Lovely, Dark, and Deep

by Frank Zafiro

  Funny how he put that. The citizens couldn’t afford to give the cops and firefighters a raise. That completely reframes the context of the situation. Pretty smart, politically. It made me think that Tate was a savvy politician, or at least knew how to manipulate people. Hell, that was probably the same thing.

  But that meant he could have been working Monique, too. That maybe all that talk about running away with her to Montreal was just pillow talk, especially since he was gay.

  Clell's right. Follow the money.

  I read through the minutes of old council meetings over the past year, which was dry enough to make my eyeballs roll back in my head. After the first session’s notes, I started skimming through, using a FIND feature to search only for Tate’s name. Even that didn’t speed things up too much.

  The thing was, a lot of council business had to do with money. Most of it, in fact. They dispensed small amounts of dollars here and there and then some of it was serious money. But I didn’t see where Tate’s vote gave away a fortune to anyone. More than that, I didn’t see any real opportunity for corruption, unless more than one council member was in on it. That wasn’t a possibility I liked to believe, but even if it were true, it wasn’t one I was going to chase down. I figured the old adage about fighting city hall was doubly true when things were on the dirty side of the fence.

  Near the end of my second hour, I only had a couple of things that interested me. Tate chaired several committees, as did all council members. One of them was union contract review. The committee consisted of three members and two needed to approve a contract before it went forward. Such a narrow margin for something that important might invite some graft. Maybe one of the unions wants to buy a vote to get a lucrative contract through?

  I frowned. Tate voted against that fire department contract in full council, but he voted in committee to approve it for a full council vote. And he was the swing vote, too, making it a 5-4 downward vote. So where’s the angle there for money to change hands? Maybe if it had gone the other way, but that outcome didn’t make sense.

  Unless maybe Tate was playing hard ball. He could have been telling the fire union that they either pay him off or their contract gets tanked. It was a pretty rich contract and they weren’t likely to get anywhere near that much if it went to binding arbitration. Maybe that was Tate’s play.

  Impossible to tell without further information.

  The other committee that looked promising to me was the one that oversaw all contract bids. This was also a three-member committee that forwarded a recommendation to full council. In what little I read in the minutes of several meetings, these contracts were breezed over when the committee’s recommendation was in favor. In fact, there really wasn’t much discussion when it came to ones that were recommended for disapproval, either. The full council seemed to place a fair dose of trust in Tate and the other two members of this committee.

  I supposed this would be an even easier way to make some cash. If someone wanted a contract badly enough, they’d be willing to grease Tate’s palm. Of course, he’d have to be selective about it. And how many contracts were big enough to make it worth the risk? Most of the ones I saw in the council minutes were for thousands of dollars. While that was a lot to me, it wasn’t big money in the world of city government. Just how much would someone be willing to cough up in bribe money to secure a fourteen thousand dollar city contract? A few hundred, maybe. There was no way someone like Tate would risk everything for money that light.

  I skipped forward to the last few months worth of council minutes, searching through for some kind of project that might mean big money. Another half hour and I found it: The Looking Glass Condominiums.

  I glanced down at the timer in the corner of the screen. Eleven minutes.

  I started scanning the project minutes.

  The city agreed last year to sell some prime riverside property in the valley along the Looking Glass River. Downtown River City sits right on the river before the water rushes into a series of falls into the valley below. The subject property had the advantage of being just west of the downtown core, within easy walking distance, but also removed and secluded because it was down in the valley. It was a perfect mix, especially for single, wealthy people who wanted to live in condos.

  The city was giving a ten-year tax exemption to whichever developer purchased the land and put high-end condominiums and townhouses on the property. The logic was that after the ten years, the properties would be full and the taxes on them would be a windfall for the city. The developer won out, too, because he didn’t have to pay taxes on the property during development and sale. Also, he could use the tax exemption to lure buyers.

  The land purchase price was projected to be between fourteen and twenty million dollars. The request for bids were issued two months ago. All responses had to be submitted by last week. The committee review and recommendation was due in two weeks. The bid process was obviously sealed, and Tate’s committee was to recommend to the full council which one to accept.

  Time Expired flashed in the center of the screen. The browser closed and a message popped up thanking me for using the River City Library.

  I leaned back in my chair. Could this be it? It was big enough. All Tate had to do was take some cash to push one developer over another during committee meetings. As long as the bids were comparable, he could manufacture reasons to go with the one who paid him.

  Goddamn. This was corruption, pure and simple.

  And it was also one hundred percent speculation.

  I stood and left the library. I had to talk to somebody, and this time I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  17

  That evening, I went to the hospital to check on Monique. A different nurse was working in ICU.

  “I’m her brother,” I told the nurse.

