by DL Barbur
I almost laughed. "Yeah. I have time. I've got plenty of time all of a sudden."
"What do you mean?"
I squeezed my eyes shut, suppressed a giggle that came up from nowhere. "It's hard to explain. Where are you?"
"Just leaving school."
"I'm out here in the park blocks. Can you pick me up?"
"Sure. Be there in a few." She sounded puzzled.
"Ok. See you then." I hung up without saying goodbye. A bus hissed to a stop down the street and I felt a sudden urge to go get on it. Somehow just then being on a bus full of strangers seemed more attractive than getting into a car with the woman I'd all but begged to move in with me just a week ago.
But I didn't get up. It would have taken more energy than I had at the moment. Instead, I sat there with my valise in my lap, staring a hole in the pavement. I didn't know how much time passed, just that I jerked when I heard a horn honk, and there was Audrey in her little red Honda, waving me over.
I folded myself into the car and she pulled away from the curb. I sat there staring straight ahead, knowing I should say something, but I was struck as dumb as when I had answered the phone. I felt an urge to speak, but I couldn't force my brain to come up with any words to say.
"Dent, what is it? You look horrible."
It was easier, somehow, with her prompting me.
"I just got suspended from work." Did I really say that?
"Suspended? What for? For that Wendt guy you told me about?”
No, I wanted to say. Not at all. That's the reason they're giving, but you see it's actually because I ran into the wrong people, people that can apparently kill a young girl, dump her body, and then get the cop doing the investigation suspended from his job. Apparently, you really can get away with murder.
But that didn't make sense to me in my head. The idea of speaking it out loud made even less sense.
"Yeah," I said. "Over Wendt." It just seemed easier.
She drove for a while in silence, shifting through the gears. I realized she was headed towards the bridge that would take us across the river and towards her place.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Dent." But I could almost hear her thinking but I'm not surprised. That little Honda was so small that our hips practically touched when we sat in it, but she felt very far away from me just then.
I didn't know what to say to that. I'd always known there were people like Lubbock in the Bureau, far too many people who would roll over and play dead if it was in their political best interest. But I'd never guessed that even Lubbock would intentionally screw up a homicide investigation.
We crossed over the bridge and I found myself looking at the gray water below, remembering a case I'd had a few years back. A doctor, of some kind, endocrinologist? Gastroenterologist? It didn't matter. He'd parked his Jaguar on the bridge and jumped. He finally turned up a week later caught on a snag way the hell downstream. Rich guy. Pretty wife. Nice kids. I never had figured out what made him jump.
The hum of the tires changed as we crossed from the bridge back onto the street. Audrey looked at me, her eyes big and liquid. She brushed a stray strand of hair out of the way.
"Let's go to my place. I wonder if it would do you some good to call Betty."
I blinked, trying to understand that. Betty was one of Audrey's friends. She was a therapist. She was into all sorts of holistic mental health care stuff. Integrating your personality, finding your inner child, stupid stuff like that.
"Why should I call Betty?" I asked, still not understanding. I replayed the last few seconds of our conversation over in my mind, trying to figure out what I had missed.
"I thought she might, you know, help you deal with things."
"Deal with things?"
"The stress. Maybe try to help you handle things better next time."
"What do you mean, handle things better next time?" I felt like I was having a completely different conversation than the one she was having.
I saw Audrey's fingers tighten on the steering wheel. She rarely got angry, or at least rarely showed it.
"I mean maybe you need to figure something out so the next time you arrest somebody you don't break his arm and leg, Dent."
I sat there for a minute staring straight ahead, not seeing the road or traffic in front of us, but wondering if the plastic dashboard of the Honda would break if I punched it. It had never crossed my mind that Audrey wouldn't share my sense of outrage at being suspended for arresting Wendt.
My phone rang, saving me from having to reply. I picked it up and saw that it was Mandy on the display. I let it ring a couple more times while I decided what to do. Hell with Lubbock. I'd talk to whomever I wanted. I answered it.
