Animal Instinct

by Rosenfelt, David

  It could easily have happened by normal use, but I wasn’t the one who normally used it like that. I’m certain of it. And even though I can’t explain it, the place has a feel that it has been entered by someone that didn’t belong.

  My instincts do not include knowing whether the intruder is still present, so I draw my revolver and say, “Find the man, Simon. Find the man.”

  Simon perks up; the last thing he expected was to be going to work. He leads me to my bedroom, but if someone has been in here, they’re gone. After that we search the house, methodically and carefully, but there is no one to be found.

  I call my neighbors on either side of me, but they hadn’t seen anyone near my house. After that I do a rough inventory; I don’t have that much of value, but whatever I do have seems to be intact. I’m not surprised; this does not seem like a house burglary. People who do that don’t make an effort to keep the interior neat and appearing untouched.

  Whoever was here did not want me to know it.

  With nothing obvious missing, my best guess is that the intruders were leaving a surveillance device of some kind, either audio or video. My experience in this is limited, but I search as best as I can for hidden devices, without coming up with anything. I have friends on the force who do this for a living, and I will get one to give the house a complete once-over.

  I have a burglar alarm, but I rarely set it during the day, even though I know I should. I didn’t expect to be gone that long; going down to Asbury Park with Simon was a spur-of-the-moment decision. That will teach me to be spontaneous.

  For now there is nothing left to do. I’m not going to make any phone calls on my landline phone to anyone about it, for fear that the phone is tapped. I’m already sorry I called my neighbors, since anyone listening in on the calls would know I am aware that there was an intruder.

  So I settle in to watch the Mets game. They’re down three nothing in the sixth when the phone rings. I answer but don’t say anything, and the caller says, “Douglas?”

  I am good with voices and I can instantly identify this one as Kline’s. “What do you want?”

  “I have something to show you. It’s about Lisa’s death.”

  “What is it?”

  “Come to my house; it’s here.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You need to see it. Tonight. I can’t sit on this. Tomorrow morning I’m going to the police.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour. You’d better not be wasting my time, Kline.”

  “I’m not.”

  I hang up and consider the circumstances. I have absolutely no idea what he could have discovered that would be relevant to Lisa Yates’s murder, but there’s no sense trying to figure it out. If it exists, I’m going to see it soon.

  I use my cell phone to call Laurie, who does not want me to go alone. “You could be walking into a setup, Corey. You have to realize that.”

  “I can handle anything this guy throws at me. Especially with Simon at my side.”

  “Really? Our operating premise is that this guy threw a professional hit man at Lisa Yates.”

  “Fair point. And there’s another factor here.” I tell Laurie about my feeling that an intruder was in my house today.

  “I don’t think you should go at all. He says he’ll turn what he has over to the police? Let him do that.”

  “No, I’m going.”

  “Then let Marcus and me be there as backup.”

  “I’ll tell you what. You can have Marcus in the area, close enough to move in if I call. I’ll call him if I sense any problems. And Simon’s a better problem senser than I am.”

  She reluctantly agrees, since she knows the final call on this is mine. “Marcus and I will both be there and ready. Call my phone for anything you need. Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.” I hang up and turn to Simon. “Simon, old buddy, it’s showtime.”

  We arrive at Kline’s house exactly forty-five minutes from the time I got off the phone with Laurie. I don’t bother calling to make sure that she and Marcus are in place; they are 100 percent reliable. And if anything had happened to delay them, Laurie would already have called me.

  We pull up the driveway and park. Kline’s car is there and lights are on in the house. Nothing seems amiss, though I’m not sure what amiss in this case would look like.

  I decide to go in the back door without knocking, since Kline would expect me to go in the front. I’m not worried about the social niceties here; if any kind of unfriendly reception is waiting for me, I’m not going to make it easy on Kline and anyone he might have with him.

  So Simon and I enter quietly into the laundry room. I take out my weapon just in case; I can always put it back if I don’t need to use it. I can hear the television playing somewhere in the house; it sounds like the local news. They’re giving the weather; local news consists of about 80 percent weather these days.

  With my gun drawn and my trusty companion by my side, I walk slowly into the house. I head for the sound of the television; it would only be on for the amusement of humans. Who else would care about the frontal high keeping out the Canadian air? Especially since all one has to do is go out in the summer heat to know the Canadian air hasn’t made it here.

  But I don’t hear those humans, and I hope they don’t hear me.

  I’m about halfway through the house when I turn into the den, which is where the television sounds are coming from. Kline is there, but he’s unconcerned with the weather.

  He’s dead.

  I am certain he’s dead because the amount of blood around him approximates what would be found in an average slaughterhouse. Nevertheless, my cop training kicks in and I feel for a pulse just to be sure. I don’t feel for it on his neck because he barely has a neck. That’s where he was slashed.

  I get some blood on the bottom of my sneakers; there is simply no way to avoid that. Once I determine that there is no pulse, Simon and I set out to make sure no one else is in the house. We do so slowly and methodically, but we turn up nothing and no one.

