Getting Chance to tag along with me was a risky proposition. On the one hand, if trouble or questions arose, having a cop with me was a good thing—he could call someone for help or answers. And I might be able to pick his brain and find out some things that I probably shouldn’t know. On the other, if I needed to do something, well let’s say “untoward,” Chance might not be all right with my way of doing things. Plus there was the fact that I had not been officially cleared of the murder. For now, the benefits outweighed the risks.
As we drove to the address Bruce had given us, I took note of my surroundings. Chance’s car was clean and neat. Not quite meticulous, but not far from there. There was a box of tissues sitting in between the seats and a trash can sitting just behind the center console. Most unmarked police cars were at least somewhat clean, because the cops didn’t get the same car everyday and so it was considered bad form to keep a car messy, or to personalize it too much. But this car had nothing from which I could really get a feel for Chance. No picture tucked under the visor. No magazine or book in case his stake-out, which would’ve been me, was in for a boring night. There wasn’t even a CD player or iPod or anything to listen to music. And to say that Chance was not a talker would be an understatement. We both sat quietly as we rode to our unknown destination.
When we finally arrived, I was more than a little surprised to find it was a mid-rise apartment building. I say mid-rise, for those of you not from Des Moines. For this city, it was about as high as they go. Not a fancy building, a little rough around the edges, but not too far from the new coffee shops and where the bohemian fair of downtown used to be. I’m betting this place housed mostly kids fresh out of college or young professionals who called the area “edgy”, even though the biggest crime around here was from the residents of the new lofts not picking up after their dogs. To say it was a nice juxtaposition to the places this case had taken me thus far, though, would be an understatement. Of course, what to do with this wasn’t obvious. We couldn’t just run in and ask everyone in the building random questions about murders and Meatloaf. So, we’d probably have to get a list of tenants and run down their rap sheets.
I looked at the building and something crawled in the back of my head. This building looked familiar, but not quite. Maybe from a different angle.
“So, what’re we gonna do?” Chance broke the silence that had blossomed into awkwardness.
“That I haven’t figured out.”
When was the last time I was in this area?
“So,” I said before things got too quiet again, “you gonna spill about this case?”
“About this case?”
“Yup.”
“To you? A,” he cleared his throat, “‘person of interest’?”
I looked at the building and something crawled in the back of my head. This building looked familiar, but not quite. Maybe from a different angle.
“So, what’re we gonna do?” Chance broke the silence that had blossomed into awkwardness.
“That I haven’t figured out.”
When was the last time I was in this area?
“So,” I said before things got too quiet again, “you gonna spill about this case?”
“About this case?”
“Yup.”
“To you? A,” he cleared his throat, “‘person of interest’?”
“I’m really a person of interest? C’mon?”
“Maybe I’m just yanking your chain. It’s turning out to be a little more fun than I thought it would be.”
“Hey, that’s great for you, really.” He smirked.
“So, what’d you find out about the apartment where they found her?”
“It was rented out to a man three months ago. Paid for six months in cash.”
“Cash, huh? The landlord give you any description?”
“Nothing great. Medium height, medium build. Was wearing a black hat and sun glasses and they only met the once. Could be our guy or, you know just about anybody.”
I looked in the mirror, saw the Cardinal hat sitting on my head, the prescirption glasses sitting on my nose and my somewhat more than medium build and said, “Well, just about.”
“Yeah. I was thinking it didn’t sound like you.”
“Edna still wants me followed, though?”
“Yeah. I think she figures that if she believes your story, then this is about you. And if she doesn’t it is you.”
“Yeah. It’s the right call. That woman hates my guts, but she’s always dead-on.”
“She is the best,” he said with a sigh. Not the loving kind, mind you. It was the kind of sigh that revealed a grudging respect. The kind that you give to someone who is the best at something and won’t let you forget it. It was the same kind of respect I’d given her back when I was still on the force and struggling to keep up with her.
“Hates you, huh?”
