She retracted her hand. “Tell me, Tai, what brings you here this afternoon?”
“I came to pick up my car.”
“Trey was helping you with that?”
“No, he…” I took a deep breath. “I just wanted to thank him, for last night. It’s been a rough couple of days.”
“I can only imagine.” She said it with a shake of her head. “Please let Trey know if there’s anything else we can do for you. He knows to keep me informed.”
She said this with a meaningful look Trey’s way, and then she was gone. Trey sat back down. He looked a little dazed.
“That was a threat,” I said. “A very pretty one.”
“It was a reminder.” He adjusted his in-box so that all the edges were straight once again, then returned his attention to me. “You said you needed to see me?”
I held the bag in my lap. Trey was a fortress too, like Marisa, all veneer and protocol. He’d do whatever she told him too—that was part of the rules. Suddenly all I wanted to do was get out of his expensive ergonomic client chair and go someplace real and gritty, with dirt and randomness.
I stood, shouldered my bag. “No. It’s okay. I can handle things.”
Trey’s eyes were placid, but there was that definite edge in there, like the glint of a switchblade. The lie was written all over my face. And yet, once again, he didn’t call me on it. He just nodded.
“I’ll walk you down then.”
***
Back at the shop, I scrubbed the linoleum until my elbows hurt, then attacked the cobwebs. I opened the front door and flooded the place in late afternoon light. With clean windows, the shop looked friendlier, warmer. I could see it tricked out with cherry-stained bookshelves, maybe a thick bright rug. A plant, something hardy and unkillable.
“So this is it,” Garrity said from the doorway. “When you told me the address, I couldn’t remember ever coming here. But now I do.”
He held a bag of food that smelled of roasted meat and chili peppers. He closed the door behind him and the bell dingled cheerily. “I hope you like Cuban food. I brought enough to share.”
I hid the overflowing ashtray behind the coffeemaker. “Good. We can eat, and you can tell me about the shooting.”
“What shooting?”
“The one involving Trey.”
Garrity sighed. He put the bag on the counter and turned to face me. “So you know.”
“I know that Trey resigned afterward, that there was an official investigation and that he was cleared of all charges. I know that you were a witness, my brother too. But that’s all I know. I got overwhelmed and gave up around one o’clock. You feel like filling me in on the rest?”
Garrity stared out the window. He was trying hard to be indifferent about this, and I was trying just as damn hard, but failing miserably.
Minefields. God, I hated them.
“It was maybe six months after the accident,” he began. “Trey was hard as hell to work with. He was in PT, OT, all kinds of therapy. He’d get frustrated at the least thing, then veer back to calm, but it was this scary calm. He still followed orders, though, still had the skills. So he kept his gun and his badge.
“And then one night we were on our way home and stopped to get some gas. Off duty. Unfortunately, this prick decides to take the register and pulls out this piece, waves it around. Trey draws and fires. Drops him in one, I mean, right through the heart.”
“I take it that’s not procedure?”
“Oh, hell no. You tell them to drop their weapon, give them a chance to end it peacefully.”
I made a noise. “I think I like Trey’s way better.”
Garrity’s voice rose. “Look, did the jerk deserve to die? Maybe yes. But that wasn’t the way to do it, because the moment he shot him, Trey became a liability.”
I put down my broom. “So what happened?”
“There was a review, of course. Your brother was called as an expert witness—that’s how he and I met. Based on my testimony, OPS ruled it justifiable use of deadly force. No indictment. The other people there—the clerk, this kid in line behind us—they testified to the same thing I did, that the punk was getting ready to fire, and that by acting when he did, Trey probably saved our necks.”
“Well, was he?”
“What?”
“Was the guy getting ready to fire?”
Garrity didn’t look at me. “That’s what I testified to.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It should.”
I moved to stand beside him. “So what happened to Trey?”
“He resigned. He was a disaster waiting to happen, and we all knew it, even Trey. But your brother had connections at Phoenix, and they agreed to take him on.”
“Phoenix hired him with that kind of history?”
“Your brother explained that the injury only affected certain functions, like making judgment calls or understanding emotional contexts. Trey actually got better at other things—long-term memory, focus, linear analysis.”
“So Eric fudged the facts to get him a job at Phoenix?”
Garrity made a face. “Hell no, he just explained that as long as Trey works within certain boundaries—lots of rules, highly organized structures—he’s capable of some amazing shit.”
“Like the lying thing?”
“Like that, yeah. So now his job is premises liability, knocking holes in other people’s security systems and then fixing them. It’s all simulations, though, so nobody ever gets shot for real, and he’s so damn good at it, it’s scary. Plus, the Armani routine impresses the hot shot clientele.”
“That’s the second time you’ve used the word ‘scary.’”
“If the shoe fits.” He shot me a sideways glance, and then his mouth softened at the corners. “I’m not trying to frighten you; I’m just being honest.”
I pulled off my blue rubber gloves with a thwack. His every word rang with deliberate honesty. Why then was every secret of mine still in that tote bag? I railed at Eric for keeping things from me and then proceeded to do the same thing. Were we really that much alike? Was I that calculating?
