by Shawn Wilson
“Know where the cat is?”
“No. Maybe with Jose’s sister? The tracks fade and disappear in the bedroom, but there was no sign of either one of them when I checked.” Brick stifled a yawn. “I’m not telling you how to run your case, but if it were mine, I’d get an APB out on the sister. The building manager can give you a description.”
“Yeah, we’ll take care of that.” Adkins looked down the short hallway. “So is the bathroom on the right or left?”
“The right.”
Adkins nodded toward his partner. “C’mon, Travis, let’s go take a look.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
BRICK HAD BEEN up for almost twenty hours and fatigue was setting in. He was about to take a break and step outside for some fresh air in hopes that it would revive him enough to get through a couple more hours.
“Hey, Brick,” Adkins called out from the bathroom. “Come here for a minute.”
He complied even though he wasn’t eager to revisit the scene. Sometimes it’s worse knowing what to expect.
“It’s probably tough for you since you knew Jose—”
“It’s okay.”
“Was Jose a member of a gang?” Adkins asked.
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“Look down on the floor, just beyond his right foot.” Adkins handed him a flashlight.
Brick shone the light toward the floor illuminating what had previously been in shadow. On the side of the tub something had been scribbled in what looked like blood. Brick cocked his head to get a better angle but it was still difficult to read. As best he could tell, it looked like MSX.
“It could be a gang signature, I guess.”
Adkins nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought, but gangs aren’t my area of expertise. Where is Jose from?”
“Guatemala.”
Adkins wrote something in his notebook. “I think there’s a special gang task force that’s teamed up with ICE. Have you worked with them on any cases?”
Brick shook his head. All he knew about Immigration and Customs Enforcement was what he had read in the papers. And lately they had been getting some bad press. Rounding up and deporting aliens who hadn’t committed any crime other than failing to renew their visas was creating a lot of controversy. A couple of cases involved pending deportation of women who had given birth in the U.S. and their potential separation from their children who were American citizens. The ACLU and other civil rights groups were taking up their cause.
Adkins finished taking notes. He stuck his pen back in his pocket. “Whether this was gang-related remains to be seen, but I’ve got a few ideas about how it might have gone down. I’m betting you do, too.”
Brick wasn’t convinced Adkins really did, but he was willing to brainstorm. If his ideas put them on the right path, the A-Team would, no doubt, claim the credit. But as far as Brick was concerned, this wasn’t about who got the credit. All he was interested in was getting the perpetrator and the sooner, the better. Brick pointed at the metal towel bar that had been ripped from the wall and was now lying in the bathtub. “My sense is that the killer did not come here with the intent to kill Jose. If he had, he would have brought a weapon rather than bash in Jose’s head with that thing.”
“You said ‘he.’ Any chance it could be a woman, maybe his sister?”
“Not likely. From the way the building manager described Jose’s sister, she’s tiny. Could she have been in an adrenaline-fueled rage and had the strength to pull the bar off the wall and beat her brother to death? It’s possible but not very likely.”
“That’s kind of what I’ve been thinking. Could be Jose’s sister had a boyfriend and, for whatever reason, he went after Jose.”
“Maybe … but she’s only been here for a couple of weeks. And from the sound of things, she was totally dependent on Jose.”
“Yeah, she probably—” Adkins didn’t finish his thought. There was a knock at the door and Brick stepped aside so Adkins could see who was there.
Brick glanced at his watch. Less than an hour had elapsed since the A-Team showed up, but it definitely seemed longer. The door to the apartment was open now, and Brick heard multiple voices coming from the hallway. A team of Mobile Crime officers had arrived along with the same two guys from the Medical Examiner’s Office who had responded to the Tidal Basin. The air guitarist seemed perplexed when he saw Brick.
“You, again?”
“Afraid so … it’s been a long day.”
“Tell me about it, man.”
Brick saw Rory standing off by himself. He looked around to see where Allen was, but didn’t spot him anywhere. It was possible he had gone downstairs to talk to Carlos or to return a call from one of his girlfriends. Brick went over to Rory.
