Blood Lies

by Daniel Kalla

  “How long?” Kyle asked.

  “Wasn’t it at Uncle Len’s seventieth birthday in June—”

  “No, jackass.” Kyle sighed and then flashed one of his contagious half-mocking smiles. “Not us! I mean, when did you last see Emily?”

  “Last week.”

  Kyle cocked his head. “You two stayed in touch, huh?”

  “In fits and spurts,” I said.

  “Yeah. You and Emily were together for what…” Kyle squinted up at the ceiling, doing the math. “Four years?”

  “Five.”

  “She was so beautiful, wasn’t she?” He brought the can to his lip thoughtfully. “Inside and out. One of those people who could turn on a room.”

  I swallowed away the small knot in my throat. “But way too often she needed chemical help.”

  “Or thought she did.” Kyle nodded. “I used to be like that, too, Ben. Always wanted that edge I got from the blow, the crystal, or the E.”

  I sighed heavily. “Emily and Aaron never really managed to kick the junk. You were the only one.”

  “And I was the biggest lost cause of the bunch.” Kyle folded his arms over his chest, but there was nothing defensive in the gesture. “What can I say?” He shrugged. “Leukemia saved my life.” And I knew he was serious, too.

  I leaned forward in my seat and pointed to Kyle with the neck of my bottle. “The other guy killed at Emily’s place. I think it might have been her dealer. His name was J.D. Ring any bells?”

  Kyle unfolded his arms. He nodded. “Porn star looks? In his twenties?”

  I nodded.

  “Yeah. I used to know him.”

  “And?”

  “J.D. was never the sharpest knife in the drawer. But he was a smooth talker and knew some of the right people.” He cleared his throat. “Kind of established himself as a supplier for the downtown coke-and-martini set.”

  “He was Emily’s dealer, wasn’t he?”

  Kyle nodded.

  A breeze blew in from the window. I glanced out to a passing car on the street. I had a sudden urge for a long night bike ride. I turned back to Kyle. “The Homicide detectives wonder if J.D. was involved in Emily’s murder.”

  A fleeting glint passed his eyes. “If so, J.D. hit upon the alibi of all alibis.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. They wonder whether the murderer double-crossed him after killing Emily.”

  “J.D. always struck me as a kind of harmless, but…”

  I waited for him to finish the sentence, but he didn’t. “You ever heard of a lawyer named Michael Prince?” I asked.

  Kyle nodded. “A big hitter criminal defense attorney here in Seattle.”

  I arched an eyebrow.

  “When you’ve been on the wrong side of the law as much I have, you get to know the names.” He fingered the writing on the can. “Why do you ask?”

  I described J.D.’s ascension in the world of legal representation and then asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know who J.D. was working for?”

  Kyle only shrugged.

  “Any guesses?”

  Kyle’s face creased into a frown. “Ben, the people who employ the J.D.s of the world tend to prize their privacy. Why don’t you leave those questions to the cops?”

  “J.D.’s boss may somehow be directly connected to Emily’s death.”

  “That’s not your problem.”

  I slammed my hand on the coffee table, upending my empty beer bottle. I took a breath and fought to keep the emotion out of my voice. “I loved her.” I held up a palm. “Kyle, you wouldn’t have wanted to see what they did to her!”

  Kyle viewed me with a sympathetic nod.

  “The same person or persons might be responsible for what happened to Aaron.”

  “We don’t know what happened to Aaron,” he said softly.

  I just stared at my cousin.

  He held my eyes for a moment and then dropped his chin and sighed. “Back when I was in the racket, J.D. was working for a guy named Philip Maglio.”

  “Is this Maglio still around?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Kyle nodded. “He owns some real estate and a few legit businesses, too. Like all the successful ones, he knows how to squeeze a dime from the wrong and right side of the law.”

  Kyle read my expression. “Ben, don’t even think about it. Philip and his kind can be very dangerous. Say—for the sake of argument—he was involved in what happened to Emily or Aaron, and you show up poking around…”

  “I’m not going ultra-vigilante here. I just want to pass along anything that might help the cops.”

  “Okay,” Kyle said, but his frown was rich with skepticism.