"Hey," I said. I heard an odd shuffling noise on the other end, a couple of seconds of silence, and then the line went dead.
I frowned. I hung up the phone and put it back in my pocket.
"Who was that?" Audrey asked.
"That's not really important," I said.
I was so angry I was cold. The little voice in the back of my head said I should just keep my mouth shut, that I was probably going to say things I regretted if I kept talking. I kept talking anyway.
"I think what is important is that I'm trying to figure out what the hell gives you the right to tell me how I should arrest people. I'm trying to recall the last time you arrested some guy with a gun stuffed in his pants and I'm drawing a blank here. Think you can help me out with that?"
"I'm not the one who is doing the judging, Dent," she said softly. "Your boss is. Your own police department." Her voice was so calm, so rational, that it pissed me off more than if she’d been screaming at me.
I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes. "Look. I'm sorry. This whole thing is really… complicated. It's not what it looks like on the outside."
Because you see, this is all a conspiracy to help keep a murder quiet. I'm being framed, just like OJ Simpson. I decided to keep that to myself.
“The thing is, Dent, all I've got to go on is what you show on the outside, because I never get to see what's on the inside."
Even shut, my eyes felt like somebody had dragged sandpaper across them. What I really needed was a decent night's sleep, unfilled with memories of past violence, and empty of visions of friends’ daughters trying to drag me into bed. I felt the car lurch as we went over a bump and realized we were pulling into the parking lot of Audrey's building. We stopped in Audrey's parking spot and sat there in silence.
Audrey put her hand on my arm. "I'm sorry we're fighting. Let’s go inside. You look like you need some rest. You can sleep. I’ll get us some lunch. We can talk after that."
Food and sleep. She had a point. I felt fuzzy, worn around the edges, disconnected from what was going on around me. The idea of filling my belly and falling into a nice, dreamless sleep was plenty attractive.
My phone rang again. I snatched it out of the pocket and saw Mandy's name on the display again.
I heard the same odd shuffle I heard last time like the phone was being scooted around on the floor or something, then a snippet of what sounded like a muffled curse in a man's voice, then silence as the phone went dead again. I sat there looking at the phone. What the hell was going on? We were forbidden from talking to each other. Was she trying to signal me somehow? If so, it was a dumb way to do it. Phone records were easy to subpoena.
Something tickled at the back of my mind, something I didn't like. Sleep and rest were fine, but the more I sat there with my phone in my hand, the more I realized I was being stupid. Sitting in Audrey's house and moping wasn't going to get me anywhere. I needed to act, to get out there on the offense. I'd need some help, and as much as I loved Audrey, this wasn't her field. I needed to talk to Mandy, Bureau policy be damned, and I needed to talk to Al. Al would know what to do.
Audrey was standing outside the car, looking at me. "Come inside."
I put the phone away carefully.
"Not yet, Audrey. I've got some things I need to d
o. Can I borrow your car? Just until I can figure out a way to pick up my truck?"
"Things to do? Do what? You're suspended."
"I know there's some stuff I have to do, people I need to talk to. People who can help."
"You can talk to me, Dent. I can help."
She stood there with her keys in her hand and I realized she was almost crying. I wasn’t sure if it was from anger or fear. Maybe it was both. The voice in the back of my head told me that should bother me more than it did, but I shoved it away. An icy purpose had settled over me. I had a mission now, and everything else was secondary.
"I know you can, Auds. But right now, I need to do some other stuff. I just need to borrow your car for a little while." All the color drained out of her face.
"Fuck it," she said, and I jumped. I never heard her swear. She threw the car key in. It bounced off my shoulder and landed on the floor. "Go do what you have to do, Dent. If you feel like coming back, do it. If not, that's ok too."
I sat there watching her ponytail swing across her back as she walked away.