I wiped my hands. They were pasty and shriveled, like they’d been submerged in brackish water. “Is he going to get better?”
Garrity shook his head. “No. He learns how to handle things better, so he improves in some ways. His brain adapts. But the injury is permanent.”
I remembered the way words eluded him sometimes, the way he repeated things. The way he stood too close. But I also remembered the shelves of books on neuroscience. Trey hadn’t given up. He was still fighting.
Garrity laid out containers of food, yellow rice and pulled pork. “Listen, I may not be his partner anymore, but I trust him with my back. He has bizarre rules coming out his ears, but his main operating procedure is the one he learned in Catholic school—do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
I picked up one of the forks. “So I’m supposed to trust him because a bunch of nuns taught him the Golden Rule?”
“Yeah, that’s the gist of it. And you might want to lay off brandishing weapons at him. You do not want to trigger that Special Ops training.”
***
Once Garrity left, I cleaned until I couldn’t see straight. I thought about crashing on the sofa bed in Dexter’s office, but then I remembered the photo of me with the bullet hole through the center, and my stubborn streak vanished.
The Ritz received me once again, as plush and predictable as Phoenix. My gritty hair and sweat-drenched clothes earned me horrified glances from the other guests, as if I were wearing convict stripes and leg irons.
The desk clerk displayed no such aversion. “Ms. Randolph?”
I turned around. So much for surreptitious. “Yes?”
“A gentleman left a package for you.” She pulled a manila envelope from under the counter. I immediately recognized Rico’s heavy scrawl across the flap:
CONFIDENTIAL—FOR TAI RANDOLPH ONLY!
I thanked her and took it to my room, where I opened it while the bath ran, hot and steamy. It contained several printed pages, official documents on William Aloysius Perkins AKA Bulldog. I examined the first one, not sure I was seeing what I was seeing. But when I figured out what I was looking at, I knew Janie and I were having another talk, even if I had to corral her in a bathroom again.
Chapter 20
The phone rang at six the next morning. It was Trey.
“Marisa has called a meeting. You need to be here.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because she said so. Nine o’clock.”
I rubbed my eyes, still thick with exhaustion. “You’re an abomination.”
“Nine.”
“Yeah yeah. I’ll be there.”
On the way across town, I stopped at a convenience store and got a pack of cigarettes, then threw away all but two. One I smoked on the way to Phoenix, the other I wrapped in tissue and left in my wallet, an emergency ration for whatever weirdness the day planned to throw in my face.
Yvonne waited for me in the lobby. I was expecting another lecture about my lack of appropriate badgewear, but she fixed me with her sweetheart eyes. “Third floor.”
The room was deserted except for Trey, who occupied one chair on the long end of a rectangular table. He had a slew of paperwork in front of him—charts, graphs, summary reports.
I sat beside him. “You have any idea what this is about?”
“No.”
“Me, either. She didn’t say anything yesterday.”
“Who?”
“Marisa. Who’d you think I meant?”
“Janie Compton.” Trey fixed me with a hard stare. “She mentioned that you spoke with her yesterday, in the bathroom. You didn’t tell me this.”
I started to reply, but before I could formulate a reasonably innocent explanation, another guy joined us. He had a nice smile, but his distinguishing feature was a mop of double-helix brown hair that tumbled over his forehead, very nearly obscuring his eyes. He stopped in the doorway, hands on hips.
Then he grinned. “Hey, Trey, how’s it going?”
Trey’s head snapped back. “What are you doing here?”
The guy shrugged. Unlike every other dapperly suited employee, he was tricked out in khaki pants and an orange shirt. No tie. I glanced at his shoes. Black athletic sandals.
“Looking for Landon,” he said.
“No, I mean what are you doing at Phoenix. You were fired.”
“Landon pulled the suspension.”
“You weren’t suspended. You were fired.”
“Landon reconsidered.”
Suddenly, I realized who this guy was. I snapped my fingers. “Simpson!”
The guy grinned. He had an exuberant smile, open-mouthed. “All my friends call me Steve. Right, Trey?”
Trey was having none of this. “Because of your blatant incompetence—”
“Oh please! I was getting coffee!” He flung a finger in my direction. “How was I supposed to know she would show up?”
“You disregarded our objective and jeopardized my safety.”
“Cut the crap. You’re just mad ‘’cause you got made.”
Trey stood up, dropping his shoulders and shifting his body weight. I recognized it for what it was—going into a fighting stance—and Steve actually took one step forward and all I could think was, Trey is about to mop the floor with this guy.
But then Trey closed his eyes—one second, two—and when he opened them again, that flat impassive blue was back. He exhaled, relaxed his hands, and sat back down, burying his attention once again in his paperwork.
Simpson grinned some more. “Tell Landon I was looking for him.” And then he looked at me. “Nice to meet you, Tai Randolph. Been hearing a lot about you around here.” Then he winked at me and ducked out the door.
I let out a breath. “What in the hell was that about?”
Trey didn’t look up. “I thought he was terminated. Apparently he’s not.”
“He’s the computer guy you were working with at Eric’s, right?”
