by James Green
Instead, he felt rage burning inside his gut. The moment he had gotten into his car, he had dialed Bobby. It had gone straight to voice mail, so he left a terse message.
“Bobby. Call me. It is extremely important.”
At first, he couldn’t remember the last time he had been this angry. But then it had dawned on him, when he found out the truth about Julie. Betrayed by his wife. Now apparently betrayed by his best friend and cousin.
His thoughts were broken up by his cell ringing.
“Hey numbnuts,” Bobby began, “what’s up?”
Burke wasn’t in the mood.
“We need to meet. Now.” He had hissed the word now into the phone. No way Bobby wouldn’t figure out he was pissed off.
“Ok,” Bobby replied, taken aback. “Why don’t you swing by the house? I just got here. Kids would enjoy seeing you.”
“Huh-uh,” Burke said. “Charlie’s. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Then he hung up and tossed the phone in the passenger seat.
Bobby was already in back, drinking a beer and playing a video golf game. He wasn’t wearing his suit coat, and he had loosened his tie. He hadn’t noticed Tom walk up behind him.
“I see your virtual swing is just as shitty as the real one,” Burke observed.
“Only constructive criticism, or else you’ll hurt my psyche,” Bobby replied while taking a swig of his beer. “I’m ready for another one, you mind?”
“In a minute,” Tom stared right into his cousin’s eyes. “NestEgg. Ring a bell, Mr. Attorney?”
Sullivan’s shoulders slumped. He stared at his shoes and sighed.
“What the fuck, Bobby?” Tom shouted, loud enough to be heard by others, but at this point he could care less who heard what.
“Buddy,” Bobby said meekly, “I wanted to tell you, I really did. But…”
“But what, Bobby?” Tom was so mad, that he had to catch himself and think before he spoke.
“I thought we were close, I thought we were brothers. If I can’t depend on you, who the hell can I depend on?”
“Man, I wanted to tell you. Honest. But I could have lost my license. It’s attorney client privilege.”
Burke felt his cheeks burn with heat. He wanted to punch his cousin straight across the face and keep punching him until he was exhausted. He turned away a moment, and then spun on his heels and pressed his fingers into Bobby’s chest.
“You didn’t think I’d figure it out? Was that it? Or are you gaining from this little scheme too?”
“I swear to God, I had nothing to do with the decision.” Bobby’s gaze met his cousin. “The managing partner made the call. We were told that in order to get the deal done, we needed to carve out a small portion of the property to another developer.”
“Who just happened to be my murder victim,” Burke stated --his voice full of contempt.
“It was only on this last deal, over the winter. Vithous had been involved in consulting on development projects before, but from the outside. Now, that he was the Mayor’s Chief of Staff, he held the cards,” Bobby said while finishing up the last of his beer. “I didn’t know anything about it until I saw the warranty deed in the development plan and asked why we were doing this.”
“And?” Burke asked.
“I was just told that the property owner had decided to sell a small amount of land to Vithous at a great price to get the project expedited.”
“That’s such bullshit, and you know it!”
Bobby nodded and sighed.
“That’s why after the managing partner left my office, I looked up the actual documents and saw that it was more than the small slice I had been led to believe. And that a small sum meant one dollar. That’s why I told you Vithous was a piece of shit. I couldn’t tell you the particulars, but I could tell you that he was.”
“You could have quit,” Burke offered, “showed some integrity.”
That had stung his cousin. Now it was Bobby who raised his voice.
“And go where, exactly, Tom?” Bobby exclaimed. “If you hadn’t noticed, development isn’t exactly a hot market in this economy. I’ve got a mortgage, a car payment and two kids’ tuition bill to pay.”
“It smells like shit, and you know it,” Tom replied.
“It does,” Bobby acknowledged, “but it’s not like you can take the high moral road. You’re not the only member of the family who has a dad for a cop. I know what kind of shit goes down at KCPD. So do you. So why don’t you quit your job, Saint Thomas?”
Burke was silent. Thinking. Thinking that Bobby had a point. He was still angry; and didn’t see that anger going away anytime soon. But, Bobby was right about one thing. Everyone who works for a large organization has to hold their nose from time to time and leave their integrity at the door in order to keep their job. Tom had done it. He hadn’t liked it, but he had done it.
“I need a beer. So do you,” he said.
Burke was already walking towards the bar and ordering two draws. He pulled up a stool and watched the virtual game for a while. It wasn’t going well.
“Out of bounds!?” Bobby screamed at the machine, “Seriously???”
Tom snorted and took a big gulp of beer.
“I guess you do need to keep your day job,” Tom said, “You don’t have a chance in hell making it as a golfer, real or otherwise.”
“No kidding,” Bobby replied while finishing off his first beer and starting on his second.
“I’m really sorry, man.” Bobby held out his hand. Burke took it and then they hugged.
“I’m still pissed, you know,” Tom said. “I’m going to be pissed for a while.”
“I can’t say that I blame you. Now that you know, are there any particulars I can help you with?”
“Well, it makes a lot more sense about Vithous and all his wealth,” Burke said while taking a large swig of beer. He savored its bitter taste. It matched his mood.