  We sat quietly for several moments. “It wasn’t that long ago that the four of us were all celebrating Em’s MBA,” I said. “Now, look how we’ve all ended up.”

  “Life is one twisted road,” Kyle said.

  “Yeah.” I looked down at my tapping foot. “I don’t know what more I could have done for Emily, but Aaron…”

  Kyle leaned forward in his seat. “You’re not still beating yourself up over that?”

  “Of course I am,” I snapped and then forced the edge from my tone. “Kyle, I gave him his very first taste of coke.”

  “I was there, too, remember? Besides, if not then, Aaron would’ve been introduced to it somewhere else.”

  “Maybe.”

  Kyle brought a hand to his chest. “And how about me, Ben? I kept your brother in a healthy supply of all that junk. Then I pulled him into the business. How about that for culpability?”

  I hadn’t forgiven Kyle either. “We’re no angels,” I said quietly.

  “No,” he said, dropping his hand and sinking deeper into his seat. “But it’s not all black-and-white. Look at you. You help people every day with the work you do in the hospital. And even I like to think I’ve turned over a new leaf in the past few years.”

  “Since you found God?”

  “Don’t make it sound like some kind of jailhouse conversion.” He laughed. “I got a second chance, like Scrooge in A Christmas Carol.” He nodded to himself. “I did some very bad stuff in my day, including trading in human misery. But God or no God, I caught a big break after my diagnosis. I just want to share a little of my luck.”

  Though Kyle hadn’t ever told me, I’d heard how much time, money, and sweat he had poured back into the city’s frontline battle against drug addiction. His efforts had reclaimed some of my respect.

  Kyle rose to his feet, grabbing the armrest for momentary support. Then he began for the door. He stopped before reaching it and turned back to me. “Ben, can I help you?”

  I stood up and met him at the door. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  Kyle wrapped his pencil-like arms around me and gave me another hug. “You deserve better.”

  I hugged him back without comment. So did Aaron and Emily.

  Chapter 6

  I woke with a start. Disoriented, I grappled for the ringing phone, concerned that the anonymous whisperer was calling again. The cobwebs cleared and I realized with relief that the ringing came from my alarm clock, not the phone. Climbing out of bed, I shivered slightly in my boxers; I resolved to turn my house’s heat back on for the fall.

  Slipping into my riding gear, I vacillated between the mountain and the road bike, opting in the end for the inherent risk of the mountain bike.

  Seattle was still dark at 6:30 A.M. And for the first time since the spring, my breath froze in the moist air. I was glad for my Lycra jacket, but I attributed the chill I felt to more than only the changing of seasons. I cycled hard for the park, trying to outpace my morbid thoughts.

  I reached the parkland in record time, but the slippery trails were particularly punishing in the drizzly morning. About a mile in, I lost control of my bike when trying to jump a log and slammed shoulder-first into a tree. The awkward collision ended up bruising my ego worse than my shoulder. With its new three-hundred-dollar front wheel bent beyond repair, I had to walk the bik
e out of the trail carrying the frame, along with the shame of my wipeout, past my fellow mountain bikers.

  By the time I returned home with my crippled bike, I was too late to catch the Grand Rounds lecture at the hospital. I wasn’t heartbroken about missing the lecture, but I was sorry that I would miss seeing Alex. Coffee following rounds was one of our few sanctioned get-togethers. Probably for the best, I thought, as I had a mental flashback of Alex with her hair up and wearing a form-fitting black business suit with pumps and an open-collar blouse. It dawned on me that even a morning coffee wasn’t nearly as safe as we assumed.

  Leaving my road bike in the garage, I climbed into my black Smart Car. Since the prices of gas had soared, I’d faced far less teasing from friends and colleagues about my highly fuel-efficient, compact vehicle. Rarely was I asked anymore when I was going to upgrade my toy car, or what happened to its training wheels. Most of the medical staff’s ridicule was now saved for the two surgeons who drove gas-guzzling Hummers. Much as I would have liked to plead eco-friendliness for my choice in cars, truth was the boxy little car struck me from the first. The convenience of its miserly fuel tank, combined with a body that could be tucked into nonexistent parking spots, turned me into a full Smart Car convert.

