Benefit of the Doubt: A Novel (31 page)

McKenzie blew out a breath. “It’s gotta be.” McKenzie pointed to the closed office door. “And I’ll bet you he is working with that old bitch you’ve got for a secretary. You need to get rid of her, Chief.”

“Oh sure, Doyle. And how is that going to look right now?”

It dawned on Doyle that was the reason for the official meeting. Jorgensen was worried and now he was covering his tracks. Separating himself from the whole mess. He needed to draw the chief back in. Let him know just how close the danger was. “Sawyer came at me last night, got in my face. He knows about Lee.”

Jorgensen looked stunned. “And you were going to tell me when?”

“I’m taking care of it, Chief. I’m on it.”

“I’ve heard that before, Doyle. I’m starting to think I fired the wrong damn cop.”

McKenzie seethed in silence.

“Your ship is springing major leaks, Doyle.” Jorgensen’s voice went up an octave and his face was red. “This booking card is a formal link to the Lee case. You had better get a handle on this right now. Do you hear me?”

“Boss, I’ve got it under control. You told me to handle it. To keep everyone else away from it. I’m taking care of everything.”

Jorgensen’s voice dropped back to a whisper. “All this shit has got to stop. Sawyer cannot get to Harlan Lee. Do you hear me?”

“And what happens if he does? I’m in the dark here, Chief. Makes it kind of hard to know where the next move is gonna come from.”

Jorgensen drilled two fingers into McKenzie’s chest. “You don’t need to know any more than what I’ve told you. I think maybe I should pull you off the case. I’ve still got some concerns about that body at the rest stop. Seems they’ve tied the boy into another local dealer, fella named Tyrone. Haven’t I heard you mention an informant by that name?”

McKenzie knew he was in deep, deep trouble. “Okay, boss,” he said, surrendering. “Point me in the right direction.”

“There’s no doubt in my mind that Sawyer is already halfway to Florence County,” Jorgensen said. “When he gets there, he’ll be asking a lot of questions. About Harlan Lee. And Henry Lipinski.”

“I’ll head up there and—”

Jorgensen cut him off. “Don’t bother, McKenzie. I told you. I’ve got a good man in that area. A man I can damn sure depend on to get a job done. Sawyer ain’t going to find shit. He’ll have no choice but to turn his ass around and come home.”

Jorgensen put his lips inches from McKenzie’s ear.

“When he does, I want you to track his ass down. That son of a bitch is not to return to Newberg. And as for that old, broken-down piece of shit across town, he needs to be dealt with right quick.”

“I’ll take care of it, Chief.” McKenzie’s voice shook. “You can count on it.”

“Stop with the ass-kissin’ bullshit. If you had half the police sense Sawyer has, this shit would be history. Quit talking and get it done. Now get the hell out of my office.”

FIFTY-TWO

Ben watched as the uniformed officer hopped into the cruiser marked
FLORENCE COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE
and took off down the road. No doubt responding to a domestic violence in progress that had been called in clear across the county.
That should keep you busy for a half hour or so.

After the late-night meeting with McKenzie, Ben had reluctantly driven two hundred and fifty miles to Florence County. He was certain McKenzie wasn’t working alone, and Ben didn’t know whom he could trust. He had copied the booking card and told Bernie to put it on Plate Boyd’s desk. He could only hope that, in the end, Plate was still a real cop. Leaving Alex in Newberg with McKenzie on the loose had him worried, but what choice did he have? He hoped that she would be safe in jail—also not a particularly comforting thought. Ben had called Tia on her cell—she was still in the hospital, though her parents had gone back to Mexico—and they had come up with what they thought was a simple plan. Tia’s stern directions had left Ben wondering who worked for whom.

“Don’t be going all cowboy on this thing,” she said. “Keep a low profile, be as quick as you can, and get your ass back down to Newberg. I’ll take care of things while you’re gone.”

Once he had some proof of Harlan Lee’s existence and something that indicated that his murder conviction was somehow related to an arrest in Newberg, he’d go to the courthouse and bang on the DA’s desk. I’ll bother her at home if I have to.
Hell,
he thought,
I’ll take it to the media.
Somehow, he had to shed some light on the case, do something that would give Alex the benefit of the doubt.