“Is that detective finished talking to you?”
“Yeah, he has my phone number if he has any other questions. He said I could go, but I was waiting for you.”
“Hey, Brick.” Adkins stuck his head out the door. “We need you in here.”
“Just a minute.” Brick turned back in Rory’s direction. “I’m going to be here a little longer. There’s no reason for you to stay.”
“Okay.” Rory sighed. “Guess it’s my turn to be the bearer of bad news.”
Brick didn’t envy Rory. Eamonn, no doubt, would be devastated. He was good to all his employees, but it seemed he had taken Jose under his wing. Brick headed back inside the apartment to see what Adkins wanted.
“Looks like we’ve found the cat.”
Brick figured he knew the answer, but asked anyway. “Dead?”
“No, he’s alive. Do you have a number for Animal Control?”
He didn’t, but even if he did, he wasn’t about to have Elvis taken to the city pound. “Where is he … she?”
“In the kitchen, under the sink.”
Brick went back into the apartment and found a Mobile Crime officer on his hands and knees in front of the cabinet below the sink. Fingerprint dust had been brushed on a couple of glasses on the counter.
“I thought I heard a meow while I was printing those glasses so I opened the door and looked inside … sure enough. I tried to get him out but he’s not having it.”
“Let me try.” The officer stood up and stepped aside. Brick bent down on one knee and reached back into the corner of the cabinet. “Come on, Elvis, it’s okay.” He stroked the cat’s orange head, but Elvis backed away, retreating further into the corner. “Can you get me an evidence bag, one that’s about the size of a grocery bag?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Elvis, c’mon, come on out.” Brick shifted his weight to his left knee. “Where’s a mouse when you really need one?”
“Excuse me?”
Brick didn’t realize the officer had returned. “Nothing—guess I’m getting a little punchy.”
“Is this okay?” The officer handed the bag to Brick.
“Thanks.” Brick unfolded the bag and placed the opened end in front of Elvis. He waited for a few minutes, hoping the cat would decide to check out what was inside, but no such luck. Brick wasn’t about to give up. He raked his fingernails along the side of the bag. He noticed the cat’s ears perk up and then, suddenly, the cat pounced. Elvis landed squarely in the bag. As cat carriers go, it wasn’t ideal, but with a couple of air holes it would do the job. Brick picked up the bag. It was light, eight or nine pounds, and, at least for now, Elvis wasn’t struggling to escape.
Adkins had been watching from the doorway. He was joined by Allen who started to laugh. “I’ve heard of the cat in the hat, but pussy in the—”
“Travis, not now.” It was one of the few times Brick had heard Adkins discourage his partner from going off on a riff. He turned in Brick’s direction. “If you want to take responsibility for it, I’m okay with that.”
It was what Brick had hoped to hear. “Once we find Jose’s sister, it’ll be her responsibility. In the meantime, I’m sure Rory and Eamonn will look after her. If not, I will.” Brick felt the cat mo
ve around. “Unless there’s anything else you need from me, I’ll get go …” Brick’s voice trailed off as he spied a photograph on the refrigerator door.
He stepped closer and bent down to get a better look. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Maybe it was the bad lighting or maybe sleep deprivation was causing him to hallucinate.
“You okay?” Adkins sounded uneasy.
“You’re not going cat-a-tonic, are you?” Despite the pun, even Allen’s voice had a hint of concern.
Brick pointed toward the photo. “Look at this picture.” He stepped aside so Adkins and Allen could move in closer. “That’s Jose on the left.”
“The one with his arm around the older woman in the middle?” Adkins asked as he studied the photo. “Yeah, I can see a resemblance. I’m guessing that’s his mother, and the girl next to her, she’s got to be related, too. Looks like a family day at the beach—where did you say he’s from? Mexico?”
“Guatemala,” Brick said. “Look closer at the girl.”
