The Deep Dark Descending

by Eskens,Allen

  “Lida?”

  “A town in Belarus.” I click to start the CD from the court proceeding. We listen as the case is called by the clerk.

  “The next case is State of Minnesota versus Raymond Alan Kroll, file number—“

  A boom echoed through the office as Lieutenant Briggs slammed open his door. “Rupert! Vang! In my office now!”

  He was standing in his doorway, his hands on his hips and legs squared up as if he were doing his level best to fill the space, his face already approaching pomegranate red. I clicked off the CD and turned to Niki, who was giving me a look that said: Here it comes.

  She started to stand up but I put my hand on her shoulder and shook my head no.

  “Coming Lieutenant!” I hollered back. And then to Niki I whispered, “Do you trust me?”

  “Of course I do, but—”

  “Stay here.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to have a chat with Briggs. Can I borrow your recorder?”

  “Don’t you have one?”

  “Yeah, but I need two: one to play and one to record.”

  She pulled a small digital recorder out of her purse and handed it to me. “What’s going on?”

  I hit the record button and slid the thumb-sized piece of technology into my shirt pocket. “I can’t tell you,” I said. I adjusted my jacket to cover my pocket trying to find a balance between hiding and smothering.

  “You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you?”

  I smiled my calmest smile and said, “Nothing stupid. I promise. But I need you to stay here and trust me.”

  She nodded without saying another word.

  I stood, took a deep breath and walked into Briggs’s office.

  Six moves ahead.

  Briggs sat behind his desk waiting for Niki and me, his desktop cleared of any distractions. He’d been preparing for this meeting—but so had I. He looked confused when I entered alone.

  “Where’s Vang?”

  I closed the door. “She’s not coming.”

  “What do you mean she’s not coming?”

  “I mean that this conversation is between us and will remain that way—if you’re smart.”

  “Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in? And you dragged Niki into the mess with you.” He slammed his hand on the desktop. “Go get her and bring her in here now!”

  If your enemy clangs his sword against his shield, it is a sign that he is weak.

  “No, Briggs,” I said calmly. “Niki stays out of this.”

  “You can’t— just who the hell do you think you are?” Tiny drops of spit sailed from Briggs’s mouth as his anger climbed toward a full-blown conniption. “I know what you’ve been up to, Rupert. I know all about it.”

  “Yeah, and what have I been up to?”

  “You’ve been snooping around in your wife’s case again.” His lips tightened against his teeth as he seethed. “I’m going to go to Chief Murphy and recommend that Detective Vang be reprimanded and that you be suspended—and after this show of insolence, I may change my recommendation to termination. Now go get Vang or clean out your desk.”

  “Are you done?”

  “That’s it, Rupert. I’ve had all I can take.” Briggs picked up the phone hit the top button of his preset numbers, a line that would connect him directly to Chief Murphy’s office.

  “Did you go see Dennis Orton this morning?” I spoke my words like a man asking nothing more than what time it was.

  Choose the battle field and then lure the enemy onto the dangerous terrain.

  Briggs hung up the phone before the Chief’s assistant could answer. He looked like a man who’d just walked into an invisible wall, his eyes blinking hard to wipe away the confusion. I could see him trying to move game pieces around in his head. What did I know about his visit to Orton? How could he explain it away?

  “Are you accusing me of something, Detective?”

  He didn’t answer my question, so I didn’t answer his. “Tell me Briggs, have you been involving yourself in my investigation?”

  “What investigation are you talking about?”

  “The minivan case, as you called it. Have you been sticking your nose into things you shouldn’t?”

  “I’m the one asking the questions, Rupert. If you have any desire to remain a detective here, you’d better remember who you are and who I am.”

  I pulled a folded piece of paper from my pocket, a printed shot of Briggs leaving Orton’s hospital room, a souvenir given to me by my new friend, Dan Clark at HCMC Security. I moved in slow, deliberate motions as I unfolded the picture and slid it across Briggs’s desk.

  At first, Briggs leaned away from the picture like it might be radioactive. Then he picked it up, squinting to get a better look.

  “Recognize that face?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Because I do and so will Chief Murphy—and my friends at WCCO.”

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Why did you go to see Dennis Orton?” I ask.

  One by one, cut off the enemy’s escape routes.

  “I didn’t. I . . . I went there to see if he was still intubated. I wanted to see if you were lying to me again. It’s your penchant for lying that—”

  “You didn’t talk to him?”

  “No. Why would I talk to him?”

  “That’s right. What would you possibly have to say to a guy like that?”

  “I didn’t say anything to him. I just wanted to see if you were being straight with me.”

  “So you didn’t say a word to your buddy, Dennis Orton?”

  “My buddy? I don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s not my buddy.”

  “You didn’t go to college together?”

  Now, Briggs could see the trap coming. I wouldn’t have that kind of knowledge unless I did my homework and already knew about the relationship. Briggs leaned back in his chair cuing up his next lie.

  He said, “Detective, you know damned well that Mr. Orton and I went to college together. You wouldn’t be asking the question if you didn’t know. But that doesn’t change the fact that I went there to see if you were doing your job. You tend to get sloppy in your investigations when you’re distracted by the past. But don’t worry, Rupert. After you’re terminated, you can spend all the time you want chasing your wife’s ghost.”

