Chapter 32
It took under two minutes to get to the “hole-in-the-wall” bar. As he pulled in the nearly empty parking lot, he at once knew why the bar’s name sounded familiar. It was a police bar, one in which he had gone with Oscar on a small handful of occasions to drink away a bad investigation.
Ashe had forgotten all about the bar.
Pulling onto the concrete slab next to the grungy bar, he noticed that only two other cars were sitting there. It was still in the middle of shifts and the bar was nearly empty. In the beginning of the shift hope shinned bright, because the officer had a full day to do their duty, to make the world right, but by the end of their shift the average officer must face the truth, the world doesn’t want to be set right, and will fight tooth-and-claw against anyone trying to do so.
Ash knew those days well. Cops drank. It was a fact. But don’t they have real reasons to do so?
Getting out of the car, he walked up to the bar. The neon lights were off and looked lifeless in the daylight.
In his mind, Ashe compared the inside of the cop bar to the inside of the college bar. While the college bar had been decorated with multiple televisions and had been populated with a group of bodies even in the daytime, the cop bar had only a single television, which was not turned on, and had only a three drinkers, older guys sitting quietly at the bar.
He didn’t recognize any of the men at the bar. There didn’t seem to be any officers in the place, at least none that he knew by face. As he approached the bar, however, one of the gentlemen rose from his stool and came over to greet him.
“Ashe Walters?” the man asked. Ashe realized that he had been mistaken. The man was indeed a police officer. He could see the symptoms in his stance, in the handshake that the man gave, and in the emotions that sat behind the eyes. The forensic psychologist diagnosed the middle-aged cop immediately.
“In the flesh,” Ashe replied. “Officer…”
“Sergeant,” the man corrected. “Rains.”
“How is your day going, Sergeant Rains?” Ashe said. He knew the name but didn’t remember ever meeting the man. Sergeant Rains was in the Narcotics Division of the YPD. He had met other members of that division but never had the pleasure of meeting anyone further up the food chain than the detectives.
Rains shrugged and glanced around him. Enough said. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sam Adams,” Ashe replied.
With that, the two went over to the bar and easily found two unoccupied stools. When he sat down, Ashe noticed that music was softly playing in the background. It was a southern rock song, he could tell by way the guitars whined but he couldn’t hear it enough to determine exactly which song it was.
“Shame about your son,” Rains told Ashe, after he ordered both of their beers. “Come out of nowhere?”
Ashe nodded. “You have no idea,” he told the sergeant.
“Oscar is a good, sturdy detective,” Rains said. “If he had that conference earlier today, he must have felt that it was the right move to make. Sometimes an investigation is like moving pieces in chess, but then it can also be like a chaotic free for all to see who is still standing, the good guys or the bad guys. Which one do you think this is becoming?”
“A cluster fuck,” Ashe cursed. “Scott has been centered out and described as a killer on the loose in Youngstown. Hysteria, as it is sometimes called, can spread like a fire and people begin to see flames in every corner.”
“That is accurate,” Rains replied, taking a drink of his Budweiser. “Drugs? Oscar looking into that angle?”
“Among others,” Ashe said, sipping from his own drink. He didn’t want to say much more than he should, because he had already leaked enough information unintentionally. Rains was part of the YPD, but Ashe didn’t know who to trust.
“Keeping a tight lip?” Rains asked, surprising Ashe. The sergeant had seen right through the psychologist, but Ashe didn’t feel surprised. Rains obviously had many years of experience in interrogations.
Ashe nodded.
“The whole department is here to help you, Ashe,” Rains said. “But I understand the tight lip.”
A thought came over the psychologist. Pulling out his phone, he flipped it open and searched for his SAVED IMAGES folder. He just recalled that had taken a picture of Katherine the night before. The picture was of her at the grill, tending to the steaks. Her face was clear in the picture. After putting the picture on the screen, Ashe showed it to Rains.
“I need to speak to this woman,” he said. “Her name is Katherine.”
“Katherine Wright,” Rains told him. “She comes here a lot.”
“You know where she lives?”
“Nope. But I know where she works,” Rains insisted.
“She’s a reporter…” Ashe began, but was interrupted.
“A reporter for the Youngstown Daily,” Rains told him. “It is a daily news site that publishes stories online.”
“I know of them,” Ashe said. “Do they have a physical office in the city?”
“I believe so,” Rains answered. “But I can’t say where.”
Ashe took two large gulps of his Sam Adams. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He got up to leave but was frozen by a familiar voice.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Detective Geiring called out. “This bar is for cops only. While you are in here drinking away your blues, your son is killing people.”
Ashe blinked and found himself in front of Detective Geiring. “Did we not have a similar conversation…not that long ago?” the psychologist asked. “I clearly remember doing so.” He laughed. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”
He went to move around Detective Geiring, but the detective placed a hand on Ashe’s shoulder. “Not this time.” The detective ordered. “You don’t get to walk around me.”
Ashe smirked.
“I don’t know why you don’t like me,” he said, “but I frankly don’t care anymore. I tried to care in the past. I tried to figure out why you are threatened by me. And all I can say is that you are threatened by me because you are afraid that I am a better investigator than you. I was never trained by the force. I don’t bleed blue. And yet, I am still better than you.”
Detective Geiring snarled.
“You are not,” he said. The big man swung but Ashe was ready for it. The psychologist easily ducked away from it. Using the momentum against the detective, Ashe shoved him and sent him stumbling backward.
Suddenly, Rains arrived. “Alright boys. Have a seat detective,” the older man ordered, pointing to an empty stool. “I will buy you drink.”
“Yes, sir,” Detective Geiring obeyed, as if suddenly aware that Rains was a senior officer.
“Have a good day, Dr. Walters,” Sergeant Rains said.
Ashe nodded and then exited the bar.
Ashes to Ashes Page 33
