’s shoulder.
Cody flinches and gives a startled yelp.
“Whoa,” Hansen says. “Take it easy. You okay?”
Cody looks back at Julia, who is once more lying in the same position as he’d first discovered her body. Cody stares a moment longer, cuts his eyes to Hansen then glances at Slater. They are staring at him like he is an alien. He can tell by their expressions they sure as hell did not just see a dead body move or hear it speak.
Cody squares his shoulders, turns away, doesn’t dare look at Julia. What is happening? He catches sight of the glass shards lying on the floor just outside the bedroom and he remembers what Jamie had said about the shooter. About how something, or someone, came through the window and stopped the guy from killing her.
Invisible rescuers, talking corpses, are both he and Jamie losing their minds? Losing their minds together? Or is it just the opposite, can they see what no one else does?
“Look, Briggs----” Slater says, but he is interrupted by the sound of someone calling his name.
“Slater? We got a Detective Slater anywhere?” The gruff voice is coming from the living room.
Slater brushes past Cody heading for the living room. “In here,” he says, rounding the corner, stepping out of sight.
“I’m Drake,” Cody and Hansen hear someone say. “This is Ramirez. Jesus Christ, you got half the NOPD in here. This scene is gonna be totally fucked.”
“Not quite,” Slater says. “You think we didn’t follow protocol?”
“How do I know?”
“What? You’re the only real D in town?”
“Maybe. All right, what we got here?”
Cody knows Drake and Ramirez are the homicide boys from District Eight. He also realizes the situation is beyond his ability to control. Looking at Hansen and half listening to the conversation between Slater and the crime scene investigators, Cody puts his emotions in check, decides Julia Turano never touched the bullet hole in her forehead, decides it was a trick of his mind. And he decides to be more respectful in her presence.
“Are you okay?” Hansen says. “The way you jumped a second ago, it was like you’d seen a ghost.”
Cody stares at him, wondering if it was just poor word choice or if Hansen had seen Julia, too. He sighs, runs his fingers through his hair and says, “Yeah, I’m fine. You’re right, I am too close. I’d be pulled eventually, no matter what.” Cody glances at Hansen, hoping Julia doesn’t decide to speak again. “But would you guys keep me in the loop?” he says. “I think I can help.”
“That depends,” Hansen says, his face hardening, “Are you going to play nice? Let’s face, it you’ve been holding back. You knew Wheaton had moved here, didn’t you?
Cody nods. “Yeah. And I knew Julia wouldn’t be here this morning, either. Look, Eric, I----”
“I understand,” Hansen says, his hand raised. “I might’ve done the same thing. We’ll cut you in, but you gotta lay it all out from here on, or this ain’t gonna work.”
“Fair enough.”
Slater re-enters the bedroom, two new cops close behind him. “Hansen and Briggs,” Slater says, sweeping his hand in their direction. “Gentlemen, say hello to District Eight homicide. This is Drake and Ramirez, the only real detectives in town.”
Ramirez is heavy set with thick, jet-black hair and a heavy Latino accent. His bushy moustache hides most of his upper lip. Drake is also rotund but shorter and has penetrating dark, green eyes. Both men are sweating profusely.
“We heard someone’s wife was involved,” Ramirez says, his breath still short from climbing three flights of stairs. He jabs a thumb over his beefy shoulder. “Is that her, she belong to one of you?”
“Yeah, me,” Cody says.
“Glad she’s okay. Sorry to hear she’s part of this goddamned mess.”
Cody smiles weakly. “Thanks.”
“We have to talk to her, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, I told Jamie to be ready.”
“She up to it?”
“Probably, take it easy on her and she’ll be all right.”
“Good, thanks. I really am sorry.”
Glancing around the room, Drake pulls a handkerchief, mops his brow and says, “How about this friggin’ heat, huh? In March, for chrissakes, how about that? The weatherman says it’s only going to get worse. Don’t these buildings have air? I hear you arrived first, Briggs. You touch anything?”
Cody takes a mental breath. Drake’s rapid fire way of talking has put him off balance. He waits a beat, centers himself. “Not inside,” Cody says. “I didn’t touch anything inside but my prints are on file. You can cross-check whatever you find.”
Drake nods, looks at Julia’s corpse, nods again this time to no one in particular. “Well, we better get a move on before the body starts to go. Stick around guys, we’ll need you later, and the crime scene boys might have questions. But for now, you guys mind waiting out in the hall?”
Taking the lead Hansen moves toward the door, Slater and Cody fall in step. Hansen is almost out of the room when Drake says, “Hey, are you the Briggs who rescued Sally Tate and Jason Booker?”
All three detectives stop, all three turn in unison as if the move had been staged. For Cody, the ‘Are you the guy?’ question is an old one. He has heard it a hundred times. But Drake’s phraseology is new. Usually, it’s ‘Are you the guy who dusted the Skulls?’ or ‘Are you the guy who assassinated those boys?’ But rescued? No one has ever asked quite this way. That one word makes Cody pause, his usual answer suddenly vacant from his thoughts. More importantly, Drake used their full names, Sally Tate and Jason Booker. Drake knew these kids, or knew someone close to them.
“You’re the one, right?” Drake says, lookin
g intently at Cody.
Cody gives a quick nod, says, “Yeah.” His response is mechanical, almost a verbal grunt.
Drake straightens his back and rolls a shoulder, twists his neck. “Nice work. Putting those Skulls to bed won’t change what they did to Sally and Jason, but at least they won’t do it again. Fuck anyone who doesn’t understand.”
Cody holds Drake’s stare then just says, “Thanks.”
Hansen glances over at Jamie, wondering if she heard the exchange. Their eyes meet and Hansen knows she has caught everything.
Ramirez follows Cody, Hansen and Slater into the living room but Drake hangs back, producing a digital camera. Walking to the door Slater and Hansen walk past Jamie but Cody and Ramirez stop, standing next to her.
“Honey,” Cody says. “This is Detective Ramirez. He needs to ask you some questions. Don’t worry, I’ll be just outside, in the hall.” Then he faces Ramirez, points to the bedroom, and says. “She was never in there. She did not see Ms. Turano’s murder. My wife is not going in there. She is not viewing the body. You okay with that?”
Ramirez draws a breath, his nostrils flare, and he gives Cody a stony look. He doesn’t like the tone, it sounds like an order. More importantly, Ramirez doesn’t appreciate being spoken to like this in front of a witness. But Ramirez understands. He wouldn’t want his wife looking at a murder victim, either.
“It’s cool,” Ramirez says, exhaling hard.
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
Turning to Jamie, Cody arches his eyebrows then says, “Tell them everything you saw. Take your time, try to remember everything.”
“All right,” she says, quietly. She looks at Ramirez, seems to take him in and says, “What would you like to know?”
Cody turns away from Jamie and steps into the hallway, catching up with Hansen and Slater.