  My chest tightened as thoughts of beating this man to a pulp flashed by. He was trying to provoke me. I refused his bait. Shoving my emotion aside, I got back to the game.

  “You say you didn’t talk to Orton, yet I have a nurse telling me he heard you having a conversation.” A lie, but Briggs was off balance and I wanted to take advantage of it.

  “I . . . I may have said hello.”

  “A conversation Briggs. The nurse heard back and forth. I have video of you in that room for almost twenty minutes. That’s not just saying hello.”

  “Okay, we spoke, but I never—”

  “So you were lying just now when you denied talking to Orton.”

  “As I said, we’re friends. I only asked him how he was doing. That’s all.”

  “No, that’s not all. You told him to stop talking to me.”

  “That’s a God damned lie.” Briggs turned to take the offensive. “I would never impede an investigation. And if you tell anyone differently, you’re a liar. It’s slander. If you utter a word about that to anyone, I’ll sue your ass.”

  I smiled and lifted the digital recorder from my pocket, the one with Orton’s confession on it. I gently laid it on the desk in front of me. “Are you sure that’s the answer you want to stick with?”

  Briggs tried to act calm, but the darting of his eyes, bouncing from me to the recorder and back, gave away his fear. I hit play.

  Briggs turned ashen when he recognized Orton’s voice. I watched his expression melt from anger to fear as we listened in silence. When the recording was finished, I turned it off and returned the it to m
y pocket, along with the photograph.

  “Orton’s a liar,” Briggs said. “That bullshit about WE Fest—I never—what kind of game are you playing here, Rupert. You violated Miranda. You got him to make up a pack of lies. What did you promise him?”

  “No, Briggs. That’s not going to fly. You can’t spin your way out of this.”

  “You have nothing. The word of a murderer.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the hard drive, holding it up for Briggs to see. “I have your voice,” I say. “You give the location of the accident. It will be easy enough to get the accident reports from five years ago. You nearly killed some poor woman, and then you stand by and watch her get convicted of your DWI. Hell it would have been criminal vehicular injury.”

  My bluff of the hard drive hit him hard, and I could see him floundering to find a way out.

  “How are you going to prove that I was drunk? Go ahead and report it. The worst I’ll get is reckless driving.”

  “You’re missing the big picture here, Briggs. You interfered with a murder investigation, and you did it to repay a debt to Dennis Orton. The WE Fest accident merely corroborates Orton’s version. You’re screwed.”

  “It’s the word of a murderer against mine,” Briggs said. He was trying to come across as confident, but it wasn’t working.

  “I think we should test that theory, I said. “I’ll turn all this over to the press, and we’ll see how many people believe you. We could put a wager on it. Think about it, Briggs. The second in command of the Homicide Unit actively working to thwart a murder investigation as payback for a criminal cover up. You were helping a murderer.”

  “No I wasn’t.”

  “You told him to shut up. You were looking for a way to get Orton out of trouble.”

  “Don’t get carried away Max. You have your back against the wall as much as I do.”

  “My back’s to the wall? How do you figure?

  “You were investigating your wife’s case. That’s enough to get you fired. I’m willing to make a deal here. I’ll turn a blind eye to your improper investigation, and you forget about that recording in your pocket. If you pull your trigger, you’ll force me to pull mine. Let’s call it a Mexican standoff and walk away.”

  “Mexican standoff?”

  “You look past my mistake, and I’ll look past yours.”

  I leaned into his desk and look him in the eye. “The thing about a Mexican standoff—Briggs—is that it won’t work if one of the men doesn’t care if he gets shot. You figured me all wrong if you think I’d give a god-damn about getting fired. Your downfall, on the other hand, will be a spectacular thing—public and humiliating.” My words bounced with laughter as I spoke. “You’ll be torched in the press. This might even make the national news. Think about it, Briggs—CNN. You could become famous.”

  “You’re bluffing. You need this job every bit as much as I do. You’re nothing if they take that badge away.”

  “Wrong answer, Briggs.”

  I reached across his desk and picked up the phone receiver, punching the direct line to Chief Murphy. Murphy’s assistant answered.

  “Yes. This is Detective Max Rupert calling, is Chief Murphy available?”

  Briggs snatched the phone from my hand and slammed it back to its cradle. He had no more cards to show. He knew and I knew it was over. His voice quivered when he spoke next.

  “You can’t do this.”

  “What the hell were you thinking, Briggs?”

  “I messed up. I’m sorry. Please don’t—”

  “Once the story’s out, there’s no police department in the world that would hire you. Hell, forget law enforcement. Any company that checks your name on the internet will see the articles. You’ll be a pariah—and all because of your damned ambition.”

  “Why are you doing this to me? Please, I’m begging you. Don’t do this to me.”

  If your enemy is cornered, they may lash out, but give them a path through which to escape and you can lead them to the place you desire.

  “Okay, Briggs, here’s what’s going to happen,” I said. “You will tender your resignation to Chief Murphy.”

  “I . . . I can’t,” His voice limped weak past his lips.