“No offense, but they should have someone a little lower on the totem watching you. Even if you did it. I should be doing real detective work instead of baby-sitting some suspect who was smart enough to know he’d be followed.”
“Yup. Let me guess. You’ve been working with her for six months.”
“Just two.”
“Well, well. My friend, she adores you. I was still getting her coffee at 2 months and she hadn’t been in the department much longer than I had.”
“I find that less comforting than you probably intended.”
“I get that all the time.” An amicable pause hung in the air before I broke it. “So, you from around here?”
“Indianola,” he said quietly. “I’ve never even left the state.”
“Ah, you’re not missing much.” I said, my mind wandering for a moment to the few times I’ve been out of the state.
“So, what wasn’t in the file folders?” He said, his voice louder for some reason. “From the old case. What is it that’s really wrenching Edna?”
“Probably a lot of things.” I said, my mind drifting. “The first cases weren’t ours. They happened in Warren County. We didn’t know about them until after the next two. The first one we got was Mindy James. She was a high school sweetheart of mine, except we stayed together after high school and it quickly became less than sweet. She’d stabbed me once and I’d smacked her during a fight. They didn’t find out about that until after victim four, and I was quickly booted off the case. But not before I’d already looked over the crime scenes. Victims I hadn’t known or been in contact with, but I’d been acting weird. Everyone noticed and after they found out about Mindy, I was a suspect. I’d done more to make myself a suspect, broken the evidence chain of custody, smacked around a witness who didn’t want to be witnesses, mouthed off to superiors, veered the investigation away from where it should be going.” My voice trailed and there was a couple moments of awkward silence.
“How did the police not know about your history with her?” His voice was not that of the guy I’d been palling around with all day. This was definitely his cop voice, hard and full of danger. I looked over at Chance and could see something in his eyes. It was something I’d seen before, but I couldn’t remember where.
“I pulled the report of the domestic disturbance. Hid it. I didn’t want anyone to find it. I wanted to be the guy who brought this case in. Didn’t help when Edna found it in my car.” I’m not sure why I’d decided to answer him so honestly, but the silence that settled in let me know I might’ve made a serious mistake. It’s one thing to tell someone you’re a fuck-up in general terms, but to give them the specifics (and I had been pretty specific now that I thought about it) is to give them every excuse to call you a scumbag. And when you tell a cop that you were a bad cop for a bad reason, they tend to not like that.
That’s when he got the call.
“Where’s here?” I heard him say. He paused. “I’m not far from there now.” He shut his phone and looked at me. “What’re the fucking odds?” He said it with the kind of incredulity that made me wonder if he was more than reconsidering his opinion of me. And that’s when I recognized that look in his eye. It was determination. Determination to find and hunt and get his man. I’d seen it before when I was a cop.
And seeing that look on his face now told me there was a good chance that saying pretty much anything was going to make me sound guilty. I wasn’t sure what I was up against, and if I said the wrong thing it could be very bad. Or if I said the “right” thing, that would be wrong because maybe I had thought ahead enough to have a something to say. Or maybe I was a good enough actor to sound stymied or confused. Of course, I realized in the deafening awkwardness that settled over the car, saying nothing didn’t really proclaim me as innocent in all this.
“Guess where we found our next victim?” He studied me with the look of disgust. “Edna’s parked in the back of the building.” He was waiting for me to say something. “Something’s definitely wrong here.”
“It can’t be a mistake, Chance. But, I’d have to be a complete idiot to hand you an address that I knew a dead body to be at?”
“Guess you would.” He turned back toward the building, but he kept me in his peripheral. The quick transformation he’d made from buddy to cop was enough to tell me he’d been much more prepared and informed on my history than he let on.
I took a deep breath and let it out. It sucks when your biggest mistakes are brought back up for you to live again.
“Stay in the car.” He said as he got out of the car and headed to the crime scene. I knew what this meant. Translated from cop it meant, “We don’t have enough to arrest you, which would make us remind you of your rights, so we’re hoping you will not realize you have the right to leave. Then, we’re hoping you will incriminate yourself by saying or doing something stupid. Then we’ll arrest you and let you know you had the right to be quiet and get a lawyer, who is probably a lot better at dealing with this situation than you are, because you’re freaking out.”
