Ex-Kop (27 page)

“That whore? Who gives a shit?”

“When did she leave?”

“That was seventy-three. She ran off and never came back. She knew better than to come back. She knew she could beg all she wanted, but I wouldn't take her back. No way. She knew better.”

“What a bitch, leaving you to raise two kids by yourself.”

“Damn straight. I did right by my kids. Not that it did much good. They both got too much of their mother in them.”

“What do you mean? Your son's a cop, and a good one.”

“No thanks to her. I was the one that got him that job. You'd think he'd be thankful after all I did for him. He should be over here every night thanking me for getting him that job. Shit, Juno, you know how many favors I had to cash in to get him that job. They wouldn't even take him the first time. They thought he was too soft, so I got him that guard job at the Zoo. Remember that? A year as a zookeeper and there was no way they could call him soft anymore. He was such a momma's boy when he was little. He wanted to be a chef. You believe that? I had to drag his crying ass to the Zoo most every day. That toughened him up. You better believe it.”

“What about your daughter? What's she up to?”

“How the fuck should I know? I disowned her.”

“Why?”

“Because she's a whore, just like her mother. I tried to give those kids discipline. But how do they thank me? Michelle runs off with her loser boyfriend, and Ian Junior's too busy for his old man.”

“How did you discipline them?” Maggie asked.

“I never laid a hand on either one of them, if that's what you're asking. I was a good father, dammit. I never touched them. I'd just talk to them, tell them how it was.”

“Who was the boyfriend?”

“Sumari. Sumari Cho. Ian, Jr., caught him trying to rape his sister and beat his skull in.”

Maggie was incredulous. “You're saying she ran off with the boy who tried to rape her?”

“I told you she was a whore. Just like her mother.”

“Why didn't you arrest him?”

Ian turned venomous. “What makes you think I didn't, bitch? You whores are all alike.”

My blood was rising. I got up and waited for Maggie to do the same. We walked out together before Ian, Sr., said something I couldn't let pass.

I
LET
Maggie lead the way. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to feel. I just kept following, looking down the whole way, hoping we'd get there fast. I needed to keep working. I didn't like this alone time one bit.

She found the fish market wedged between two other fish markets. A neon sign over the door read “Cho's.” We crossed a wide wooden beam that bridged the gap between the walkway and the shop entrance. Fish hung in the window, lathered up in yellow antifly gel and hooked through the gills. Two men were behind the counter cutting and slicing. They wore bloody aprons dotted with flies that took off and landed with every filleting stroke.

The tall one took a long look at Maggie before saying, “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” I said. “We're looking for Sumari Cho.”

“You got him.”

His head looked normal. I didn't see any signs that this guy's skull had been beaten in by a young Ian. I figured it for one more of his Ian, Sr.'s, exaggerations. “This is Officer Orzo. I'm Officer Mozambe. We'd like to ask you some questions.”

He looked Maggie up and down and up again, trying to be subtle, but not getting away with it. “What about?” he asked with fish slime smeared on his cheek.

“Is there someplace we can talk?”

“Yeah, sure.” He wiped his hands on his apron and pulled off
the gloves. He brought a bucket of innards with him and took us into the back room. He passed a sliding barn-style door that was closed except for a small crack through which I could see the river. Next to the door was a chute that Sumari made a show of pouring the bucket through, trying to show off his muscles. Oily fish pieces clung to the corners of the chute. The flies were having a heyday.

Sumari said, “You can ask me anything you want.” His eyes were on Maggie's chest, the outline of her bra showing through her rain-dampened shirt.

I wasn't at all happy about an accused rapist looking at Maggie. “You can start by putting your eyes back in their sockets, asshole. Tell us about Michelle Davies. We hear you tried to rape her.”

Sumari ran his fingers through his fish-oiled hair. He stopped making eyes at Maggie and aimed them at the fish-scrap littered floor. “That was a long time ago,” he finally said. “I was cleared of those charges.”

“Listen,” Maggie said in a serious voice, “we're not here to air out your dirty laundry. We just want to know about the Davies family.”

He glanced at Maggie then looked away. All of the sudden he was getting shy. “My lawyer told me not to talk about it.”

“But you said yourself that that was a long time ago.”

“Still … He said not to talk about it.”

“Her father is still calling you a rapist,” she said. “He told us not ten minutes ago that you raped his daughter.”

Sumari bit his lip. “He can't do that. I was cleared.”

“Why don't you set us straight?”

“I can't. He's a cop.”

“Not anymore. He retired. Don't you think it's time somebody heard your side of the story? Just tell us the truth.”

He looked at her, in the eyes this time. “You won't tell anybody I talked to you?”

“Nope.”

Sumari pulled three folding chairs from a stack leaning against the wall. He sat down with a grim expression. “Michelle and I met at school, and we started dating. We'd go to dances and parties, you know, kid stuff.”

“Were you sexually active with her?”

“Yes. She was my first, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't hers.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She knew what she was doing.”

“And you didn't?” I asked.

He gave me a stare that said, “Grow up.”

Maggie changed the subject. “How about her brother? Did you know him?”

“Yeah. I knew Ian. Couldn't get away from him. He was probably twelve or thirteen then.”

“And how old was Michelle?”

“She was seventeen. He was like a little puppy always following her around. We'd go to a show, and he'd have to tag along. We'd hang out at her house, and he'd have to sit right next to her. He drove me crazy.”

“Why didn't Michelle tell him to buzz off?”

“She said she felt bad for him since their mother ran off. I tried to tell her she wasn't doing the kid any favors. I mean, it had already been a couple years since their mom left. At some point, he needed to learn to take care of himself. She couldn't play mommy forever.”

“Did she listen?”