  I pulled up to the Seattle P.D. headquarters on Fifth Avenue, sliding my car with great satisfaction between two cars in metered spots. I was willing, almost eager, to face the prospect of challenging a parking ticket for my improvised spot.

  With nods to a few familiar faces, I wended my way through the building to Homicide. I walked through the open door into Helen Riddell’s office. She wasn’t there, but mug in hand, Rick Sutcliffe stood staring out the window into the Seattle fog. In another of his seemingly endless supply of expensive suits (gray this morning), Rick turned slowly to me. His face broke into an automatic but unwelcoming smile. “Morning, Ben. Were we expecting you today?”

  “Rick.” I nodded, laboring to match his smile. “Where’s Helen?”

  “She’ll be here soon.”

  Rick’s steaming cup reminded me that I’d missed my coffee after my bike crash. Like any self-respecting coffee-deprived Seattleite, my mouth watered for a java, but Rick didn’t offer and I wasn’t about to ask. After a few more seconds of awkward silence, I said, “I have a potential lead for your investigation.”

  “Into your fiancée’s murder?”

  I inhaled slowly. “Emily hasn’t been my fiancée for five years.”

  “How would I know?” Rick said with a helpless shrug. “You’ve been so secretive about it.”

  I kept my mouth shut and dug my thumb into my palm.

  “So what’s this lead?” he asked.

  “Philip Maglio.”

  Rick’s face showed no recognition, but he didn’t ask for clarification. “And he’s connected to the murders how?”

  “J.D. used to work for him.”

  “As a dealer?”

  I nodded.

  “How do you know?”

  I hesitated, unsure whether I had the right to drag Kyle into the mess. But I felt cornered. “My cousin used to be in the business. He knew J.D.”

  Rick’s smile grew. “This whole murder investigation is one big old Dafoe family affair.”

  I dug my thumb harder into my palm. “What’s your point, Rick?”

  “My point, Ben,” he said, articulating each syllable as if explaining to an intellectually challenged seven-year-old, “is that you are far too closely tied into all of this to be anywhere near this homicide investigation.”

  I took a long slow breath. “Don’t know if you remember, but Helen called me.”

  “I remember,” he said pleasantly. “But I’m telling you that it’s time for you to disengage yourself from the process.”

  “My pleasure,” I grunted. “If you see Helen, mention the Philip Maglio connection to her.”

  As I was about to turn, Helen’s voice boomed from behind me. “What about Philip Maglio?”

  I spun to see Helen gliding into the room and caught the lavender scent of her overpowering perfume. I was struck again by the incongruence of how lightly she moved for someone of her bulk and larger-than-life presence. She glanced from Rick to me. I suspect she either had heard or intuited the crux of our confrontation but she didn’t comment. “You were saying about Philip Maglio…”

  I relayed what Kyle had told me about J.D.’s association with Maglio.

  “Interesting.” Helen smiled, flashing the gap between her front teeth. “I would hate to miss an opportunity to visit an upstanding pillar of our community like Mr. Maglio.”

  “So you know him?”

  “Phil and I go way back.” Her smile faded. “Markets himself as the local poor-boy-made-good entrepreneur, but we know Maglio is a key figure in the city’s drug trade. Unfortunately, he’s our West Coast Teflon Don. Nothing ever sticks to him.”

  “Because he’s smart and careful,” Rick said with a hint of admiration. “He doesn’t go gutting people like a couple of fishes in their own apartment. That’s not his style.”

  I fought off a shudder at the cruel but accurate description of Emily’s murder.

  “People change.” Helen’s gray eyes twinkled. “Maybe Philip has expanded his horizons.”

  “Doesn’t fit,” Rick said.

  “And what about Michael Prince?” I asked.

  Helen squinted at me. “What about him?”

  “Has he defended Philip Maglio before?”

  “Far as I know, Maglio hasn’t needed Prince’s services.”

  “But he could have hired Prince to defend J.D. or one of his subordinates,” I said.

  “And how do we find that out? Ask Prince?” Rick asked.

