The Darker Hours

by Sam Lee Jackson

  Kimberly Owens, a senior, was involved with the class play and was on the homecoming committee. Child of a single parent. Her mother, Mary, worked as a waitress at a restaurant called the Salty Sow. Kimberly was pretty and showed braces in a demure smile.

  The last was Thomas Pritchard, a freshman. Father, Gary, owned a pest control company. Someone had made a note that the company consisted of one truck. The mother, Wanda, worked as a butcher at a local Albertson’s supermarket. He got A’s in literature and art. C’s and D’s in everything else.

  Boyce stared at the screen for a long time. None of the kids in the Burger King killings seemed to have any connection with any of the others. There were no motives she could see. Except for Livvy. If being Mendoza’s niece was a motive. But why? Someone had a grudge against the captain? If so, how did DiMartini fit in. If someone wanted to kill DiMartini why kill three innocent children to do it. Ring his doorbell and hit him when he answers.

  Boyce punched some keys and brought up the surveillance videos from the Burger King shooting. There were none from Livvy’s shooting. She watched the videos, two from the street view and one each from the Burger King and the Walgreens. The street views were worthless; all the east bound vehicles were out of range by the time they were even with the Burger King parking lot. The best they could do was to try to identify the vehicles that rolled by in that timeline.

  She turned to the Burger King videos. The cameras were all concerned with the building and drive through and didn’t show anything of the shootings. She played the Walgreens tape three times. It was the same problem. All the cameras were pointed toward the building, the drive through and the immediate parking lot. There was nothing that showed the back area where the shooter would have been.

  She brought DiMartini’s picture back up. She stared at his younger self for a full minute, thinking. Then she went into search mode and searched for Cynthia Farwell. She read everything on her. Prostitute, worked the old Coliseum when the Suns still played there. Arrested several times. Once by DiMartini when he was still on the street. The other and most frequent arresting officer was named Ron Barbieri. Boyce knew of Barbieri but didn’t really know him. She thought he was in Vice.

  As she pondered this, a uniform came up to her desk.

  “Detective Boyce,” he said. She looked up at him.

  “We’ve got a young girl downstairs. She was picked up with some other kids shoplifting at a Circle K. She insists she’s your younger sister.”

  Boyce smiled. “First I knew of it.”

  “Yeah, we figured she was just shining. We thought we better talk to you. What do you want me to do with her?”

  “I’ll come down,” Boyce said.

  21

  The kids were in the hallway, sitting in the row of chairs lining the wall opposite the front desk. The arresting patrolman was at the front desk filling out paperwork. The kids were all boys except the girl at the end. Boyce recognized a couple of the boys including George from the park. The girl was Spark. She sat slumped, her feet sticking straight out. Her ankles were crossed.

  Boyce went to the desk. In a low voice, not wanting the kids to hear, she said to the patrolman, “What’s going on?”

  He looked at her and recognized her.

  “Storekeep caught them shoplifting at his Circle K. Down on Roeser. Typical kid stuff. Candy, cigarettes. Some try to distract him while the others steal.”

  “What about the girl?”

  “She was outside on her bike. She was with them.”

  “Was she stealing?”

  “Storekeep said they all were.”

  “Find anything on her?”

  “No, but the clerk said they all were, so we just gathered them all up.” He grinned at her. “She says she’s your sister. You know her?”

  Boyce looked down at Spark. Spark was watching her. “Nope. Well, just a little, met her once before. You mind if I take her?”

  He shook his head, “Go ahead. We’re just going to scare them a little. The clerk is part time and doesn’t want to go through the process.”

  “Thanks,” Boyce said. She turned and walked to Spark and stood in front of her. Spark looked up at her with a crooked grin. The boys were all watching.

  Boyce stood there for a long time, just staring at her. She waited until the grin began to break down. Boyce looked at the boys, one at a time and one at a time they averted their eyes.

  Boyce looked back at Spark. “Come on, sis,” she said. She turned and started to walk away. She stopped and looked back at Spark. Spark was looking at her, wide eyed.

