Last Call

by Libby Kirsch

  He looked at Benji, who shrugged, but Janet nodded. She got it. If someone in authority lets you down—in Abe’s case, the police had, time and again—then you take care of it yourself.

  “I decided to take the tracker off his car. I mean, it was an extreme idea in the first place, and Vanessa was getting hysterical about things . . . it just wasn’t practical. But when I got there—got here,” he corrected himself, “I found Ike, passed out in his car, drunk. I just . . . I couldn’t believe it.”

  O’Dell, who’d been leaning forward with increasing interest since Abe started talking, was unable to stay out of the conversation. Only Janet heard the scrape of his bar stool as he pushed out of his seat, but when he approached, Benji sucked in a breath, clearly recognizing him from an earlier interview.

  “So, you stabbed him—decided to exact your own street justice? Is that what happened?” O’Dell said, towering over the group of suspects.

  “No!” Abe said, clearly upset. “Well, I don’t know exactly what happened next.”

  “Because you blacked out in a fit of rage,” Larsa said with conviction, “after you stabbed my dad.”

  “No, that’s not what happened. I mean, I don’t think . . .”

  Benji left his own bar stool and wedged himself between Abe and O’Dell. “You’re in it now, friend. Tell us everything you know. Now is not the time to leave anything out.”

  Abe took a deep breath and turned to Janet, the only one not staring at him with contempt or judgment.

  “I confronted him, yes. He was passed out behind the wheel—why wasn’t he in the backseat, for God’s sake? So, I knocked on the window until he came to. I was just going to talk some sense into him, I swear, but he came up swinging. He thought I was some kind of ghost—someone there to punish him—”

  “Weren’t you?” Larsa said combatively with a strange look on her face.

  “No. Well, yes, but not like that. I wanted him to stop drinking and driving, and I was angry, yes, but then he took out a knife and came after me. I barely dodged his first swipe, but then he dropped the blade. We both dove for it, and that’s the last thing I remember.”

  “What a load of crap,” Larsa said, glaring at Abe. “You’re going to claim you blacked out and don’t remember killing my father? Officer, arrest this man. He as good as confessed to murder.”

  O’Dell didn’t move, but Benji did. He turned to Abe and said urgently, “What’s the next thing you remember?”

  “I came to maybe an hour later. Ike was lying next to me, but he was breathing—he was alive, I swear—and the knife was still in his hand. I didn’t want to risk getting hurt even more, so I took off. I just got in my car and drove to a twenty-four-hour café to clean up, get some coffee, try and recover my wits. Then I went home. I swear, he was alive when I left!”

  “Were you safe to drive with what I’m guessing was a fresh concussion? Doesn’t sound like someone who should’ve been behind the wheel!” Larsa snarled.

  Abe blanched but nodded slowly. “I agree. I wasn’t thinking clearly—fear drove me from that lot. I didn’t know what had happened.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?” O’Dell asked.

  “I was going to! I got home, fixed myself up as best I could, and was going to call and report the crime—I mean, Ike had assaulted me! But then I saw on the news that he’d been killed, and I knew it didn’t look good.”

  “Of course it didn’t look good! It still doesn’t! It looks like you’re the one who killed him!” Larsa raged.

  “Wait just a moment,” O’Dell said before Abe could respond. Janet had been so engrossed in hearing Abe’s version of events that she’d almost forgotten the homicide detective was standing right there. He turned his piercing gaze on her and said, “Janet, you’ve been holding out on me, but that stops now. I need to know how you got that GPS tracker. Where is Ike’s car?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The room seemed to contract, to heat up, and Janet felt cramped behind the bar. She hadn’t been planning on revealing any of her secrets—at least not yet—but with O’Dell staring her down, she decided to put phase one of her plan into action.

  “Cindy Lou?” she called. Her assistant manager scurried back to the office. “Hold on,” Janet said, looking up at the TV monitor closest to her. The replay of a favorite UT Knoxville football game cut off mid-down and the screen went to black. Several customers shouted out in protest. “Oh, please,” she muttered, “Y’all have seen that game a dozen times. Spoiler: UT wins!”

