by Carsen Taite
Lots of Mexican nationals had pled guilty rather than rot in jail for the months it took to have the drugs tested by the lab. Since everyone assumed no one would plead guilty for something they didn’t do, the scheme hadn’t been exposed until one of the deportees hired a hotshot civil rights lawyer to investigate. The lawyer had gotten the court to order a test on the drugs and exposed the whole scheme. The civil cases were pending in federal court, and if they went the way the pundits predicted, the Dallas Police Department was going to owe a boatload of bucks to the wronged individuals who’d been smart enough to sign on to the suit. As a result, the DA’s office had changed the way they processed all drug arrests, and now they waited months until lab results came back before pursuing cases. That cost the county lots of cash and caused a load of friction between prosecutors and law enforcement. Faced with paying out a ton of settlements, the police department had set their sights on finding, firing, and prosecuting whoever put them in this position in the first place.
Didn’t surprise me that Jorge had cut corners. Didn’t surprise me that anyone would. But he hadn’t been in vice very long. In fact, he’d barely been promoted to detective. Seems like he wouldn’t have had time to foster the kind of connections necessary to make the deals he’d been accused of. I flipped through the papers. The investigation into his behavior had started with a tip. Internal affairs had poked around and then brought him in for questioning. Cops aren’t allowed to refuse to answer internal affairs questions about allegations of criminal activity—not if they want to keep their jobs. The investigators had read him the required Garrity warning and taped a long and arduous interrogation. No copy of it here, but the summary said he denied any wrongdoing. Not surprising. When the investigators showed pictures of Jorge’s CI, Roberto Garcia, to some of the arrestees, they had no trouble picking him out and, faced with trouble of his own, the CI sang like a bird. Jorge was indicted, and he had a trial date set for February of next year.
That was the sum of it. Pretty open and shut. I didn’t know what Ronnie expected me or anyone else to do. I glanced through the pages one more time to make certain I hadn’t missed anything. And I had. There it was, right in the middle. The name of the person who’d tipped off internal affairs. Now I knew why Ronnie thought she could hook me into helping her brother. I knew the tipster well: Detective Teresa Perez.
Teresa and I had big bad history that started when I was a rookie cop, a level I hadn’t gotten beyond. I’d never had anything against her, but she hated my guts because she thought I’d gotten her partner killed. Maybe I was partly at fault, maybe not. I’d bypassed all the departmental psych crap designed to get me to process the whole mess by quitting the minute I got out of the hospital. Yeah, I’d gotten shot for my troubles, a tiny fact that Teresa didn’t bother to credit in my favor. She’d held a grudge for years, and her anger had bubbled up again just last year when she was all too happy to try to pin a murder on me just because I happened to stumble across a dead body or two while looking for Maggie’s worthless brother who’d gone missing. Perez wasn’t big on letting things go.
I tossed the papers back onto the counter and began an internal debate. I’d had no intention of working on Jorge’s case, but Perez’s involvement piqued my interest. Part of me said she probably had very little to do with it, but another part of me remembered how it felt to be the focus of her vitriol. Didn’t make me feel sorry for Jorge, but my curiosity was up. I picked up the phone and dialed Ronnie’s number.
Chapter Six
“Just to be clear, I’m not saying I’m going to help.”
Ronnie looked at me with the wolfish smile I’d fallen for in the first place, and we both knew I was lying.
I told Ronnie on the phone only that I wanted to meet her for lunch. I’d picked Maggie’s because I didn’t want her in my place, and I didn’t want to be at hers. Maggie’s was the best place I knew to avoid a confrontation with someone other than Maggie. A few minutes in it became clear that meeting here had been a mistake.
The first clue was the off-brand draft beer that sloshed over the top of the warm mugs when she slammed them on the table. Maggie pulled out an order pad—I’d never seen her use one before—and waited for our order as if she didn’t know I would want a big plate of the greasiest thing she could fix.
