Duplicity, page 7
After a couple of hours of hopping on and off the tour bus and walking around Lincoln Park, Brick was happy to spot a Starbucks near 2122 North Clark Street, the address where the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre took place. A cold drink was appealing but even more appealing was sitting down and taking a break. Nora welcomed his suggestion. While she found a table, he got their drinks.
“A vanilla latte for you.” Brick handed Nora her drink. “And an iced green tea for me, although I’m thinking a Red Bull is really what I need.”
A concerned look crossed Nora’s face. “Have I overdone the tour?”
“No.” Brick smiled as he shook his head.
“Good.” She picked up her drink. “I figured if we found out we weren’t compatible, at least you’d enjoy spending a weekend in Chicago.”
Brick laughed as he took Nora’s hand. “Going out on a limb here, but I think we’re compatible.”
Nora nodded. “I’m not surprised, but then again, I think I have an advantage and know more about you than you know about me.”
“Really, how so?”
“I Googled your name and found the Washington Post story about the Delgado case. I was impressed by your determination to find the truth despite the obstacles you had to overcome and the price you ultimately ended up paying.” Nora paused and set down her cup. “I get the sense I’m embarrassing you.”
“The article … what can I say? It makes it sound like I acted single-handedly. That wasn’t accurate. If the reporter had spent more time interviewing me, rather than some of the others involved in the case, it might have been clear that I owe a lot to my former partner. And not just while I was trying to find the killer, but afterward when I was dealing with the consequences.”
“So, when I met you in Galway, it wasn’t an extended vacation to celebrate your retirement?”
“No, it was my way of recovering from the events you read about. Probably better that we met at the end of my trip than the beginning. And I should warn you, I’m still a work in progress.”
“Aren’t we all.” Nora glanced at her watch. “There is one more Chicago-centric experience you have to have.”
An image of the glass boxes Brick had seen jutting out from the side of the Willis Tower popped into his head. “If you’re thinking about The Ledge or whatever that thing is called, that’s where I draw the line … ain’t happening.”
“Fear of heights?” Nora asked.
“More like distrust of architects and construction workers.”
Nora laughed. “Actually, I’m thinking deep dish pizza. To leave Chicago without experiencing Lou Malnati’s would be like going to New Orleans and not having beignets at Café du Monde. Or going to …” Nora seemed to be struggling for another example.
“It’s okay, I don’t need convincing,” Brick said. “You had me at pizza.”
By arriving just after five, the wait for a table at Lou Malnati’s was short but long enough to stimulate Brick’s appetite. He feared the aroma of garlic and oregano may have him drooling like Pavlov’s dog. Brick studied the menu, but once again was willing to defer to Nora.
“What do you suggest?” he asked.
“That’s easy. The Chicago Classic—sausage, extra cheese, and tomato sauce. What’s not to like?”
“I’m beginning to think that’s a question I should ask you about this city.”
“Let’s see … what not to like.” Nora didn’t respond immediately. “The crime, for sure. Taxes, corrupt politicians, questionable police practices—pretty much the same issues facing all major cities.” Nora set down her glass of Stella Artois and gave their pizza order to the server. “Oh, and there’s the weather. Don’t be fooled by the past two days. Most years we only have three seasons—cold, colder, and hot.” Nora shrugged. “But despite all that, from day one, this city felt like home, even when I was staying in hotels between flights. So when the Shannon-to-O’Hare route became my permanent assignment, I decided to get a place of my own since I’m sometimes here for a week or two at a time.”
“That makes sense,” Brick said.
Nora raised her glass of beer in a toast. “Here’s to the City of Big Shoulders.”
Brick raised his glass, as well. “I think that’s preferrable to “Hog Butcher for the World.”
Nora tapped her glass against Brick’s. “Agreed.”
Preparation of deep-dish pizza took longer than thin crust, but as soon as Brick took his first bite, he was convinced the wait was worth every second. He smiled at Nora. “This may ruin me for all future pizzas.” He took another bite, savoring the buttery crust.
“Just so you know, they ship all over the country.”
“Great, next time you see me, I’ll have gained fifty pounds.” Brick finished his first slice and was about to reach for another when he noticed the TV mounted on the wall behind Nora. Subtitles scrolled across the screen as a CNN reporter appeared to be standing in front of a single-family home. The house looked vaguely familiar and there was no mistaking the distinctive red markings and blue lettering on the side of the D.C. Metropolitan Police cars parked in front. Brick leaned forward to get a better view so that he could read what was being reported.
D.C. police are asking for the public’s help since yesterday’s disappearance of the wife and infant twins of a homicide detective. Callers may remain anonymous.
Brick dropped his fork as he stared at the TV screen.
“Brick, are you all right?”
After reciting the telephone number for the police tip line, the reporter had moved on to another story. For a few seconds, Brick found it hard to believe what he had just seen. He grabbed his phone and located the story on the CNN app. Rather than try to explain, he handed his phone to Nora. “Here, read this.”
“Oh my God, do you know the detective?”
“Ron Hayes … he was …” The words seemed caught in Brick’s throat. With a shaking hand, he picked up his water glass and took a drink. “He was my partner.”
“Oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Nora crossed herself and appeared to say a prayer.
Brick stood up and glanced around the restaurant. “I need to make a call and it’s too noisy in here.”
The cab ride back to Lakeview provided Brick with the quiet place he needed. The first call he made was to Ron’s cell phone. He wasn’t surprised when it went straight to voicemail and he got a recording saying the mailbox was full. He thought about who he should try next and remembered yesterday’s call from Lieutenant Hughes. Her number was at the top of his “recents.” He tapped it and silently prayed that she would answer. She did, but was unable to provide any more information than he had learned from the CNN report.
It wasn’t until Brick was sitting at the gate at the airport that he had a chance to reflect on what had transpired over the past couple of hours. After talking with the lieutenant, he made the decision to return to D.C. as quickly as possible. While he packed up his stuff, Nora managed to get him a ticket on the last flight out to Reagan National. She didn’t have to ride along to O’Hare, especially at this late hour, but she did. Even though the weekend had ended abruptly, he felt sure he would see Nora again. He thought about how it is easy to be with someone when things are going well, but the real test is when things go south. And as far as he was concerned, Nora had passed the unscheduled test with flying colors. Perhaps her training and years of flight attendant experience helped her react calmly in a crisis. But Brick suspected it was as much a part of her DNA as her dark hair and blue eyes.
When his group was called, Brick boarded the plane. He made his way down the aisle and located his window seat over the wing. After stowing his weekender bag in the overhead bin, he sat down and with concern for what may lie ahead in D.C., Brick fastened his seat belt.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
WHEN IT COMES to air travel, Brick didn’t consider himself a nervous flyer but neither would he say he was a relaxed one. It all came down to being in a situation in which he wasn’t the individual in control. And truth be told, he envied the frequent flyers who managed to sleep soundly from takeoff to landing while he was feeling uneasy over the slightest bit of turbulence, anticipating it will only get worse. But this flight was different. Preoccupation with thoughts of what may have happened to Jasmine and the twins and imagining what Ron was going through made him oblivious to his surroundings. In what seemed to be record time, he saw the illuminated dome of the Capitol and felt the wheels of the plane touch down on the tarmac.
It was close to one thirty in the morning when Brick arrived at Ron’s house in the Shepherd Park neighborhood of Northwest Washington, D.C. Unlike the rest of the darkened houses on the block, Ron’s was brightly lit. As Brick walked up the stairs leading to the front door, he recognized a detective from the Missing Persons Unit walk past the window. Brick knocked and Lieutenant Hughes opened the door. Even though he was expecting her to meet him at the house, he almost didn’t recognize her. Used to seeing the lieutenant in dark, tailored pantsuits, she was dressed in jeans and a Washington Wizards sweatshirt. With her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked ten years younger than the consummate professional responsible for supervising a group of homicide detectives.
Brick had been to the house only once a few months before but noticed the living room looked very different now. The sofa had been moved against the wall and in its place, a large folding table. A couple of yellow legal pads were scattered on top next to the laptop computers and cell phones.
“Hey, Brick.” After setting a plate of food on the table, Michael Taylor, the detective Brick had seen walk by the window, shook hands with him. “Good to see you, just wish it were different circumstances.” Brick nodded and was introduced to Carrie Dixon, the other detective at the table. She looked up briefly before she resumed typing on the laptop in front of her.
“Where’s Ron?”
“He’s upstairs. Hopefully, he’s asleep,” Lieutenant Hughes said.
“How is he?” Brick asked.
“About what you would expect, he’s a wreck. Other than an hour here or there, he hasn’t slept in two days.” Hughes was holding a coffee mug. “I need a refill.” She headed toward the kitchen and Brick followed. A tray of sandwiches from Subway was on the counter alongside a box of donuts. “There’s sodas in the fridge. Help yourself if you want anything.”
Brick did. He unscrewed the cap on a bottle of Pepsi and took a drink before taking a seat at the table across from Hughes.
“Guess I should start at the beginning and bring you up to speed.” Hughes set her coffee mug down. “Ron worked midnight-to-eight on Friday and then had a pre-trial conference at the U.S. Attorney’s Office. He said it was close to noon when he got home, and he was surprised that Jasmine and the twins weren’t there. Immediately, he called her, but the call went straight to voicemail. He left an urgent message for her to call him.” Hughes stopped to take a drink.
“Had he called or texted earlier in the morning?” Brick asked.
“Ron told me he had texted her twice. Once before the meeting and then afterward to let her know he was on his way home. Jasmine didn’t respond, but he said he wasn’t concerned. He figured she was napping along with the twins.”
Brick knew next to nothing about taking care of kids, especially babies, but that sounded reasonable. While Hughes selected a glazed donut from the Krispy Kreme box, he waited for her to continue.
“From what Ron has said, her car and car keys were gone along with her purse and a diaper bag, but nothing in the house seemed out of order. He immediately called Jasmine’s mother and sister and checked with neighbors, but no one had seen or talked to her.” Hughes pointed to a calendar hanging on the refrigerator. “He told me Jasmine had been seeing a therapist, but since another appointment wasn’t scheduled until next week, he ruled that out as a possibility as to her whereabouts.”
