Benefit of the Doubt: A Novel (30 page)

“Murder?” Alex was shocked. “Who did he kill and what did Dad have to do with it?”

“I don’t know yet, but there’s more.” Ben paused and Alex waited, wondering what could possibly come next. “I ran an Internet search on Henry Lipinski.”

“And?”

“He was arrested last month for distribution of child pornography. It was all over the newspapers up in Chippewa Falls. His case was going to be transferred to federal court.”

Alex, still scanning the card, looked up. “
Was
going to be?”

“He’s dead. Hanged himself in jail.”

Alex took it all in, trying to get her head around it. She thought it through out loud.

“My dad arrested Harlan Lee and I’m in jail. And the other cop involved in Lee’s arrest is
dead
?”

Ben’s expression was grim. “Yeah. That’s what I’m telling you.”

Alex sat back on the couch, trying to take it all in.

“We’re headed in the right direction,” Ben said. “But now we’ve got to be very careful. This is serious, serious shit.”

“Ben, you said it was suicide, right? This guy Lipinski. He killed himself?” Alex was scared.

“No, I didn’t say that.” His voice was grim. “That’s what the news reports said.”

Alex stared at the card. The signature of a man named Lipinski. A dead man named Lipinski. She felt her heart begin to race. Her thoughts went wild with possibilities until Ben’s voice brought her back.

“Don’t worry. You’re in protective custody. Darnell and plenty of the rest of the security team are on our side. You’ll be okay.”

Alex tried to sound confident. “If McKenzie comes back, I’ll keep my mouth shut,” she said firmly, promising herself that she would not be scared anymore.

“He won’t be back. Darnell will see to that. And I’m going to make sure McKenzie doesn’t bother your dad either.”

“But how do we find out about this Harlan Lee? That must be the answer, Ben, but what do we really know?” Alex leaned in “We need more, Ben. I’m going to court in three days. This is good, but it isn’t enough to get me out from under a murder charge.”

“I’ll confront McKenzie,” Ben said. “Force his hand. He can’t just ignore all of this. If need be, I’ll get Plate Boyd involved. We’ve got to compare your case to whatever they had on this Lipinski guy. Then there’s the case in Danville. I don’t know what the connection is, but before they shut down my interview, the suspect said something about growing up in Florence.”

Alex tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. “Will they listen? Will they do anything?”

“If Plate and McKenzie won’t listen, I’ll go to the DA. We’re on to something. We could make them delay the trial. We could get a shot at a bail reduction. That way we can get you home while everything is sorted out.”

Alex hugged him. “Oh, God, Ben. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to walk out of here. Can you really make that happen?”

“I’m going to make it happen. Just stay safe. Watch yourself and sit tight, you hear me?”

“Don’t worry about me. You be careful. Don’t take any more chances.”

Ben squeezed her even more tightly and kissed her on the mouth. Before he left, he said, “I’ll be back, Alex. And then you and I are walking out of here together. I promise.”

FIFTY

McKenzie tossed the six-pack of beer on the counter and called out to the turbaned clerk who had his back turned.

“Yo, Slumdog, give me a box of Red 100s to go with the beer.”

The man turned and stared at the detective before stepping forward and reaching over his head to pull a pack of smokes from the cigarette rack. He tossed the pack onto the counter, never taking his seething eyes off McKenzie.

“Beer and cigarettes. Will that be all?” The man’s English was perfect, without a trace of an accent.

“That’s it. Ring it up, Haji.” McKenzie winked, knowing he had gotten under the clerk’s dark skin.

“That will be twelve seventy-five.”

McKenzie pulled out his wallet and flipped it open to display his detective shield. “What’s the good-guy rate?”

“The price is the same for everyone, Officer. Twelve seventy-five, please.”

McKenzie scoffed, throwing down a twenty. “Goddamn. Between owning every frickin’ convenience store in America and the stranglehold on gas—shit, boy, why blow up buildings? All you fuckers are getting rich off us poor-ass Americans.”

“I was born in Des Moines, asshole,” the man shouted, slamming McKenzie’s change hard on the counter.

McKenzie walked out, with the six-pack slung over his shoulder, his middle finger looped through the plastic ring and extended straight up at the clerk. He stepped into the dimly lit parking lot and stopped, staring at his car. Ben Sawyer sat on the hood as if resting in a favorite recliner, his back against the windshield, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. McKenzie approached slowly, set the six-pack on the hood, and busted out a cigarette from his fresh pack.

