Par Four, page 25
part #2 of Jake Hines Series
“Just the usual suspects, the pawn shop and the adult book store. Before you go, apply for a search warrant for Bad Boy’s apartment above the book store. You don’t need to wait for it; I’ll bring it with me when I come.”
“Can I check out the old van?”
“Sure.” He left, smirking like a lottery winner, and the rest of the team scattered too. I went back to the chief’s office.
“It sounds kind of incredible,” Frank said when I’d summarized Scott’s story. “He’s claiming that Randy robbed his own mother’s bar?”
“Scott and Randy set up the jobs. Farah and Bad Boy would go in at night and do the heavy lifting.”
“And then Scott helped kill his buddy in cold blood? That sounds like part of his nightmare.”
“His story matches the physical evidence, Frank.”
“I still don’t see how it all ties in to the kidnapping.”
“You will, soon as you read the transcription. And if you listen to the tape you’ll believe it. Scott was really distressed. I’m sorry I can’t stop to explain more, Frank, but I’ve got a lineup in five minutes.”
“Oh, that’s right. That’s this morning, isn’t it? Schultzy had to trade shifts so she could bring Jessica in. You gonna charge this Alvin Jackson after that?”
“Right away. The county attorney’s meeting me at the jail to check his paper work and take him before the judge.”
“Ed’s doing all this himself?”
“Hey, kidnapping’s got profile. Before I forget, Frank, we need to take Scott and Farah back to court, get the charge raised to–well, what? Manslaughter? Murder two?”
“Let’s let the lawyers decide that. You got enough to do.”
“Sure. Well. Will you call the paper?”
“Soon as I get all the details crammed in my noodle. It’s weird how the kidnapping and the murder turned into one case.”
“And the robbery at Rowdy’s, and two or three burglaries before that. It’s like a black hole sucking in case files.”
Jessica looked pale and solemn in the harsh light of the overhead fluorescents in the jail. Schultzy was a little shaky herself at the prospect of confronting the shrill-voiced man.
“Remember,” I said, “you’ll see him, but he won’t see you. This is one-way glass.”
Mother and daughter held hands and walked where we showed them. We found a stool and hoisted Jessica onto it. Kevin had worked the phones hard and assembled a group of men similar enough to satisfy any judge. At the last minute, though, I noticed that he had put Bad Boy in the third position in the lineup, and since Greg had put his picture third on the strip I showed Jessica at home, I moved him to second place in the lineup. No use risking a future appeal based on the fact that he was always in the same spot in the row. When the curtain went up, Jessica stared at the row of dark-skinned men for three heartbeats, pointed and said, firmly, “That one.”
“The first one or the second one?” her mother asked
“The second one.”
I had the men sit still while I took the Schultzes out and brought in Scott Rouse. He was distraught and exhausted, his eyes red slits in his blotchy, swollen face, but he did not hesitate to identify number two as the Bad Boy of his story.
To speed things along, Ed Pearce had come over to adult detention and now huddled with me by the admissions desk, completing Bad Boy’s paperwork while the deputy fitted the prisoner with leg irons and belly chains for transportation to court.
“Doris asked me to tell you she was sorry about the other day at the river,” Ed said. “She felt pretty foolish for taking up everybody’s time when you had so much to do.”
“No problem,” I said. “She okay? That was kind of a hard fall.”
“Oh, perfectly,” he said. “She’s very strong. I’ve never known her to faint before. It was just the sudden shock, I guess. I blame myself for letting her see the bodies. We forget, don’t we, that civilians aren’t accustomed to the terrible sights we see all the time?”
“That’s true,” I said, with a straight face.
“Well,”–he slid the probable-cause application into his briefcase–“I guess this’ll do it.” He shook his head. “This case seems pretty nutty, doesn’t it? Have you figured out yet what he had in mind, grabbing the kid like that?”
“Yes,” I said. “We’ll have all the motivation you need before it’s time to try him. Right now Schultzy will just be very grateful if you’ll keep him off the street.”