The woman at the counter in the sheriff’s office bought Ben’s line about being a reporter researching an old murder case. She seemed to hope that maybe she would become part of the story. When she couldn’t find anything in her computer, her apology sounded genuine.

“Sorry, sir. Are you sure it was Florence County? Do you have the name right?”

“Positive. The case was transferred up from Newberg. Harlan Lee. Can you check again?”

“I’ve checked three times. I searched through all the L’s and H’s just in case the name got messed up. We have no record of a trial, arrest, booking. Nothing. Nothing on a man named Harlan Lee.”

Ben murmured under his breath, “McKenzie, you son of a bitch.”

“Excuse me?” The clerk was beginning to look annoyed.

“Never mind.” Ben’s mind was turning. “Tell me this. Who were the key players back then? I know the sheriff was a man named Lipinski, but who else was here? Who prosecuted murder cases? Or a judge? Anyone still around?”

“Beats me. I was six years old.” The girl shrugged, her hopes for notoriety dashed.

“That’d be Bill Petite,” a new voice said. “He was the district attorney back then.”

Ben turned around to see a white-haired man with tan leathery skin leaning against a mop. He wore an orange jumpsuit marked
FLORENCE COUNTY JAIL
and Ben figured his age at seventy-plus.

The clerk said, “Gus, be quiet and stick to your work. Don’t be butting in on other people’s conversations.” The woman looked at Ben and rolled her eyes. “They send him over here every day and I end up babysitting him. He mops that same spot for eight hours.”

“I see,” Ben said, then turned to the man and encouraged him to continue. “What was that you said?”

“I said Bill Petite was district attorney back in them days. Hot-shot lawyer. Came in for a few years, then lost his chair to another young buck. Headed out for greener pastures, or so he thought.” The man snickered. He lowered his stooped shoulders and returned to his pressing duty of dry mopping the floor as if he hadn’t said a word. Ben looked up and down the hall and saw no sign of a guard or other prisoner.

“You got a name, pal?”

The man took offense. “Name’s Gus Walcowski, but that don’t make me no pal of yours now, does it?”

Ben was willing to do what it took to gain the man’s cooperation. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean anything by it. But this is really important to me. Do you know where I can get hold of Mr. Petite? Is he still practicing?”

The old man laughed like he’d heard a good joke. “Practicing? Guess he could be practicing one thing or another.”

“I’m not following you.” Ben tried to hide his growing frustration. “Can you help me or not?”

“I can’t help you with nothing other than to tell you Bill Petite was a district attorney who took a real pleasure in stickin’ it to ya as hard as he could. I can also tell you he is easy enough to find these days.”

“I’m still not following you, Gus.” Ben gave a smile of encouragement.

“Petite went and killed his girlfriend and got his ass thrown in prison for it. No surprise to me. He always was a moody little prick.”

Ben was stunned. “When, Gus? How long ago did this happen?”

Gus pushed his mop in long smooth strokes across the linoleum and spoke in a cadence. “Heard tell from an old partner of mine who finished up a hitch just as Petite was coming in. Wasn’t much more than a few weeks ago, but Petite pled out quick. Cut himself the best deal he could. Serves him right. He was known to serve up a few deals back in the day.”

When Ben was certain the man was finished, he double-checked the facts. “So the former district attorney of Florence County, William Petite, is in prison for murder?”

Gus looked at Ben like he thought the stranger was simpleminded. “Yep.”

A district attorney had gone down for murder. A district attorney who might have prosecuted a killer named Harlan Lee. Ben’s pulse raced and his mouth started to water. He asked a few more questions, but it was clear Gus knew nothing else. Knowing that the sheriff was probably headed back and might walk in at any moment, Ben prepared to leave.

He’d originally intended to make this trip a quick turnaround, but he couldn’t take the word of an old felon from a county lockup. No one in Newberg would believe him. And if McKenzie found out before he got back, he’d figure out some way to discredit Ben’s information. Ben knew he needed more. He turned to Gus and did his best to sound casual.

“Hey, Gus. You wouldn’t happen to know where Petite is now, would you? Where he’s locked up these days?”

“Course I know. He pulled the worst card a man can in this state.” Gus never missed a stroke with his mop. “He landed at Red Cliff.”