“Is your girlfriend working tonight?” She rapped her pen on the pad and tapped her foot. Maggie didn’t need to add on all the extra signs. I could tell she was pissed. I’d be lucky to get anything other than a salad or broccoli tonight. I shot a glance at Ronnie who pretended to ignore this exchange. I followed her lead and dove in with my order.
“Can we get a couple of cheeseburgers and fries? Put bacon on mine if you have it.” I saw both Ronnie and Maggie flinch slightly at my order. Well, they could both suck it up. If I was going to have to sit here with a beautiful woman I wasn’t going to sleep with, then I’d soothe my soul with another of my favorite vices. Ronnie could eat or not. I didn’t care.
Another lie. I did care. I don’t know why the woman got under my skin, but she did. From the second I’d met her in the courthouse halls, she’d captivated me with her dark good looks and fresh from the pages of a fashion magazine beauty. Not that I read fashion magazines, but I’d heard that expression on one of the two channels my TV managed to receive on an intermittent basis. That day in the courthouse, I’d known she was way too classy for Dallas criminal defense work. Jess had been with me, and she’d predicted trouble. She’d been right on. Ronnie had caused me all kinds of problems, including a trip to the hospital I still hadn’t paid off. Every nasty letter I got from the collection agency should’ve made me hate her more, but it didn’t. I thought I was done with her after putting her on a plane to D.C., to her mid six-figure job, but seeing her now, I wasn’t so sure.
Jess would kick my ass if I got caught up with her again. And she should. I waited for Maggie to wander off before I launched back into my ground rules. “I’ll hear what you have to say, and then I’ll make up my mind, but if I do get involved, I call the shots. I’ll let you know what’s going on, but I don’t report to you or Jorge. Understood?”
She smiled. My tough veneer was having absolutely no effect on her. “Anything else?” she asked in a syrupy sweet voice.
“Yes.” I paused and did some mental math. Food, beer, rent, gas, phone bill times three, plus a cushion. “I’ll need five grand down. Nonrefundable. I’ll let you know when I need more.” That was a lot of money—to me anyway—and it wasn’t how it was done, but I’m not a private investigator who charges by the hour and produces neat little bills for my very important clients. I rounded up fugitive lawbreakers and got paid a cut of the money I saved the bondsman. If I was going to do this, then I wanted enough money up front that I wouldn’t care if she walked when she found out her brother really was a dirty cop. I’d heard defense attorneys make the same gripe. Their guilty clients wanted their money back because you couldn’t get them off, and their innocent ones wanted a refund since how hard could it be to free an innocent man? Money up front removes the risk.
“Assuming the money isn’t an issue, which it isn’t, you have any other terms?”
The only ones I could think of were for her to stop wearing low-cut blouses and stop talking to me in suggestive tones. I wisely decided not to name those requirements. Instead, I ignored the question. “How do you know Jorge’s not involved?”
“Because he told me he’s innocent.”
“Oh, well then. Let’s go see the judge.”
“I trust my brother.”
“Great, then you can testify on his behalf, but if you think your word is going to go a long way with the jury, you have no idea what you’re in for. Who’s the prosecutor?”
“Joshua Terrance. Head of Public Integrity. But word is the DA himself is going to try the case.”
“Guess your brother’s made it to the big time. Now, do you have any factual basis for believing your brother?”
Ronnie lea
ned across the table, and I caught a whiff of familiar perfume. Don’t count on me to analyze what it smelled like, flowers, fruit, hell, I don’t know, but it drew me in, and I caught myself leaning forward to hear what she had to say.
“Sure. Jorge had barely been promoted to detective and hadn’t been in vice long enough to make the kind of connections he would need to pull something like this off.”
My thoughts exactly. “Okay. Anything else?”
“Did you happen to notice who turned him in?”
Perez. “Yeah, I noticed.”
“And you don’t find that a little bit suspicious? She’s not even in vice.”
I found it very suspicious, but I feigned nonchalance. “It’s a little unusual.”
