Grain of Truth

by V. J. Chambers

  The restaurant was decorated in bright greens and yellows, with sombreros on the walls. When Frankie stepped inside, she was greeted by the sound of classical guitars and Spanish singing. She’d been here once or twice, but never early, although she’d seen the breakfast menu on the back of the regular menu. It looked a lot like the regular menu, only with eggs and bacon inserted into burritos and enchiladas and nachos.

  The host was a man in a black shirt with a silver tie. He was a little overweight and his thinning hair was slicked back against his skull. “Just one?” he said, getting a menu out of a stack on his podium.

  “Actually,” said Frankie, “I’m not here to eat. I’m looking for Seth Long. Does he work here?”

  “He does,” said the host. “He’s one of the managers.”

  “Could you take me to him or see if he’ll come to me?”

  “Uh, I could try. Who should I say wants to see him?”

  “I’m with the District Attorney’s Conviction Review Unit,” said Frankie.

  The man furrowed his brow. “Is he in trouble?”

  “No, I just want to talk to him.” She smiled.

  “Huh.” The man in the silver tie disappeared into the restaurant.

  Frankie waited.

  Minutes passed.

  She took off her coat and draped it over her arm.

  More minutes ticked by.

  She sat down on a chair that was set up near the entrance for overflow seating in case there was a wait for a table.

  The man in the silver tie came back.

  She stood up.

  “He says he’ll be out in a minute,” said the man.

  She sat back down.

  Time passed.

  A couple came in and the man took them to get seated.

  Frankie got up again. This was ridiculous. Seth Long was avoiding her. She was going to march into the restaurant and find him right now. She turned to do just that.

  But a man was approaching her. He was also wearing a black shirt and a silver tie, but he was a few years younger than the other man and he had broad shoulders. Peeking out at the bottom of his sleeves she saw tattoos that protruded onto his wrists. Some also climbed up his neck.

  “Seth Long?” she said.

  “Did Andrea tell you I worked here?”

  “No. Who’s Andrea?”

  “My wife. If she didn’t, how’d you know?”

  “Is it important?”

  He sighed. Then he gestured. “If we go through here, we can go in the storage room. It’ll be a better place to talk.”

  “Okay, sure,” she said.

  He led the way past empty booths and then back a hallway. They went through a door marked Employees Only. Inside, there were shelves lined with big cans of tomatoes, bags of dried beans, and stacks of tortillas in plastic. He closed the door behind them and stood in front of it, surveying her, waiting.

  “Um, well, I guess your wife did tell you I was looking for you.”

  “Rory Gutierrez, yeah,” he said. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. It’s not a part of my life I particularly want associated with my wife, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He gave her a funny look. “What is this all about? Because, okay, I did some things back then that I’m not proud of, but I’m through with all that now. I’m married. I got two kids. I run this restaurant. I’m not that guy anymore.”

  “What guy?”

  “What is this about?”

  She took a deep breath. “Well, it’s about the Mukherjee murders.”

  “Oh,” he said, looking relieved. “This isn’t about meth?”

  “Meth?” She was thrown.

  “Are you a cop?”

  “I’m a lawyer,” she said.

  He pressed his lips together.

  “I’m not interested in drugs, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m investigating a murder case.”

  “Right, well, I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “But Rory Gutierrez might have.”

  “Nah.” He shook his head. “That girl had problems. I mean, big problems, but she, uh, she wouldn’t have done anything like that.”

  “You dated her?”

  He laughed a little. “I wouldn’t really call it that.”

  “What would you call it?”

  “Maybe we hooked up now and then, I don’t know. There were people then, girls, lots of girls.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I kind of… used to sell… things.”

  “Meth?”

  “Amongst other things, yeah. But I don’t do that anymore, and I was never anything big time. I didn’t make a lot of money doing it, but it was good to pay the bills for a while, because I was too fucked up all the time to hold down another job. I don’t know if you’ve ever done meth?”

  “Uh, no.” She laughed a little.

  “Well, it’s not like getting drunk. It’s like, you take some, and a day passes, and then you still have some, so you take more, and then another day passes, and before you know it, it might be a week when you factor in the comedown. So, uh, it’s not exactly easy to remain gainfully employed when you have a meth habit.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “Anyway, Rory bought stuff from me sometimes. Uh, she wasn’t my girlfriend or anything, but I do remember that we hung out a bit for a while.”

  “Hmm,” said Frankie, tapping her lip. “So, Rory had a bad drug habit?”

  “Yeah,” said Seth.

  “Thanks,” said Frankie. “This was helpful. This was really helpful.”

  “Wait, that’s it? That’s all you wanted?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “If I have more questions, I’ll find you.” She cocked her head. “Oh, would you be willing to give us a DNA sample?”

  “For what?”

  “To rule you out in the murder, of course.”

  “Are you kidding? Why would I have killed them?”

  She got the kit out. “I just swab inside your cheek.” She raised her eyebrows. “If you didn’t commit the murder, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  He looked annoyed, but he nodded. “Fine, fine. You can have a sample.”