  “Janet?” O’Dell’s fingers tapped against the handcuffs clipped to his belt. His impatience was palpable.

  “Just wait,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Ah, here it is.” Cindy Lou had changed the TV input from cable to Janet’s computer system. Old Ben’s surveillance video played on every television set in the bar. Earlier that day, Janet had asked Jason to cue it up to the struggle over the knife between Ike and Abe.

  “Ooh, I bet that really hurt. Did you need stitches?” Cindy Lou asked when she walked out of the office just as Abe went down hard on-screen.

  “Probably should have gotten two or three, but I didn’t,” he answered darkly.

  “What the hell is this, Janet?” O’Dell asked. “You said there wasn’t any surveillance video. We subpoenaed your boyfriend and he said that it was gone. Plus, we took all of his computers. So where’d you get this?”

  “This is from our neighbor’s camera.” Janet explained about the abandoned building next door, and O’Dell swore loudly.

  Larsa’s eyes were locked in on the screen, and one hand covered her open mouth. O’Dell’s laserlike focus shifted and he assessed her with new eyes. Janet felt a surge of hope that O’Dell wasn’t in on the crimes.

  “Larsa,” Janet rested her elbows on the bar top and leaned forward, “why don’t you tell us what happened that night—before you called your uncle in for help.” She hated to admit it, but this evening would likely have gone off the rails just then if not for her father’s text.

  “Uncle?” Benji asked, shifting his gaze from Larsa to Janet. “Who’s her uncle?” In that moment, Janet could easily picture him in the courtroom, both his tone and stance demanding answers.

  “Step-uncle,” Janet clarified, “but same thing, really. You knew Finch practically your whole life.”

  “And he failed me every step of the way, just like my father did,” Larsa whispered. “It’s his fault—all his fault.”

  “Finch? What’s going on?” O’Dell’s eyebrows knitted together, his frown equal parts disbelief and anger.

  “Why do you think it was me?” Larsa asked Janet, ignoring O’Dell completely.

  “It was something you said last week. You were telling me about that last conversation you had with your dad on the phone. Only, what you said wasn’t something you’d say to someone still alive—it was something you’d say to someone already dead.”

  Larsa looked confused for a moment, but then her face cleared. “I was so relieved he couldn’t hurt anyone else. I did say that to him . . . after. Does that make me an awful person? I felt no remorse that he was dead—only that I’d killed him by accident.”

  She looked furtively around the room, her eyes finally landing on the tap in front of her. She held her glass out for Janet. “Fill me up first, okay?”

  “You don’t drink!” Janet said, refusing to take the cup.

  “I . . . I only quit last week—Thursday morning, as a matter of fact—but it’s not going so well.” Her hand shook. What Janet had mistaken for overwhelming emotion last week now looked more like withdrawal symptoms.

  Janet still didn’t move, but Elizabeth, drawn from the office by the spectacle unfolding, reached past her and took the glass. Larsa’s brow furrowed for a moment, and then she licked her lips in anticipation as the alcohol flowed. When the glass was in her hand, she took a long, slow sip before speaking again.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen, you know. I just came he
re to talk. I knew this was Ike’s hangout—he’d been coming here for years.”

  “You just happened to be in the neighborhood after the bar closed?” O’Dell asked. “Where were you coming from?”

  She took another slow sip, then she and Janet said together, “The Wheelbarrow.”

  “Where?” Abe asked.

  “The dodgy bar down the street,” Janet answered.

  “That’s a bit rich, coming from you,” Benji said, looking around the Spot with a frown.

  Janet bit back a retort and tried to focus. She wanted Larsa to share everything.

  “I’ve been battling demons for a while now,” Larsa said, swirling the cheap draft beer like it was a fine wine.

  “So you were drunk and came to talk to your drunk dad?” Abe interjected. “What a great plan. What did you want to tell him that couldn’t wait?”

