Duplicity, page 4
The brief report Stewart had prepared indicated that the victim was observed jogging in Rock Creek Park and using the exercise equipment along the path. As Yang was leaving the trail, sometime between 6:43 and 7:00 p.m., he was struck by a car. The witness did not see him get hit but heard the impact, saw the car speed away, and called 911. He stayed with the victim until EMTs and police arrived.
Brick felt encouraged. Since only three years had elapsed, there was a reasonable expectation the witness could be located and interviewed. He turned the page expecting to see the witness statement. It was there, but the name of the witness had been redacted.
“What the fuck!” Brick threw down his pen and leaned back in his chair. Why was the name redacted? That made absolutely no sense. If, by chance, the witness was a confidential informant, the name wouldn’t have appeared in the first place. Brick was baffled but it was exactly the type of inconsistency that fueled his curiosity. He set the file aside. It was after six and other than the piece of cake at the reception for the twins, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. There were plenty of options in the neighborhood. Although keeping up with openings and closings tended to be a challenge. He grabbed his jacket and headed out hoping the Chinese carry-out next to the hardware store in the strip mall was still there.
Lotus Inn was open and busy. Thirty minutes later, Brick returned to his apartment with enough food for a couple of days. After filling a plate with kung pao chicken, twice-cooked pork, and shrimp fried rice, he turned on ESPN. On this Sunday night, the Nats were playing the Cubs. Seeing scenes of the Chicago skyline made him think of Nora. Interesting that she seemed to embrace the Windy City as much as she did Galway. Even though he had never been to Chicago, he figured the two places had little, if anything, in common.
The next morning, Brick awoke to an apartment that still smelled like Chinese food. He opened the window in the kitchen, regretting he hadn’t done that last night. Looking around his kitchen, which was probably last updated in the ’70s, he knew his home needed some extensive renovations, but do-it-yourself projects weren’t his strong suit and just the thought of dealing with contractors was a giant pain in the ass. Although at a minimum, he figured he should replace the microwave.
Brick was feeling unsettled, and he wasn’t sure why. He was glad to be home and grateful for an assignment that could potentially lead to a job, but unlike the years he spent investigating homicides, the motivation just wasn’t there. Maybe the time in Ireland had spoiled him. It was easy to let the day lead where it may and he had felt justified doing so. Could three months with no specific agenda or responsibilities undo years of a structured lifestyle? Intellectually, Brick knew his brain hadn’t been rewired. No doubt, this was just a readjustment phase, not unlike what plenty of new retirees experienced. Eventually, he’d figure it out. For now, breakfast was the priority.
While Brick waited for the bowl of instant oatmeal to finish cooking in the microwave, he channel surfed between the local news, CNN, and MSNBC. Who won or who was snubbed at the annual Emmy Awards didn’t interest him. He hit the power button on the remote to turn off the TV. The first spoonful of oatmeal was cold and the next burned his mouth. No more excuses, it was time for a trip to the Best Buy in Pentagon City. And while he was at the mall, he’d reward himself with a stop at Nordstrom’s. On any given day, he would much rather shop for clothes than electronics and his walk-in closet, seriously in need of purging, was proof. As Brick dumped the oatmeal into the garbage disposal, he heard his cell phone ping. He glanced at a text from Ron.
Change in plans—the microwave replacement project had waited this long; it could wait another day.
CHAPTER NINE
RON WAS ALREADY seated at a table at the Hawk and Dove. In a city as transient as Washington, this Capitol Hill establishment had been around since Lyndon Johnson was president and before Brick was born. He took a seat across from Ron.
“I thought I’d be in court all day, but the bottom-feeder had a come-to-Jesus moment and did us all a huge favor. He pled to second degree.”
“Nice when that happens.”
“Yeah, as the prosecutor said, we dodged a bullet. She was worried there’d be a hung jury because two of the witnesses were shaky, kept changing their story.”