“Comfortable?” he asked sarcastically.

“Sure am, but one of those beers would be great right about now,” Sawyer replied.

“Get your ass off my car, Sawyer,” McKenzie growled, but the other man stayed put.

“Beer and cigarettes,” Ben said. “Getting ready for another late-night stakeout?”

“What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be home with the family?” McKenzie pulled a lighter from his pocket and the flame lit up his face. “What’s left of it, that is.”

Ben slid down the hood. “So tell me, Doyle. How’s the big case coming along? I see you figured out the Harlan Lee connection. Nice work.”

McKenzie didn’t miss a beat. “Harlan who? What big case are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Harlan Lee and the connection to the Carson murder. My father-in-law arrested Lee seventeen years ago. A few days later, he was transferred to Florence County on a murder charge. You pulled the case from the warehouse.”

McKenzie was careful to show no reaction.
Have to admire the sly little shit,
he thought to himself. He stepped around to the driver’s side of the vehicle.

“Oh, you’re talking about the murder case against your wife. Sorry. That shit is history to me. I’ve moved on.”

“Where’s the Lee file? I’d like to see it.”

“The Lee file?” McKenzie feigned confusion. “Tell you what, I’ll run a computer check, see what I can find, a favor from a working cop to a has-been. Will that make you happy?”

McKenzie saw Ben swallow hard, and he knew he was gaining the upper hand. He seemed to be winning this little mental chess game. He was determined to stay on offense.

“Hell, I’ll even make a few calls. Where did you say the case was out of? Florence County?” McKenzie didn’t bother even trying to hide his sarcasm. He recalled the name Jorgensen had given him. “The sheriff up there, Scott Jamison, is a good friend of mine. I’ll have him take a look around. Seventeen years ago, you say? That’s an old record. Might take some digging, but old Scotty, he’ll do that for me.”

McKenzie looked straight at Ben, narrowing his eyes. He wanted his meaning to be absolutely clear. “But something tells me, Sawyer, we ain’t gonna come up with a damn thing.”

McKenzie knew Ben was starting to see the truth. The great Ben Sawyer was getting his ass handed to him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“How about Danville?” Ben asked. McKenzie thought he picked up on a hint of desperation. “How much do you know about the suspect in the murder of the transvestite?”

McKenzie laughed.
Very impressive,
he thought. “You mean the case where you got arrested for sticking your nose where it don’t belong? The one where Suarez got her ass shot to hell? If you don’t mind, I’ll stay out of it. Those Illinois boys seem kind of sensitive to people meddlin’ in their business.”

“Come on, McKenzie. The suspect grew up in Florence County,” Sawyer said.

McKenzie couldn’t help but start to wonder how it was that Sawyer was putting this thing together, but he told himself it didn’t matter. He shrugged his shoulders. “Wow. Strange coincidence. Thanks for letting me know.”

“You know there’s a connection in all this,” Ben said. “You know it’s going to come up at trial.”

McKenzie did his best to appear confident. He cracked open a beer and replied, “Maybe it will. But you know what else is going to come up? Real evidence. Stuff like eyewitness accounts, the murder weapon, blood evidence, and a lot of information about how your wife was practically screwing the dead guy on the tables in that coffee shop. All things that make sense to the God-fearing Wisconsin citizens who sit on juries—unlike this crazy conspiracy shit.”

McKenzie opened the car door. Ben slammed it shut. He looked McKenzie directly in the eye when he spoke.

“A missing case file you don’t know anything about. A similar case two hours away you don’t care about. Some sort of connection to Florence County that you’re not interested in. Kind of makes me wonder what it is you’re trying to keep quiet.”

“You got a rich imagination, Sawyer,” McKenzie said. “You wasted all those years being a cop. You should’ve made movies or some shit.” He grabbed the door handle of his car. “Now step aside. I’ve got plans that don’t involve standing around here jawin’ with you.”

“Tell me, Doyle, what happened to Henry Lipinski? You figure he killed himself instead of facing the music, or is that just what somebody wants us to think?”

“So you heard about that, huh? I gotta give it to you, Sawyer. You are pretty good at this detective shit.”