  “My uncle had told me about Ike’s recent accident, and I was upset. Dad ruined our family when he killed Ollie. I know you think he got off easy by not facing charges,” she said, turning to Abe and Benji, “but it was the worst thing, in the end. If he’d have gone to jail, he would have been forced to sober up. He might have come out a new man. Instead, he drank more. The guilt nearly killed him, and it did take my mother. Without her, I was lost. In the end, I turned to the same thing that ruined my father.” She took a drink of the very thing she professed to despise.

  “Need another?” Janet asked angrily, motioning to her empty pint glass.

  “God, yes,” she said, holding the glass out.

  Benji smashed it out of her hand, and Larsa flinched at the crash of breaking glass. In the silence that followed, Janet looked up, shocked to see that the bar was empty, save for the people involved in the investigation. Mel was ushering the last patron, Nell, out the door. Then her bouncer turned back, her stance wide, her eyes narrowed as her gaze swept the room.

  “Enough!” Abe shouted. “Just tell us what happened, Larsa. Stop blaming other people and tell us what you did.”

  Larsa was startled for a moment, then another tear streaked down her cheek. She roughly wiped it away. “I got here too late—the bar was closed and the parking lot was empty. I was going to head back to my car—I mean, walk home,” she corrected herself when Benji gasped in anger, “when I saw Ike lying on the ground. He was alone, so you must have already left,” she said to Abe. “I tried to wake him up—I—I was angry. I mean, who passes out on the ground? Jesus. He woke up swinging that damn knife of his, though. I shouted at him—told him he was an embarrassment to our family for his behavior. He didn’t disagree, but then I fell back against the curb and he tripped over my feet and landed on the knife right by the Dumpster. I rolled him over . . . it was too late. I called my uncle, but by the time he got there, Ike was dead.”

  “Why didn’t you call 911?” Janet asked, not sure she could buy Larsa’s story completely.

  “Uncle Mark said it didn’t look good for me. He… he didn’t want me to take the blame. He’d risked so much for my family already.”

  “What does that mean?” O’Dell asked, staring intently at Larsa.

  “He was the first on the scene when . . . after . . . when Ollie died. He drove Ike home that morning and didn’t pick him back up for a Breathalyzer for the whole shift. He was trying to protect us,” she said, her eyes filled with pain as she looked at O’Dell. “But he only made it worse for us.”

  “W-worse for you? You p-people still don’t get it! You never think about anyone else,” Abe stammered. “Ollie’s family was broken by his death and again when Ike wasn’t charged. Didn’t Finch know that? How could he have done that to them—to us?”

  “Family,” Elizabeth said with a shrug, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did.

  “That certainly explains why the paperwork for Ike’s recent DUI didn’t get filed,” Benji said, sitting down slowly. “Finch buried the report so Ike wouldn’t get charged.”

  “Sounds like something he’d do,” Larsa agreed.

  “You tell a nice story, Larsa,” Janet said, “but let’s not forget there’s another dead body to discuss. And Mark Finch’s death was no accident. So what happened?”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. Larsa took small, savoring sips of her beer. O’Dell’s piercing gaze moved down the line of people. Abe shifted uncomfortably in his seat. But no one spoke.

  After a few more minutes Janet cleared her throat. “Cindy Lou, do you know how our security system works?”

  The bartender looked up from the glass she was wiping, her face blank. “Huh?”

  But Abe snapped to attention. So did Benji.

  “I asked if you know how our security system is set up. How the actual cameras work.”

  “Oh, uh . . . no, boss. I have no idea.”

  “Well, it turns out a few weeks ago, I started to suspect that someone was stealing money from the cash drawer.” She locked the drawer, then pulled the key out, tucking it into her pocket for safekeeping. “I asked Jason Brooks—my security-expert boyfriend,” she added, talking over Abe’s gasp of recognition, “to wire the place from top to bottom. Top,” she said again, pointing to a tiny disc embedded in the ceiling above the cash register, “to bottom.” This time she pointed to the bottom edge of the front door.

  Mel, surprised to suddenly be in everyone’s line of sight, stepped away from the door.