“That’s never a good sign.” Brick picked up a menu. “Are you still working four-to-twelve?” he asked.
“Yeah. So, it didn’t make sense to go back home for an hour or two.” Ron leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “Been a while, partner, how are you doing?”
Brick smiled at Ron’s use of “partner.” Even though they had only worked together for just over a year, their partnership had been one of mutual respect and trust. Brick took a deep breath before he answered Ron’s question. “I don’t know if a trained therapist would agree, but I think I’m doing okay.”
“Regardless of what they may say, something must have worked because you look a whole lot better than when you left. Got to say, I was worried about you.” Ron glanced at his phone then slipped it back into his pocket. “Anyway, tell me about your meeting with the lieutenant. Are you thinking about reinstatement?”
The server returned with two Cokes and took their order before Brick continued. The enthusiasm in Ron’s voice made Brick smile as he shook his head. He went on to describe the cold case project under consideration. “I have a small favor. Can you ask around and see where Fred Stewart is now?”
“Sure, no problem.”
“Hopefully, if he’s still in the area, I can talk to him in person.”
“Because you can’t read body language over the phone.” Ron picked up his soda. “One of the first lessons I learned … the hard way.”
Brick nodded as he thought about that particular situation shortly after Ron arrived in Homicide. “C’mon, you make it sound like I was a tough taskmaster.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, you kind of ripped me a new one.” Ron smiled at his recollection and Brick laughed.
“I don’t remember it that way, but to your credit, you didn’t make the same mistake twice.”
Ron picked up his Coke and took a drink. “Hey, a lot has happened while you were away. Lieutenant Hughes broke up the A Team. And we have our first female detective, at least the first since I’ve been there. Holly Beltran. She transferred over from Robbery.”
“What’s the latest on Blancato?” While he was away, Brick had tried not to think about the former lieutenant in charge of the Homicide Squad and the very person responsible for his impulsive decision to retire back in April, but now he couldn’t resist.
“He’s got a fancy title, acting something or other at Homeland Security. Not that it matters, but my money says he’ll screw up another organization.” Ron shook his head. “With all his political connections, I guess we should have known he’d land on his feet.”
“He always does because it’s how this town works,” Brick said.
“Yeah, and I’m trying not to let it get to me anymore. I’ve got enough to deal with on the home front.”
Brick thought he heard a hint of frustration in Ron’s voice. “Glad I got to see the twins on Sunday. I can tell Jayla has you wrapped around her little finger.”
Ron smiled broadly. “You’re right, she does.”
“And I’m guessing they keep you and Jasmine busy.”
“That’s an understatement. I mean I knew babies change your life, I just wasn’t prepared for … well, it’s tougher on Jasmine than it is on me.”
Knowing Ron’s positive attitude about most things, it wasn’t the kind of answer Brick expected and it confirmed what he had previously picked up on. “Because you leave and go to work and she’s with the twins 24/7?”
“That’s part of it, but she’s been having issues with postpartum depression. I’m trying to cut her all the slack she needs, but it’s not easy. Sometimes I feel like I can’t do anything right.”
Brick thought about what he had observed the day of the baptism. “Is there medication for postpartum depression?”
“I’ve heard birth control pills can prevent the cause. But it’s a little too late for that now.” Ron laughed, so did Brick. “Seriously, she’s breastfeeding so she doesn’t want to take anything. She’s been seeing a therapist so I’m hoping that will help.” Ron glanced away, then back in Brick’s direction. “Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to get into all that. I’m sure you’d rather talk shop.”
“Not really. I can’t live in the past, Ron, but if you need an opinion, it’s just that I feel qualified to give you work-related advice. Considering my track record with women and my total lack of experience with kids, I have nothing to offer other than an ear. You know you can call me anytime.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. I think that was three nights of sleep deprivation talking. Don’t get me wrong, fatherhood is awesome, and I highly recommend it. It’s just a big adjustment. The whole family dynamic thing has changed.” Ron finished his Coke and asked the server for another as he left the cheeseburgers they had ordered. “It’ll all work out.”
