by Shawn Wilson
“So am I,” Ron added.
Carlos poured himself a cup from a Mr. Coffee machine on the counter next to the stove before joining Brick and Ron at the table. He picked up the TV remote and hit power. A Spanish-speaking talk show faded as the screen went dark.
“Carlos, we know what happened to Jose’s sister.” Brick watched his expression, trying to gauge any reaction. He didn’t pick up on anything.
“Is okay?” Carlos raised his cup and took a sip of coffee.
“No. She’s dead, too.”
Carlos started to cough as if the coffee had gone down the wrong way. To Brick’s way of thinking, it was either a very convincing performance or Carlos may be on the verge of choking. “Are you all right?”
Carlos nodded his head but continued to cough. Finally, he seemed to catch his breath. “What happened to her?”
“Do you watch the local news?” Brick asked.
“No, mostly I watch Telemundo.”
“The body of a young woman was found floating in the Tidal Basin—it was Maria Delgado.”
Carlos set his mug down with a shaky hand. Some coffee sloshed over the rim and landed on his pants. He didn’t seem to notice. “Oh my … dead, too. Who … who would do this?”
“That’s what we intend to find out. We’re assigned to her case.”
“And to Jose?”
“No, his case is assigned to Detectives Allen and Adkins who were here yesterday. But whatever you tell them, you should tell me, too.”
“Si.”
“Did Jose or Maria have trouble with anyone in the building?”
“No. If they did, I don’t know. Jose …” Carlos sighed. “Jose work a lot. Always, I see him going to work. The girl, his sister, I only see her two, maybe three times.”
“When you did see her, was she by herself?”
“No, she always with Jose. She seemed shy, she don’t say nothing.”
“Okay, we’ll need to talk to people here in the building. Do you have a list of tenants?”
Carlos pushed back from the table and walked across the room to a file cabinet. He opened the top drawer, pulled out a file, and returned to the table. He handed Brick a spreadsheet. The tenant information for several units was blank.
“Are a lot of apartments empty?”
“Si. When someone move out, that’s it.”
“Why?”
“The owner want to sell. That’s why he no want me to fix things, only if something really bad. I worry I no have this job much longer.”
Brick felt his cellphone vibrate. The caller ID displayed a number he didn’t recognize. He ignored it for now. “Can I get a copy of this list?”
“Take it. I print another.”
“Thanks.” Brick started to get up and Ron followed his cue. He handed Carlos his business card. “If you think of anything that we should know, anything at all—that’s my number. We’re going to go knock on a couple of doors.”
After leaving Carlos’s apartment, Brick checked his voicemail. He listened to one of the messages twice. “Listen to this.” He handed the phone to Ron.
“Sounds promising.” Ron gave the phone back to Brick.
“Yeah, let’s go check that out first.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS CLOSE to noon when Brick and Ron arrived at the Central District Station of the Park Police. They identified themselves to the officer of the day who then directed them to the Crime Prevention Unit on the second floor. Unlike MPD headquarters, the stairwell was clean and smelled like air freshener rather than body odor. Upon opening the door, they stepped into a large bright room with windows looking out on the Potomac River.
“Maybe I should reconsider squirrel chasing,” Ron muttered under his breath.
“You and me both,” Brick said. He stepped up to the counter where a receptionist was seated.
“May I help you?”
“I’m Detective Kavanagh. We’re here to see Sergeant Fischer.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here.” She picked up her phone. “Okay, I’ll send them back.” She hung up and smiled at Brick. “His office is the second door on the left, just past the exit sign.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure.” She smiled again.
As they headed down the hall, Ron elbowed his partner. “She’s into you.” Brick gave him an exasperated look. It wasn’t the first time Ron had made such an observation.
“Didn’t you see her looking at your left hand?”
“No.”
Ron’s dreads swayed as he shook his head. “It was obvious, man.”
Brick rolled his eyes. “If you say so, but I need you to be my partner not my pimp.”
The door to Sergeant Fischer’s office was open. He was seated behind a neatly organized desk that looked as though it had recently been polished. He stood when Brick and Ron appeared in the doorway. “Please, come in. Have a seat.”
Brick made the introductions before sitting down.
“As you probably know, we have several cameras set up around the Mall and Tidal Basin. I went through the footage for the past couple of nights. I gotta warn you, the quality isn’t great, but there’s one tape that might be significant. Let me get it here on the screen.” Fischer started typing. “Here we go.” He turned the computer screen so Brick and Ron could view the images. The date and time stamp indicated it was approximately three hours before the call came in about a body floating in the Tidal Basin.
Brick pulled his chair closer to the screen and Ron stood behind him. Fischer was right about the poor quality of the film, but it was still possible to make out a shadowy figure pushing a grocery cart.
“Looks like a street person with all his worldly goods,” Brick said.
“Yeah, there’s a core group that hang around that area. When it’s cold, they spend the night on the heating grates along Constitution Avenue, but now that it’s warmer, they’ve moved to the Monument Grounds and down near the 14th Street Bridge.”