“How wealthy?”
“Crestwood house, Mexico vacation house, and car all paid for,” Tom replied, “and around $50k in savings and checking wealthy.”
Bobby stopped playing video golf for a moment. He looked to be collecting his thoughts, considering how exactly to tell his cousin things he wouldn’t like hearing.
“What?” Tom asked.
“He must have been doing this kind of thing long before he joined the mayor’s office. The amount he was getting from our project would be nowhere near enough to cover those types of purchases.”
Sullivan sat on the bar stool next to Tom.
“So you are guessing people were bribing him with cash on top of property to get their projects approved?” Burke said in disgust.
“Maybe,” Bobby countered. “He had worked as a consultant for years on economic development projects. With all the people he helped get elected, I am thinking he must have been working those connections to get the amount of money you are talking about.”
“Vithous would look for a cut for each vote he could help influence?” Burke guessed.
Bobby nodded.
“If I remember correctly, he was directly involved in getting eight of the thirteen people on the Council elected.”
“That’s messed up,” Burke responded. “Doesn’t the city have some sort of ethics policy?”
“Yes, but you know he wasn’t technically a city employee, he was a contractor there, too.” Bobby took another sip of beer. “That got him around the city’s official ethics handbook.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “Please!”
“I know, it’s ridiculous, but Tom, it’s how a lot of work gets done in this town.”
Burke sighed and drank the rest of his beer. It rolled effortlessly down his throat.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this last time.”
“What was I going to say,” Bobby responded, “there’s a rumor that John Vithous was enriching himself by utilizing his position in the Mayor’s office, but the only proof I have is tied up in attorney-cli
ent privilege?”
“That would have been helpful.”
“Honestly, I really thought about telling you,” Bobby put another quarter in the golf game and teed off. “I just didn’t think I could get away with it. I’m sure they already think I talk to you too much.”
Burke sat there. He watched Bobby hit a seven iron 145 yards within five feet of the pin.
“Nice shot,” he offered, wanting to soften the conversation some. He was still mad. But he loved his cousin.
Bobby made his putt for a birdie.
“Hey man, don’t worry about it. I read the papers; I know you’re under a lot of pressure.”
“The funeral was today,” Tom replied.
“Did you go?”
“Nope, that’s the job of the Chief. He gets dressed up and looks dignified and classy. Humps like us are not to be seen at those types of functions.”
“Best guess, who killed him?” Bobby asked.
The bar was getting crowded now. A group of over 20 people had come in since he last looked up. They had pulled a bunch of chairs and tables together and bought at least 10 pitchers of beer. Clearly they all worked together and were having a group happy hour. Tom wished he could be with them, laughing and leaving work at the office without a care in the world. He put his beer down on the table and stretched his shoulders and arms.
“Somebody who he really managed to piss off recently and also had paid him a lot of money,” Tom responded. “Usually murders in my line of work happen because of drug money, not economic development money.”
“You should look at the city docket and go through any big development deal that was passed in the last three months. Anything over a million dollars would be a good start,” Bobby said as he was hitting his driver into a large sand trap.
“I wouldn’t even know what I was looking for.”
“I would,” Bobby said. “Let me pull all of those and get back to you with a list of development attorneys to talk to. And, because I like you, I’ll even do it pro bono.”
“Thanks. Come on,” Burke said trying to change the subject, “let me show you how a real golfer does it.” Burke pulled out a $20 bill. “Why don’t you buy us another round and get some quarters?”
Bobby took the money and started heading to the bar but stopped.
“Fine,” he replied, “but you know I’m going to kick your ass on this.”
Burke smiled, happy that –for the moment -- they were back to just being family, not homicide detective and development attorney.
Wednesday March 15 2:35 p.m.
“You can run Tommy Burke, but you can’t hide.”
He hadn’t bothered to look at the caller ID before answering his office phone.
“Hi, Mom”
“Tommy, a lesser mother might think her son is avoiding her, but not me, I am sure you have a terrific reason why you haven’t called your mother in over in a week.”
The guilt. The Catholic guilt. His mother always reverted to it because it worked. He went from a year old grown adult male, full of confidence, to a sniveling eight year old boy in less than two seconds.
“Mom, you know I love you, it’s just that I’ve been consumed by this case,” he offered, knowing this would not sate his mother.
“Tommy, I know you are a big homicide detective who is incredibly dedicated to his job, but I find it hard to believe you didn’t have five minutes of free time to call your mother just to let her know you were still breathing. You know I worry about you.”
“I’m fine mom.”
“So you say,” she replied, “but how would I know that?”
He had often wondered how much of the guilt trip was for him, and much of it was the leftover residue of her anger for his often absent father. He remembered the fights. He would be upstairs, often fast asleep when his father would come home. Laying in the darkness, he could tell that the tense words were being spoken almost immediately. The argument would rise in anger and intensity until usually his father would yell something like “I’m fucking out of here!” and then the front door would slam and he would be gone for hours. Sometimes Tom or his sister Megan would go downstairs to comfort his mother. Many nights, Tom would just pretend to be asleep and he would hear his mother’s muted sobs through the thin walls.