  * * *

  “So, anyway, I think that maybe the drug thing is what Rory was hiding,” said Frankie. She was in Elke’s office, reporting on what she’d found out about Rory from Seth.

  “Huh,” said Elke. “Could be. Or it could be that the drugs made her so desperate, she went after the Mukherjees.”

  “You mean for money?”

  “I don’t know. If this Seth guy was part of it, then we really can’t be sure what it was all about. Maybe they were out of their minds on drugs, and they decided that they needed to go and scare the Mukherjees. Maybe it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Well, I got his DNA, and I dropped it off at the lab, so if it’s him, we’ll know soon.”

  “Great,” said Elke.

  “I did try to talk to her,” said Frankie, “but she wasn’t in her office. I can check back later if you want.”

  “Sure, sounds good.”

  Frankie started for the door. “Anything else?”

  “Actually, hold on a second, Hart,” said Elke.

  Frankie paused.

  “I, um, I’m sorry if I’ve been too hard on you about your son?”

  “Oh, no, it’s fine,” said Frankie. “This is no place for him. You’re right.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s obviously not easy for you trying to take care of him and juggle work here.”

  “Actually, I’ve just called a place that Hudson recommended, and I think it’s going to work out fine.”

  “Hudson had something to say about this?”

  Frankie laughed. “Actually, yeah.”

  Elke considered. “Well, what do you know? I wouldn’t think he’d know much about kids.”

  “He was actually pretty good with him,” said Frankie.

  “There’s more to
him than we know,” said Elke, also grinning.

  “Yeah.”

  The two women smiled at each other for several moments. And then it started to feel awkward. Frankie looked away.

  “Well,” said Elke.

  “Yeah,” said Frankie. “I’m going to…” She gestured behind herself.

  “Oh, of course,” said Elke. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  They exchanged another smile, this one a bit uncomfortable, and then Frankie fled.

  * * *

  Iain was sick of staring at the stupid pictures of the bruises. He wasn’t getting anywhere with them. His mind was drawing a complete blank. He kept thinking of stupid things like maybe they had matching pairs of exercise equipment that somehow made bruises under their chins. He couldn’t think of any exercise equipment that would actually do that, of course, and if that actually were it, then the bruises would have nothing to do with the case.

  He shoved the photos back into the file and got up from his desk. He started to pace. He tried to clear his mind. Sometimes, when he needed to understand something, it was better not to think of anything. It was better to simply quiet his mind and let meaningless things trickle through it. From that meaningless stream, he sometimes got exactly what he was looking for.

  But it wasn’t easy to clear his mind.

  Thoughts kept popping up. He worried that he’d left his refrigerator door open, and he remembered that he needed to put coffee on his grocery list.

  And then his cell rang.

  Groaning, he went over to check who was calling.

  Harley.

  Oh, God, not at work.

  But it wasn’t like he was actually busy at the moment. He flopped back into his desk chair and answered the phone.

  “So, I know you can’t come over and help me change my locks,” she said. “You made that clear the other night.”

  “I’m working right now, Harley.”

  “Okay, fine. But could I maybe borrow some tools?” she said.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “It won’t bother you. If you’re at work, you won’t even have to see me. I’ll let myself into your place and get them myself. You just have to tell me where they are.”

  “I don’t know about this, Harley. You’re going to take my tools? When are you going to bring them back?”

  “Whenever you want.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Oh, my God, you are such a control freak. Can’t even handle letting go of a couple screwdrivers.”

  “Don’t you have screwdrivers yourself?”

  “Well, no, not really, because Otis took them. They were his. I mean, I think some of them were mine, but they were all mixed together, and he took all the tools. Which is exactly why I need the locks changed, so he can’t come over and take more of my stuff.”

  He shut his eyes.

  “I promise to take really good care of them.”

  Oh, man, he hadn’t even considered the idea she could damage his stuff.

  “Just say yes. Please?”

  He groaned. “Okay, fine, but you bring them back the minute I want them back, and if they’re so much as scratched, I’m going to be pissed.”

  “They won’t be, I promise.”

  “Better not be.”

  “Where are the tools?”

  “They’re in the—”

  Harley screamed.

  “Harley, what happened? Did you see a spider or something?”

  Harley’s scream was getting further and further away, as if she was moving from the phone. “Let go of me!” came her distant voice. “Stop it, you bastard.”

  “Harley?” He sat up straight. What the hell was going on?

  But then the phone cut off, and he couldn’t hear anything else.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Iain stalked into Elke’s office. “I’ve got an emergency. I need to leave.”

  “Okay,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to get into it. On the one hand, he was terrified, because he didn’t want anything to happen to Harley. But at the back of his brain, he wasn’t sure if this wasn’t one of her little mind games, if she was setting him up for something. He didn’t trust her.

  “You look white as a sheet, Hudson. Talk to me.”

  “No, I just need to go. Is it okay?”