“I’m sure it will,” Brick said. “Just remember, being their father is the most important job you’ll ever have.”
CHAPTER TEN
“SO HAVE YOU completely recovered from jet lag?” Rory asked as Brick took his usual seat at the bar.
“I think so. Seemed to affect me more flying west than when I traveled east.”
“It’s weird, that doesn’t bother me.” Rory reached for a bottle of Gatorade he kept in the small refrigerator under the bar. “But north to south, I’m knackered for days.” He took a swig of the orange liquid.
Brick was used to hearing Rory make nonsensical comments although late-night drunks were his usual audience. To keep from encouraging him, Brick assumed Rory knew that wasn’t a possibility and let it go without responding.
Rory took another drink before throwing the empty bottle into the recycling bin. “Glad to be home?”
“Yes and no.” Brick thought for a minute as he waited for his pint of Guinness to settle. “It’s good to be back around friends, but I could have easily stayed another month or two.”
“Except for the visa requirement?”
“Right. Had I known I might want to stay longer, I would have applied for one.” Brick picked up his glass and took a drink. “Driving on the left was a little dicey, but once I got used to it, I didn’t feel like a tourist anymore. It was kind of weird, I’ve lived here most of my life and there were times I felt more at home there, especially in Galway. If I could sing or juggle, I might have stayed permanently and become a busker.”
Rory nodded. “Yeah, I can really see you doing that on a cold, rainy day. Earning a couple of euros, if you’re lucky.”
“I know. That pipe dream could easily be a nightmare. It’s just that now it’s back to reality. Time for me to figure out what to do with my life.”
“Aw, you don’t need to do that today. At least, not right now.” Rory wiped his hands on a towel. “Want to order any food?”
“In a while. I’m meeting someone and will wait until she gets here.” Brick noticed Rory’s raised-eyebrow look. “No, it’s not like that. Might lead to a job.”
“Well, there you go. Maybe you’ve already figured out your future.”
Brick shook his head. “I’m not counting on it.” He was about to explain why, but spotted Grace Alexander walk past the window. “Hey, there she is now.” Brick slipped off his barstool and waved as the door closed behind her.
“Sorry I’m running late … again. Seems there’s always one more thing to do before leaving the office.”
“Ten minutes doesn’t require an apology.”
Grace smiled. “Guess I’ll file that under ‘Habits to Break.’ Women tend to apologize too much. At least, women of my generation. Not sure if the Millennials suffer from the same tendency.”
“If I’m going to be working with Millennials, I guess I should look into the traits that define them. But now that I think of it, my former partner is a Millennial. I just never thought of him that way. Maybe it’s because a squad room is a whole lot different than a classroom.”
“I’m sure you’re right. And I don’t think you need to be overly concerned. From what I read in the Post Magazine article it seems your communication skills have served you well throughout your career.”
“Don’t believe everything you read.” Brick smiled. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I didn’t have time for lunch today, so I’ll pass. Otherwise, this meeting may not be productive.”
There were times when a flirty cheap-date comment would have been okay, but this wasn’t one of them even though Brick agreed with Eamonn’s observation. Grace was definitely easy on the eyes, especially when she smiled. “Let’s take the table over there.” Brick pointed to one in the corner in front of the fireplace.
After looking over the menu, Grace chose the fish and chips. Brick returned the menus to the bar and placed the dinner order with Rory. Back at the table, he saw Grace slip her cell phone into her purse.
“I’m convinced technology is going to turn us into a nation of obsessive-compulsives.”
“I think it already has,” Brick said. “While I was in Ireland, I unplugged. Sometimes I went days without checking my phone or email.”
“Sounds tempting, but was it hard to do?”
