In another time and another place, who knows, but in this time and this place they were friends. That was all.
The only other person Charlie had connected with during this time was online AJ. Somehow, over miles of distance and the complete absence of sight, touch and sound, they too had managed to connect.
Clint and Charlie took seats at the bar and Clint slapped the counter saying, “Five Red- Headed Sluts, Amy!” Amy and Charlie both raised an eyebrow at him.
“What? I’m drinking beer. I just want five red-headed sluts. Bwahahaha.” Charlie and Amy rolled their eyes at each other.
Sitting at the bar at Amy’s Café with Clint, Charlie was distracted. Something was nagging at her. She shook her head in disbelief at how long she had been corresponding with AJ and she couldn’t help comparing her feelings for AJ and her feelings for Clint. Clint, now relaxed and playfully trashed, recounted a story of his latest sexual escapade, “Now this chick was off the charts hot! So, then she says to me . . .” Clint said, getting animated, “‘I like the taste of blood, does that freak you out?’ Does that freak me out I said? Oh, hell no, I’m a cop! I’m around blood all the time.”
“Wait. What did you just say?” Charlie asked in shock.
“I was losing you. I wanted to make sure you were paying attention.” He laughed uncontrollably banging his fist on the bar.
“You asshole.”
“Where’d you go?” Clint laughed trying to catch his breath.
“I’m sorry. I was thinking about this guy I have been talking to online for the last year or so and how much he reminds me of you.”
Then Charlie froze.
“What?” Clint said reading the panic on her face.
“Charlie? What?” he asked again.
“I . . . umm . . . I . . .” she stammered. Clint turned his bar stool to face her and grabbed her by the shoulders. Her face had gone ashen.
“Sarge, tell me.”
She looked around the crowded bar, grabbed Clint’s hand and headed toward an isolated table in the corner.
“Hey! My beer!”
Charlie released his hand so he could get his beer and motioned for him to follow her by pretending to cast a fishing pole and reeling it in. Clint giggled. He sat down at the table. The look in her eyes quickly cured his giggles. Clint was all ears and goose bumps.
“Clint,” she whispered. “I know what changed from 2011 to 2012.” He looked at her in anticipation but said nothing, letting her open the flood gate on her own—a technique he had learned from her.
“Okay, maybe it’s nothing,” she said cryptically, now a little drunk herself, “but maybe it’s not nothing. Okay, in late 2011 this guy befriended me on the internet. He’s a soldier stationed in the Middle East and, well, you know, we just started talking.”
“Talking?” Clint asked accusingly. “About what, Sarge? Not your cases?” Charlie pursed her lips looking guilty. “Charlie? What the fuck?” Clint’s tone was incredulous. “You talked to him about your cases?” he asked again, needing clarification.
“Not at first,” she said, trying to defend herself, “but I dealt with some pretty heavy-duty shit with those cases Clint. You were going through your on again off again she-fucks-me-she-fucks-me-not cycle with Sandy, Mandy whatever the hell her name was and I needed someone to talk to!”
Clint looked hurt. “You didn’t think you could talk to me?”
“Hello! McFly!” She made a fist and knocked on his head. “You’re missing the big picture here. The point is I did talk to him about these very cases. The 2012 cases. I was devastated by what had been done to those kids and I was fucking furious with how little time they got and fucking Silver got off completely! I told him once that I wish they could be put to death. I actually said that. Well, typed it. This online guy, he kind of, you know, has a thing for me. What if there is a connection?” she asked, eyes widening as her revelation continued to settle in.
“Oh, come on, Charlie, you think that this Ranger Ramjet came back from the Middle East to kill these fuckers because you were upset that they didn’t get enough time in jail?” He scoffed, unconvinced.
“Clint, you’re assuming that this guy actually is in the Middle East.”
“Holy shit,” Clint said, the light bulb over his head blinding Charlie.
“Fuckin-A right, holy shit.”
Was now the right time for her to tell Clint that she and Jake were not together the entire night for the Daniel Silver stakeout and homicide? That Jake was gone for over an hour while she sat on the house alone. No. Not yet, she decided. She had to talk to Jake first and find out why he had lied to Clint.
Chapter 29
Pull the Trigger
Charlie and Clint staggered across the road to Charlie’s apartment. She was nervous that Jake might be there waiting for her but she couldn’t let Clint get behind the wheel and she was too drunk to drive him home. Clint had spent a lot of nights on her couch and Jake would have to deal with that.
Charlie was both relieved and disappointed when she found her apartment empty. “My bed!” Clint giggled as he stumbled to the couch. “I’ve missed you!”
“You’re drunk, McCallister,” Charlie slurred her words.
“Drunk and stupid!” Moses squawked, making Charlie giggle.
Clint was asleep before Charlie returned from her bedroom with a blanket to cover him. She watched him sleep and realized how lucky she was that Clint had her back and then pushed the thought from her head that she didn’t deserve his protection or devotion. She peeled off her clothes and left them on the floor and crawled into her bed in her camisole and panties, checking her phone one more time to see if Jake had texted her. He hadn’t. She sighed and fell into a drunken and fitful sleep.
