Beneath the Cracks (33 page)

"How few employees?" I asked.

"Including myself, twenty people work
here."

"And your drivers?"

"I have three."

"All sterling pillars of the community, no
less."

Karen perched one hand on his hip.  "I
believe I told you that my employees are good people."

"I'll still need that list of names. 
Crevan, did we get the match for officers who were of the
approximate build of our uniform thief from division yet?"

"Only one who worked on Friday, Helen. 
He should have one uniform waiting to be cleaned today, the one he
dropped off Thursday night that wouldn't have been picked up until
Friday afternoon.  Sarge already cracked open the bin and
verified that he's got one bagged uniform waiting for pickup
Monday."

"His name?"

"Brian Xavier."

"I'll need that uniform if you can locate it
please."

"Don't you need a warrant for all of this?"
Karen's face flushed deep crimson.  "At the very least, I
think I should contact my attorney."

"Crevan?"

"As I shouldn't have to explain that uniform
is the property of the Darkwater Bay police department, Mr.
Karen.  According to the contract you signed with Downey
Division, we can request information relating to any aspect of this
business that may impact department security at any time and at our
sole discretion.  If you want to drag your lawyer into this, I
can promise you, there will be only one outcome.  You'll lose
the contract with Downey Division."

"And we'll get what we asked for anyway," I
said.

"Might even find yourself in a bit of hot
water for obstructing a police investigation into a homicide," Tony
added.  "If I were you, Mr. Karen, I'd hop to on the requests
we've made."

He gritted his teeth.  "Give me a
minute."

The man couldn't be logical and print out
his employee list first.  Instead, I was the one left tapping
a foot waiting for him to locate Brian Xavier's uniform.  He
returned with the bag.

"Are they always sealed like this?"

"Yes, Detective Eriksson.  As you can
see, the seal on this bag is intact."

I stared at the opaque gray plastic. 
"Hmm.  Shouldn't his name or a UPC be somewhere on the
package?  This looks like a bag from UPS, Mr. Karen."

He yanked it out of my hands. 
"Probably because we use a similar supplier for our…that's
odd.  The label and code are missing, yet I pulled this from
the specific location that Officer Xavier's uniform should've
been."

"Before you rush off to investigate, I'd
like that employee listing," I said.  "Sooner rather than
later.  If you find the missing label for this uniform, you
can call us."

"While you print that list for Eriksson,
what makes you so sure you couldn't have pulled the wrong package?"
Briscoe asked.

"He's the only X last name who has uniforms
picked up from Downey Division."

I tore the page out of the decrepit printer
tray and scanned the list.  Nothing jumped out at me
immediately, but Tony was right.  I might need another trip to
Uncle Nooky's Bar and Grill to ascertain the identity of the bald
man who had given no sobriquet.

Then I started to wonder why he hadn't.

Chapter 29

We rode in silence to CSD's labs at the ME's
office.  What felt like minutes since Denton's body had been
found was actually several hours.  Another spool of fluff
unwound from the clouds above and began to blanket the city. 
I wondered if Forsythe was even at the crime lab yet or if he was
still processing the cell, the scene of a crime committed right
under our noses.

"You're awfully quiet, Eriksson."

"Thinking about this case.  I think
when we're done at the crime lab we should go immediately to Uncle
Nooky's bar.  The sooner I can get another look at that guy,
possibly get his biker handle, the better.  I doubt that
anyone will be very cooperative with me, so my best bet is to find
Batshit Crazy again.  You gotta swear right now that you won't
tell Johnny how I flirted shamelessly with the guy to get
information.  It's probably the only way I can get him to talk
to me."

"I don't know about that, Helen," Tony
said.  "We might should hold off until mornin'.  That
place is bound to be rougher 'n rugby on a Saturday night. 
Too much could go wrong with all the bodies and concealed weapons
in the place.  Plus this hot on the heels of your little
demonstration of civil disobedience –"

"Vandalism," Crevan corrected.

"They might be more inclined to shoot first
and answer questions never."