Brick kept watching even though all he saw was a narrow segment of the Tidal Basin on a moonless, foggy night. He was beginning to think he and Ron would have been better off spending their time canvassing tenants at Jose’s apartment building.
“There.” Fischer sounded excited as he pointed toward the screen.
From the edge of the frame, Brick saw the street person enter the picture heading in the opposite direction. He was still pushing the grocery cart. “Can you freeze this frame?” Brick asked Fischer.
“Sure.”
Brick studied the image. “Now, go back to where we first see him.” Fischer complied and Brick scrutinized this image as well.
“Want to see them side by side?” Fischer asked.
“Yes.” Brick had already mentally done that but needed confirmation his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
“You see it, too, don’t you?”
Brick nodded. “Appears the street person lightened his load.”
“Exactly!” Fischer had become quite animated.
Ron bent down to get a better view. “Damn … that could explain how our girl ended up in the water.”
“It could,” Brick said. He turned in Fischer’s direction. “She was petite, right around a hundred pounds.”
“Then she could have easily fit into that cart,” Fischer said. A perplexed look crossed his face. “I’m surprised, though. We’ve never had any serious problem with the street people who congregate in that area. An occasional disorderly, public intoxication, but I don’t even recall any aggressive panhandling reports.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a street person,” Brick said. “If you want to hide in plain sight, that’s a smart disguise. For the most part, they’re invisible except to each other.”
“I got a feeling I know where this is going.” Ron looked over at Brick. “Think we’ll be making the rounds tonight talking to a bunch of homeless guys.”
“My partner is psychic.”
“That’s better than psycho … I had
a female partner who was.” Brick and Ron laughed but Fischer didn’t. “Unfortunately, I didn’t figure that out until I married her. Still burns my ass I’m paying alimony. Just last month—”
“Ah, is it possible to get those images blown up?” Brick asked.
“What? Oh yeah, we don’t have the capacity here, but I can send a request to our photo lab. But I’ll be honest with you, I’m not optimistic anything helpful will show up. One homeless guy pushing a cart looks pretty much like every homeless guy.”
“True, but it’s worth a try.”
“Yeah, can’t hurt and you might want to check with the Center for Creative Non-Violence. Their volunteers deliver meals to the homeless on a regular schedule. I’ve seen the guys milling around waiting for the van to arrive.”
“Thanks, that’s a good idea.”
* * *
Before heading back to the car, Brick and Ron stopped at a hotdog vendor set up near the public tennis courts. Carefully, they made their way across the bike path. During the week it was still fairly tame, but on weekends it seemed a lot of cyclists were in training for the Tour de France. Brick pointed toward an empty bench shaded by one of the late-blooming cherry trees.
Ron popped the tab on a can of Pepsi. He took a swig then proceeded to unwrap his hotdog. Brick did the same. For a few minutes, they sat silently eating lunch and watching planes taking off and landing at Reagan National Airport located directly across the Potomac.
“If ever there was a day to play hooky, it’s today.” Ron raised the soda can and gestured toward the river.
“Spring fever?” Brick asked. It occurred to him Ron hadn’t taken any leave since being assigned to Homicide. “Take some time if you need it.”
“Saving it for when the babies arrive.” For a minute or two, Ron seemed lost in thought. “I’ve had a few months now to get used to the idea, but I still can’t wrap my head around being a father. Lately, I’ve been waking up at night in a cold sweat.”
“I understand.” Brick thought about what he had just said. “No, actually I don’t because when it comes to kids, I’m clueless. None of my own, and since I don’t have any brothers or sisters, no nieces or nephews either. But I think I know you well enough to know you’ll rise to the occasion.”
“I guess if I just show up, I’m bound to do a better job than my old man.” Ron shrugged. “But who am I to judge, maybe he did the best he could.” He picked up his napkin and dabbed at the corner of his eye. “Man, sometimes I think I’m having hormone issues like Jasmine.”
“Another subject where I’m clueless.” Brick looked over at Ron and shrugged. “But it’s got to be an emotional time for you, too. Cut yourself some slack.”
Ron seemed to consider that for a moment. “It’s just I’ve been thinking about my father a lot. He died when I was seven, so I can’t say I knew him well, but I wonder how much of his DNA is in me. Didn’t get his musical talent, that I know for sure. But it’s his demons … that’s what worries me.”
It was common knowledge Ron was the son of a musician who, at one time, had played with some jazz greats before dying from a heroin overdose in his mid-thirties. Up until now, Ron had never mentioned the man. Brick wasn’t sure how to respond. He had enough unresolved issues when it came to his own father.
“You’re your own man, Ron. My advice, stop worrying and enjoy this time.” Brick checked his watch. It was after one p.m. “We should get back to Headquarters. I have to return a couple of calls and I need you to run an NCIC check on Carlos.”
“I got a pretty good idea what I’ll find—he’s dirty.”
“What makes you so sure?” Brick asked.
“I’m suspicious of a guy who looks like a slob but keeps his place like a neat freak. I figure he’s used to having his wardrobe provided and living in a confined space subject to regular inspections.”