  “What are you waiting for?” Boyce said. She gestured with her hand. “Come on.”

  She turned and walked away, and this time Spark followed.

  When Boyce was sure the girl was following, she led her down the hallway to the stairwell door. She went through, holding the door until Spark took it. She led down the stairs for two flights, then went through the door. They were standing in a short hallway. At the end was an enclosed office with an officer inside. Boyce beckoned Spark to follow. She went to the plexiglass and showed her badge to the officer inside.

  “What can I do for you, detective?” he said. There was an aluminum tray along the bottom of the window and a round grill at the lower part of the glass his voice came through. It had a hollow echoing sound.

  “I’d like to take this young lady on a tour,” she said.

  “I’ll need your badge, your weapon if you have one on you, and your wallet please. The same for the young lady.” He slid the tray out.

  Boyce turned to Spark. “You have a weapon?”

  Spark looked at her, surprised. Boyce laughed.

  Boyce lay her badge in the tray. Her Glock had been locked in her desk when she was placed on leave. She pulled her wallet from her back pocket. She laid them in the tray and looked at Spark. Spark pulled a small, slender pink wallet from her pocket. She reluctantly lay it on top of Boyce’s.

  “Thank you, ladies,” the cop said. He pushed a button and a bell rang. “Go on in,” he said.

  Boyce moved to the door in the wall and pulled it open. She gestured to Spark to go through.

  Boyce followed Spark in. There was another small room with a cop at a desk. This time it was a woman. She had a monitor on the desk. She pushed a button and the bell rang again and she gestured to the door in front of them. Boyce pulled it open and again Spark went first.

  Now they were standing in a wide aisle. On either side were cells. The cells were separated by concrete walls, but the fronts were open with heavy gauge wire mesh. Most of the cells had occupants. They were all female.

  Boyce looked at Spark. The girl was showing no emotion, but she stood like a rock. Boyce placed a hand on her back and urged her forward. She reluctantly moved.

  Some of the prisoners came forward to look at them. Others were lying on their bunks trying to ignore the world. Spark wouldn’t make eye contact with the ones that came forward, but studied with interest the cells of the ones that stayed on their bunks. They were halfway down the aisle when one of the inmates, who had been sitting on her bunk, came forward to the door. “Hey Annie Marie. Hey girl, what are you doing here?”

  Spark looked at her in surprise. “Hey Mags.”

  “Hey, how’s your mama? Hey, you got any cigarettes?”

  Spark shook her head. “Why are you in here?”

  “It wasn’t her fault,” Boyce said.

  “Damn straight,” Mags said. “Minding my own business and they picked me up on some bogus warrant they said they had.”

  “What kind of warrant?” Spark was smart enough to ask.

  “Some failure to appear bullshit. Said I was supposed to go to court over some bullshit I didn’t even know about.” She looked at Boyce. “Hey, you a lawyer? Think you could help me out?”

  “She’s a cop,” Spark said.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “She’s getting a grand tour.” Boyce said. “We’re trying to decide if s
he wants to stay or not.”

  “Hell no, she don’t wanna stay,” Mags said. “Hey, you tell your mama I’m in here. Maybe she can help me out.”

  “Sure,” Spark said. It didn’t sound like she meant it.

  Spark looked at Boyce. “You seen enough?” Boyce said.

  Spark looked at Mags, then nodded.

  Boyce took her by the shoulder and started moving her back to the door.

  “Don’t you put that girl in here,” Mags called. “She’s a good girl.”

  Boyce smiled. “You a good girl?”

  “The best,” Spark said.

  “And humble too.”

  22

  Boyce drove Spark back to the Circle K where she had left her bike chained to the air pump. Boyce parked the Miata next to the bike. She was surprised that Spark’s bike was still there. Spark started to get out when Boyce stopped her.

  “Hey,” Boyce said. Half-way out Spark stopped and turned.

  “You are welcome,” Boyce said.