  My first call is to 911 to report the murder. The operator professionally asks me the proper questions, then instructs me to remain on the scene, which I promise to do.

  The next call is to Laurie to tell her what has happened. I say that since the police are on the way, she and Marcus can stand down. She seems hesitant, maybe thinking that I am being forced to make the call. I assure her that I’m fine, but my guess is that she and Marcus will hang around until they see the police cars pull up.

  They don’t have long to wait; the cops are here within five minutes, in force. They enter, guns drawn, and are immediately treated to the same gory scene that I uncovered. I have placed my weapon on the table, lest there be any confusion as to who might be dangerous.

  “Holy shit,” one of them says, but he’s not the spokesman. The spokesman says, “What have we here? Who are you?”

  “I’m the guy who called nine-one-one. My name is Corey Douglas, twenty-five years Paterson PD, K-9 division, recently retired.”

  He points to Simon. “This must be the K-9. He under control?”

  “Totally.”

  “Against the wall. Assume the position.”

  I start to do so. “My weapon is on the table over there.”

  The cop frisks me and finds no additional weapons because there are none to be found. Then, “Take a seat over there. Hands where we can see them.”

  “You want to hear my story?”

  “Not particularly. Homicide will be here in a minute; you can tell it to them.”

  His prediction proves accurate; Homicide does show up in almost exactly a minute. The good news is that it is Lieutenant Robbie Lillard, who originally was Paterson PD. A lot of Paterson cops get started there and then move on to smaller towns in the adjacent area; they come in at a higher rank. Fortunately, I know Robbie pretty well from back in the day.

  “Well, look who’s here,” Robbi
e says.

  “How’s it going, Robbie?”

  “Well, I was home in bed twenty minutes ago, and now I’m standing in a goddamn butcher shop, so all in all, not that good.”

  I tell Robbie the whole story, starting with the domestic violence, and moving on to Lisa’s murder, leaving out nothing. He’s most interested in why I was at the house tonight. “So he didn’t tell you what he had to show you?”

  “No. I pressed him, but he insisted I come here to see it in person.”

  “You have any idea what it was?”

  “Honestly, none.”

  Robbie has me write out a full statement and sign it. When I’m done, I ask if he needs me for anything else.

  He shakes his head. “No, you can get out of here.”

  Simon and I are happy to do just that.

  I told Laurie that I want to take a day to think things through.

  That’s one of the advantages of working on a case without a client: there’s nobody we have to answer to, and no timetable we need to adhere to. Among the negatives is that we’re not getting paid.

  Dani is getting home today and I’m going to surprise her by picking her up at the airport. Then we’re going to do whatever she wants for the rest of the day. My hope is that she’ll just want to go home and hang out. I’m a wild and crazy guy.

  Dani looks genuinely happy to see me waiting for her at baggage claim, and I am rewarded with a much more than adequate hug and kiss. Once we’re in the car, I say, “We can do whatever you’d like; the day is yours.”

  “Let’s go home and hang out with Simon.”

  It’s going to be tough to find a reason to end this relationship; I’m going to have to work long and hard at it.

  But not today. Today we’re going to hang out with Simon.

  I never talk about work to Dani. I think it might be to protect her from an unpleasant world, but maybe it’s because I don’t think she will be interested. This time, though, when she brings up the subject, I open up and tell her everything.

  “I’m sorry to lay this on you.”

  “Don’t be; it’s awful, but it’s fascinating. The most interesting thing to happen to me in Miami was the caterer forgetting to bring the pot stickers to the farewell party.” Then, “What are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve got two choices. I can drop the whole thing; my reason for getting involved in the first place no longer exists. I was going to nail Kline, but somebody else seems to have done that effectively.

  “The other option is to continue investigating; if my goal was to find Lisa’s killer, whoever it was, then there is certainly the real possibility that the same person killed Kline. I’m just not sure I have a role to play anymore; this seems like something the police can handle.”

  She nods and thinks about it for a moment. “Are you just bullshitting me, or yourself as well?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Look, I know nothing about your business; it’s a world I don’t understand and, on one level, don’t want to understand. I’m way more comfortable dealing with pot stickers.”

  “I sense a but coming.”

  She smiles. “Here it comes. But … I know you; I know you really well. And I know that you may think you have to make a decision, but you’ve already made it.”

  I’m interested in what she has to say and, at the same time, amused by it. “So what’s my decision?”

  “You’re going to keep investigating.”

  “And my reason?”

  “Because you’re a part of it. When Kline called you to come over, he made you a part of it. You pulled on a thread and now you have to watch the whole ball of yarn unravel.”

  “I like the ball of yarn metaphor.”

  She smiles. “I just made that up. Now, do you want to hear about the missing pot stickers?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Take Simon for his walk and let’s go to bed.”

  “Bed? It’s only seven o’clock.”

  “I didn’t say sleep, I said bed.”

  LAURIE, Marcus, Simon, and I convene at nine o’clock the next morning at Laurie’s house.