I almost got out and followed her, told her I was sorry, told her I'd spill the whole story of what was going on and do my best to help her understand.
Instead, I unfolded myself from the Honda's passenger seat, fished around on the floor until I found the key. I squeezed myself in behind the steering wheel and started the car.
Chapter Sixteen
I tried Al's number as I drove, but got no answer. I very much wanted to talk to Al just then. He would know what to do. I didn't leave a message. I didn't want any recordings out there floating around. I was taking enough of a risk just using a cell phone as it was. The damn things were way too easy to monitor. I considered calling Alex to see if she knew where to find her dad, but I thought that would cause more problems than it would solve. Someday Alex and I were going to have to sit down and have a long talk, but today wasn’t the day.
Mandy lived in an apartment complex in south-east Portland. One of those anonymous places that I hated so much. I threaded my way through traffic on Division Avenue, turning the problem over in my head as I went.
I needed to be careful. I wondered if the other side was done screwing with me. It sounded like they'd found Wendt, got him a lawyer and had created some kind of leverage on Lubbock. I wondered what that was. Lubbock seemed so squeaky clean it was hard to imagine anyone having leverage on him. I wondered if Al would be able to tell me.
Right now this stank of an attempt to discredit me as a cop, to taint my investigation against Marshall. It might very well wind up that everybody "knew" Marshall had killed Heather, but there would be no conviction because enough doubt got slung all over the cops. Hey, it worked for OJ.
I wondered if I would receive an offer: tell the story we want and all the trouble with Wendt will go away. Hell, maybe they'd make Wendt go away. If Wendt was locked up, you could make a lot happen inside a jail for a few cartons of cigarettes. If Wendt was out walking around, it would be easy enough to arrange for a drug overdose.
What would I do with an offer like that? More than once in my police career, I'd been wrong. But I'd never been dirty. I’d never even taken a free cup of coffee the whole fifteen years and I sure as hell wasn't going to help somebody cover up a murder.
I needed a wire. If the offer came I'd want to record it. It would be inadmissible as evidence, but it would still be useful.
Al would be able to get me a wire. If I couldn't get a hold of him in time, Casey probably knew somebody.
I felt the edges of reality slipping yet again. If someone had told me a week ago that I'd be jacked up and suspended, that a powerful businessman would be trying to cover up a murder committed by his son, I would have laughed.
Things like that didn't really happen in real life, just in TV shows.
I thought about all the cops I'd known over the years, ones who had been disgraced and turned in their badges, or in a couple of cases, gone to prison. Most of the time I hadn't been surprised. But there were a few that had shocked me, guys that wound up getting kicked out of the Bureau for stealing money, or diddling some teenager, stuff like that.
I wondered if they'd really done it or if maybe they'd tried to arrest the wrong person too.
Memories of jumping out of airplanes in the Army came back to me. I would always remember that time between jumping out of the door of the plane and the chute snapping open.
I would always remember that feeling of disconnection from everything, no feeling of falling, that feeling of having no ties to anything.
I had that feeling now, like I was in freefall like somebody had kicked me out of an airplane and I was waiting to see if the chute would open.
Driving one handed, I fished out my phone and dialed Casey’s number.
“Dent!” She answered. “I was just getting ready to call you. I imaged the hard drives from Marshall’s apartment. There are dozens of girls on there. I ran the images through facial recognition software and I got six hits. They are all girls or young women who have disappeared on the west coast in the last two years. None of them have been found.”
“Oh no,” I said. My head was full of stuff I needed to tell Casey, but my thoughts derailed.
“Do you think he’s a serial killer?” I’d never heard Casey sound uncertain, tentative before.
“Maybe,” I said, then shoved it out of my mind. “But we’ve got a bigger problem.”
Then I spilled it all out. About how Marshall’s previous arrests had been swept under the rug, about how Mandy and I were suspended, and probably Alex too. It sounded crazy, but it still felt good to say it out loud.