  “You will, and you’ll do it today—right now.”

  He stared at me in confusion as if my words hung in the air just beyond his grasp

  “I’m giving you a gift here Briggs. I’m letting you make up whatever lie you want to explain why you’re leaving. You may even have a career in law enforcement down the road, but that career won’t be here.”

  “This is not right,” he said. “I worked too hard to—”

  “Briggs.” I spoke sharply to pull him out of his haze. “You need to start typing that resignation letter. I’m done talking.”

  “I . . . I can’t.”

  I pulled Niki’s recorder out of my pocket and wiggled it for Briggs to see before turning it off. “If you won’t resign, then you leave no alternative. I’m heading down to Murphy’s office.” I stood. “When the dust all settles, just remember that I gave you a way out.”

  I turned and walked toward the door.

  “Stop!”

  Briggs had his eyes closed. His hands squeezed the arms of his chair. I waited. Then he slowly opened his eyes and reached for his keyboard, his fingers trembling as he clicked open his email. He stared at the screen for a moment and began composing.

  Briggs typed in spurts, pausing ever few seconds to ponder. I suspect he was trying to find a way out of his predicament. The further he got into his resignation letter the more difficulty he had breathing, at one point closing his eyes and heaving as if he’d just been punched in the gut. After typing for the better part of ten minutes, he turned to me and I could see the tears that clung to the red sags forming under his eyes.

  “Please, Max. We can work this out. I have friends. Please don’t do this.”

  “You have nothing to offer me because you have nothing I want. Your friends won’t impress me.”

  “But Chief Murphy is weak. I could make you the heir apparent. I can do that.”

  “Are you finished with that letter?”

  “You could be the Chief of Police for the City of Minneapolis. Think about it.”

  “Let me read it.”

  Briggs slowly turned his computer screen to me. I could see that the email was properly addressed to Chief Murphy with a copy to Human Resources. I read it out loud.

  To: Chief Abraham Murphy

  From: Lieutenant Emil Briggs

  I am writing to inform you of my resignation from the Minneapolis Police Department, effective immediately. I know this is sudden, but for personal reasons I must tender my resignation. My reasons for this decision will remain undisclosed and I will not partake in an exit interview. It has been my honor to serve such a distinguished organization, and I will always cherish my time here. Thank you for all that you have done for me over the years.

  Sincerely,

  Emil Briggs

  When I finished reading it, I turned the screen back to Briggs and said, “Send it.”

  “Please Max, I’m begging you. Please. I’ll give you—”

  I slammed my palm on the desk. “I said . . . send it.”

  I watched as he directed his curser to the send tab. He closed his eyes and clicked. The email disappeared from his screen.

  I had nothing more to say to Briggs. I stood up and left his office to the sound of a grown man whimpering and sniffling like a child.

  Fucking politics.

  Chapter 25: Up North

  Chapter 25

  Up North

  How many rocks does it take to keep a body at the bottom of a lake? I should know the answer to this. I’ve been trained on water deaths and handled at least five drowning cases that I can remember. Minneapolis is, after all, the City of Lakes. I try to revisit those trainings, but the knowledge that I’m looking for remains out of reach.

  A body will sink if it i
s less dense than the water around it. I know that. It makes a difference whether the lungs have air in them or water. A drowning victim is more likely to sink than a victim who is killed somewhere else and later thrown into the water. But after a body sinks, the process of decay creates gasses, which will fill up certain cavities and bring the body back to the surface. So the question isn’t how much weight does it take to send a body to the bottom of a lake, but how much weight will it take to keep him there.

  In all my trainings, no one has ever answered that question.

  I spread out the snowmobile cover at the edge of the lake and climb onto shore. With my foot I push snow to the side, sweeping my leg back and forth until my toe hits on something. Brushing snow away, I find my first rock, about the size of a cantaloupe. I have to hit it with my heel to dislodge it. Then I heave it about twenty feet, landing it in the middle of the snowmobile cover, and go back to sweeping my foot in search of another rock.

  What are you doing? Nancy asks.

  I know it’s not Nancy—she died two years ago at her sister’s house in Florida—but there’s poetic logic to hearing my doubts animated by the one person who knew me before I became so sure of myself. I probably shouldn’t, but I answer that voice in my head.

  “I’m doing what I have to do,” I say out loud.

  My foot bumps against another rock, this one a little bigger than the last. I work it out of the frozen ground and weigh it in my hands. “About ten pounds, don’t you think?” I ask that of Nancy, who I know is nothing more than a phantom of my conscience, a nagging vestige of my younger more idealistic self, someone I thought I’d packed away long ago. The quiet must be getting to me. Away from the man and his ranting, my mind wants to pull memories out of the shadows where they’ve been hiding. I attempt to push them back with the sound of my own voice.

  “Let’s see . . . ten pounds for this rock and maybe eight for the first one. Eighteen. And how many will I need. Let’s say I match his weight . . . I’m guessing a buck eighty.”

  Max, do you hear yourself?

  “Yeah, one eighty, I’d say. Now I have eighteen pounds . . . and . . . that means . . .”

  You’re not going to go through with this, Max. That’s not who you are.