  Dani was right; after witnessing what I saw at Kline’s house, there is no way that I can just let this go. Kline was reaching out to me, and he got killed before he could show me what he had. I don’t owe it to him to follow through; but I do owe it to Lisa Yates, and to myself.

  Laurie makes an entire boatload of pancakes and we plow through them. Andy and their son, Ricky, are there to help out, but as soon as Ricky finishes, he goes off to play video games.

  I’m holding off talking about Kline until we finish eating, but I think Laurie and Marcus know what I’m going to say. I’m sure that in the same situation each of them would continue investigating, so they would expect nothing else from me.

  The doorbell rings, setting off barking from Simon, Tara, and Sebastian. Andy goes to answer it, and a few minutes later he comes back into the kitchen. “Corey, you’ve got some visitors in the other room. Police visitors.”

  I go into the other room, expecting there to be more questions about last night. I am surprised they knew that I was here; maybe they reached Dani at my house and she told them.

  The moment I walk in and see the cops, I know exactly what is happening. Robbie Lillard is there with three other cops, none of whom are smiling. If Robbie was just going to ask me some questions, he would not need this level of reinforcement.

  I am going to be arrested.

  “I’m sorry, Corey, but I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Gerald Kline.” Robbie reads me my rights, a recitation I am not unfamiliar with. I notice that Laurie and Marcus have come in from the kitchen, and I feel a wave of embarrassment at them seeing me in this position.

  “Corey, from this moment on, do not say one word. Not to anyone but me,” Andy says.

  “Who are you?” Robbie asks.

  “His lawyer. I’m the one who is going to make you look ridiculous for making this arrest.”

  Within seconds I am being frisked and handcuffed. “Sorry about this, Corey,” Robbie says again, and I believe him.

  I’m taken to the county jail, where I’m processed and a mug shot is taken. The entire time I’m trying to not focus on the mechanics and the humiliation of this process, but rather why it is happening.

  I was at the scene of a murder, and if Robbie did any investigating at all, he would have found out that I had a grudge against Kline. I came out and admitted it to Lieutenant Battersby, who was working the Lisa Yates murder.

  But that would not be enough. I am not a career criminal with a history of violent crime; I am a former cop who has never been marred by a hint of scandal. They wouldn’t have made this arrest, and especially so quickly, if they did not have more convincing evidence.

  After a couple of hours in a cell, I am taken out and brought into a room where Andy Carpenter is waiting. Once we are alone, I say, “You know, I never hired you.”

  He nods. “Unfortunately, Laurie did.”

  “I can’t pay your fee.”

  He nods again. “Even more unfortunately, Laurie waived it. Now can we move on to more important matters?”

  “We can.”

  “You discovered the body and you had a grudge against the victim. We know they have that, but they have to have more.”

  He has just perfectly summarized my view. “I don’t know what they could have because I didn’t do it.”

  “Kline called you to the scene. If he did so under duress, then the purpose could have been to frame you. After he was forced to make the call, they killed him.”

  “They’d still have to have other evidence.”

  “Laurie said that someone broke into your house,” Andy says.

  A light goes on; I hadn’t made the connection. “As far as I could tell, nothing was missing.”

  “Any idea why anyone would want to frame you for murder?”

  “Not at the moment.”

/>   “Okay; we’ll find out everything in discovery. I will see you at the arraignment tomorrow.”

  “Where is Simon?”

  “At our house. We’ll keep him until you get out; Tara insists on it.”

  “Will you get word to Dani about what’s going on?”

  “Laurie already did.”

  “What about bail?” I’m afraid of the answer.

  “Tough in cases like this, but we’ll do what we can. A lot will depend on which judge we draw.”

  “Maybe we’ll get a judge who likes you.”

  “Maybe Amelia Earhart will be found singing karaoke at a bar in Fort Lee.”

  “Thanks for this, Andy.” It’d be hard for him to say anything that would make me feel less anxious, but at the very least it’s nice to know my team is in my corner. That’s especially comforting since when I look across the ring to the other corner, I see the entire state of New Jersey.

  Andy shrugs. “Any friend of Laurie’s…”

  I’VE attended a handful of arraignments in my career.

  It was never in an official capacity because no testimony is offered at them. Mostly they were just cases where I was particularly and emotionally invested in an arrest I had made, and I wanted to see the accused handcuffed and facing justice.

  This is different and weird; I am the one being arraigned. I am the one handcuffed, and I am the one facing what the system sees as justice. The only similarity is that I am emotionally invested.

  Very emotionally invested.

  Andy has gone over what to expect, even though we both know that I am aware of the procedures. All I have to do, when prompted, is to rise and say, “Not guilty.” I don’t need a teleprompter for that.

  The prosecutor is Dylan Campbell, who I had some dealings with back in the day. He’s smart and relentless, or at least that’s how he seemed to me, and that’s his reputation.

  “Dylan hates me,” Andy says. “I’ve beaten him three times, and I refer to him as Hamilton Burger.” Andy is talking about the legendary Perry Mason prosecutor whose record compared unfavorably with the Washington Generals’ record against the Harlem Globetrotters.