“No. She broke up with me instead. She told me that she and her brother were a pair. I couldn't be with her unless I was willing to accept Ian.”

“What did you do?”

Sumari laughed. “I apologized. I
begged
her to take me back.”

“And she did?”

He nodded. “It was the dumbest thing I ever did in my life. That family was nuts, and I knew it, but I wanted to be with Michelle. I loved her. I didn't think I could live without her.”

“How were they crazy?”

“Where do I start?” He paused like he really had to think about it. “I never met Michelle's mother, but if you ask me, she was the smart one to run away. Michelle's father was a real asshole. He couldn't open his mouth without putting you down. He'd pick at Michelle and Ian all the time, always telling them what they were doing wrong. I never heard him say anything nice, never. Michelle said dinnertime was the worst. He'd make them sit there for hours while he drank and told his bullshit stories. Michelle and Ian were kids, like they cared about his stupid stories. Some nights they'd still be sitting there past midnight. If one of them got up, or even if one of them looked like they weren't paying attention, he'd start yelling at them, telling them they were worthless. He used to call Michelle a whore all the time.”

“Did he ever hit them?”

“No. Michelle used to say she wished he did. And she was serious. She said she'd rather take a beating and get it over with instead of having to listen to him rant hour after hour.”

Maggie looked at me, nodding. The source of Liz's masochistic cop fetish had been laid at our feet. Years of being forced to listen to her father spewing his hate, sitting there at the dinner table, hearing him ramble on and on about how he was going to hurt this person or that person, always playing the victim. When she was little, she probably believed him, the way all kids do. She thought he was a real tough guy, the kind
of guy everybody respected. But by the time she was a teenager, she would've known he was all talk, a blowhard with a badge, and she'd have to sit there, listening to him until she was ready to scream, wanting him to do it already, wanting him to punish her and get it over with. But instead he'd keep riding her, his constant toxic blather driving her insane.

I thought about Liz provoking me yesterday, trying to make me interrogate her. I was everything her father wasn't. Where he talked big, I talked small. Where he made empty threats, I was the real deal. She wanted me. She wanted what I could do to her. I was an expert in pain. She was into cops, especially those with a violent streak. She thought we were the antidote to her father's poison. She didn't get that we were really just poison of another kind.

Maggie asked, “Did she ever tell him to hit her?”

“More than once. It would just set him off into another tirade. She eventually learned the best thing was to just wait for him to run out of steam.”

“What about Ian, Jr.? What would he do?”

“He'd just sit there and take it. When it was over, he'd crawl in bed with his sister and cry like a girl.”

“Did you ever think there was more to Ian and Michelle's relationship than brother and sister?”

“What do you mean?”

Maggie didn't need to answer his question. She just waited for his mind to make the connection.

His face lit with understanding, “You mean … ?”

Maggie nodded.

“You think they were … intimate?”

“Were they?” I asked.

“Well, no. I don't think so. Or at least I didn't think so at the time.”

“What do you think now?”

“Maybe,” he said after a pause. “Ian was all hands with her. He was always snuggling up to her, slipping his hands inside her clothes, but I didn't think it was sexual. I thought he was just needy.”

“Did Michelle respond?”

“Not that I saw. She'd just push his hands away when it bothered her. But remember how I told you that Ian would crawl in bed with her after their father's tirades? Sometimes I'd go over there in the mornings, and I'd find them in bed together. I never saw them doing anything, but they'd be naked.”

“And you didn't think two naked teenagers sleeping in the same bed were doing anything with each other?”

“I thought they took their clothes off because it was hot. What do you want from me? I was a stupid teenager myself.”

I leaned back in my chair. It made sense how it started—two distressed teenagers trying to comfort each other late at night, a little touching under the covers and then the flood of hormones would kick in and the touching would turn into something more. “Tell us about how you raped her,” I said.

“I didn't rape her,” he glared at me. “Michelle was into some strange shit, okay?” He ran his fingers through his hair again. “She liked …” He was having a hard time spitting it out.

“She liked it rough,” I said.

“Yeah. I wasn't into it, you know. It didn't do anything for me, but she'd make me.”

“And how did she do that?” asked a skeptical Maggie.

“She'd pinch me, or she'd bite me until I lashed out at her.”

“You could have left.”

“Eighteen-year-old boys don't turn down sex,” he stated matter-of-fact.

“The rape. Get to the rape,” I said.

“I'd go to Michelle's house in the early afternoon. That was the only time we could be alone. Ian would be at school, and
her father would be working. Michelle would have me tie her up, and she had this whip.”

“Whip?” My mind flashed to Hector and Margarita Juarez's lase-whipped corpses.

“Yeah. It was one of those cheap souvenirs. You know the ones they make out of braided monitor hide?”

I nodded.

“Well, she'd make me use it on her. I'd give her a few whacks, the kind that'd sting, but wouldn't break the skin. And then we'd … you know … do it. We did it that way at least five or six times. It wasn't rape. It was all her idea.”

“We believe you,” I said reassuringly. “Then what happened?”

“Her brother came home early one day. We didn't even hear him come in. He must've peeked in on us, and there I was whipping his naked sister who was all tied up.”

“What did he do?”

“He brained me with a frying pan, one of those cast-iron ones. I never saw it coming.”

“How bad?”

“I didn't wake up for seven months. That's how bad.”

Sumari leaned forward and turned his head around. He took Maggie's hand and ran her fingers under his hair. “Feel that?”

“Yeah,” she said.

He took my good hand and ran it into the greasy hair at the base of his skull. From the corner of my eye, I saw Maggie wipe her fingers on her pant leg. My fingers ran up from his neck and into a dent, a big dent, a dent that made me want to yank my hand away. Ian, Sr., had been telling the truth—for once.