  Silence fell again while the group looked at the door, perplexed.

  “In the cooling register cover?” Mel said, inspecting the brass plate.

  “Yup,” Janet said. “Right there in the corner. It’s practically invisible. But the camera is all-seeing. Gets a great shot of anyone who’s leaving the bar through the front door. Then a camera right over . . . there”—she pointed to the space above the office door—“can capture anyone walking toward the back of the bar. So,” she said, looking back at the group, “coming, going, and being here”—she pointed back up to the ceiling—“all recorded. And the best part is, it’s not on a timer, it’s motion activated. So whenever someone’s moving around in the bar, it starts recording.”

  “That must take up a lot of computer space,” Benji said. “How many hours can you keep at a time?”

  “I have terabytes of storage.”

  “Terabytes? That’s—that’s enough for—”

  “Days—no, weeks of video. It’s got 1080p high-def resolution, night vision, a huge field of view—” She noticed that Cindy Lou looked lost and said, “It means the camera captures a wide shot of the room, doesn’t miss anything. Oh, yeah, and it records sound, too.”

  “Wow,” Abe said.

  “My man is thorough,” Janet said with a shrug. “What can I say?”

  O’Dell stood up, his face red again. “Are you saying you have video evidence of the murder of a police officer and haven’t yet offered it up?” He breathed in and out noisily a few times, like he was trying to control his temper. “Janet Black, I should arrest you right now for obstruction of justice. That was my partner who was shot and shoved into a damn refrigerator like a piece of meat yesterday, killed in cold blood”—the group cringed at the expression, but O’Dell plowed on—“and you couldn’t bother yourself to let anyone know?”

  “What I’m saying, O’Dell, is that the person who killed Finch has nothing to gain by remaining quiet. In fact, they’d better come forward now. There’s no hiding anything here.” She looked darkly at the group. “Not when every little step and sound you make is being recorded.”

  She narrowed her eyes at Abe. Just behind him, a police officer slipped into the room, then another. A third led Mel outside. Janet started to lose focus. What was going on?

  “Abe?” she said, watching the other man fidget with his watch. “Now’s the time.”

  “Time for what?” he said, looking up. “I didn’t kill anyone. I—I mean, yes, I should have called 911 when I found Ike drunk and passed out behind the wheel, but I don’t think those are te
chnically crimes, isn’t that right, Benji?”

  Janet looked to his old college roommate and friend for confirmation, but he was staring at the camera above the cash register with barely concealed rage.

  “I can’t believe it’s going to come down to this,” Benji said, shaking his head.

  “Down to what?” O’Dell asked, carefully putting some space between himself and the rest of the group. Janet heard soft muttering, maybe from a walkie-talkie, and O’Dell seemed to be readying himself for something.

  “Ending in a bar. I just can’t—I can’t believe it. You know, I never meant for this to happen. I came here to talk to you yesterday!” He pointed accusingly at Janet. “I wanted to let you know about Ike slipping through justice’s fingers again. But you weren’t here. Finch was. And we got to talking, because frankly, I wanted to know why the police continued to let this guy get away with shit. Even though Ike was dead, I wanted someone to be held accountable, you know? Someone let him off the hook twice—twice that we know of—when he was alive, and even though he’s dead now, they shouldn’t get away with that.

  “Finch starts giving me a song and dance about how Ike Freeman needed a second chance. Well that’s bullshit!” he exploded, leaping up from his seat. “He got too many second chances. That guy deserved a second chance like Ollie deserved to die!

  “And I don’t know, maybe he was feeling guilty or sorry, because then he told me that he and Ike were brothers. Stepbrothers. Had grown up in an awful house together, and Finch just wanted to protect him, he was the big brother, it was his job. But instead of calming me down, it just pissed me off more.

  “I asked him, I said, ‘Did you let Ike off—did you help him get away with murder all those years ago?’ And do you know, he just nodded his head and said, ‘Yes, that’s what family does.’” Benji shook his head, still in disbelief a day later. “No remorse at all—and in fact, said he’d do it again if he had to.”