I watched him walk up to the building and went over the choice in my head. First, I could run. I could get out of the car and run. Track down every lead I could and see if I could get whoever was killing these people and making me look like an asshole before the cops drug me in and gave me the grilling. It wouldn’t be illegal. It wouldn’t make me friends on the force, either. And when they did drag me in, they would make sure I knew I should’ve stayed when they were polite.
The problem was, I didn’t have any leads really. I could maybe pull something off this place, but it would take me more time. Costly time.
Which brought me to my second choice. I could stay in the car and wait. I’m assuming I’ll get questioned and they may let me know what I’m looking at. If I’m really lucky maybe that person was alive and could identify someone else. Or at least not me. Or maybe the person could have become a body while I was with Chance, giving me at least a good alibi. Worst case scenario, I get thrown in jail. And after the last grilling I got, I’m not relishing the opportunity to climb back in the ring and get yelled at.
My quick rule of thumb, when confronted with two choices, neither of which I really like, is to take a third choice. I pulled out my cell phone.
"CK, I've gotten into a bit of trouble. You wanna meet me at the police station on Locust?" I listened for a second. "Well, I'm not sure yet. But you'll definitely be on the news."
“Maybe I’m just yanking your chain. It’s turning out to be a little more fun than I thought it would be.”
“Hey, that’s great for you, really.” He smirked.
“So, what’d you find out about the apartment where they found her?”
“It was rented out to a man three months ago. Paid for six months in cash.”
“Cash, huh? The landlord give you any description?”
“Nothing great. Medium height, medium build. Was wearing a black hat and sun glasses and they only met the once. Could be our guy or, you know just about anybody.”
I looked in the mirror, saw the Cardinal hat sitting on my head, the prescirption glasses sitting on my nose and my somewhat more than medium build and said, “Well, just about.”
“Yeah. I was thinking it didn’t sound like you.”
“Edna still wants me followed, though?”
“Yeah. I think she figures that if she believes your story, then this is about you. And if she doesn’t it is you.”
“Yeah. It’s the right call. That woman hates my guts, but she’s always dead-on.”
“She is the best,” he said with a sigh. Not the loving kind, mind you. It was the kind of sigh that revealed a grudging respect. The kind that you give to someone who is the best at something and won’t let you forget it. It was the same kind of respect I’d given her back when I was still on the force and struggling to keep up with her.
“Hates you, huh?”
“No offense, but they should have someone a little lower on the totem watching you. Even if you did it. I should be doing real detective work instead of baby-sitting some suspect who was smart enough to know he’d be followed.”
“Yup. Let me guess. You’ve been working with her for six months.”
“Just two.”
“Well, well. My friend, she adores you. I was still getting her coffee at 2 months and she hadn’t been in the department much longer than I had.”
“I find that less comforting than you probably intended.”
“I get that all the time.” An amicable pause hung in the air before I broke it. “So, you from around here?”
“Indianola,” he said quietly. “I’ve never even left the state.”
“Ah, you’re not missing much.” I said, my mind wandering for a moment to the few times I’ve been out of the state.
“So, what wasn’t in the file folders?” He said, his voice louder for some reason. “From the old case. What is it that’s really wrenching Edna?”
“Probably a lot of things.” I said, my mind drifting. “The first cases weren’t ours. They happened in Warren County. We didn’t know about them until after the next two. The first one we got was Mindy James. She was a high school sweetheart of mine, except we stayed together after high school and it quickly became less than sweet. She’d stabbed me once and I’d smacked her during a fight. They didn’t find out about that until after victim four, and I was quickly booted off the case. But not before I’d already looked over the crime scenes. Victims I hadn’t known or been in contact with, but I’d been acting weird. Everyone noticed and after they found out about Mindy, I was a suspect. I’d done more to make myself a suspect, broken the evidence chain of custody, smacked around a witness who didn’t want to be witnesses, mouthed off to superiors, veered the investigation away from where it should be going.” My voice trailed and there was a couple moments of awkward silence.