“Mexico, Guatemala, anyplace south of Texas, it’s all the same.” Allen leaned in toward the photo. “Not bad-looking. She’s got a nice body, but that bathing suit looks like something her mother should be wearing. It’s about as sexy as granny panties.”
Brick ignored Allen. The suit was a modest one-piece, but ironically, as far as Brick was concerned, every bit as revealing as the skimpiest bikini. “Look closely at her shoulder.”
Allen looked again. “Oh, I see what you mean. One of those birthmarks, I forget what they’re called.” He looked back toward Brick. “Yeah, so?”
“She’s the girl … the girl in the Tidal Basin.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“ANOTHER SHOT, BRICK?” Eamonn held the bottle of Jameson, ready to pour if Brick said the word.
“No, thanks.” One shot on an empty stomach was probably a mistake; a second one definitely would be. The two men were sitting in the corner of the storeroom that doubled as Eamonn’s office. Elvis had taken up residence on his desk. She alternated between lapping up water and eating chopped-up pieces of boiled chicken Rory had gotten from the kitchen before going out to get some cans of cat food and a bag of kitty litter. Taking care of Elvis seemed a welcomed distraction in the same way the grief-stricken find comfort in preparing food for sharing.
“Jose and his sister.” Eamonn shook his head. “A mother should never have to bury a child, and this poor woman will have to do it twice.” Eamonn swiped at his cheek with the back of his big, beefy hand but not before Brick noticed a tear trickle from his eye. “What is this crazy feckin’ world coming to? The violence has become an epidemic.”
Brick agreed. Finding logical explanations for irrational acts could be as elusive as a winning lottery ticket, but that didn’t mean the killer or killers wouldn’t get caught. For Brick and Ron, and now the A-Team, their job was to find “who.” The reason “why” might always be the subject of speculation. Brick had a couple of questions for Eamonn, but Rory’s return preempted his opportunity.
“Jaysus, I didn’t know it would be so complicated. There were all different flavors and some sounded gross like pate liver and turkey giblets. Maybe if you’re a cat, that sounds good, but I just grabbed a couple of cans of chicken in gravy and a bag of dry food.” Rory set his purchases down on the desk. “And I got this litter because it’s supposed to control the odor. They better feckin’ not be lying. We don’t want this place smelling like cat shit.” Rory glanced around the room. “What should I use, Eamonn? One of the rubber dish pans?” He didn’t wait for a response. Rory left, presumably in search of a makeshift litter box.
“It’s not like him to be so hyper.” Eamonn shook his head. “Guess it’s his way of coping.”
“I think you’re right,” Brick said. Now was his chance to ask a couple of questions before Rory returned. “Eamonn, do you think Jose was involved in any type of gang activity?”
“I never saw anything to make me think he might be.” Eamonn hesitated before he continued. “Given how much the kid worked, he hardly had time to sleep much less hang out with friends. I worried about him not having any real fun, but he was determined to save enough money to bring his sister here.”
“What about drugs?”
Eamonn shook his head. “No, like I said, he worked all the time. You knew him pretty well; did you ever suspect anything?”
“No, but we have to consider all possibilities. It’s too early to rule anything out.”
“So, what happens now?” Eamonn asked.
“Autopsies. Maybe as early as tomorrow depending on the backlog at the Medical Examiner’s Office. Once the bodies are released, the family is free to claim them. But in this case, it’s complicated by the next-of-kin being in Guatemala unless Jose had other family here.”
“No one he ever mentioned.” Eamonn shook his head. “He always spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with Rory and me and whoever else we’d round up.”
“There’s a liaison at the State Department who will be contacted and will work with someone from the Guatemalan Embassy or Consulate. Hopefully, they’ll help the family arrange for the bodies to be flown home. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure it will be very expensive.” Brick pushed back his chair and stood up. Only then did he realize how exhausted he was.
“Will you let me know what you find out? I mean, if there’s something I can do. I thought a lot of the kid.”
“I know, Eamonn. We all did.”