Ed and Kevin took the prisoner to court. Back in the department, I found Bo in his cubicle, working his computer and phone simultaneously, on the trail of Eugene Soames. When I stuck my head in, he circled his thumb and forefinger in an okay sign, and I left him to it.
Lou followed me into my office. “She’s gone,” he said.
“Who?”
“Was I looking for the Queen of Rumania?” he said. “Tammi Fae Boe, that’s who.” Having emerged from the cautious quiet his illness usually imposed on him, Lou was reclaiming some of the hard-edged glibness he used to have when I first met him. “The office in Kiowa Towers is locked up with the lights off. I asked around the building till I found a friend of hers in the pet grooming shop. She gave me Tammi’s home address and phone number. When I got no answer I went over there and got the landlord to let me in. The apartment’s been cleaned out.”
“So somebody tipped her off,” I said. “Now, who would want to do that?”
“Whoever else was helping her clean out apartments, I guess. I’ll put out an APB.”
“And get it in the BOLO’s,” I said, “and MINCIS. Hell, go ahead and get it into NCIC, if you can.”
“Will they take her? A little beginner thief in Rutherford, Minnesota?”
“Who says she’s a beginner? She got ahead of you, didn’t she?” He looked hurt. “If she’s connected to the drug side of Randy’s ventures, you can expect her to flee the state.”
“Frigging databases,” he grumbled. “I think they’re run by elves.” Lou was a dashing sleuth from the pre-wired era, when surfing was done on a board off Malibu.
“Get Mary to do it for you,” I said. “Better check Tammi for priors while you’re at it.”
My phone rang. Ray’s voice, oddly muffled, said, “Can you hear me, Jake?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“In the grove by the bridge. I was poking around in here, and then I heard something, so I squatted in the bushes, and…a little kid just walked in with a spade. Looks like he’s getting ready to dig. Can you come up?”
“Yes. How will I find you?”
“Park on the turnout east of the bridge and watch for my signal.”
“Ten minutes.” I ran down the hall, took the stairs two at a time and burned rubber coming out of the parking garage. I didn’t dare use the siren, but for once I hit every light just right. Ray popped out of the trees just as I parked, and I trotted down the slope from the bridge.
Crouching and squatting, we worked back to Ray’s hiding spot. Ali Tur was a few yards away, between two big oak trees, digging steadily. He had made a neat mound of earth about three feet high. While we watched, his spade scraped against something and he dropped to his knees, pawing dirt up out of the hole with his hands. He stood up with a bundle wrapped in a plastic garbage bag, unwrapped it, and I heard Ray stir beside me and stifle a chuckle.
“Coffee can,” he breathed, and I grinned. An American child assisting his older brother in crime would surely have shopped the hardware stores for a heavy-duty plastic box with good chrome hinges and a hasp he could padlock. Ali, dutiful son of frugal immigrants, had eased one of his mother’s used coffee cans out of the garbage and swiped a trash bag to wrap it in. He must have done a good job; the money looked dry.
Ali counted out a portion of his loot and stuck it in his pants pocket, replaced the rest in the can, and began to put it back in the sack. I nodded to Ray and we stepped out of the trees.
Ali dropped the can and bolted.
He was fast. I yelled after him, “It’s no use, Ali. It’s me, Jake Hines!” He was out of sight in the trees by then, but he stopped running and came back.
We met by the hole. I put on my latex gloves. When Ali got back to me I held out my hand and he gave me the money from his pocket. It totaled ten thousand three hundred and fifty dollars. I did a quick count of what was left in the can. Close to twenty-three thousand. If Scott’s story was accurate, Ali must have had their whole stash.
“Why didn’t you take it all out?” I asked him.
“I only needed Farah’s bail.”
“Farah’s bail is a hundred thousand.”
“I found a person called a bail bondsman…” Ali Tur was learning fast.
“You can’t pay him with stolen money, Ali.” He gave a tiny, pragmatic shrug and said, “Now that you know it.”
“It wouldn’t have worked anyway. This morning, Scott Rouse told me how they killed Randy.”
“Scott is just a stupid liar.”
