Here Comes the Night (10 page)

Erika was grateful it was only busy at the O.K. and not
“honkin’,” as the wait staff sometimes described the weekend rush. Of course,
it was early yet. She waited until it was time to refill Mrs. Wesner’s cup to
ask again about ordering. This time the woman was ready to order, with lots of
conditions.

“One piece of bacon, extremely crisp, no grease on it at
all, can you do that?” And then without giving Erika a chance to respond, she
continued. “And half a piece of dry rye toast.”

“Okay,” Erika began, “but the bacon comes three to a side
order, and we don’t have rye toast.”

“What do you have?”

“Regular white, whole wheat, or Texas toast.”

“Oh God, not Texas,” Mrs. Wesner said, looking like she
might gag. “Just a half a piece of dry wheat then.”

“Ma’am, that comes two slices in a side order.”

“Listen to me,” she said, like this was a life-or-death
procedure. “I want one piece of bacon, real crisp and half a piece of dry wheat
toast. I don’t want anything else on the plate, alright?”

“I’ll bring you that, ma’am,” Erika said. “But I will have
to charge you for the two side orders.”

“Do I look like I’m worried about the bill? Just bring it.”

As they were finishing up, an old guy in a suit and a cowboy
type sat a couple of stools down from Angie Wesner and nodded to Erika.
“Coffee, gentlemen?” she asked as she scooted toward the order window.

“Please. Black, fresh and strong,” the rumpled one said.

As Erika snapped the order to the kitchen wheel, her manager
tapped her on the shoulder. “The two guys who just sat down at the counter?”

“Yeah,” Erika answered.

“They’re cops. No charge.”

“Sure thing.” Ordinarily this would have gone past Erika
without notice, but it set off her nerves this morning. She delivered their two
coffees with a smile. “How about some breakfast, fellas?”

“Can you throw together a couple of BLT’s real quick? To
go?” the younger one in cowboy gear asked.

“Sure thing. White or whole wheat?”

The cowboy grinned, flirtatious. “Now do we look like whole
wheaters to you?”

“Got it. I’ll put a rush on it, gentlemen.”

“Thanks. Say, can you turn on that television up there?” the
older one asked.

“Sure,” Erika said quickly, embarrassed that she’d forgotten
it when she opened her station. There was one that sat over the kitchen window
for the counter people to watch as they ate.

The two side orders sat under the heat lamp. With her back
to Angie, Erika wiped the saucer with a paper towel, blotted the dryest piece
of bacon, and took half of one slice of toast and put beside it. She put the
rest down to the side of the waitress station. If she got a second, she might
have the other two slices of bacon, Erika thought to herself.

“Here you go, ma’am,” Erika said as she set down the puny
looking saucer. But Mrs. Wesner was staring at the cameo around Erika’s neck.

Her voice was icy. “I couldn’t help but notice your cameo.”

Erika had forgotten she had it on. “Oh. Yeah.”

“May I see it?”

Erika leaned in closer so Mrs. Wesner could touch it. She
turned it over. Erika couldn’t see the inscription on the back that Mrs. Wesner
read to her.

“To A. 1986.”

Erika was puzzled. She hadn’t noticed any inscription when
he gave it to her last night and wondered if Tony’s grandmother’s name started
with an “A.”

“Where did you get that?” Mrs. Wesner asked.

“Uh, my boyfriend gave it to me,” Erika said.

Mrs. Wesner let go of the necklace. She looked stunned, but
Erika didn’t want to get nosy. She moved away, bussing a nearby customer’s
plate. She saw Gordon’s wife’s eyes drift up toward the t.v. screen.

Erika could hear the reporter’s words as she turned to her
work. “Police are trying to locate the former O.U. quarterback. They ask anyone
who might have information on the whereabouts of Buck Dearmore to come forward…”

Erika turned to look at the screen just as Mrs. Wesner’s
coffee cup slid from her hand, splattering coffee everywhere. Erika hurried
over to wipe up the spill.

Then Erika, too, turned to see what was on the screen. The
video, showing some 80's football footage featuring Buck, was just ending. Then
the screen flashed back to pictures of the wrecked Mustang with crime scene
ribbon surrounding it.