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS STILL dark when Brick walked into the Starbucks at Judiciary Square. Usually he drank tea, but not this morning. He ordered a venti coffee.
“Should I leave room for cream?” the barista asked.
“No, fill it to the brim.”
“Uh-oh, one of those days?”
Brick turned at the familiar sound of his partner’s voice. “More like one of those nights.”
“Glad somebody’s getting some.”
Brick shook his head. “It’s not what you’re thinking.” The barista slipped the steaming cup into a sleeve and handed it to Brick. “Thanks.” He put his change in the tip jar and turned back in Ron’s direction. “Get your coffee and I’ll tell you what’s up.”
Ron joined Brick at a counter looking out on Indiana Avenue. For now, there was little activity on the street, but that would soon change when the day shift officers started arriving for roll call.
Brick stirred a packet of sugar into his coffee and took a sip. He glanced over at his partner. “Our Tidal Basin girl—her name is Maria Delgado. She’s here from Guatemala on a work visa. I should say, she was here.”
“Way to go!” Ron raised his hand in a high-five gesture but let it drop when Brick didn’t slap his hand. “How’d you identify her so fast?”
“Not the way I would have chosen.” While Brick waited for his coffee to cool, he told Ron about finding Jose’s body and then seeing the photograph of him and Maria.
Ron raised his latte but set it down without drinking. “Whoa, man, I don’t know what to say. I mean, what are the odds?” He shook his head. “Wait, is Jose the kid who works at the Irish bar—the one you took to a Nats game last year?”
“Yeah.” Brick smiled at the recollection. “I had forgotten about that. Rory and I took him. We were trying to help him understand baseball and it was just after the All-Star Game. So Jose was expecting another home run derby and instead Scherzer took a no-hitter into the eighth. I tried to explain to him that it was actually exciting, not boring.” Again, Brick smiled. “I’m not sure he was convinced, but we had a good time.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, man. I pray to God I never arrive at a scene and recognize the victim, but I guess if I stay on the job long enough, there’s a good chance it will happen.”
Or happen again, was the thought crossing Brick’s mind, but he wasn’t about to share the previous experience with his partner. It was something he thought of often but rarely spoke about. His coffee had cooled slightly. He took a sip be
fore continuing. “So, like it or not, we’re going to be working closely with the A-Team.”
“How closely is closely?” Ron looked as though he had swallowed a mouthful of curdled milk.
“I’m not sure—that will be up to Blancato. And speaking of the lieutenant, keep in mind that anything you say to Allen will find its way to him. Not sure about Adkins, but watch your step around him, too.”
“Got it.” He stared into his cup for a moment. “I bet Travis Allen was a brown-noser in kindergarten, and all these years later, he still is.” Ron finished his latte and tossed the empty cup into the trash. “Proves a theory of mine.”
“That being?” Brick asked.
“The only way some guys can be bigger assholes is to gain weight.”
Brick paused then handed Ron the keys to the cruiser he’d signed out. “How about I finish my coffee and ponder that while you drive.”
* * *
The sun was up, and at least for now, it was the kind of morning that tempts lots of government employees to call in sick. As Ron drove past the Capitol and the Supreme Court, Brick envied the tourists who would spend the day enjoying all the beauty the city had to offer, oblivious to what lay just beyond the tour-mobile route. If it was possible for a city to be described as schizophrenic, D.C. would meet the criteria. Looking out the window, it was almost inconceivable that this, too, was Pennsylvania Avenue. The Southeast suffix added to addresses in this quadrant definitely distinguished them from those in the affluent Northwest section of the city. Instead of a Starbucks on every corner, boarded-up storefronts flourished.
“They should have built the stadium right there.” Ron pointed to the area between the Armory and RFK Stadium.
Brick laughed at his partner. “You say that every time we pass by here.”
“It still pisses me off. They’re not the Maryland Redskins, they’re the Washington Redskins.”
“Given the controversy over their name, maybe not for long.”
“Then move them back to the city and call them the D.C. Redskins—problem solved.”