“You’re coming Friday, aren’t you Tommy? Promise me you’ll be there.”
“I’ll be there on Friday,” Tom said reassuringly. Thurber was looking at him from the adjoining cubicle. A shit-eating grin on his face. Jack was enjoying every moment of the conversation.
“Good, did you invite Julie to come?” Mary Burke asked. She was completely serious.
His mother’s naïveté often left him awestruck. Once, when he was in vice on a stakeout, his mother had driven past him and waved. Tom ignored her, trying to avoid having attention drawn to himself and his car. His mother actually backed up her car, right in the middle of the street and proceeded to honk the horn and wave frantically at him. He had to call her on her cell phone.
“Tommy, why are you on ignoring your mother?” she asked when she answered.
“Mom, I am on a stakeout, I can’t be waving at you, you are blowing my cover.”
“Oh,” she said sheepishly, “sorry.”
“Mom, you need to keep driving.”
“What?”
“You’re still parked in the middle of the street; you need to drive away now.”
“Gotcha,” she said while giving him a big thumbs up through her windshield. It took her a full ten seconds before she was actually moving.
He knew that his mother liked Julie, but true to her form, she mostly was trying to pretend the divorce had not happened. Since they had split up, she always asked him if Julie was coming to birthdays, Thanksgiving, even Christmas. Reminding his mother that Julie and he were divorced usually was met with protest. “Yes, I know you and Julie are divorced, but she’s such a lovely girl and the family all love her, can’t you two just be friends now and move on?”
How he hated the meddling. He wanted to tell her no, he was not calling Julie. Not now. Not ever. He wanted to tell her about the lies. About how Julie would tell him she was working late, or going to happy hour with friends, but Tom suspected it wasn’t true. He really wanted to tell her about the night when his suspicions finally became too much, and he tailed Julie from her work. She had told him that she was going out with some of her nurse colleagues to celebrate someone’s birthday. But almost immediately, she headed for the interstate. He followed her as she drove across town to a motel close to the stadiums. As he watched her get out of her car and check in, he punished himself by waiting to see who else was coming. A few minutes later, a man he had met only once, a doctor that worked with Julie, pulled up in his nice new Mercedes. Burke watched him as he locked the car, walked up the stairs and knocked on the door. Burke felt the wave of nausea overcome him and he opened his car door and deposited the contents of his stomach all over the motel parking lot.
He had wanted to tell her all of it. But he didn’t.
“She works Fridays, mom, she won’t be able to come.”
For once, Mary Burke let it drop.
“Ok, just as long as you are there. It’s supposed to be 75 and sunny on Friday. I bet the turnout will be tremendous.”
“I am sure it will be,” Burke responded, “Mom, I would love to talk more but I got to go.”
Thurber was pretending he had a gun in his hand, and was now putting the gun in his mouth.
“Oh yes, I am sure my son is very busy. What are you working on exactly?”
Of course she didn’t know why would she?
“The murder at City Hall. In Mayor Hughes’ office.”
“Tommy! How exciting! Let me hear all the juicy details!” She practically leapt through the phone.
“All confidential, Mom, all confidential,” Burke replied. He didn’t have time for this. His mother watched way too much CSI. “I gotta go”
Burke could hear his mom st
ill talking while he put the receiver down on the cradle.
“Inspector mom on the case?” Thurber teased.
“As always. We should hire her, get this case solved before quitting time,” Burke replied, snapping his fingers.
Thurber laughed hard.
“And you wonder why I moved away from my family.”
“Believe me,” Tom responded, “I’ve never wondered that.”
They spent their day painstakingly going through everything they had. The only real intriguing new item was what Thurber had uncovered. He had started the day interviewing the staff again while the Mayor was at Vithous’ funeral. With her gone for the day, the staff let him hold the interviews in her office. While waiting for the next staffer to come in, Thurber started looking around. The office was meticulous. Except there were two books laying on their side on the third shelf of mahogany bookcase on the north wall of the office. He noticed on the other side there was a small, brass book end that looked like a globe. Thurber picked it up. It was heavy in his hand. It certainly felt thick enough to do some real damage. And the other one was missing.
“And you just took it?” Burke was impressed. A very ballsy move.
It was sitting on Thurber’s desk in an evidence bag. Thurber smiled. “Admit it, I am the man.”
“You are the man,” Burke repeated, not convincingly. “We need to take this down to the M.E. – see if the curve of the globe matches the indentations in Thurber’s skull.”
The medical examiner’s office smelled of disinfectant, blood and death. He tried to offset the mood with some bucolic watercolors on his wall and a jungle of plants on his desk and bookcase, but to no avail. He was an angel of death, whether or not he wanted to admit it. No amount of greenery could change that fact.
Burke was looking at the top of Dr. Dryer’s head. Dryer was looking straight down at his desk, with a magnifying glass in his hand, comparing the globe bookend to the x-rays of Thurber’s crumpled skull. He was taking his time. Tom could see that his roots were gray; it was time for another dye job.
