Duplicity, page 3
Lieutenant Hughes nodded. “I understand your thinking, but my concern is that there is very little to know about the Yang case.” She held up a thin official police department file. “This is it. There are other cases that are stored in boxes, some in multiple boxes. I’m not suggesting that one of them would be a better experiment, but before we proceed, I think it would be appropriate for Brick to see what we have and look into the case a bit. That way we can determine if the project has the potential to provide the students with a worthwhile experience and hopefully close the case.”
“Think that’s what we call a win-win,” Brick said. “I’m certainly willing to check it out.”
Hughes looked first at Grace and then at Brick. “Good. I like the idea, and if this case doesn’t meet the criteria we’re looking for, we have plenty of others. Not something we’re proud of, it’s just the way it is.” If she intended to continue, she didn’t get a chance.
“Sorry to interrupt, Lieutenant,” her receptionist said as she stood in the doorway. “The chief needs to see you ASAP.”
“All right then. Brick, I’ll draft a Memorandum of Understanding, which will grant you the authority to investigate this specific case and email it to you. If you have any questions, call me. Otherwise, sign it and fax it back to my assistant. Once that’s taken care of, you can have access to the file and start investigating.”
CHAPTER SIX
JASMINE TOOK OFF her sweater and grabbed a couple of tissues before she sat down across from Dr. Reznick. She glanced over at the double stroller where Jayla and Jamal slept peacefully. “At least they don’t know what’s going on,” she said as she dabbed at the tears flooding her eyes. “Thanks for seeing me. I know my appointment isn’t until next week.” She blew her nose, threw away the Kleenex, and reached for another. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
“It’s good you’re here,” Dr. Reznick said. “From the message you left on my voicemail, I’m worried about you. We should talk about your options.”
“What?” Jasmine asked. “I’m sorry, my mind is wandering in a million directions.”
“It’s okay. I said, we need to talk about your options.”
“Options? I’m not sure I have any.”
“It can feel that way, but I can assure you that you do. But first, tell me why you are so upset.”
“I’m not sure where to start.”
“Take a deep breath and try to relax.” Dr. Reznick removed her glasses and set them aside. She crossed her right leg over her left and balanced a notepad on her knee.
“Okay.” Jasmine took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. “The baptism is set for tomorrow. I want it to be special.” She looked up and glanced directly at Dr. Reznick as if seeking her approval.
“Of course. It’s a very important occasion that only happens once.”
Jasmine nodded. “Although I guess Ron doesn’t see it that way. When he found out what I spent on the outfits for the twins, he threw a fit. He said it was stupid to waste money on clothes they’ll outgrow in a month.” She glanced over at the twins. “I tried to explain that it was important to me because it would be the first time most of my family would meet Jayla and Jamal, but I didn’t get very far.”
“Why was that?”
“He stormed out of the room and went to bed, leaving me with lots of stuff to do, like laundry and cleaning the bathrooms. Things he said he would help me with.”
“It sounds like his behavior was immature and disrespectful. I can understand why you were upset.”
“Oh no, this was just the beginning. It was close to midnight when I finally went to bed. I was exhausted, but I was too keyed up to sleep. I was still awake when Ron’s cell phone pinged and a picture popped up on the screen. He woke up and tried to grab it, but I was closer to the nightstand and got to it before he had a chance.” Jasmine swallowed hard and appeared to be fighting back tears. She leaned back against the sofa pillow and stared up at the ceiling. “It’s like I’m still seeing that image of her in that slutty outfit.”
“Who … who are you talking about?”
Jasmine looked directly at Dr. Reznick. “Holly Beltran.”
Dr. Reznick checked through her notes. “I don’t recall you ever mentioning her.”
“I didn’t think there was any reason why I should, but it just shows how stupid I’ve been.”
“Jasmine, why do you feel that way?”
“Because I thought she was my friend … our friend.” Jasmine brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “She works with Ron.”
“Is she a police officer?’
“Yes, a detective, new to the Homicide Squad. She gave Ron gifts for the twins, which I thought was really nice, so I invited her to the house to see the babies. She told me about her nieces and nephews and how she hoped to have kids of her own some day.” Jasmine shifted her position and glanced over at the twins. “I trusted her and when she offered to babysit so Ron and I could have a date night, I accepted. Now it makes me sick to know she was in my house, probably snooping through my stuff … some friend, right?”
“I sense you’re feeling betrayed.”
“Of course I am.” Where there had been tears, Jasmine’s eyes flashed anger. “When I saw that picture, I knew.”
“Knew what, Jasmine?”
“He’s cheating on me. The babies are six months old, and he’s cheating on me with Holly. It was written all over his face.”
“Did you confront him?”
“I sure did! He denied it, of course, with some lame excuse that it was a mistake. She meant to send the picture to her boyfriend. Well, it seems to be that’s exactly what she did. When I said as much, Ron got angry because I didn’t believe him.”
“Jasmine, did it escalate to anything physical?”
“No, but for the first time since I’ve known Ron, I was afraid it might. He’s a cop. There’s guns in our house.”
“That’s definitely a concern,” Dr. Reznick said. “How many guns does he have?”