“Wow,” she said, then there was silence on the line for a minute. I could tell she was trying to decide if I’d gone crazy.
“That’s pretty crazy,” she said finally.
I pulled into Mandy’s apartment complex. “Whether you believe me or not, be careful. Get yourself to a safe place where nobody will look for you.”
There was silence again. “Ok,” she said finally. “I’ll hide an image of the data too.”
“Perfect,” I said as I parked the Honda. I hung up.
I knocked on the door a few times. No answer. Mandy’s car was here, but where was she? Maybe she went for a walk, or out with a friend.
I gave it one last half-hearted knock and turned to go. Something felt wrong, but I was under orders not to talk to Mandy during the investigation. Standing in front of her door in broad daylight felt like handing my enemies a favor.
I folded myself back into the Honda, cursing the little car. I had to figure out a way to pick up my truck, soon.
I pulled out onto Division Street and kept one eye on traffic while I dialed my phone. Al didn't pick up this time either. I sat there and listened to his answering machine, wondering if I should leave a message.
In my rearview mirror, I saw a marked police car pull in behind me, then the overhead lights came on. Muttering under my breath, I pulled over, and kept my hands on the steering wheel.
Office Bloem stepped out and strutted up to the door.
“Step out of the vehicle. Do it now.”
“What’s wrong, Bloem?” This was weird.
“Get out of the car.” He put his hand on his gun.
I decided to comply, figured we’d sort it all out later. He stepped back to make room for the door to open.
“What’s going on?” I asked after I unfolded myself from the car. I realized he had his Taser in his hand.
“Get back!” he yelled.
“Huh?” I said. Then he pulled the trigger on the Taser.
I dropped to my knees as every muscle in my body seemed to tighten then release randomly. I heard myself scream. It seemed to last forever.
The current cut off and I leaned forward on my hands, panting.
"Stop resisting!" Bloem yelled. I tried to tell him I wasn't resisting, but he just zapped me again. Somehow this time it was worse. I hit the ground hard and lay there flopping aro
und. I wondered if I was going to wet myself.
I don't know if I blacked out for a little while or what, but when I came to my senses again I was looking at a bunch of polished cop boots standing around me in a circle and I was being handcuffed.
“He charged me when I pulled him over,” I heard Bloem say.
Reflexively I tried to jerk away from my hand being put in the cuffs. This was wrong. My reward was a good shot to the kidneys from somebody's balled up fist.
"Stop resisting!"
I tried to jackknife away. I didn't succeed but I did feel one of the Taser barbs rip out of my skin. How about that? Your toy isn't going to work anymore.
I was in a frenzy. No rational thought, just pure fight or flight reflex. Since flight wasn't an option, it was all fight.
I actually don't remember it very well. It's just a blur of head butting, elbows, knees and blows to the back of my head.
It ended predictably. I lay slumped over in the back of a Crown Vic panting, my hands cuffed behind me and my legs hogtied together. My ears were ringing and I felt woozy from more shots to the head. Through the divider, I could see Bloem standing on the curb with his head leaned back, his nose gushing blood.
Part of me was gibbering that I was in deep trouble, that I had just fought with a bunch of cops from my own department. The other part said something rotten was going on and Bloem deserved it. In retrospect, both voices were right.
All I saw was a sea of cops. Police cars were scattered haphazardly all over the street, lights flashing. As I watched a handful of them jumped into cars and took off down the street, I guess for another call.
As I watched Winter rolled up in his unmarked car, conferred with Bloem, then walked over to the car I was in. He opened the door and stood in the opening.
"Miller, you're under arrest." He read me my Miranda rights off the little card he kept in his shirt pocket, just like good little newbie cop straight out of the academy. I just sat there and stared straight ahead, not even acknowledging his presence. It was all starting to sink in by then and I couldn't figure out how I'd gotten here, couldn't understand the chain of events that took me from investigating a homicide one day to being read my rights in the back of a police car the next.