“It’s very unusual,” Ronnie persisted. “And you know she hates me.”
“And you think because she hates you, she set up the department in a huge civil class action lawsuit and pointed the finger at your brother for causing all the problems? No offense, but I doubt she even remembers you.”
“Oh, she remembers all right. Jorge said she told everyone she knew about his crooked uncle and sister. Caused him a lot of problems. But you’re right. I don’t think she pointed the finger at him for that reason. I think she’s covering for something bigger.”
I recognized the tone. Not specific to her, but my memory of any conversation I’ve ever had with a conspiracy junkie. They all started the same. The junkie’s voice got lower, they hunched forward, and they made pronouncements designed to evoke gasps. She was about to tell me the cover-up went as high as the police chief, maybe even the DA himself. Five grand wasn’t nearly enough. I pushed away from the table and started to stand up, but Maggie’s sharp tone stopped me in my tracks.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I glanced up into Maggie’s angry eyes. She was shoving a full plate of greasy goodness my way, and the gesture took the sting out of her words.
“If I’m going to make this death food for you, you’re damn well going to eat it. Now sit down.” She dropped both plates on the table and stormed off. Ronnie frowned when I stole a fry from her plate and blew on it before wolfing it down. She was into froufrou food. Cheese and fruit plates, wine, caviar. One time I’d shared dinner with her family, and her embarrassment over the homemade enchiladas and tacos was palpable. A burger and fries might kill her. I hoped mustard ran down her perfect chin.
“I’m not going to listen to your theory if you don’t eat, so dig in.”
She glanced from me to her plate, her expression almost desperate. Finally, she pushed back her sleeves, hefted the giant burger, and took a huge bite. As mustard indeed dribbled down her chin, I roared with laughter and kept my word. “All right, all right. Tell me what you think happened.”
She swallowed and wiped her chin. “Look, I don’t know. I only know that nothing about this feels right. I’ve talked to some of the individuals who were arrested, and none of them remember ever meeting Jorge. Something is completely off about all of this. If I could explain it, I wouldn’t be here trying to get your help. Miguel’s contacts won’t talk to me, and I don’t know anyone else here who can do the work. ”
She wasn’t bullshitting. Her only real connection to Dallas County criminal law had been her uncle, attorney Miguel Moreno, and his practice was shuttered since he was doing time. The Moreno name was not one to open doors in the local legal community. I tried not to take it personally that I was a last resort. “I was serious about the five grand.”
“I left my checkbook at my hotel. Want to follow me over and get it? I’ll buy you a drink.”
“No, thanks.” I wasn’t falling for her charms. She probably thought she could talk me into the sack and talk me out of getting paid. “Besides, I don’t take checks. My coffee can bank has problems processing them.”
She raised her eyebrows. Not sure if it was the reference to where I kept my money or the fact I’d turned her down. Either way, she recovered quickly. “I’ll get you the cash.”
I stood and threw my last twenty on the table. I didn’t have a clue if she was serious or not, but I wanted her to know that just because I kept my money in a coffee can didn’t mean I wasn’t flush. “Great. As soon as you do, I’ll get started.”
I walked out, hoping I hadn’t made a huge mistake.
*
True to my word, I wasn’t going to do any real work on Jorge’s case until I saw some money, but I decided gathering a little background information would satisfy my curiosity and give me a head start if she actually came through. There are at least two sides to every story. Usually more. While I’d promised Ronnie I’d look into Jorge’s situation, I hadn’t made any promises about the outcome. And I wouldn’t. If Jorge was a bad cop, he was on his own. Best way to find out if he was really crooked was to talk to the people he worked with.
It had been a while since I’d been on the force, but I still had a few friends outside of Jess. No way was I going to hit her up for information even though she was usually my most reliable source. Whatever was going on between us was rocky, and I wasn’t about to complicate it more by appearing to do favors for Ronnie. I considered trying to talk to John, her partner, but partners are like spouses. If you talk to one, you may as well be talking to the other.