  Spark looked at her, torn as to whether to say anything. Finally, she said, “Thanks.”

  Suddenly Spark’s attention was on the front of the store where a tall Hispanic man was exiting, carrying a twelve pack of beer. Spark watched him as he got into a Chevy and pulled away.

  Boyce was watching her. “You know that guy?”

  Spark closed the door. She leaned down to the window. “See him around. People call him Mookie. George says he’s an undercover cop.”

  “Is he?” Boyce said.

  “George is full of shit,” Spark said. She went to her bike and started wrestling with the lock and chain. Boyce waited until she had it free, then backed up and drove away.

  She didn’t know where she was going. She was headed north so she grabbed the I-10 and took it to the Black Canyon, then drove north. When she saw the sign for Dunlap Road, she swung over into the exit lane and knew where she was going.

  Nguyen and Phan Huang, Wade’s parents, owned a Chinese restaurant, called the Half Moon, just blocks from where their son was shot. Just south of where Livvy had lived.

  In fifteen minutes, Boyce pulled into the parking lot. There were numerous slanted parking spots in front of the restaurant but only one had a vehicle in it. She looked at her watch and saw it was only nudging 10 am. She got out and looked at the legend in the window. Lunch opened at 11 am. She took the door handle and it was unlocked. She stuck her head in.

  “Hello, anyone here?”

  A moment later an Asian man stuck his head out of the swinging door that must have led to the kitchen. Between Boyce and him was a room full of tables with chairs. The tables had vinyl, checkered tablecloths on them. Each had a small vase with artificial flowers. Along the right-hand wall was a bar. It looked like an after-thought. No serious drinker would come here.

  “Mr. Huang?” she said.

  “We close now,” he said. “Open at eleven.”

  Boyce slipped the badge off her belt. The badge she was supposed to have left in her desk along with her gun. She held it up so he could see.

  “I’m Detective Boyce. I’d like to ask you a few questions,” she said. The man looked at her with complete distrust. A small woman poked her head out. She said something rapid-fire to the man, and he answered. Boyce didn’t understand their language, but she could tell the woman didn’t think Boyce was a welcome addition to their morning.

  “Livvy Cromwell was like my sister,” Boyce said hurriedly. “She was the girl that was killed with Wade. I would like to find who killed them. I’d like to ask some questions.”

  She watched Mr. Huang process this. He turned and spoke to his wife. She burst into tears, then turned to Boyce and said something in Vietnamese that was angry, but Boyce also heard something else in her voice. She realized it was fear.

  “What did she say?” Boyce said.

  The man shook his head. His wife turned and went back into the kitchen. “My wife very upset. We have talked with police. We just want to have our restaurant and be left alone. We don’t want trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  He shook his head emphatically. “No trouble,” he said. “We good citizens. We do what police want. We told police everything. Wade was good boy. Everyone like. No enemies.”

  “Did you know the girl that was killed? Livvy?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Wade had lots of friends. They come here after school. Drink Cokes. Phan makes them special egg rolls.”

  “Did any of the kids have trouble between themselves?”

  He shook his head emphatically, “No. They good kids. We told police this. We told police everything.”

  “Who did you talk to? Which policemen?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t know name. Tall one, short one. Short one talk. No shut up. Talk, talk, talk. Upset my wife.”

  Boyce pulled a card from her wallet and handed it to Mr. Huang. “If you think of anything that would help us find Wade’s killer, please call me. Anytime, day or night.”

  Mr. Huang took the card but didn’t look at it. Boyce turned and went to the door, she paused and looked back. Mr. Huang was still standing there, watching her.

  When she got into the car, she called Mendoza. He answered on the third ring.

  “Mendoza.”

  “Captain, this is Boyce. Can you tell me who the detectives were that interviewed the Huangs. Wade Huang’s parents. He was the boy that was killed with Livvy.”

  “Yes, I know who he is. Let me look.” There was a long silence on the phone.

  “It looks like it was Detective Bennet and Detective Warner.”

  She didn’t know Warner. “You mind if I talk to them?”