“How did the police not know about your history with her?” His voice was not that of the guy I’d been palling around with all day. This was definitely his cop voice, hard and full of danger. I looked over at Chance and could see something in his eyes. It was something I’d seen before, but I couldn’t remember where.
“I pulled the report of the domestic disturbance. Hid it. I didn’t want anyone to find it. I wanted to be the guy who brought this case in. Didn’t help when Edna found it in my car.” I’m not sure why I’d decided to answer him so honestly, but the silence that settled in let me know I might’ve made a serious mistake. It’s one thing to tell someone you’re a fuck-up in general terms, but to give them the specifics (and I had been pretty specific now that I thought about it) is to give them every excuse to call you a scumbag. And when you tell a cop that you were a bad cop for a bad reason, they tend to not like that.
That’s when he got the call.
“Where’s here?” I heard him say. He paused. “I’m not far from there now.” He shut his phone and looked at me. “What’re the fucking odds?” He said it with the kind of incredulity that made me wonder if he was more than reconsidering his opinion of me. And that’s when I recognized that look in his eye. It was determination. Determination to find and hunt and get his man. I’d seen it before when I was a cop.
And seeing that look on his face now told me there was a good chance that saying pretty much anything was going to make me sound guilty. I wasn’t sure what I was up against, and if I said the wrong thing it could be very bad. Or if I said the “right” thing, that would be wrong because maybe I had thought ahead enough to have a something to say. Or maybe I was a good enough actor to sound stymied or confused. Of course, I realized in the deafening awkwardness that settled over the car, saying nothing didn’t really proclaim me as innocent in all this.
“Guess where we found our next victim?” He studied me with the look of disgust. “Edna’s parked in the back of the building.” He was waiting for me to say something. “Something’s definitely wrong here.”
“It can’t be a mistake, Chance. But, I’d have to be a complete idiot to hand you an address that I knew a dead body to be at?”
“Guess you would.” He turned back toward the building, but he kept me in his peripheral. The quick transformation he’d made from buddy to cop was enough to tell me he’d been much more prepared and informed on my history than he let on.
I took a deep breath and let it out. It sucks when your biggest mistakes are brought back up for you to live again.
“Stay in the car.” He said as he got out of the car and headed to the crime scene. I knew what this meant. Translated from cop it meant, “We don’t have enough to arrest you, which would make us remind you of your rights, so we’re hoping you will not realize you have the right to leave. Then, we’re hoping you will incriminate yourself by saying or doing something stupid. Then we’ll arrest you and let you know you had the right to be quiet and get a lawyer, who is probably a lot better at dealing with this situation than you are, because you’re freaking out.”
I watched him walk up to the building and went over the choice in my head. First, I could run. I could get out of the car and run. Track down every lead I could and see if I could get whoever was killing these people and making me look like an asshole before the cops drug me in and gave me the grilling. It wouldn’t be illegal. It wouldn’t make me friends on the force, either. And when they did drag me in, they would make sure I knew I should’ve stayed when they were polite.
The problem was, I didn’t have any leads really. I could maybe pull something off this place, but it would take me more time. Costly time.
Which brought me to my second choice. I could stay in the car and wait. I’m assuming I’ll get questioned and they may let me know what I’m looking at. If I’m really lucky maybe that person was alive and could identify someone else. Or at least not me. Or maybe the person could have become a body while I was with Chance, giving me at least a good alibi. Worst case scenario, I get thrown in jail. And after the last grilling I got, I’m not relishing the opportunity to climb back in the ring and get yelled at.
My quick rule of thumb, when confronted with two choices, neither of which I really like, is to take a third choice. I pulled out my cell phone.
"CK, I've gotten into a bit of trouble. You wanna meet me at the police station on Locust?" I listened for a second. "Well, I'm not sure yet. But you'll definitely be on the news."
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