A smaller crowd would be the safer
play.  I wasn't sure it was within my constitution to wait
until morning, but kept that nugget of truth to myself along with
many others.  "You're probably right.  After we drop off
this uniform, there's probably not a whole lot we can do until we
get the toxicology report back on Denton.  Was Xavier willing
to submit a sample of his blood and urine for exclusion purposes on
this uniform?  We could only be so lucky to get DNA from skin
cells and a hit from CODIS that would omit the need to go back to
Nooky's at all."

"Now you're thinkin' with your head,"
Briscoe voiced his utmost approval.  "We'll buzz you back over
to division when we get this evidence logged in with the folks at
CSD.  You gotta give me your word that you'll go straight
home, Eriksson."

I made an X over my heart, and wondered at
the gullibility of men who would believe such a thing was the same
as making a literal promise.

Still, breakfast had not sustained me for
long, not that I had time to finish it.  It would be nice to
have an uninterrupted meal, maybe catch up on the news outside the
bubble of Darkwater Bay before heading back to Downey for another
unsanctioned conversation.

The plan for the evening started formulating
in my head before we reached CSD.  Forsythe met me at the
elevator in the lab.  "You found the uniform?"

"We think it's the one," I said.  "When
our pal over at the dry cleaning business pulled it out of the
pending jobs, it didn't have a label on it, even though it was in
this sealed bag."

"I'm not sure how long it'll be before we
can run tests on this, Helen.  I've still got men over at
Downey finishing up in the cell.  So far it's been a veritable
nightmare trying to sort out fingerprints."

"I understand you have your procedures that
must be followed, but this uniform could narrow down our suspect
pool tremendously.  Has Officer Xavier given samples
yet?  If there's methamphetemine in the sweat or DNA from skin
cells, we need proof that it isn't his."

"Shelly was supposed to send him over here
this afternoon.  She was still pretty bent out of shape when I
left division and came back over here."  Forsythe shook his
head.  "It's been a long time since Mitch Southerby keeled
over while in custody, and nobody ever found out what actually
killed him, so I understand her concern."

"Right.  That was Tony and Orion's
suspect in the murder of the Assistant District Attorney, wasn't
it?"

"The case Orion took to a judge to demand
more testing, and then the body disappeared afterward, so those
tests were never done.  I think Maya told Billy to padlock the
unit they use to store Denton, just in case."

"They're done with the autopsy already?"

He nodded.  "Billy said he'd work
around the clock until he has the toxicology testing done on
Denton's blood and gastric contents.  Maya said she thought it
looked like Denton died before he really had time to digest his
food."

I gripped Forsythe's arm.  "Did they
identify what he ate?"

"Billy thought it looked like a breakfast
burrito.  Ham, potatoes, peppers, cheese, soft tortilla, maybe
some green chili."

"All soft foods.  He must've died very
quickly.  Do you think you'll be here all night too?  I
ask because Briscoe and Conall are taking me back to Downey
Division, and we're going to try to have an evening off since we're
in a holding pattern while the evidence is out.  I thought
Maya might need some company."

"I wouldn't count on it."

I winced internally and recalled my
conversation with Maya just this morning.  The grapevine in
Darkwater Bay, specifically the police department, was beyond
notorious.  "Is she upset that people found out about this so
soon?"

"I wouldn't say upset, but she wasn't
thrilled.  Billy was pretty aghast that she hadn't told him
the truth.  To be honest, if I hadn't coaxed it out of her
Sunday night, I'd probably feel the same way."

"They'll be fine, Ken.  Everyone will
understand eventually.  I hope they're supportive in the
meantime."

Briscoe and Conall joined us. 
"Supportive of what?"

They'd stayed behind to check in with
Finkelstein after we arrived at CSD, but had been otherwise under
my thumb for the rest of the afternoon.  If the rumor mill
reached them, they hadn't attacked me about it yet.

Forsythe simply shook his head.  "Of
anybody who needs it, Tony.  I expect we've all got more to do
than standing around chatting.  I'll call you as soon as we
can get to the uniform, Helen."