Brick thought about what Hughes had said while she ate her donut. “So given Ron’s shift and the pre-trial meeting, it’s possible Jasmine had been gone for up to twelve hours at that point.”
Hughes nodded as she rinsed her hands at the sink.
“And he was the last one to see her?” Brick asked.
“No. Jasmine’s sister had spent most of the day with her to help with the twins. She stayed late and Ron gave her a ride home on his way to work. Detective Taylor verified this with Jasmine’s sister.”
“Good.” Brick was relieved to hear this detail and it probably showed on his face.
“I know. I’ve heard about the Johnson case and it was the very first thing I thought of. Were you working Homicide then?”
“Narcotics, but it shook every one of us to the core. No cop ever expects to go home and find his kids drowned in the bathtub and then be falsely accused of doing it.”
“That’s for sure. Divorces can be messy, usually are, but always a better option than killing your family. Anyway, when Ron called and told me the situation, I immediately put out an APB on her car.”
“How did Ron sound?”
“Clearly, he was upset, but given all he had already done, he was also proactive. At that point, still very much in cop mode. He even wanted to do more, but I convinced him the best thing he could do was to stay put, at least for a while, and make a list of her family, friends, doctors, and any place where she might go.” Hughes finished her coffee. “I had a meeting that ended around five. As soon as I could, I headed over here. I was hoping it would be like most missing persons, resolved with nothing worse than some embarrassment. Since that wasn’t the case, we issued an Amber Alert for the twins and notified the FBI.”
“And now, it’s been close to forty-eight hours,” Brick said.
“Right, and we all know what that means.” Lieutenant Hughes sighed. “I don’t need to tell you, I’m worried. Really worried.”
Brick nodded. “I take it there hasn’t been any activity on her debit or credit cards?”
Hughes shook her head. “We’ve been monitoring those—nothing. And I’m seeing that as a positive. At least, no one else is using her cards.”
Brick thought the lieutenant might be grasping at straws but wasn’t about to voice his opinion.
“Since the news media picked up the story, we’ve been getting plenty of tips, but none of them panned out.”
“Has Ron made a statement to the media?”
“No and I’ve advised him not to even though the media will read whatever they want into that.”
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. And in cases like this, they’ll always assume the husband or boyfriend is responsible,” Brick said.
“True. My worry is that Jasmine is a danger to herself and the twins. I’m trying not to betray a confidence, but Ron told me Jasmine is struggling with postpartum depression.”
Brick nodded. “I know, he mentioned it to me when we had lunch a few days ago.”
“Good. He hasn’t expressed his concerns in so many words, but I’m sure the thought has crossed his mind.”
“Has he talked to the therapist Jasmine is seeing?”
“Tried to but got a recording that she’s attending a conference in Minnesota or Michigan, somewhere in the Midwest.” Hughes shrugged her shoulders. “And given HIPAA regulations, I’m not sure how forthcoming the therapist would be anyway.”
“Ironic, isn’t it, lawmakers pass legislation to safeguard privacy, and you can still find almost everything about anyone on the internet.” Brick was about to tell Hughes how easily he had located Henry Yang’s college roommate, but just then he heard footsteps on the stairs.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
RON SEEMED TO do a double take when he shuffled into the kitchen and saw Brick.
“What … what are you doing here? I mean I thought you were out of town.”
“I was but I decided to come back early when I heard the news.”
Ron pulled out a chair and slumped into a seat at the table. “Oh, thanks, man.” There was no enthusiasm in his voice, but Brick didn’t expect there would be. Ron avoided making eye contact; instead, he stared at his hands as he twisted his wedding band. He stopped and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve never felt like this before. I can’t sleep, but I don’t feel like I’m awake either. It’s like being in the Twilight Zone with weird thoughts and crazy images cycling over and over through my head.”
Although never in this situation, Brick was no stranger to trauma. He understood the emotional reactions Ron was describing. Some emotional responses seem to be universal. “The unknown is torture, isn’t it, partner?” Brick deliberately used the term to reinforce the bond he still felt for his former protégé, although his just being there spoke volumes. “Ron, what do you need from me?”
Ron appeared to consider what Brick had asked, but it was as if he couldn’t find the words to express what he was thinking. He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, man … I don’t know.” Tears ran down his cheeks and suddenly gave way to sobs that rocked his body.
Without saying a word but communicating with a tilt of her head, Lieutenant Hughes left the kitchen. Brick appreciated her sensitivity to the situation and allowing them some privacy. He gave Ron a couple of minutes before he handed him some paper napkins.
Ron wiped his eyes and blew his nose. “I’ve been racking my brain trying to think of anything Jasmine has said that could be a clue, but I got nothing. Nothing, man.” Ron kept twisting his wedding band. “I know she loves the twins. I’ve never doubted that for a minute. She’d step in front of a moving train to protect them and yet I’m worried …”
Brick waited for Ron to continue, but it seemed as though he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud what he was thinking. It was the kind of reaction Brick had seen many times when talking to the family and friends of victims.