  “If you think it necessary,” he said. “Anything else?”

  “No sir,” she said.

  He hung up.

  23

  It was two days and another psych visit before they let Boyce come back to work. When she got back, she found that Warner wasn’t the detective working with Bennett. It was Barbieri. She vaguely knew him. She had been wrong. He must not be Vice. Danny Rich wandered by.

  “Hey Danny,” she said.

  “What’s up,” he said.

  “Gotta sec?”

  He hooked a chair with his foot and swung it around next to her desk. He straddled it.

  “While I was gone,” she started.

  “Lucky you,” he interrupted.

  “Yeah, sure,” she continued. “Mendoza assigned Bennett and Barbieri to his niece’s shooting.”

  “So?”

  “So, it seems odd. I thought Barbieri was Vice.”

  “Mendoza can assign anyone he wants to anything he wants. He’s the captain.”

  “I don’t know, it just seemed odd. Do you think Mendoza thinks Vice has a reason to be involved?’

  “Hell, I don’t know,” Danny said.

  “Do you know Barbieri?”

  “A little.”

  “How little?”

  He stood. “Guy’s been Vice for as long as I can remember. Got loaned over because of DiMartini.”

  “What kind of guy is he?”

  He shrugged. “The guys are having a get-together for DiMartini at Wally’s. He’ll be there. See for yourself.”

  “You going?”

  “Sure. Most of the guys are. Be ready, they’ll be passing the hat for DiMartini’s family.”

  “I didn’t know he had family.”

  “Ex-wife and a daughter. Daughter’s college.”

  Wally’s was a cop joint at Forty fourth and Camelback. It had outside seating when the weather was right and high-top tables inside. It was almost too classy for a cop joint. It was located just down from Camelback Mountain and it nudged the Arcadia area.

  By the time Boyce found a spot to park it was gathering dusk. As she slid out of the Miata her phone buzzed. It was Gabe. It was the third time he’d called today. As with the other two times, she ignored it.

  The place was crowded. She recognized several faces. A petit
e but fit-looking patrolwoman by the name of Jane Marie Landers was sitting at a high-top by herself. Jane Marie was very pretty and very competent. She had helped Boyce a while back by going undercover as a stripper. She was instrumental in bringing down a guy named Hesse who was the head of particularly large and ugly sex trade organization.

  Boyce walked over to her.

  “Hey there. Anyone sitting here?”

  Jane Marie had a glass of beer sitting in front of her. She waved at the stool. “Help yourself.”

  Boyce slid up on the stool. “Did you know DiMartini?”

  Jane Marie took a drink. “I’d been involved in a couple of things he was involved in, but no, I didn’t really know him. But, hey, we have to stand by our brothers in blue. I heard you were there when he was killed.”

  “Unfortunately.

  “Had to be a shock.”

  “To say the least.”

  “They say you guys were called out on a drive-by, then out of the blue somebody shoots DiMartini.”

  “Still trying to figure that out.” Boyce looked around the crowded room. She saw Danny Rich talking with Bennett. She looked back to Jane Marie, “You know Ron Barbieri?”

  “Yeah,” she said. She had the glass in her hand. She pointed her index finger at a guy two down from Danny Rich. The guy was short, looked to be about forty, still had his dark curly hair and a mustache. He was wearing khakis and a Hawaiian styled shirt. He was nice looking, fit and trim.

  Boyce slid off her stool.

  Jane Marie said, “You want a drink, she comes by again?”

  Boyce said, “No thanks. I’ll get one in a minute.” She worked her way over to Barbieri. When she came up beside him, he looked at her.

  “You’re Barbieri?” she said.

  “That’s the rumor,” he said. “You’re Boyce.”

  “Guilty,” she said. “I hear you are working Livvy’s shooting.”

  He looked at her, “Livvy?”

  “Olivia Cromwell. The captain’s niece.”

  “Oh, yeah. Yeah, Mendoza assigned me to work with Bennett. Take DiMartini’s place.”