“Technical specialist.”
Trey gathered his file folders into a neat stack, adjusted the edges with precise focused concentration. He had a pile of index cards that he placed right next to two mechanical pencils.
“Tell the truth,” I said. “You were going to beat him to a bloody pulp.”
A swift glance my direction, then back to his legal pad. “No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were.”
“No. I wasn’t.”
“But you wanted to, didn’t you?”
He stopped rifling through papers and placed both hands flat on the table, one neatly atop the other.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I did.”
***
Marisa arrived thirty seconds after nine o’clock in a suit the color of white chocolate. She took a chair at the head of the table, Yvonne at her heels. Landon hung at her side, their voices a hushed tête-à-tête. When he saw me, he cut her a sharp look. She shook her head and opened her portfolio.
“It’s been a hell of a morning,” she said, “so let’s start with the latest. Detective Ryan called. He wants to set up interviews with all of you.”
Trey stopped writing. “Is this because we were all at Beau Elan on Thursday?”
I stared at him. Somehow he’d neglected to mention this choice fact in our conversations. So much for teamwork.
“So we’re suspects now?” Landon said.
“Not suspects,” Trey corrected. “Suspicious. There’s no evidence to make us suspects at this time.”
I raised my hand. “Um, excuse me, but—”
“You’ve been a suspect since you got into town,” Landon interjected.
I shot him a look. “Don’t start with me.”
“It’s immaterial,” Marisa said, putting a halt to the squabble. “Right now, I want to make it clear that all of you must be cleared of suspicion as soon as possible.”
Trey cocked his head. “The video should be proof enough.”
Marisa’s eyes flashed his way. “What video?”
“The video from the surveillance camera at the Beau Elan entrance. It records every vehicle entering or leaving. Of course the police have the original now, but we kept back-up footage at the office.”
“And what will this footage show?”
“Our arrival at Beau Elan at approximately twelve-thirty that morning. Charley Beaumont arrived at five, left at six with Landon when the police arrived. Approximately. Simpson and I finished and left for Phoenix at six-thirty. Approximately. The video will provide specific time codes.”
“Where were you?”
“In Jake Whitaker’s office.”
“With Jake?”
“No, I was alone. Jake was elsewhere on the property.”
I wanted to follow up on that idea, but Marisa had her own agenda. “So you were in that office all afternoon?”
“Yes.”
Marisa was writing everything down in her portfolio. “Charley will corroborate this story?”
“She can, yes.”
“And what about Steve?”
“He was connecting the video feeds to the security system. Which meant that he was either working in the crawlspace or in the van.”
Landon wrote something down in his notebook. “I’ll talk to him. He did the work, so I’m sure we can establish his alibi.”
Marisa nodded at Yvonne, who sent around a set of folders, each one labeled with a name—including mine. But before I could open it, Marisa rapped sharply on the table.
“Each of you has the case notes so far in front of you,” she said, making a little steeple with her fingers. “I’ve received three phone calls in the past fifteen minutes from reporters asking me to verify if Mark Beaumont has indeed hired Phoenix to investigate Eliza’s death. Which he has. “
Trey spoke up. “The police—”
“—are doing an excellent job, yes, but Mark feels it’s his duty to contribute. He’s giving a press conference in one hour, and we’re going to be there.”
I lifted the edge of my folder, tried to peek inside.
Marisa kept talking. “I don’t mind admitting that we are out of our league here. We specialize in protecting our clients from such crimes, not mopping up afterward. But this is what Mark wants.”
And, I thought, what Mark wants, Mark gets.
Trey’s eyes snapped up from his paperwork. “But I don’t do investigations.”
“You do now.”
“But—”
“No buts. They know you at the APD. You’re a hero down there, and we need that kind of connection right now.”
He looked back down at his notepad and said nothing, but his right hand toyed with his pen, tap-tap-tapping on the clean lined paper.
Marisa continued. “One more thing. Mark has requested that Janie Compton be included in any briefings that we offer him, as a special courtesy. Which is why Tai is here.”
I looked up from my folder. “What?”
“Janie has requested that you be involved in our investigation every step of the way, as her special liaison.”
“She did?”
“Yes, she did. If you’re interested.”
“Of course I am. Thank you.”
“You’re technically research now, which makes you Trey’s responsibility.”
Trey looked up at this. “What?”
Marisa smiled. “Her job is keeping Janie Compton happy. Your job is to make sure she does that.”
Trey exhaled slowly. Then he looked back down at his folder. I slid a glance Landon’s way. He had his jaw set so tight you could have chipped flint with it.
Marisa continued. “In fact, that leads me to my last and most important point. We are in the center ring now, people, the main attraction.” She looked at Landon. “As for Steve Simpson, I rehired him on your say-so. Any further failings from that camp and your head will roll. And for God’s sake, clean him up. If I see him in the halls, he’d better be wearing a suit and have real shoes on his feet.”
Marisa stood, laid her palms flat on the table. “Because you’d better understand something, all of you. Mess this one up, and I will have your balls for breakfast. Now get going. I look forward to reading the preliminary reports this afternoon.”
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