I settled on Nancy Walters. She wasn’t my first choice because she was a notorious gossip and there was a huge risk that whatever I told her would get back to Jess and a dozen other people. On the other hand, she was the most likely person to have the kind of information I was looking for.
Nancy had been in our class at the academy, and we kept in touch only because she was a regular on Jess’s softball team where I’m occasionally called up to play due to my one skill, the ability to run really fast. I picked up the phone to call her, but decided it would be better to catch her unaware. She’d never been shy about having a thing for me, and setting a time to talk might be mistaken for a date. I checked the time. If I hurried, I might be able to catch Jerry Etheridge’s wife coming home from work. If I could catch her as she pulled into the garage, I was certain I could talk my way into the house where I was certain Jerry was holed up. Ronnie hadn’t paid yet—I should focus on earning a real wage until she did.
When I pulled up outside the insurance office, the bright yellow Smart car was still parked in the drive. Minutes later, at five on the dot, Jerry’s wife skipped out the door and headed to her car. But she wasn’t alone. No, she was likely skipping because of Mr. Tall and Handsome who held her hand all the way to her car and opened the door for her. I was transfixed. Mostly because I figured he was about to get in the driver’s seat, and I wanted to see the pretzel maneuvers he was going to have to execute in order to fit behind the wheel.
He ducked his head and managed to accordion his way into the car in an amazing show of athletic feat. Before I could recover from the sight, they sped away. I shot a look at my fuel gauge and weighed my options. I had a feeling Alice Etheridge wasn’t headed directly home, but I wanted to follow even if it was likely to be a big fat waste of time. I stepped on the gas and peeled out of the parking lot.
They were easy to tail since they were completely engrossed with each other. I hate driving behind people I know are paying absolutely no attention to the road, but I was a little fascinated by their interaction. When she wasn’t leaning over to kiss him, her head disappeared out of sight. I had a pretty good idea of what was going on, and I purposely stayed a good distance behind in case her affections caused him to lose control of the car.
About ten minutes later, they pulled up to one of those motels where everyone assumes you’re renting a room for an hour even if you aren’t. I parked so I had a good view of the whole place and waited. Alice’s head was still out of sight, and the tin can they were in started to rock back and forth. Just when I was certain the yellow car was going to roll over on its side, she popped up and checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror. Seconds later, they were out of the car, headed to the
motel office.
Instinct led me to pull out my phone and snap a few pictures. After that burst of activity, I waited about fifteen minutes before becoming monumentally bored. Time to poke around. The main office was deserted, so I pounded on the counter bell until a pimply high-schooler showed up to ask if I needed a room.
“No, I don’t need a room. Especially if you’re renting to fugitives.” I flashed my private investigator’s license and put it away before he could tell I wasn’t a cop. These situations were about the only time my license got to see the light of day. In this case, it did the trick.
The kid’s voice was all stuttering when he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do.” I waited a few beats to ramp up his angst. “That couple you just rented to?”
“Uh huh.”
“Modern day Bonnie and Clyde. You wouldn’t believe the trouble they’ve been in. I’d take them in myself, but I’m working undercover. I need you to call the local cops and say you noticed some suspicious activity in their room.” I leaned against the counter and pulled back one side of my jacket, just enough to reveal a glint of metal from the long Colt tucked into my shoulder holster. I wanted him scared, and I didn’t care if it was because of me or the couple who’d just checked in.
“You think they’re dangerous?”
I shook my head. “No telling. I just know you need to get them turned in quickly or you risk getting yourself and the owner of this place in big trouble for aiding and abetting.”
He picked up the phone and I hightailed it to my Bronco. I drove to the next parking lot, making sure I still had a good view of the room that was about to be the scene of trouble. It took a while for the cops to arrive. No surprise, since the motel clerk didn’t have anything specific to tell them, they probably thought it was a dumb call. Which it was as far as they were concerned. I only wanted one thing out of it. Maybe two, if I was lucky.
