Friend of the Departed

by Frank Zafiro

  “I’m holding out for gentrification,” Clell once said, but I didn’t think that was happening any time soon.

  When I showed up on his doorstep, he seemed surprised, but let me in without a word. That’s how I ended up standing in his living room, trying to decide how to explain everything.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I started to say yes, but the words stuck in my throat. I swallowed, and asked, “You think you could make us some coffee?”

  “Sure,” he said, but he glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a couple of hours before I have to leave for work.”

  I stood in his living room, looking out at the park across the street, while he brewed up some Maxwell House. The thick, heady aroma was comforting somehow. So was Clell’s tiny kitchen table, where we took a seat and sipped the dark brew.

  “You wanna fill me in?” he asked after a while.

  I started talking. Once I did, I didn’t stop. Clell didn’t interrupt a single time, and only moved once, rising from his chair to refill our cups. I told him everything and he listened without judgment.

  When I’d finished, he was silent for a long time. I waited, lost in my own thoughts.

  “Tough case,” he finally said.

  “Yeah.”

  He took a long sip of his coffee. Then he said, “Sounds like you solved it, though.”

  I shook my head. “The thing is, I didn’t really do a damn thing. I made a few basic moves, but I didn’t break anything loose. At least, nothing of consequence.”

  “From where I sit, you busted open the whole thing.”

  “The cops would have got there eventually.”

  “It didn’t sound like they were really looking. They seemed pretty focused on the guy’s wife from the beginning.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe so. It’s hard to blame them, in a way. Things looked almost gift wrapped right from the jump.”

  “Not to you.”

  “All I did is approach it from a different angle. Maybe the detectives should have done the same.” I drank a mouthful of coffee and set the cup back down. “Sometimes it’s just about pulling at all the threads until something unravels. It isn’t anything spectacular, that’s for sure.”

  “Well, you got the lawyer the answer he was looking for. Wasn’t that what you were hired to do?”

  I considered that, then shrugged. “I guess you’re right.”

  I thought he might offer something more, but he didn’t. I realized I didn’t care, either. Just listening was enough. That and the Maxwell House. We sat at his kitchen table, drinking coffee in an easy silence.

  “I’m leaving for North Dakota tomorrow morning,” he eventually told me.

  I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

  “Family matter,” he said, uncharacteristically vague.

  I thought about asking him more, but decided that if he wanted me to know, he would have told me already.

  “All right. Something I can help with?”

  He gave a short shake of his head. “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. But you can stay here tonight, and longer if you need to.”

  “Thanks. I hope I don’t need to.”

  “Those news people can be pretty determined,” Clell said.

  I shrugged. “Something else shiny will come along, and it’ll be the next hot thing for them to chase. I’ll be old news, if I end up being news at all. Maybe since they couldn’t get me at my apartment, that’ll be the end of it.”

  Clell glanced at his watch. “Easy enough to find out.”

  We rose and went into the living room. Clell turned on his TV, adjusting the rabbit ears on top to bring in the signal for Channel 5.

  “Not these guys,” I grumbled. “They hate the police.”

  “You’re not police,” Clell reminded me.

  “I was. They probably still make that association.”

  “I think,” Clell said, “that, if anything, they see you and the RCPD on opposite sides of the fence. Besides, this is the only channel that comes in.”

  “You need to think about getting cable,” I muttered.

  “Like you?” Clell gave me a lopsided grin.

  I didn’t have an answer for that.

  The last of the national news still had ten minutes to go. We sat quietly through the sports, weather, and a human interest story that wasn’t. The national anchor signed off, and the Action 5 News logo appeared on the screen.

  “Maybe it won’t lead,” I said hopefully.

  A cheap imitation of the national newsman filled the screen. “Tonight in River City,” he said, “She’s accused of murder…and may have struck again. One person is dead and the police aren’t revealing many details. Get the story here tonight, exclusively on Action 5 News.”

  “So much for that hope,” Clell observed.

  Dramatic music and a montage of news reporters and well-known local stories flashed across the screen before the camera returned to the local anchor.

  “Good evening. I’m Richard Scarborough, and this is Action 5 News.” The camera angle switched, and Scarborough changed his facing along with it. “A man is dead and police are investigating. Kiley Patterson has more.”

  The camera cut to the blonde reporter I’d seen from the back of Norris’ cruiser and again outside my apartment. She was still there, in fact, with the front door of my building in the background of her live shot.

  “Uh-oh,” Clell said.

  “Good evening, Richard,” Kiley said in her practiced delivery. “River City Police are investigating a homicide tonight in Namaste Estates at a home they are already familiar with: the residence of Marie Brassart.”

  Another cutaway, this time with pre-recorded voiceover from Kiley.

