by Harry Hoge
"I was discussing how I wanted a warrant to arrest Reuben Rankin," Frank explained. "She was picking holes in my reasoning, like normal, when the phone interrupted. It sounded more like a domestic problem than an official one."
Holloman considered this, looking at the floor. "Well, I did my best to talk her out of it, but if there's anything I've learned about Sheridan, it's that she knows her mind. Once it's decided, there's no changing it."
"This puts us in a bind here, Captain," George Foster offered. "We're closing in on this case, but we need all the manpower we can get."
"Okay, here's what we'll do," Holloman decided as he stood and clapped at the seat of his pants. "Frank, I'm assigning you the lieutenant's responsibilities as of now. George, you take over Frank's job as head of the task force. Sherman, you work with Stanton until we can find a new detective to replace Frank."
Olivia Stanton beamed and sidled up to Chad. "What an opportunity, Sherman. Maybe I can weasel in and make you forget about that idea of leaving the department." Chad subconsciously fingered his wedding band with his thumb and tried to b)ow the advance off as a tight-hearted comment.
"That all sounds reasonable," Frank agreed. "As long as it's temporary."
Holloman snapped a glare at Frank. "Why temporary, Rivers? You should have taken the opening when we hired Sheridan Barker."
"I'm no good at administration, Captain. I do my best work on the street."
"I agree, but I'm the administrator. Barker chose to run her office from a chair, but it's my thinking that the Lieutenant of Homicide should work closely with the detectives in his or her department. You can get as much street time as you want."
"I agree, Frank," Arnold Grisham nodded. "I think you being the Loo is the best thing that could happen around here."
Frank was surprised at these words of support from one of the people who'd been icing him ever since he sent Skip up. He scanned the other detectives, and they each nodded in return. Chad showed a broad smile and raised his thumb upward like Caesar sparing a valiant gladiator.
"We'll see," Frank murmured, knowing this was neither the time nor the place to discuss his promotion. "We better get back to work."
"Come on, Frank," Holloman urged, taking him by the elbow, "Let me brief you in the office." They headed for the door, Frank looking like a sheep headed for the slaughterhouse.
Donned in their "working" clothes, the two under cover officers parked their car and walked into Denny's for breakfast.
"I'm glad this place serves breakfast 'round the clock. I don't like to start a working day without eggs and sausage, no matter the time," Roger smiled.
"Not me. That stuff is bad for my figure. I'm going with juice and coffee, lots of coffee, and maybe a salad."
"A few calories won't show under that get-up you're wearing."
"Yeah, I hear that, but one look in the mirror tells me I don't want to look like this offstage."
"Did you call Frank?"
"No. I'll do that later in the car. We don't have anything new to report, but I want to check in before we get to the club."
A Hispanic woman bristling with the energy and the banter that suggested a long career in waitressing showed them to a booth, dropped the menus and returned quickly with two cups and a brown and black carafe of coffee. Before Gerry could down her first sip, she felt her cell phone vibrate at her waist. She rolled her eyes.
"I've got a call. It'll be Frank." Roger nodded. She stood and headed for the restroom so no one would overhear her conversation. When she returned to the table, the food had been delivered and Roger was putting hot sauce on his eggs.
"You aren't going to believe what Frank just told me." Roger stuffed a fork full of eggs into his mouth and leaned back to listen.
The first action Frank took after Captain Holloman left the lieutenant's office was complete an arrest warrant request on Reuben Rankin, aka Reuben Sullivan. He gave it to Grace Villalobos. When he arrived back in "his" office, he called Gerry's cell phone number, filled her in on the unexpected events of the morning, and told her he would drop by the Ha Ha House for her evening routine. He scanned the incoming files and decided Barker had left the ship with all current work up to date. He was reaching for the telephone to tell Grace Villalobos he would be in the task force room, when it rang.
"Frank Rivers."
"Good morning, Frank." There was no doubt the voice was Reuben Rankin. "Congratulations on your promotion."