“Stupid, maybe. But I think he’s telling the truth about how Randy died.”
Ali suddenly folded, literally, folding his small skinny body to hunker down on his heels in the wet underbrush. He put his face in his hands and wept. Stifled choking sounds came out of him, as painful and embarrassing as anything I’ve ever seen from a grown man. His breakdown made me realize how poised he was usually. He seemed, at the same time, much too small to be fourteen, and much too old.
His devastating loss of self-control only lasted a couple of minutes. Then he stood up, wiped tears off his face matter-of-factly, and got back to business.
“What will happen to Farah?”
“He’s going to go before the judge again,” I said. “This time we’ll be asking for a finding of probable cause to hold him for maybe manslaughter, possibly second degree murder. The lawyers will decide. The judge will set a much higher bail. I don’t think you’re going to be able to get him out, Ali.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“That’s up to you. If I could get your help…” He was already shaking his head.
“I’m not going to help you put my brother in prison.”
“I’m not asking you to,” I said, “but if you’d help us communicate with your parents and you’d all, the three of you, persuade Farah to give me some names…he could do himself some good, maybe. We’re really after the dealers in the Twin Cities that were setting these boys up in business.”
He gave me a piercing look, looking like a desert nomad wondering how much speed I could get out of my camel. “If I help you, can you get Farah a break? Help him plea bargain?” Everybody watches NYPD Blue.
“His lawyer will do that,” I said. “But if you all cooperate I’ll push for all the help he can get, yes. He’s going to do some time, Ali. He did some serious stuff.”
“Uh-huh.” He stared into the trees a minute and looked back at me. “If I go to jail my parents have nobody to help them talk.”
“I thought about that too.”
“Okay.” He shook his pragmatic little body and joined my team. “What’s next?”
“Are your parents home yet?”
He shook his head. “Couple hours from now.”
“Okay. Meantime come downtown with us and answer some questions; help us sort out where this money belongs. You know, don’t you?” He nodded matter-of-factly. “Good. Come on up to Ray’s car here. Your new career is about to begin.” I put him in the front seat, closed the door, and told Ray, “This kid is your project for the rest of the day. Find out where they fenced the electronics from Kiowa Towers, where the booze from Tom’s Liquors went. Dig out recent burglary files and see how many you can get him to admit to. One thing…” I opened the door again. “Tell me something. How come you were the one holding all the money?”
“I was the only one they all trusted,” he said.
“Figures.” I closed the door again. “Do the best you can to hold him harmless, will you, Ray? I like this kid and his parents need him.”
“Agreed,” Ray said. “You know, I never had a chance to tell you what else I found in that grove of trees.”
“What?”
“An old bedspread. Wanna see it?” He opened the trunk of his car. It was a cheap dark green chenille, dirty and rain-soaked.
“Could be the one they carried Babe in,” I said. “Check it into the evidence room as soon as you get back, will you? Make sure they hang it up someplace and let it air dry. First guy goes to the Cities can take it along to get tested for blood and hair.”
“Okay. You coming down?”
“In a bit. I want to check on my North End team first.”
Instead of driving straight to the pawn shop I poked along, exploring Nineteenth Street east to Tenth Avenue, turning south a couple of blocks on Tenth and coming west again on Seventeenth Street, really just giving myself a little breather. The jumble of puzzles and evidence that I was beginning to lump together as “The Krueger Case” had rolled over me so fast, I was in a constant subliminal panic about losing sight of something important. When, by the way, was I going to get some test results back from St. Paul? I fished my cell phone out of my briefcase, punched the auto-dial button for BCA, and asked for Jimmy Chang. He came on the line sounding frazzled, and said, “Oh, Jake, I hope you’re not just mad as hell at me. I’m sorry we’re so late with your stuff.”
“Have I got problems I don’t know about?”
“Not you. Us. We’re a mess up here. Let’s see, I haven’t got your stuff in front of me right now but…Oh, wait, here it is. DNA won’t be ready for weeks, of course, but blood tests, let’s see…A rather high level of cocaine in Randy Thorson. Is that a surprise?”