“Two. His service revolver and a gun he uses for target shooting.”
“Where are they kept?”
“On a shelf in our hall coat closet. It’s okay for now, but they’ll have to be locked up when the twins get older. We’ve already agreed on that.”
“That’s good for the future, but we need to talk about now.” Dr. Reznick glanced down at her notes before continuing. “Jasmine, I’m not saying this to scare you, but there was a study recently conducted in New York City. Homicide is the leading cause of death during pregnancy and the first postpartum year. African American women are at highest risk. It is critical that we discuss options for your safety and the safety of the babies.”
Jasmine nodded. “I know.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
BRICK WALKED INTO Boland’s Mill just after it opened and was glad to see Eamonn Boland behind the bar. No surprise that the old man whose face, for better or worse, always revealed what he was thinking broke into a broad smile.
“Welcome home, lad! Rory told me you were here the other day, but I was a little under the weather.”
“Feeling better now?”
Eamonn nodded. “Cure works every time. And looks like your time away worked as well. I didn’t say it then, but I’ll say it now, I was worried about you. Glad to see you’ve gained a couple of pounds and you look relaxed.”
Brick was getting used to hearing that. He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of his barstool.
“You’re a bit dressed up for a Sunday morning,” Eamonn commented as he wiped down a section of the bar.
“Maybe this is what I was wearing last night, and I haven’t been home to change.”
“Well, if that’s the case, good on ya. But what are you doing in here? You should be serving her breakfast in bed.”
Brick laughed. “Remember Ron, my former partner? His twins are being baptized at noon.”
“Ah, that’s grand. A boy and a girl, right?”
Brick nodded. “Figured I’d better have some breakfast first.” He looked over the menu and considered the traditional Irish breakfast but decided on a less hearty entrée. “I’ll have two eggs over easy, bacon, and O’Brien potatoes. And a glass of tomato juice.”
Eamonn keyed in the order and returned to the end of the bar with the tomato juice. He placed it on a coaster in front of Brick.
“Thanks.” Brick squeezed a lemon wedge over the top of the glass before taking a drink. “I met with the professor from Lincoln U., the woman you talked to. She’s interested in having me work with a group of graduate students on a cold case project.”
“But are you interested?” Eamonn asked.
“Maybe. A lot depends on the case. I need to check it out to see if it might be the kind of experience she’d like the students to have.”
“The professor seemed like a nice woman when she came here asking how to contact you. Plus, I’m sure you noticed, she’s easy on the eyes. Who knows, might lead to a job, or—”
“Don’t even go there.”
“Hey, if I were twenty years younger …”
“Eamonn, this is about a business relationship, not a social one.”
“You never know. An opportunity could land in your lap when you least expect it.”
“Has that been your experience?”
“Feck, no.” Eamonn shook his head. “But I have a little advice on the job front—don’t open a bar.” He laughed when he said it, but Brick knew that running a business which operates sixteen hours a day, seven days a week isn’t easy. And Eamonn had been doing it for many years. Although now that Rory had taken over a lot of the responsibility, he was putting in fewer hours on a daily basis.
While Brick ate breakfast, he thought about what Eamonn had said regarding the professor. It wasn’t like him to play matchmaker although he was right about Grace Alexander being “easy on the eyes.” But Brick had a strict rule about mixing business and pleasure. And for now, finding meaningful work was a higher priority than his social life. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if there would come a time when he would find himself thinking in terms of “if I were twenty years younger” or regretting letting opportunities pass him by.
After breakfast, Brick hailed a cab outside Boland’s Mill. He wasn’t opposed to using Uber but knew that cab drivers, especially older ones, were struggling. As he adjusted the seat belt, he gave the driver the address for the Southeast AME Zion Church.
It wasn’t the first time Brick had entered the historic church that, along with its school, parsonage, and parking lot, occupied a city block. At least this time it was for a happy occasion; the last time was anything but. The funeral for the only MPDC female officer killed in the line of duty filled every pew in the sanctuary and overflow crowds lined the streets outside. Brick thought about the other funerals for cops he had attended over the years. How many? The answer was easy … too many.
The baptism was being held in the chapel, a much smaller and intimate setting. The afternoon sun provided natural light as it shone through the colorful stained-glass windows. Brick entered and saw Ron and Jasmine surrounded by a small group. Two of the women bore a striking resemblance to Jasmine, her mother and sister no doubt. As Brick made his way down the aisle, Ron turned away from the group. Upon seeing Brick, he immediately came over and greeted his former partner with a handshake that quickly turned into a bro hug.
“Hey, great to see you. You’re looking good, man. Thanks for coming.”
“Glad to be here.” Brick noticed that Ron seemed nervous, which was to be expected given the significance of the occasion. He also had the new-parent sleep deprivation look times two. And if twins weren’t enough, having to adjust to changing shifts every two weeks wreaks havoc on the body, even an athletic one like Ron’s.
“We’ll be getting started soon and afterward there’ll be a reception downstairs. We’ll get a chance to talk then but, hey, it’s so good to see you. Appreciate you being here.”