“Not when you don’t have kids, pets, or a job to check on.” Brick took a drink. “But now that I’m back, I’m slipping into the old habits of checking email a hundred times a day and grabbing my phone every time it pings. Maybe I should start my own file of habits to break.”
“Or move to Ireland?”
“Thanks to my mother, I can qualify for dual citizenship. The thought has crossed my mind, but no baseball. Not happening.”
“We all have our priorities.” Grace smiled as she looked around the pub. “It’s crazy, even though I live in the neighborhood, I hadn’t been in here until I wanted to get in touch with you.”
“Is that because you prefer wine to whiskey or beer?”
Grace nodded. “And somehow drinking wine in an Irish pub seems …”
“Sacrilegious?”
“Something like that.” Grace took a sip of water. “Obviously, it’s been my loss. It’s a very comfortable place, and just as the Post article described, Eamonn is charming.”
“Charming?” Rory set a plate with a generous portion of fish and chips in front of Grace. “You were referring to me, right?”
Grace smiled. “Of course.”
Rory left and returned to the table with a bottle of malt vinegar for Grace and a steaming bowl of potato soup for Brick. “Let me know if you need anything else.” Behind Grace’s back, he gave Brick a double thumbs-up.
For the next few minutes as Grace ate her food, conversation ceased except for a few comments as to how much she was enjoying it. “I can’t believe how hungry I was.” She wiped her hands on a napkin before reaching into her tote bag and removing a large, sealed envelope. “I didn’t have time to go through all of Henry’s academic records but made copies of what I thought might be helpful. My sense is that he kept to himself, didn’t participate in sports or campus activities. At least the transcripts will give you the names of his professors, and the emergency contact sheet lists his last roommate. Sorry there’s not more for you to work with, but I’ll keep looking.”
Brick noticed Grace seemed less formal than she had when they met at her Lincoln U. office. “You just did it again,” Brick said.
“Excuse me?”
“You apologized for something that isn’t your fault.”
“You’re right.” Grace laughed. “Thanks for pointing it out. I’m worried it’s gone from a habit to a reflex.”
“Need to guard against that,” Brick said.
“I’ll try. Have you had a chance to review the police file?”
Brick nodded. “I have and unfortunately it raises more questions than it answers. I’m hoping the detective assigned to the case can shed some light on what happened.”
“Is the detective still with the Homicide Squad?”
“No, he’s retired and based on what my former partner was able to find, he’s living in Purcellville.”
“That’s in Virginia, right?”
“Yes, Loudoun County, which is about forty miles west of the District. Close enough that I can meet him in person, if he agrees to talk to me.”
“Would he have reason not to?”
Brick sidestepped the question. “Only one way to find out.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BEFORE BRICK CALLED Fred Stewart, he needed to do a little research. As much as he would have liked to save time and cut to the chase by just asking why the name of the witness was redacted, he figured that could be counterproductive. He Googled Purcellville real estate. Several websites popped up showing single family homes for sale but none in a price range a retired cop would be likely to afford. He continued scrolling until he found a new townhouse development that met his requirements. Brick copied down the name and address of the subdivision and a few pertinent details.
Now, he was ready. Brick put his cell phone on speaker and entered the number Ron was able to get. After four rings, he was expecting a recorded voicemail message, but a man sounding out of breath answered.
“Fred Stewart? It’s Brick Kavanagh.”
“Hey, a blast from the past. Hang on a minute.”
Brick heard water running.
“Okay, I’m back. Had to fill the dog’s water bowl. Just took him for a walk or more like he took me.”
Brick figured you can never go wrong asking someone about their dog. “What kind is he?”
“Good question. Not even the vet can figure it out.” Stewart laughed. “Hold on again.” It sounded like he had set the phone down, but Brick could still hear his voice in the background. “That’s a good boy, now go lay down.” A few seconds passed. “Hey, I’m back again. Anyway, I started volunteering at the local shelter and when they brought in this little guy, I knew he was going home with me. So how the hell are you?”