Brick nodded. He was pleased with Ron’s observations. Some things can be learned but others can only be discerned through gut feelings. It wasn’t the first time Ron had shown he had the kind of instincts that would serve him well, especially if he chose to stay in Homicide. Brick was about to compliment his partner when he noticed Ron seemed to be checking his appearance before a mirror that didn’t exist.
“Do these horizontal stripes make my ass look fat?”
Brick shook his head and laughed. “Might want to lay off the nachos.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
BRICK AND RON stepped off the elevator just as the A-Team stepped on. Travis Allen held the door open with his left foot.
“Looks like we’re going to be double-dating for a while.” The elevator door started to buzz. “Can’t dance now, we’re headed to the grand—” The elevator doors banged shut, and as far as Brick was concerned, not a second too soon.
Brick was leaving a voicemail message when Ron appeared with a printout in hand. He waited for Brick to hang up before handing him the paper. Brick scanned it quickly.
“Let’s go.” Brick grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.
“I figured that’s what you would say.” Ron held up a set of car keys. “Already signed out a set of wheels.”
* * *
For the second time in less than six hours, Brick and Ron sat opposite Carlos Garcia at his kitchen table. This time Carlos didn’t offer them coffee. He avoided eye contact. His attention was focused on the skin around his right thumbnail, picking at a hangnail with his index finger.
“Is not what it seems.” Carlos looked up briefly before looking away.
“Carlos.” Brick spoke softly. “I’ve heard that too many times. If it’s not what it seems, you need to tell me what it is.”
Carlos scratched the back of his neck. “It was Fourth of July and it was hot, man. Me and a couple of buddies, we were drinking some beers. And all of a sudden, I had to pee real bad, and there was no place to go ’cept this alley. I no see this woman up in the window looking down, but she see me. Next thing I know the police come, and she say I disposed myself.”
Brick glanced over at his partner. Ron’s hand was clasped over his mouth and Brick suspected he was trying hard not to laugh. Brick could see the humor but would be the first to admit that Carlos’s command of English far exceeded his own Spanish.
“You mean, exposed yourself.”
“Si.” For the first time, Carlos made eye contact with Brick. “But I no do that. I just had to pee.”
“I understand. But according to your record, you pled guilty to indecent exposure. Why would you do that if you weren’t guilty?”
“My lawyer, the one the court gave me, he say that would be best. He tell me the judge will go easy, but I got sent to jail. And now—” Carlos cleared his throat before continuing. “I have to, how you say, sign up?”
“Register?”
“Si. Register as a sex offender.” A tear rolled down his cheek, but Carlos didn’t seem to notice. “I am not a sex offender.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I just had to pee that day.”
“I believe what you’re saying, Carlos. And I need you to continue to be honest with me. Okay?”
“Si.”
“Did you have anything to do with the death of Jose and Maria?”
“No!” Carlos’s face registered shock.
“But you had keys to the apartment. You could have gone there at any time. Maria was young and pretty—”
“I am telling the truth … about everything you ask.”
* * *
“Did your bullshit detector go off?” Brick waited until he and Ron were in the stairwell before he posed the question to his partner.
“No, I think he’s telling the truth.”
“Why?”
“The way he talked about peeing in the alley—it was almost like a kid. That made me think he was being honest. And when he denied having anything to do with Jose and Maria’s murders, he answered straight up and looked you right in the eye. If he’s lying, he’s a hell of a good actor.” Ron paused as if considering what he
had just said. “Still, I’m not saying he should be ruled out as a suspect.”
“Good. How about you take the second floor, I’ll take the third. Text when you’re done and we’ll meet in the lobby.”
* * *
Unlike a couple of days ago, the musty hallway was eerily quiet—no music, no crying baby. The first two doors Brick knocked on went unanswered. He had learned from Carlos that four of the units on this floor were unoccupied. The apartment directly across from Jose’s was his last chance to talk to anyone, assuming someone was home and willing to speak to him. Brick knocked loudly and waited. He was about to knock again when he heard footsteps approaching the door.
“Who is it?” The voice was female.
“Detective Kavanagh, Metropolitan Police.” Brick’s badge was hanging from a black lanyard he wore around his neck. He stepped back and held the badge up in front of the peephole. Slowly, the door opened as far as the security chain would allow. A young woman was on the other side. He could only see her in profile, but she appeared frightened. Brick held up his identification again to reassure her that he was who he claimed to be. “I’m one of the detectives assigned to the case involving your neighbors across the hall. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Before the young woman could respond, someone within the apartment called out to her. “Who’s at the door, Lourdes?”
“Police.”
“Police?” A woman who appeared to be about ten years older than the first woman joined her at the door.
Brick introduced himself and explained his reason for being there. “May I come in?”
“One second.”
Brick heard the security chain being slid back before the door was opened. He extended his right hand. “And you’re—”
“Alma Gonzales. Lourdes and I are sisters.”
Brick smiled. “I see the resemblance.” The two women did look alike except Lourdes was pregnant and appeared as though she could deliver at any minute. That wasn’t the only distinguishing characteristic Brick noticed. “What happened to your eye?” He was expecting to hear the standard I-walked-into-a-door response from Lourdes, but her sister didn’t give her a chance to answer.