  She looked at me, skeptical.

  “My name is Stefan Kopriva,” I said.

  “And you’re related to Ms. Perrin?”

  I prepared to play the race card, then changed gears. “Check the computer,” I said.

  She frowned, but tapped a few keys. Then her eyebrows went up slightly. “Oh,” she said. “It is here. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “What room is she in?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t let you see her.”

  “Why not?”

  “Her condition hasn’t stabilized.”

  I stared at her. “What is going on with her?”

  The nurse was young, maybe twenty-five, but even with petite features, she had a strict professional air about her. “The doctor has determined that surgery is necessary to relieve the pressure on her brain. She’s scheduled for six o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  My stomach twinged. “Is there a prognosis?”

  The young nurse gave me a patient look. “Sir, your sister’s been badly injured. The bleeding and the pressure have slowly increased over the last day. We’ve kept her in a medical coma to relieve the pain and prepare her for tomorrow’s procedure. Dr. Haakin is the best neurosurgeon in town.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  She pressed her lips together. “I couldn’t predict. Every surgery has risks. We will do everything we can.”

  I wanted more from her, but I knew from long ago experience that she was giving me everything she could. “Thank you,” I finally managed. “I’ll…I’ll check back tomorrow.”

  “She’ll be out of surgery by eight, but you won’t be able to see her until she’s out of recovery.”

  “When will that be?”

  She shrugged. “Hard to say. Sometimes a couple of hours, sometimes a full day.”

  I nodded that I understood, thanked her again, and left.

  On the way home, I stopped at the grocery store. In addition to a few groceries, I threw in a six pack of Molson. When I got home and made dinner, I sipped on one of the beers. I made it last through dinner and finally washed down my last bite with the dregs of the bottle.


  I did not open another.

  I knew better.

  18

  The next day, I woke up late and with a sharp headache. I washed some aspirin down with my coffee and toast, then drove down to City Hall.

  I spent an hour and a half sitting in a metered parking spot, watching the employee entrance, and hoping. Sometimes persistence pays off. Sometimes it doesn’t.

  This time it did.

  At about eleven fifteen, Lara Monroe exited the building and walked south toward the River Park Square downtown mall. I plugged another couple of coins into the meter and followed.

  Lara was a power walker, whether naturally or by design. I was still a quarter block behind her when she entered the mall doors and my busted knee was already crying out in protest. I ignored the pain as best I could, at least until I got through the doors. Then I slowed and looked around.

  I spotted her on the escalator, headed to the second floor. There was a food court there. I walked at a leisurely pace toward the escalator, keeping an eye on Lara. I wanted to make sure she got off on the second floor and didn’t make the turn to continue up another floor.

  She didn’t, and disappeared from my view a moment later. I wasn’t too worried. There were a dozen or so eateries in the food court. I was confident I could find her because the area wasn’t too large. And if she was there for lunch, she’d be there for a little while.

  Then it occurred to me that she might get her food to go and return with it to her office. I hustled the rest of the way to the escalator and quickly walked up the moving stairs. When I got to the top, it didn’t take me long to find her standing in line at the Japanese food vendor. I took a seat and watched.

  Even though it was before noon, the line was long. When she took a plastic tray before ordering, I knew she’d be staying here for her meal. I watched as she got her order, wandered around and eventually chose an empty two-seater table. Then I approached and sat down.

  “Hello, Ms. Monroe,” I said.

  She looked up at me. Her expression turned distasteful. “Leave me alone. I already told you I have nothing to say to you.”

  “I don’t want to do any harm,” I said.

  She twirled her fork around the long yakisoba noodles and shook her head. “No good will come from you poking around other people’s business.”

  I watched as she jammed the noodles into her mouth and chewed angrily.

  Carefully now, I thought.

  “A councilman’s work is the people’s business,” I ventured. “But his private business is his own.”

  Her eyes narrowed but did not soften. She didn’t reply, only stabbed a carrot slice with her fork. She crunched the carrot with equal vigor.

  I leaned forward slightly. “I already know his secret, Lara. And pretty soon, for better or worse, so will everyone else in the town.”

  Her cheeks flared red. The coldness in her eyes flashed hot. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to confirm something like that,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “You’re obviously loyal, and that’s an admirable thing. But here’s the thing. The cops already know about him being gay and it will eventually get out. That will be his legacy, not any of the good work he’s done. Not the fiscal responsibility, not the warming centers. Just him being gay.”

  She didn’t reply right away. Instead, she glared at me, the anger palpable on her face and crackling in the air between us.

  “I don’t think that’s right,” I continued. “I don’t think it’s fair.”

  “Fair?” she scoffed. “Fair? What on earth do you know about what’s fair?”