"You do have a pipeline to this office, Rankin. How many other offices do you keep under surveillance?"
"None, actually, although at this juncture, I doubt you believe me. That should all be cleared up soon."
"What's on your mind, Rankin?"
"Have you requested a warrant for my arrest yet?"
"It's in the works."
"I was told that would be your first act as lieutenant."
Frank didn't respond.
"That's what this call is about, Frank. I'll surrender today under two conditions."
Frank didn't respond.
"Condition one, I will only surrender to you personally. If you send any other officer, my lawyer has the proper papers prepared to avoid the arrest."
Frank remained silent.
"Condition two, Gus has dropped out of sight, so I'll need you to pick me up and drive me to HPD. Do you have any problems with either of these contingencies?"
Sounds like a trap, Frank mused. "I don't have a problem with either of your demands, Rankin. Give me some time and I'll be there."
"Anytime between six and seven should work. I'll look for you then." Rankin hung up.
Frank looked at the buzzing phone for a long time, wondering what other surprises were in store for him today.
Gerry and Roger entered the Ha Ha House and walked to the bar, their heels echoing in the vastness of the empty hall. Gretchen met them with what normally served as her smile.
"Another day older, and another step closer to Social Security," The Grinch said.
Roger squirmed onto a stool and ordered a beer. Gerry asked Gretchen to have a glass of white wine sent to her dressing room, and strolled away to get out of her Bea Black street clothes and into her Bea Black stage dress. She didn't particularly like white wine and didn't intend to drink much of it, but the routine was part of Bea's persona. She planned to drink enough to have the aroma on her breath and pour the remainder on an innocuous "mother-in-law's tongue" plant that sat on a coffee table in the dressing room, wondering to herself if that ugly damn plant would survive this assignment.
She had hardly closed the door when it opened again and Marsha Meyers came in carrying the wine glass on a round, dark brown plastic tray. Gerry thought Mars looked more vacuous than usual. The girl placed the glass on the dressing table and started to leave, then turned, with her hand on the doorknob.
"Oh, incidentally," she reported. "We got word that Chuck Wood won't be in tonight, so I guess you'll have to introduce yourself."
Before Gerry could process this information and respond, Meyers had swept out of the room and closed the door.
Chapter 25
When Frank walked into the task force room, he was greeted with friendly faces for the first time in months.
"Hey, Loo," Olivia Stanton cooed. "Got anything new for us mere mortals?"
Frank grinned. "It's going to take me time to fit into this new situation. Let's get to work and get this clown case wrapped up."
"You still like Rankin for this?" George Foster asked.
Frank nodded. "Strangest thing. I had barely walked into the lieutenant's office when Rankin called. He knew Barker had resigned and I had been assigned her job, and that the first thing I would do was request an arrest warrant for him. He agreed to surrender to me and me only, at 6:30 this evening."
No one said anything, as stunned as Frank was by this turn of events. George Foster looked at his watch. "That gives us about two hours to line up our evidence for his interrogation."
"Everything
appears to revolve around Barker's resignation. Let's do a data search on Sum Bitch and see what turns up."
"Okay, Frank." Foster nodded. "I'll put Olivia on that. She's the best computer nerd in the department."
"Hey," Olivia shouted. "I heard that. I may be a nerd, but I'll enjoy digging into to Sumbitch's file. I've always wanted to get inside her head."
Frank smiled. Everyone was going to enjoy looking at the bones in Barker's closet.
"I can help Olivia with that," Chad offered. Frank and Foster both nodded.
"By the way, Frank," Foster reported, "we still haven't heard back from Magruder in Galveston."
"Give him a call back. It might not show us anything, but before I question Rankin, it would be good to find a connection, if there is one."