Instead of stopping at MSUH on my way home,
I called Maya.  She and Billy were still conferencing on the
web cam, so she understood when I explained that there was too much
going on for a visit this evening.  I only omitted what that
too much
included.

At home, I picked through cartons of
leftover Chinese food, most of which ended up in the garbage
disposal.  The rumbling in my stomach was satisfied for the
moment.  After a quick shower, I dressed for excursion number
two to Uncle Nooky's Bar and Grill.  I couldn't imagine where
the name had come from, since there was no
grilling
going on
– unless it was in reference to the biker's treatment of unwelcome
patrons.

No voice mail, no additional word from
Johnny on any of my phones.  I paused the plotting process
long enough to wonder if he really was out collecting evidence
against Danny Datello.  The timing with our fight would've
made it an odd coincidence, but I felt certain that Johnny would've
come home right away if possible.

Any time Datello entered my thoughts, anger
bubbled deep inside me.  His duplicitous smile evoked memories
of the same one Rick flashed at me when he reminded me that I had
met the man who sucked him into the family business, and that
family was not merely the metaphor thrown around in organized
crime. 

Johnny would never understand why I snapped
and resorted to my own familial pattern.  I wished I could
forget everything that had happened in the last two years, but
nothing seemed to erase it from my mind.  Not denial. 
Not hope.  Not ignoring the problem.  It was always
there, on the fringe of whatever reality I inhabited. 

At ten after seven, I palmed the keys to the
Expedition and grabbed my purse.  Uncle Nooky's Bar and Grill
could wait no more.  It was an odd moment to think about the
photos that Briscoe had taken at Dupree Farm, but in all the hubbub
surrounding Denton's murder, I had completely forgotten about
them.  I grabbed my cell.

"This is Detective Tony Briscoe, please
leave a message."

"Hey, Tony, it's Helen.  I forgot to
ask you about the digital photos you took at Dupree Farm this
morning.  If you have time later, or access to email, could
you shoot the digitals over to me?  I'd like to take a look at
them tonight.  Thanks."

Tony was right about one thing.  Third
Avenue was packed from Northeastern all the way to Grape, which was
more than two blocks of nothing but Harley Davidson motorcycles
lining both sides of the street.  I frowned.  Nooky's bar
hadn't seemed large enough to hold more than three or four dozen
the other night.  The motorcycles must've numbered close to a
hundred.  Where was he putting all the bodies?

I drove back to the same spot where I'd
parked the other night and climbed out of the Expedition. 

Gun.  Check. 

Badge.  Check again. 

Can of pepper spray, ready to fly. 

I locked the car after shoving my purse into
the console between the seats and set out on foot for the
bar. 

Rougher than rugby, wasn't that what Briscoe
predicted?

The muffled but regular whump of a bass
vibrated through the dense night air like a beacon to the
tribe.  Come to the party at Uncle Nooky's.  Lights cast
strange halos in the fog from windows above the bar and in the
buildings on either side.  The street lamps were glowing
orange-pink overhead. 

Twenty feet.  Ten feet.  I could
just about feel the rotting joint of the door protesting its
movement when a car on the street screeched to a halt. 
Casually, I glanced over my shoulder.

Crevan Conall charged toward me with murder
in his eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here,
Helen?"  His fingers bisected my upper arm and pinched through
my coat, grabbing skin.  Crevan started dragging me into the
street, away from Uncle Nooky's, away from where I needed to
go.

I twisted free.  "Don't!"

"You promised!"

"I never said any such thing," I
hissed.  "And how dare you –"

"Helen, have you looked at this
street?  We're not talking about a bunch of drunks sitting
around in the middle of a Wednesday evening in the local bar. 
This place is full of hardcore, bad ass guys who have no doubt
heard of the stunt you pulled the other night!"

"You followed me!"

Some of the rage leeched out of his
eyes.  "Lucky for you, sometimes a coincidence is just a
coincidence.  Tony and I got a call about fifteen minutes
ago.  A kid was dumping trash after the supper rush."