  “Worth a try,” I said quietly, ignoring the mockery in his tone.

  “Wouldn’t be worth the cost of gasoline to go see Prince.”

  “Rick’s right. Prince couldn’t tell us even if he wanted to.” She chuckled sympathetically. “And trust me, helping the S.P.D. would be right up there with a colonoscopy on the Prince of Darkness’s wish list.”

  I nodded my defeat. “Well, now that I’ve done my civic duty and reported what I heard, I’m going to get back to being a doctor.”

  “Fair enough.” Helen glanced at Rick with an unreadable expression before turning to me. “We still may need your help down the line.”

  “You know how to find me.” I turned for the door.

  “Ben,” Rick called out. “That right hand of yours still looks pretty raw.”

  I glanced down at the gash over my knuckles. The sight caused it to ache anew. I’d scraped my hand again during my crash on the trails. The scab had peeled off and my knuckles were freshly crusted with dried blood. “From my bike chain,” I said with a shrug, wondering why I suddenly felt defensive.

  I hurried out of Helen’s office and through the S.P.D.’s headquarters. I pulled out of the parking space in front of the building determined to distance myself from this investigation. While the urge to punch Rick still simmered, I had to admit he was right: I had no business being anywhere near the investigation. I was once wildly in love with one of the victims. In some ways, I still was. And less than a week before, I had threatened the other victim. Unsolicited and unwelcome, the scene from Emily’s apartment seeped back into my head.

  When I reached Emily’s apartment, the door was already ajar. I rapped softly. Nothing. Taking the open door as an invitation, I pushed it open wider and walked in.

  They stood in the middle of the living room. J.D.—whose name I was to learn only after his death—had his back turned to me. But I had him pegged the instant I saw him. Emily looked over to me in embarrassed surprise. J.D. spun to face me, a stack of greenbacks still in his hand. Emily had one bill left in hers.

  Suddenly the whole scene registered. “What the hell, Emily?” I snapped.

  Her eyes widened. “No, it’s not that, Ben.”

  I strode straight for them, the fury rising with each step. “Do I look t
hat stupid to you?”

  A sneer contorted J.D.’s square face and he shot out a finger at me. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “He’s a friend.” Emily grabbed J.D.’s wrist. J.D. scowled. “Doesn’t look like much of a friend.”

  Ignoring the drug dealer’s comment, I stormed up to within two feet of them. “This is what you do with the money I give you?” I growled at Emily. “You’re buying drugs with it?!?”

  The skin around her eyes wrinkled with distress. “Ben, if you’ll just hear me out—”

  The familiar urge to protect her welled, but it was no match for my anger. “No! I’m not listening to your bullshit anymore.” I pumped my fist. “I can’t believe that after all these years you duped me into funding your habit again!”

  J.D. made a move toward me, but Emily held him back with a grip on his wrist. “Ben…” She shook her head, her eyes misting.

  J.D.’s eyes darkened menacingly. “Why don’t you get the fuck out of here, asshole?”

  Adrenaline coursing through me, I leaned my face nearer to his. “Why don’t you?”

  J.D. snorted.

  “If I see you here again…”

  A vicious smile crossed his lips. He pulled back his jacket, revealing the handle of the gun tucked into his waist. He blew out his lips. “You won’t do jack.”

  Reckless with rage, my voice rose to a shout. “Trust me, asshole. You come back here, and I’ll kill you!”

  Chapter 7

  Two days passed without word from Helen or Rick. My life returned to a semblance of normal, but the pain of Emily’s death burned deeper. Closure. That stupid cliché! Just as with Aaron’s loss, closure eluded me again. The need to know what had happened to Emily was an unrelenting hunger. Even a hundred miles logged on my bike couldn’t quell it. Especially since I kept seeing similarities and imagining connections to Aaron’s mysterious and violent end.

  Only two frantic back-to-back shifts at St. Jude’s ER prevented me from trying to contact Michael Prince or Philip Maglio myself. And now, as I stood in St. Jude’s ER Trauma Room waiting for the ambulance with the rest of the team, I knew I wouldn’t be making any investigative queries any time soon.