Gerry stared at the door where Marsha Meyers had disappeared and tried to keep her pulse rate normal. No way I'm introducing myself. It's wrong. It's the principle of the thing. She yanked the door open and stalked to Rankin's office. She knocked and got nix response. She tried the knob and was surprised to find it unlocked. Her fervor for confronting Marsha and Gretchen sank out of sight. Here was a chance to pry into a suspect's private office. She looked behind her to ensure that no one was watching before easing the door open and stepping inside. She eased the door closed behind her and placed her ear near the panel, listening for any sound that would tell her someone was coming from the bar area. Nothing. She turned the deadbolt and glanced around the room.
A quick and thorough search convinced her there was nothing to be found out of the ordinary, except, and unless, the family picture of a youthful Rankin with a beaming young woman and two little girls she found in the back of the bottom drawer in the desk could be considered unusual. Unusual? Yes. Criminal, or new information? No.
She started to replace the picture in the drawer, and then stopped. She had no idea who the woman was, but the two girls looked familiar, particularly the older one! A gangly blonde that she guessed to be about twelve with green eyes under narrow, nearly horizontal brows, long face with a slender nose. Judging from Rankin's apparent age difference, she set the picture at being somewhere around twenty years old. The younger girl was probably in the terrible two's. Also blonde and displaying a defiant, "This is the last place I want to be" look. Try as she might, she couldn't put a modern-day adult with either youngster, but she couldn't shake the thought that she knew them both. She considered taking the picture with her, but decided that would be too risky and might undermine her undercover status. She took a last look and returned the picture where she had found it.
She went to the switch on the wall and turned on the monitors. Very effective for keeping tabs of what went on outside, but neither damning nor useful to her. The only thing she found that she hadn't known about before was a door located behind the desk that led outside. She hadn't noticed it earlier because it was constructed to look like a panel in the wall and not a door. It provided a convenient way for the boss to come and go without being noticed by the customers or the work staff. There must be a button or lever somewhere to open the door, but she had no time to search for such a release now. She'd been in here too long. She checked the monitor to account for everyone before turning it off and slipping out to the bar area. She headed straight for Gretchen Sullivan, setting a stern expression and working up her most indignant mood.
"Hey, lady. Marsha tells me I got to introduce myself tonight. What's this all about?"
"Settle down, Bea. Everything's under control. Chuck Wood called in sick, so we had to round up another emcee, that's all. Go on and get ready. Everything's gonna be okay."
"Okay," Gerry responded, the wind completely whipped from her sail. Why would Marsha say I had to introduce myself? Just pulling my chain, probably. She turned and sauntered back to the dressing room feeling The Clinch's eyes follow her every step.
Frank left HPD and drove Memorial Drive to Woodway and turned south on the West Loop of 610 toward the Galleria and his favorite cafe. He parked the cruiser in back, out of sight from the street and entered, looking for Thelma. She waved from behind the counter and grabbed the coffee pot and a menu. Frank took a seat in a booth and waited, his elbows on the edge of the table and his hands clutched in front.
"Hi, Frank," Thelma smiled. "How's the case going?"
"Hi, beautiful, what's on the special tonight?"
If Thelma noticed he hadn't answered her question, she paid no mind as she poured coffee from a black, plastic carafe and recited the daily special that Frank could have read on a chalkboard behind the counter. "Brisket with our own secret sauce, choice of potatoes as long as it's French fries, a vegetable medley, meaning squash and broccoli, and Texas toast."
"Cherry cobbler for dessert?"
"What else?"
"Bring it on, but don't hurry. Let me enjoy my coffee for a minute or two."
"You got it, big guy."
Frank watched her walk away. He'd never considered Thelma anything other than a friendly waitress, but since his break up with Pauley, he was looking at all women differently. That thought brought Sheridan Barker to the fore. He grinned internally, rolling out his idea about why she had resigned to look at it from every possible perspective. Whatever her reasons, he would know the truth soon. He sipped the coffee and stared at a neon sign advertising "Homemade Pies To Go." Has it only been a few days since I sat here after the first clown murder, telling Thelma that Paulette and I were 'sailin'?" Time passes fast when you're having fun.