  I shrugged. “Only what I see.”

  “What in the hell do you want?” she growled at me. “Because I am about three seconds from screaming out to security that you just propositioned me right here in the food court.”

  “I want to get to the truth.”

  “Two seconds.”

  “I want to –”

  “One.”

  “I think Tate was murdered.”

  She froze in place. The angry expression on her countenance softened. Her lips, which had been tightened along with her scowl, fell open. She stared at me, two emotions apparent on her face. The first was surprise, and it was the most apparent. But under that was hope.

  She recovered quickly, looking away and taking a deep, shuddering breath. “Why are you doing this?” she asked quietly.

  “Someone asked me to,” I answered, and that was close enough to the truth.

  Lara looked up at me, considering. I stared back, no guile or pretense on my face. After a long minute, she pushed her tray away.

  “Let’s walk,” she said.

  We speed walked at first, getting out of the downtown square and across the street to Riverfront Park. Then Lara abruptly slowed to a stroll. She stared down at her hands as she fidgeted with her nails. Most of them were chewed down to the nub.

  “Look at me,” she said, her voice wavering a little bit. “I’ve never chewed my nails before.” She dropped her hands and looked over at me. “Now I don’t have any left to chew.”

  “Sometimes things like that help a person get through tough times,” I said.

  She laughed but there was no mirth in it. “Better than vodka? Because I’ll be honest with you, I’ve been trying that solution, too.”

  “I know what it’s like to crawl inside of a bottle,” I said quietly.

  Lara looked over at me. “Yeah? And what drove you there?”

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “I made some mistakes. A long time ago. People got hurt.”

  She stared at me, digesting my words. Then she asked, “Why do you think Mr. Tate was murdered?”

  I hesitated. Finally, I shrugged. “The person I’m working for thinks so. It’s my job to find out for sure.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  She frowned, watching me. “Fine, but you believe it, too. I can tell. It was in the way you told me about it. There wasn’t any doubt in your voice.”

  I didn’t argue. “I think there’s a chance. There’s some strange things about this whole situation.”

  “Like what?”

  “You tell me,” I said.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know anything.”

  “Yeah, you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here walking with me.”

  She paused, frowning. Then she repeated, “I don’t know anything.”

  “But you suspect. What is it that you suspect?”

  Lara looked nervously in both directions. No one was paying attention to us. We could have been any couple out for a walk in the park. Lovers or friends, it didn’t matter. We blended in.

  “Lara, what is it?”

  She spied a bench nearby and waved me to it. We sat down and she leaned in conspiratorially. “I know he wasn’t happy,” she said in a low voice.

  I didn’t answer, only waited for her to continue.

  She glanced around again, then added, “I think he might have been up to something. He was acting strange, especially for the last few weeks.”

  “Up to what?”

  “I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe it was…well, him being gay. Maybe he was struggling with that. Like, maybe he found a boyfriend or something and things were getting complicated.”

  I thought of Monique but said nothing.

  “But it seemed like more than that. He was having a lot of meetings with developers. More than it seemed like he needed to have. And they were strange meetings, too.”

  “Strange how?”

  “Just…strange. Like he was a little more secretive about the meetings than normal. He’d close the door for everything, something he never did. And then he went to great effort to act like everything was normal, even though it seemed a little strange. It was just…off.”

  “Off?”

  “Yeah. Off. Like, odd. Not him.”

  “Who was he meeting
with?”

  “A lot of people, but there were three that were in there more than most. I figured they were pressuring him to get the bid for the Looking Glass Condos.”

  I felt a small thrill go through me. I might not have been right, but at least someone else saw a problem there. “Who were the three?”

  She shrugged. “I forget the names. I just remember the faces for the most part.”

  I gave her a disbelieving look. She was a councilman’s secretary. She didn’t forget names. This was her stalling until she decided whether or not to trust me all the way.

  She was looking down at her fingers again. “It’s hard to believe he’s gone.”

  “Were you two close?” I asked.

  She shrugged absently. “He was a good boss. He gave me job when I was having a hard time getting one. He treated me like a person, not a secretary. But close?” She shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

  I was quiet for a few moments. Then I asked, “Why did the meetings with the developers seem fishy to you?”

  “They just did. They had a strange vibe, like I said.”

  “And you think something was going on?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “What could it be? I mean, how did the whole thing work?”

  “It was a different kind of deal,” she explained. “Most government bids, you simply take the lowest bid out of all the qualified bidding companies. But this was the opposite. The committee was going to select the best bid.”

  “The highest?”

  “Probably, but not necessarily. Technically, they were charged with choosing the bid that was the best overall package. But being the high bid put that company in a strong position.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “So if you were the bidding company, you’d want to make sure you had the highest bid—”