  “Police aren’t saying much,” she intoned while the video rolled on the Brassart home with the same yellow crime scene tape Cavender had lifted for us in the foreground. Forensics investigators milled around their vehicles, oblivious to the fact that they were being filmed. “But we have been able to establish that the death occurred inside the home of Marie Brassart. The identity of the victim is being withheld pending family notification, but police have confirmed that three people have been questioned in connection with this incident. One of them is Marie Brassart, the accused murderer of her husband, Henry Brassart.”

  Kiley paused briefly for effect, then continued.

  “You may recall that Henry Brassart was struck and killed by an unknown vehicle last year. His wife, Marie Brassart, has been charged with his death, but she is currently out on bail awaiting trial. As to who the victim is, Richard, police are remaining mum.”

  The video switched to a slightly shaky segment of a police car approaching the same crime scene tape. I felt something like a cold, hard stone weigh down the pit of my stomach.

  “Marie Brassart is certainly one of the people being questioned,” Kiley said, “but Action 5 News has exclusive footage of another of the persons of interest that police took into custody.”

  “Shit,” I said.

  The camera steadied, zooming in first on Norris, then shifting to back seat window. I stared at my own face staring back into the camera.

  “Shit,” I said again.

  “This man was transported from the home of Marie Brassart by RCPD. Now, officials refuse to comment on his identity or the reason for his arrest, but Action News 5 investigators have uncovered the truth.”

  The video stopped, and my frozen visage stared out.

  “This appears to be former police officer Stefan Kopriva,” Kiley said. “Longtime residents of River City may remember Officer Kopriva for engaging in a gun battle with the so-called Scarface Robber over thirteen years ago. More likely, however, you will remember him as the officer whose terrible mistake less than a year later cost a six-year-old girl her life.”

  I sat mutely while Kiley Peterson narrated over stock footage from the Amy Dugger case. The obligatory crime scene shot was followed by a sound bite from the Chief at th
e time of the case. Next came a snippet from Amy’s mother, and then they ended with a picture of that perfect child before cutting back to the live feed of Kiley Patterson in front of my apartment.

  “It is unclear what his exact role is in this current incident, but police confirm that all three persons of interest have since been released from custody. We attempted to contact Mr. Kopriva here at his home in the 1900 block of West Pacific, but either he is not home or he does not wish to speak with us. We’ll continue to follow this story as it develops. Richard?”

  The scene cut back to the studio. An appropriately concerned Richard Scarborough leaned forward slightly and asked, “Kiley, with everyone initially taken into custody now released, do the police have any concern that a killer is still at large?”

  Kiley stood blinking stupidly until the satellite delay caught up. “No, Richard. Lieutenant Crawford of the Major Crimes unit has refused to provide further details, but he did state that there are no outstanding suspects and that there is no cause for alarm within the community. For Action 5 News, I’m Kiley Patterson.”

  Richard nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Kiley.” He took a moment to shake his head morosely, then focused on the teleprompter. “In other news –”

  I tuned him out, leaning back and closing my eyes. I barely heard Clell rise from his seat and snap off the television. When I opened my eyes again, he was looking at me with a curious expression.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said, but his tone said something different.

  “If you’ve got something to say,” I began, but he held up his hand to cut me off.

  “I don’t.” He pointed at the couch. “I have to go to work, but you’re welcome to stay. Just lock up in the morning, okay?”

  I nodded.

  Clell didn’t say another word. He went into the bedroom, changed into his security uniform, put on his coat, and nodded goodbye to me on his way out the door, leaving me alone with everything that had happened.

  54

  I slept fitfully, waking several times to wonder where I was. Once I realized I was at Clell’s, I was able to fall back asleep each time, but it wasn’t restful.

  Finally, around six, I woke up again and this time I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep. I warmed up the coffee Clell made the night before in the microwave. I tried to relax and sip it, but an anxious pall hung over me.

  I ran the scenario through my head over and over again, trying to see it from the police angle. They already knew about the affair between Marie and Jeni. Walter Garrison’s reaction made sense in the mixed-up world of crime and domestic violence. And Marie’s action was purely in defense of Jeni. I was pretty sure we’d all said so, and it was the truth, so the forensic evidence would confirm it.

  But what if they were seeing things differently? What if they planned to charge Marie, or even Jeni, or me? If they decided any of us were lying, things could go that direction.

  After half a cup, I picked up the phone and called Adam. He answered on the second ring.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Stef?” His voice was cautious. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I called you to find out,” I said.

  “Why would I know?” His tone had a slight edge to it.

  I hesitated, then pressed on. “You probably don’t. But I thought you might find out.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I got picked up last night.”

  “I know that,” he said. “Everyone does. Besides, it was on the news. All the channels had it.”

  “I was hoping you could poke around and find out where things are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, are they going to charge Marie? Did they believe our accounts? Did—”

  “Accounts? Don’t you mean the truth?”

  I stopped. “Of course that’s what I mean.”

  “Just checking.”