“No. You find any evidence of a third party in the kitchen fight?”
“None. All the blood we found in the house was from Babe or Randy. We’re saying Babe died of multiple stab wounds and Randy drowned. Time of death is pretty uncertain for both of them.”
“No problem. I’m getting that information now from other sources.”
“Oh, you are? Moving right along, huh?”
“A little too fast for comfort, yeah.”
“Well, I’m pleased to hear you’re solving your own cases, Jake, because I’ll tell you, the help you get from us is likely to be pretty sparse for a while.”
“What’s going on, Jimmy?”
“Oh, Jesus, Jake, in the very same week my boss resigned, got this dream job doing research in Africa someplace–”
“That’s a dream job?”
“Well you might ask. I think he’s got his heart set on a Nobel; why else would anybody take a pay cut to go risk his health chasing new strains of Ebola virus? Just crazy. And then Trudy quit, which is even crazier.”
“You think so? I thought she seemed pretty happy about moving to San Francisco.”
“Yeah, well, I hope she really loves the view out there because the job she took is just shit compared to what she’s got here.”
“You don’t say.”
“Why, hell, Jake, Minnesota pays as well as any state crime lab in the country, and we’ve got all the bells and whistles…We’re cutting edge. And Trudy’s a stone expert on the still camera and coming right along with her video. She belongs in a forensic lab; she’s got good instincts for the work. We’ve got a ton of applications already, of course, but still, Trudy will be hard to replace. I just can’t figure out what’s come over her.”
I can, I thought. She’s fleeing Jake Hines. I remembered watching her neatly balanced run through the rain yesterday, how much I loved watching her body and the way she moved it, and my chest filled up with pain so sharp that I gasped. I pulled over to the curb while Jimmy finished lamenting his upsets and said goodbye. Hunched over the steering wheel, rocking my aching chest, and groaning softly to myself, I began to hope I was having a heart attack. I had a momentary vision of being wheeled along a squeaky clean corridor on a gurney while soothing voices told me to hang on till my angioplasty team arrived.
But no cure could fix the fact that I cared so much about Trudy Hanson, treasured my times with her, and constantly looked forward to seeing her again, and now it seemed that all she wanted was to get away from me. How could that be? It made me feel grotesque. I thought I had come to terms long ago with my strange face and unknown origins, the fact that just the sight of me, standing in the doorway, made some people nervous. Now I wondered, am I turning into Jabba the Hut? Will dogs bark at my approach from now on–am I destined to make small children cry?
Slumped in the car, groaning and clutching myself, it was a while before I realized I was looking at my ex-wife, Nancy, who had come out of the grocery store down the street and was wheeling a cart full of food across the parking lot to her car. On an impulse I could not have named, but following some desperately important trail, I got out of my car and walked toward her.
She looked up when I stopped by her basket. I reached out toward her bags of food and said, “Let me help you, huh?”
She pushed the basket a foot out of my reach and said, “What do you want?”
I held my hands up like the stagecoach driver facing bandits in an old Ward Bond movie. “Nothing! I’m not–I just came to say hello.” She glared up at me suspiciously and I blurted out, “I was hoping you’d talk to me. Will you?”
“About what?”
I took a deep breath and said, “About when we were married. Why did we–What went wrong for us? Mostly? We started out having a lot of fun together and ended up not speaking. Do you know why?”
She held the fingers of her left hand aloft and began to count them off with her right. “One, you were never home. Two, even when you were home, you were never really there. I could see your eyes glaze over when I started to talk. Three…” She stared at me a minute and sighed. “Actually, one and two pretty well cover it.” She picked a grocery sack out of her basket. I moved to help her and she held it out of my reach. “I don’t need help!” She was suddenly fiercely angry. “I don’t need any help from you ever again, Jake Hines! You got that? None! And that makes me feel very lucky, because what I did need from you all those years I never got!” She slammed her groceries into her car and unlocked the driver’s-side door without looking at me again. I stood helplessly watching her while she backed out past me, spinning her tires, and drove away without a backward glance.