McKenzie took a healthy hit off the beer. He couldn’t resist rubbing Ben’s face in it.

“Let me spell it out for, Sawyer. I don’t give a shit about some ancient case out of Florence County, a ghost named Harlan Lee, a dead sheriff, or some fag that got its head caved in with a baseball bat. Truth be told, I could give two shits about that uppity bitch Suarez getting her ass shot to hell. Your wife is going down for murder. Get used to it.”

Ben stared at him, openmouthed. “What the hell are you, McKenzie?”

“I think you’re starting to get a pretty good idea of what I am. Of
who
I am and what I can do. That might be something you want to keep in mind. Now for the last time, Sawyer—back off.”

“Goddamn, McKenzie,” Ben said. “You’re ass-deep in this. Harlan Lee, Lipinski, even this stuff out of Danville? Those were cops that got shot. One of them was from your own department.”

Ben paused, then started to go on. “You won’t get away with this. I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” McKenzie closed to within inches of Ben’s face and lowered his voice. “Keep carrying on about some case from more than a decade ago that you got no record of and no documents? Talk about what was supposed to have been said during an illegal interrogation? An interrogation that got your dumb ass arrested and thrown in jail? Or maybe you should run and tell Jorgensen?”

McKenzie took another long swallow of beer. “No. Wait a sec. You can go tell Norgaard. How about that? Go ahead, Sawyer. Throw your weight around.”

“Jesus Christ, McKenzie, how deep does this go? Just what are you into?”

“I’ll give you some credit, Sawyer.” McKenzie’s voice flowed with complete confidence. “When you dragged your ass back here from Oakland, I figured you’d be happy just to have a job. Sit on the sidelines and collect a paycheck from your old man. It never occurred to me you’d come on like some supercop. But I’ll be damned if you didn’t come pretty close to figuring it all out. But you’re done now, along with that bitch of a wife of yours.”

McKenzie could see the clinched fists and heavy breathing. He knew Ben was right on the edge.

“Go ahead, Sawyer. I’ll let you put a good hurtin’ on me. I for sure got it coming.”

“No, not here McKenzie. Not yet. We’ll keep playing cat and mouse. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even win. But get this—you and whoever you’re working with are going to have to find another patsy. You try taking my wife down for a murder you and I both know she didn’t commit, I’ll kill you myself.”

The two men were only inches apart, glaring at each other almost nose to nose. McKenzie blinked first. He pushed past Sawyer and opened the car door, leaving Ben with a closing thought.

“Your wife’s going to prison, Sawyer. Get used to it. If anything happens to me, who do you suppose they’ll look at? Might wanna ask yourself what becomes of a boy who’s got two parents locked up for life.”

FIFTY-ONE

McKenzie had sat outside Jorgensen’s office for more than twenty minutes wondering just what the hell was going on. He’d been caught off guard when the chief’s secretary called and told him to report to the chief’s office.
Why did he have that old bitch call me? Why are we meeting here?
As he played out the possibilities in his mind, the door finally opened.

“Step in here, Detective,” the chief called out from the doorway. “I need to speak with you about the Louis Carson case.” McKenzie picked up on the wry smile from Bernice Erickson as he walked toward the office. The woman looked up and they exchanged stares. McKenzie was sure she was the culprit who had given Sawyer his badge and he didn’t doubt she had something to do with this meeting.

McKenzie walked into the office and went for his usual chair, but Jorgensen stopped him with an upraised hand.

“Don’t sit down. You won’t be here that long. Plate Boyd stopped by a while ago. Said he found this on his desk this morning.” Jorgensen jammed a piece of paper against McKenzie’s chest. A copy of an old booking card. The name on the card was Harlan Lee. The words “Ask McKenzie” were written across the top of the form.

So that’s it. Son of a bitch.

“Boss, I had no idea—”

“Did I tell you to clean this shit up? Did I tell you to be thorough?” Jorgensen’s voice was harsh but delivered in a whisper. “Judas Priest, Detective. How have you survived as a cop all these years?”

McKenzie struggled for a response.

“Chief, we haven’t used booking cards in over ten years. How the hell was I supposed to know this would turn up?”

“Because the case happened seventeen years ago, you stupid shit. Someone is sniffing around, McKenzie. Who the hell is it? Is it Sawyer?”