  “Adam, what’s the matter? I just want to know—?”

  “You want me to snoop around and risk my career? That’s all?”

  I was silent. What was I supposed to say? He was right.

  “I don’t think so, Stef. You’re too hot right now. I…I need a little distance from you.”

  I swallowed. “Yeah,” I said, thickly. “I get it.”

  He hung up without saying goodbye.

  55

  I headed to my apartment shortly after nine. At the corner of my street, I slowed down and scanned for any news vans, but the coast was clear. Just to be safe, I parked half a block away and walked to my door. I half expected a camera man and Kiley Patterson to leap from the bushes in an ambush interview, but nothing like that happened. Instead, I put my key into the door and walked into my apartment.

  A long shower and more coffee didn’t do much to dispel the dark cloud that hung over me. I sat at my own kitchen table, but it didn’t seem to have the same magical properties as Clell’s. Over a second cup of my own coffee, I brooded over the turn of events. I’d been lucky enough to maintain a low profile in the thirteen years since Amy Dugger’s death. Even my incarceration after the Kris Sinderling case flew under the radar somehow. But now all my sins were being trotted out for Mr. and Mrs. River City to pass judgment on.

  My phone buzzed. I picked it up without checking, which was probably a mistake. If someone in the media got hold of my number, they’d be calling. Thankfully, it was Harrity’s voice on the other end of the line.

  “How are you?” he asked in his unique tone that was equal parts personal concern and business-like distance.

  “I’m on the five o’clock news,” I told him.

  “I know. I saw.”

  “Well, then you know.”

  “I was referring to your interview with the police. I was with Mrs. Brassart and was unable to attend to you. I called an associate but he was also unavailable.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I was fine.”

  “Who conducted the interview?”

  “Detective Strodtz. I didn’t know him.”

  “He’s very professional, in my experience,” Harrity said. “Were there any issues in the interview?”

  “No, it was very straightforward. He didn’t play any games, just asked me what he needed to.”

  “And you told the truth?”

  “I did what my lawyer advised,” I said. “As always.”

  “I will take that as an affirmative reply,” Harrity said.

  “That’s probably a safe move.”

  “I need to give you the contact information for my associate.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re a witness in my client’s case, but until we know for certain that you aren’t going to be charged, you should have independent representation.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  “I believe you do.”

  “Even if that’s true, I can’t afford it, either.”

  “My associate will provide his services pro bono.”

  I sighed. “All right. Give me the info.”

  Harrity gave me a name and a phone number. I didn’t bother to write it down. I trusted Harrity, and I knew he was the professional who knew what was best, but that didn’t mean I had to go along with it.

  “Something else,” Harrity said after he finished reciting the telephone number. “I won’t be able to continue to contract with you until the Brassart case is settled. Both of them, actually.”

  “Why?”

  “As I stated, you’re a witness to the Garrison death, and your prior work makes you a witness in the homicide case. If I continued to contract with you, it would likely create a conflict of interest.”

  I sighed again. It wasn’t like I relied on work from Harrity for my income, but what he said still gave me a vague feeling of abandonment.

  “I apologize for the necessity,” Harrity continued. “This is merely a practical matter, not a reflection of your work. In fact, you performed much as I had hoped you would. You’ve h
elped me considerably, and I thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, but the flatness of my tone rang in my own ears.

  “I will be in touch,” Harrity said, and hung up.

  I held the phone in my hand for a few moments, staring down at the small display. Then I tossed it onto the coffee table.

  It figured. First Clell leaves town, then Adam asks for some distance. Everyone else was bailing, why not Harrity?

  Why not everyone?

  Even before I finished having the thought, I shook my head at it. I sounded like a whiner. With some effort, I rose from the chair and flexed my knee. It hurt a little, but not too much. It would hold up if I took a walk, and that was what I needed.

  Before I headed out the door, I grabbed my phone again. I punched in Anna’s number. The phone rang several times, and her voice mail came on. After the beep, I said “Hey. You’re probably sleeping. I just wanted to say hello. Things are crazy. You probably heard. I’m going for a walk, maybe over to Coeur d’Alene Park, to thinks things through. If you want to get coffee or something, I’d like that.” I thought for a second. Then I added, “I’d really like that.”

  I ended the connection and headed out the door.

  56

  Browne’s Addition was an eclectic neighborhood. Old houses sub-divided into apartments like mine sat next to well cared for two bedroom homes that may be inhabited by elderly couples or young families alike. Some blocks were lucky enough to avoid having the scourge of a rental property occupied by a series of people whose sins ran the gamut from not caring about their yard to selling drugs.

  In the midst of all of that were a few businesses. A small grocery store stood on the edge of the neighborhood, perched on the corner of two arterials. Deeper in, a couple of trendy pubs directly across the street from each other battled for customers. A surprisingly upscale restaurant was nestled at the end of a block near the park.