Brick was sure he did. One of the things the two men had in common was a lack of family members. Both grew up without siblings or father figures. Brick’s mother died when he was a teenager and Ron’s mother died when he was in college. Even though Brick didn’t dwell on it, occasions such as this tended to be happy and sad if he allowed himself to give it too much thought.
Brick took a seat near the front and remembered to silence his cell phone. An older couple sitting in an adjacent pew leaned over and introduced themselves as Jasmine’s aunt and uncle. Other family members arrived and from some of the comments Brick overheard, this was their first time meeting the twins. Their excitement was contagious.
Just after noon, Rev. Marcus Walker, the senior pastor, entered and addressed the group with the words, “Let us pray.” Following the prayer and a collective “Amen,” he spoke briefly about the responsibility of being a parent before baptizing each baby. Ron held Jayla who entertained everyone with cooing sounds while Jamal slept in his mother’s arms until drops of holy water woke him and his earsplitting shrieks filled the chapel. The sacrament ended as it had begun, with a prayer.
It was over quickly, and the family members and friends filed out after stopping to congratulate Ron and Jasmine. The pastor led the way to the room where the reception was being held. Various relatives took turns holding the twins who seemed to enjoy the attention at first but were starting to fuss. After having a piece of cake, Brick didn’t intend to stay much longer and looked around so he could say goodbye to Ron and Jasmine. He heard their voices out in the hallway and was about to approach them but immediately realized it wasn’t the best time to interrupt. He stayed out of sight.
“I told you to bring their pacifiers. One task, Ron, was that asking too much?”
Brick saw Jasmine glare at Ron before continuing to rifle through the twins’ diaper bag.
“Jasmine, I’m sure they’re in there.”
“Really? Well then you find them!” She shoved the diaper bag into Ron’s chest, walked down the hall to the ladies’ room, and slammed the door.
Brick was sure Ron hadn’t seen him in the doorway and could probably use a minute to himself. He went back to where the refreshments were being served and helped himself to a glass of fruit punch. Shortly thereafter, Ron joined him. In his hand were two pacifiers—one pink, one blue.
“I hoped we’d have a chance to catch up,” Ron said. “But now just isn’t a good time.”
“I understand. Let me know when it is, and we’ll grab a beer.”
“Will do. I’d better get these to the twins, before everyone suffers hearing loss.”
Brick knew the polite thing to do was to speak to Jasmine before leaving, but all things considered, he figured speaking with Ron was sufficient. As he left the building, he saw Jasmine and Pastor Walker talking in the parking lot. He watched the pastor hand her a handkerchief and she dabbed her eyes. Brick couldn’t hear anything being said, but he could read their body language. He saw Jasmine nod and smile as the pastor, an older and handsome man, bearing a slight resemblance to Attorney General Eric Holder, placed his arm around her shoulder and led her back inside the building.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BRICK WASN’T SURPRISED the weather forecast was wrong, but this time it worked in his favor. The afternoon showers predicted earlier hadn’t materialized. Rather than flag down a cab, he decided to walk from the church to Police Headquarters to pick up the copy of the Yang file Lieutenant Hughes had left for him. On the way, he passed Nationals Park and stopped outside the gate. The team was on the road, but just walking by the ballpark put a smile on his face. He was visualizing some of the times spent here as vividly as if flipping through a stack of photos. A game or two still might be in his future before their season ended.
After arriving home, Brick was anxious to review the file, but first he changed into jeans and the green-, white-, and orange-striped shirt he bought at O’Neills’ Irish Rugby Shop in Dublin. Before grabbing a Heineken from the fridge, he cleared the sorted piles of mail taking up too much space on his dining table.
Lieutenant Hughes had been right about the file being thin. But just as detectives are stuck with whoever witnessed a crime, Brick knew this was what he had to work with. He started by reading the report prepared by the medical examiner. Yang had died from internal injuries as a result of being hit by a car. He was eighteen days shy of his twenty-second birthday and prior to being injured appeared to be healthy. No indication of comorbidities. Brick flipped through the autopsy photos but stopped and studied the one showing the head injuries Yang sustained. As he had done many times, he tried to look past the bruised skin and abrasions and for a moment imagine the victim before he was injured. A conservative haircut and no facial hair or piercings gave the impression of a serious young man. After reading that a fractured skull and multiple internal injuries were the cause of death, he set the autopsy report aside. He didn’t need to know how much various organs weighed. How Henry Yang lived may yield clues as to why he died, and Brick intended to learn everything he could.
If he accepted the job of mentoring students, Brick knew he would stress the importance of exploring everything they could about the victim’s life without passing judgment or jumping to conclusions. Objectivity and persistence were critical traits for success, but could they be taught or were they characteristics determined by genetics? He wasn’t sure but he might be in a position to find out.
Brick turned to the report written by the investigating homicide detective. One look at the signature and name typed below it was like being dealt a lousy poker hand. Of all the possible names of investigators, this was one he didn’t want to see. Fred Stewart was never outstanding, but at one time he was regarded as a detective who did a satisfactory job. That changed about a year before he retired. He made it abundantly clear he was counting the days. This case was assigned to him just three months before he pulled the plug on his career.