  “Of course, but maybe I can help.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” He turned his back and started out of the office.

  She came after him. “Is someone hurt?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “Maybe.”

  “Who?”

  “A girl I sort of… see,” he said, moving faster up the hallway.

  “Okay, what happened?”

  “She was on the phone with me, and she started screaming.” He turned to look at her. “I need to go.”

  “Maybe we should call the police,” said Elke. “This could be related to what’s going on with Amos and me.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. He rubbed his forehead. “Hell, you don’t think so, do you?”

  “Well, this morning, Hart went out and interviewed Rory’s ex-boyfriend, who apparently was a drug dealer in his former life. If he did it, and he knows that we’re closing in on him, maybe he’s escalating his behavior to try to get us off the case.”

  Frankie poked her head out of the door of her office. “Sorry, couldn’t help but overhear. Seth Long gave us a DNA sample. If he was guilty, he’d probably have resisted, right?”

  “Or he felt pressured,” said Iain. “And he’s desperate right now, so he’s escalating. This guy really could have Harley.” Damn. He was terrified now.

  Amos appeared at the end of the hallway. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Call the police,” said Elke.

  “No,” said Iain.

  “No?” said Elke.

  “Look, Harley maybe has a history with the local police,” he said. “Once they find out it’s her, they’re not going to help.”

  “Why not?” said Frankie.

  “It has to do with her abusive ex-husband ending up dead. It’s a long story,” said Iain.

  Elke looked confused. “Okay, but she could be in danger right now, and you need to make sure that she’s safe.”

  “Maybe I can take care of it on my own,” said Iain. “If I go now, and I look for her—”

  “Hudson—”

  “No,” he said. “Look, if this is about the case, the guy is going to get in touch with me one way or the other. He’s going to try to manipulate me using Harley. If that happens, and I’m in over my head, then I’ll be in touch, and then you call the police, okay? But maybe… maybe it’s not even related.” Maybe it’s a big prank, he thought hopefully. Maybe Harley had done all this to scare him, teach him a lesson for the other night. Please be that.

  He didn’t wait for anyone else to argue with him. While they were talking about this, they were losing time, and he couldn’t afford that. He tore out of the office instead. Waiting for the elevator took too long. He dashed down the stairs. His car was parked at his apartment, so he ran the block to the building, and then rushed across the parking lot to his car. He drove out of there like a bat out of hell.

  He figured that it was most likely that Harley had called him from her place, so he went there first.

  It took a while to drive from town to the outskirts, even though he went faster than the speed limit and ran stop signs. If he got pulled over, he’d show his badge, he reasoned. He just kept going as quickly as he could.

  Finally, he pulled into the tree-lined cul-de-sac where Harley lived. The house looked fine. The doors were closed. The porch was tidy. No outward sign of anything wrong.

  He got out of his car and sprinted up to the garage. He peered in the window. Harley’s car was gone.

  Damn, maybe that meant she hadn’t been here when she called. Maybe she’d already been at his place. He kicked himself. If so, he’d been there, downstairs getting his c
ar.

  He tried her front door. It was locked. He had a key on his key ring. He fumbled for it and let himself in.

  Inside, it was quiet. He checked the living room. No one there. It was a little messy, the coffee table cluttered with mugs and cups and the remains of frozen dinners. He went into the kitchen. Dirty dishes in the sink. Counters covered in a fine dust of flour. Refrigerator humming away. No one was there.

  Damn it. She had been at his place, hadn’t she? That sounded like her. She’d let herself in, looking for tools, and hadn’t been able to find them, so she’d called him. She would have never called to ask permission to take something from his place. He should have known better than to think that she would. Of course she had been at his place. That was probably how the bastard had found her. Dick, if that was even his real name, had probably been watching his place. Hell, what was he going to do?

  He checked upstairs anyway.

  No one was there, and there was no sign that anything was wrong.

  He rushed back down the stairs and out the front door and back to his car.

  He sped through town again, heading for his apartment.

  He seemed to get stuck at every single red light he came to. He clutched the steering wheel, swearing at each traffic light, willing it to turn green. He had been so close at the office. His apartment was a block away from the office. He could gone have right up the stairs and maybe he would have been able to stop all of this. Maybe he would have found them.

  But by now, they were probably gone. Who knows where that Dick guy had taken her? They didn’t know anything about him.

  He went up to his place, anyway.

  She’d been there. His door was unlocked, and there were signs of a struggle in his living room. She’d put up a fight, yanking the throw blankets off his couch, knocking over his coffee table and a potted plant. There was no blood, though, so that was a good sign.

  And, still, it could be… staged. Maybe she’d made it look like this had happened just to get under his skin.

  But he couldn’t take the chance. No, he had to err on the side of caution here. He’d try to cover both his bases, though. He’d have Elke call it in, and tell the police what was going on. But he’d go to Bob’s Bar and Grill, where she liked to hang out and see if she was there having a drink and laughing at him for freaking out.