Clint was awakened by the front door handle being jiggled from the hallway. At first, he wasn’t sure where he was, but as he took in the room he realized he was on the couch in his sergeant’s apartment. He reached for his gun as he heard a thump against the deadbolt and the door creaked open. Clint crouched low and aimed for the shadow and found himself staring down the business end of a government issued Glock 30.
“Clint?” Jake asked, without lowering his gun.
A fleeting thought crossed both their minds simultaneously. If I want to get rid of this guy, there will never be a better chance.
“Jesus Christ Adams!” Clint yelled. “Just come on in why don’t you!” Clint re-holstered and walked toward the door, inspecting the unbroken lock. “Charlie gave you a key?”
“What are you doing here, Clint?”
“Sleeping it off. What are you doing here?”
The two men stood toe-to-toe, neither willing to yield. “Sorry Adams, but the guest room is taken,” Clint said motioning to the couch, “So how about you just head back to your fancy pants hotel tonight. How ’bout that? Because I got your spot tonight.”
Jake allowed a disturbing grin to cross his lips. “That’s not my spot, Detective.”
With that Jake pushed past him, walked into Charlie’s bedroom and closed the door. Clint stormed toward the door and put his hand on the door knob ready to burst in and level Preppy McFed the second Charlie voiced her objection, but that’s not what he heard; what he heard ripped his heart to shreds. He stormed out of the apartment and back to Amy’s and ordered a double scotch.
Charlotte awoke to a ringing phone that Jake promptly picked up and attempted to throw across the room. “Adams!” she sternly whispered, like the person on the phone could hear her. She grabbed the phone from him. “Does your phone ever fucking stop ringing?” he groaned, not entirely awake.
“Cavanaugh,” she answered, trying to sound awake. “Which one?” She asked looking wide-eyed at Jake. “Okay. On my way.”
“Fuck. It’s Deborg. Damn it Adams, how did you get in here? Clint let you in?”
“Yo
u weren’t very worried about it last night?” he grinned sleepily.
The phone rang again. “Cavanaugh,” she said while she made apology eyes at Jake. “What? Where is he?” she asked, her face again turning grave. “Okay, I’m on my way there right now.”
“What?”
“Number five is down.”
“And?”
“And Clint was found passed out in his unmarked unit a half a block from the crime scene.”
Charlie rushed to the living room as if she thought she would find Clint still lying there on the couch. She looked at Jake asking the question with her eyes.
“He was still here when I came in last night at around midnight.” More, her eyes demanded.
“What?”
“Did something happen between you and Clint last night, Jake?”
“Not as much as what happened between you two. At least when you were finished with me I got to stay in the bed. Lapdog Clint got kicked to the couch.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about Adams but you’re pissing me off. He only passes out when he drinks the hard stuff and he only drinks the hard stuff when he is in a really bad place, so what the hell happened last night because he was fine when I left him on the couch last night,” she said, accusingly as she got dressed.
“Where’s the hom-i-icide?” he asked, ignoring her accusation.
“It’s Deborg, at his apartment on Clayton. I’ve got this,” she said as she stormed out of the bedroom.
Charlie first went to the location she was given for Clint but one of his patrol officer buddies had already gotten him out of there as quickly and quietly as possible. Less seen, less said. She continued to the crime scene where she sought out Captain Grisolm who was shaking his head at her as she approached. “This is not your fault, Cap,” she said, reading his mind.
“The hell it’s not,” he said running his hand through what hair he had left. “I should have kept up the surveillance.”
“For how long? Forever? No agency has that kind of resources,” she attempted to comfort him.
“For one more week,” he said, grimly. “Clint?” he raised an eyebrow.
“A uniform took him home,” she replied.
“Deal with your man, Sergeant,” he ordered.
“Yes, Sir.”
Charlie asked Crammy to take the initial report, promising him a free lunch afterwards, and headed for Clint’s apartment. She let herself in the unlocked door of his apartment and found him drinking coffee at his kitchen counter. He held his hands up in defense. “I know, I know. Fuck!”
“What happened, Clint?”
He remained silent.
“Clint?”
“You! You fucking happened, Charlie!”
“What?”
“Fuck. I don’t know what I’m saying, Sarge,” he apologized. “It’s just that . . . how can you end up with him? You don’t know anything about him. He’s a fucking fed and a pretty boy and something is off. I know you feel it too!”
She recovered her footing, took a step toward him, and put her hand on his face, “And what’s wrong with falling for a pretty boy?” she smiled. He started to relax and smiled a small smile just before he felt her hand connect with his face. WHACK!
“Jesus Christ, Sarge!”
“Don’t you fucking Jesus Christ me! Are you trying to lose your job? Because you are this fucking close. We had a deal! You feel the need to hit anything but a beer bottle, you fucking call me.”
“You were busy hitting something else,” he said caustically.
She glared at him, then relaxed in agreement, sighed, and sat down on the stool next to him, angry at herself for losing control. “Clint,” she said. “I know this is tough on you. We’ve been in the same boat for a while and we both liked the company but spending my life alone isn’t what I want and I don’t think you want it for me either. I’m in love with him.”