Detective Lieutenant, Acting Lieutenant, actually, but the job is mine for the taking. Holloman indicated I could write my own job description, after a fashion. That has its advantages. I can choose which cases I want to get involved in, and which ones I assign and monitor from the office. The difference in salary is significant, a huge increase that affects me now, as well as later when I complete this duty and wrap a shawl around my shoulders at some home for over-used city officials. The position appeals to me. Besides, it wouldn't be politic to turn the job down again. Holloman indicated that also, not in words, but the threat was there. If I defer this time, I'll be nothing more than another streetwalker looking forward to retirement.
He finished the coffee in the mug and poured another from the carafe. He glanced toward the counter, and Thelma nodded and yelled his order through the window to the kitchen.
So? If I want to be the lieutenant, why ain't I happy?
He thought about calling Pauley and telling her the news, but decided against it. He could hear her saying "That's nice, so what else is new?" His salary had never been a bone of contention between them, and now Paulette was making enough to support them both and then some. He had no one to share the promotion with.
Thelma arrived with his food, winked and offered. "You need anything, just holler."
He took his notebook from his pocket and laid it beside the plate, reviewing the case and thinking about his encounter with Rankin as he ate. He barely tasted the food. It only served the "inner man" and helped kill time until he went to pick up Rankin. He finished the meal, and Thelma appeared instantly with the cobbler. He gorged it down, wiped his mouth on a paper napkin and glanced at his watch. Time to go.
Gerry stood behind the curtain, stage left, as she watched the young comedian finishing his routine.
She would be on next, as soon as the emcee introduced her. She still didn't know what she was going to talk about. She hadn't had time to prepare a monologue because her mind kept reverting to the photograph she found in Rankin's office, trying to place where she had seen the faces of the young girls. Tonight's emcee was a woman calling herself lona Carr. Maybe that weird name would be good for a line or two in her routine.
Suddenly it hit her. She knew who that twelve-year old girl was. Those green eyes. The way the eyebrows ran straight across the forehead. Her mouth. How many times had she seen that mouth poised to read the riot act? Rankin's oldest daughter was none other than Sheridan Barker. Lieutenant Barker. No wonder Rankin had so mu
ch information about Frank's career and had a pipeline into the clown case investigation. She had to tell Frank. Tell Roger. Tell someone, but it was too late. She heard the emcee shout, "...and here she is, ladies and gentlemen. Let's give her a big hand! Miss Bea Black."
Lord, Lord, how am I going to keep my mind on comedy now?
Gerry ran to the center of the stage and took the mike that the emcee held out for her.
Here goes nothing.
"Hey, folks, you havin' a good time? Man, I sure am. I ain't had so much fun since the last time I bathed my cats. Yeah, you know, cats. My boyfriend, Tyrone, calls them the other white meat. That's one tough job though, bathin' cats.... Do you know how long them little suckers can hold their breath?"
She heard a few groans.
"Anyway, let me tell you about Tyrone. He just lost his job...Yeah... He was working at that club down on Richmond that has all those male strippers. Uh-huh, that's the one. He was doing pretty good. He'd get up on that stage and dance around in that little g-string thingie, and the women would stick money in it. He said he didn't mind that part too much, even though the coins were a little cold sometimes, but when the club started letting the customers charge, he quit. He said there weren't no way he was going to turn around and bend over so them women could swipe their cards. He told me though, it was the only job he ever had where his diggin' at himself turned out to be an asset."
She couldn't keep her mind focused on what she was saying. The audience became a blur. She heard them laughing, but whether it was reaction to her jokes or her bumbling, became questionable.
Sheridan Barker and Reuben Rankin. My God.
Frank drove slowly, checking the back-up he had put in place. Two uniformed officers in a patrol car sat waiting at the corner of Memorial and Cohn and fell in behind him, following close enough to prevent any car from wedging between the two police cars. One block from Rankin's house, Olivia and Chad sat in an unmarked car. They waved as Frank drove past. If Rankin had planned a trap, Frank would have sufficient back-up.