FIFTY-THREE

Doyle McKenzie walked into the quiet room and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Hello, Red.” McKenzie smacked Lars twice on the face with an open hand, hard enough to get the old man’s attention. McKenzie wanted Lars to know this was no social visit. “Damn, old boy. You have most certainly looked better.”

Lars looked back with distrust in his eyes. McKenzie knew the former chief had never cared for him, and the feeling was mutual.

“You’re probably wondering what the hell I’m doing here, huh? We sure didn’t see much of each other on the job. Truth be told, Lars, I had every reason in the world to avoid your ass. But no hard feelings. Turns out Jorgensen’s every bit the pain in the ass you were, just for different reasons.”

Lars kept his eyes focused on McKenzie, and the detective kept talking.

“I imagine that son-in-law of yours has come by and filled your head with all sorts of bullshit, huh?”

Still McKenzie got nothing but a hard look so he kept talking.

“Yeah, Sawyer is a real piece of work. A fucking straight arrow if there ever was one. You ever have a sergeant like that? Meddling around in your affairs? I’m sure you can appreciate what a pain in my ass he is.” McKenzie delivered the lines as if to say the two old cops had some shared history with by-the-book sergeants.

“I suppose you think I’m here to talk about your daughter, but that’s old news. Sorry to be the one to tell you, but she’s bought and paid for.” McKenzie’s tone was flippant. “Now, this ancient shit here, this we need to talk about.”

McKenzie pulled yellowed papers from an envelope. “You remember this? Long time ago but, hey, it was a hell of an arrest. I seem to recall they made you Officer of the Year off of this, right? The big time comes to Newberg.”

McKenzie held the report out where the old man could see his handwriting from almost twenty years ago. “But I got some bad news for you, Lars. Seems this old boy, Harlan Lee, might be out settling some old scores. Can you believe that shit?”

McKenzie waited for some acknowledgment and was certain he saw a look of understanding in the old man’s eyes. “Problem is, Lars, Jorgensen’s worried you might come around and get all talkative, about what I sure as hell can’t say. Course, that don’t seem to be much of a concern at present, huh?”

McKenzie waited as if expecting a response. After a long moment of shared silence, McKenzie went on.

“I told him, Lars Norgaard is a stand-up guy. Good copper. It’s just…” McKenzie paused, as if what he had to say caused him personal discomfort. “There’s a lot at stake, Lars. And with your little girl up on a murder rap, that shit has got to screw with your sensibilities.”

McKenzie pulled a syringe from his pocket and removed the orange cap over the needle. He took hold of the plastic tube that ran food into Lars’s body. “I’m just as sorry as I can be, old man. Hell, if you had something to live for, we could work through all the details. I’d be happy to somehow spring your daughter and figure out another way to take care of this mess. But that damn son-in-law of yours … It’s best this way, Lars.”

McKenzie lifted the syringe up to the tube and poked the needle through the plastic. His thumb pressed down on the plunger just as the old man somehow raised his arm. He cuffed McKenzie across the wrist, and the syringe fell to the floor.

“Goddamn it, Lars,” McKenzie said. “Knock it off. Take this shit like a man.” He dropped to his knees and cursed as he got down on his belly and low-crawled halfway under the bed.

“Excuse me? What’s going on here?”

McKenzie recognized the voice and cursed under his breath. He shimmied farther ahead and saw the syringe clear against the wall and well beyond his reach. He stretched his full length just as the voice sounded again, this time with her usual tone of superiority. “Come out from under there this instant.”

McKenzie struggled to back out from the tight fit under the bed. Frustrated and out of breath, he stood and turned to the familiar face of Bernice Erickson.

“Oh,” she said, her voice full of contempt. “It’s you.”

McKenzie could barely conceal his own irritation. He knew there would be no fooling this one, but he had to play along as best he could. “Hey, Bernice. Paying your old boss a visit?”

Bernice walked deliberately to the bed, putting herself between McKenzie and Lars. She clearly wasn’t buying it. “Get out, Detective.”

McKenzie dug deep to put some authority in his voice. “Listen here—”

Bernice put her shoulders back and faced the much larger man. Her voice was firm. “I said get out. If you don’t, I’ll call security.”

“I’ve got as much right to be here as you do, you old—”

McKenzie stopped when his cell phone chimed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw the area code was out of Florence County. McKenzie glared at Bernice as he stepped into the hallway.