He rubbed his eyes. “I know.”
“You’re suspended, McCallister.”
“I know. Who took the lead on Deborg?”
“How did you know it was Deborg?” she asked, her hackles rising up on the back of her neck.
“Uniform told me,” he lied.
“Crammy took the lead.”
“Well, that’s the fucking cherry on the cake of my day,” he said sarcastically. “I’m sorry, Sarge. I know I let you down. I’m really sorry.”
“I know.”
Back at the station Charlie read over Cramlin’s report.
On the above date and time I was called out to the above location in reference to a homicide. Officer Mansfield advised that patrol units received an anonymous call from a male caller at a payphone indicating that the resident in apartment 3A had been murdered. Officer Mansfield said the door to the apartment was cracked open but undamaged and reported that she and Officer Hoback performed a cursory safety search of the apartment when they found the victim, Jason Deborg, deceased in his bed. The victim’s head had been wrapped in plastic wrap and his stomach had been sliced open and his organs removed. There were no signs of a struggle at the scene.
Sitting at her desk, Charlie rolled it over again and again in her mind. No forced entry. No forced entry. The suspect could be a burglar, or a locksmith, or perhaps the killer befriended the victims and earned their trust before taking their lives. She put her hand on the phone and then took her hand off, shaking her head. Then she picked up the phone again and quickly dialed.
“Clint?”
“You at the scene, Sarge?” he asked without saying hello.
“I’m at the office. Clint, he gutted this guy like he gutted the dog except he removed the organs. He’s getting worse Clint. It’s building.”
“Building to what, Sarge?”
“Clint. What were you doing a half a block from the crime scene?”
Silence.
“Clint, I need to know what’s happening.”
“I thought it was him.”
“You thought who, was him?”
“Jake.”
“What? What about Jake?”
“Look, Sarge, I know I slipped last night. I can’t drink the hard stuff. I know that, but I only had one—honest. You can ask Amy. I was going to sleep it off in my car but I didn’t want to stay in Amy’s lot so I was going to just drive across the street to your parking lot and that’s when I saw him coming down the stairs.”
“Saw who? Jake?”
“Yea. He got into his SUV and headed west. It was weird because it was two fucking a.m., so I followed him. I know I shouldn’t have driven, but I had to know. He was heading toward the Radisson so I backed off and lost him.”
“Clint. I know that you are not okay with Jake but he was here all night. You saw him when he came in last night and he was here when I woke up this morning,” she defended.
Ignoring her, he went on. “I went to the hotel parking lot and couldn’t find his vehicle. There are two targets left from your 2012 cases so I decided to do a drive by. First I drove to Hanican’s house and sat on it for a while and when I didn’t see anything I drove to Deborg’s apartment complex.”
“Why Clint? I don’t understand what one has to do with the other.” she said, refusing to connect the dots.
“I couldn’t find his vehicle there either, but I did see a man who matched Jake’s build enter Deborg’s building. I followed him.”
“It’s going to sound like I’m hanging up on you, McCallister!” she said angrily, before slamming down the phone. Charlie’s head was swimming. She didn’t know what to process first, the fact that her best friend and subordinate just admitted to being at a crime scene or the fact that he just accused her boyfriend of being a murderer.
She was sure Jake had been there all night. Wasn’t she? She remembered a particularly rough lovemaking session with him but th
at was about it, she was trashed. Ethics. There were professional ethics in play here. If Clint was at the crime scene he would need to be interviewed by Crammy. But what if he told Crammy what he just told her? Before she could shit or wind her watch, which were about her only options, Mary Jane Klasky peered around the corner. Charlie tried to force a smile but failed miserably.
“Geez Louise, Officer Cavanaugh. What’s wrong? This case is really fucking with your head huh?”
“Don’t say fuck Mary Jane, it’s not ladylike,” Charlie admonished.
Outside Charlie’s office the captain stood listening, his face grave, as Jake approached. Captain Grisolm held up a hand directing Jake to wait. When Jake started to ask what was happening, the captain held up a shush finger and pointed toward his office. A concerned Jake walked to the captain’s office and became even more concerned when the captain closed the door.
“What’s going on Captain?” Jake asked. “Who is Charlie talking to? Do we have a suspect?”
The captain ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Agent Adams. I’m going to share something with you about someone I think we are both very fond of, but I am going to have to insist on your discretion.” Jake nodded, his face serious and his gut anxious.
“When Charlie was a rookie patrol officer, she worked her first molestation case. The Mary Jane Klasky case.”
Jake listened intently. Charlie had already told him of the Klasky case but Jake said nothing.
“It was a rough case. The kind of case that stays with you forever,” he sighed. “I should have been there for her, but I had just gotten promoted and my wife was pregnant with our third . . .” he trailed off wringing his hands. “I should have been there for her.”
“I don’t understand, Captain,” Jake said quietly, aware the captain was struggling. “Is that who she’s talking to now? Mary Jane?”
The Hooker, the Handyman and What the Parrot Saw Page 22