Erika turned white at the clips of Buck posing with a
football. She heard Mrs. Wesner whisper, “You bastard.” Then she threw down a
ten dollar bill and left without touching her bacon or toast.

“Do you know who that was?” the older detective asked Erika.

“The bank president’s wife,” Erika told him.

The two detectives looked pointedly at each other.

“Interesting,” the older one whispered to the cowboy.

Without any warning, Erika’s stomach lurched, and nausea
overtook her so fast she barely made it to the employees’ break room.

A few minutes later, when she emerged from the wash room,
her eyes were red and wet. Her manager, who was supervising the line, saw it
and called her over. “Hey, are you sick?”

Erika put on a brave face. “I’ll be alright. I’m sorry.”

“Are you contagious? We’re serving food here, remember.”

“No, just nervous stomach. I had a rough night.”

One of the old-timers, Lillian, stopped by with a handful of
breakfast orders. “Listen, I can cover for you if you’re sick.”

The manager wasn’t so sure. “We’re not swamped now, but it’s
not even seven yet. What about then?”

“How about that new girl? Alice or something?” Lillian said.
“She was wanting some hours.”

The manager nodded. “Okay, I’ll give her a call.”

The line cook called up Erika’s to-go. “Two BLT’s walking.”

“Got it,” Erika said and grabbed them up. But when she got
to the counter the men were getting up to leave.

“Gentlemen, here’s your BLT’s,” she said, holding the sack
out to them.

“Your timing is perfect. We gotta run,” the cowboy said.

Both men were looking across the street at two squad cars
that had just pulled up to the bank, lights flashing blue and red. The younger
one dove for his wallet. “What do we owe you?”

“Oh, it’s on the house,” Erika said, waving them away. She
nodded across the street. “That where you’re headed?”

The older guy pulled out a couple of bucks and left them on
the counter for a tip as they hurried out.

“Did somebody rob the bank?” Erika asked after them, but
they were out the door. She watched as they hurried across the street to the
arriving police cars.

Ten minutes later her manager motioned Erika off the floor
and told her to go home. “The new girl’s coming in. It’ll be fine. I didn’t
want to say anything when you came in, but you look terrible, Erika. Go get
some rest.”

She was so relieved she thanked him with a big hug, which
embarrassed him no end. “No now, don’t go doing that,” he said, clumsily
pulling away.

Erika ducked into the washroom again and washed her face.
She grabbed a coffee to go and headed out the entrance.

The fresh air helped a lot. She walked over by a small crowd
who were also curious about the police cars across the street. She was trying
to figure out what was going on when she heard someone call her.

“Erika?”

She turned to see Mrs. Wesner from the counter.

“How did you know my name?” Erika asked. Then she realized.
“Oh, the nametag.”

“Where
is
he?” Mrs. Wesner spit out.

“What?” Erika said.

“You know who. Where is he?” She was on the verge of tears.

“Who are you talking about?” Erika asked. “I don’t even know
you.”

The woman pointed at the cameo on Erika’s neck and said, “
That’s
who I am, the inscription on back. That’s me. I’m Angie.”

A light dawned in Erika’s head. “Oh no. Did he
steal
this
from you?” That would be Tony’s style.

“I wish,” Angie said. “I was idiot enough to give it to
him.”

More sirens whined as two additional police cars pulled up
in front of the bank and screeched to a stop.

“But…you don’t mean you two…?” Erika stumbled, not sure how
to even ask.

Angie looked at her, confused at first, then shaking her
head as though she didn’t have time to bother with it now. “I’d like it back,
alright? It’s a keepsake.”

Erika unclasped the cameo and gave it to her. “I’m sorry. I
didn’t know it was stolen. Really.”

They both became distracted then by the activity across the
street and turned to watch more cruisers and police officers going into the
bank.

Erika looked at Angie. “Do you know what’s going on over
there?”

“No,” Angie said, starting to walk toward the bank. “But I
intend to find out.”

“Did somebody rob the bank?” Erika said.

Across the street, an officer on the scene was opening the
door for the two detectives she had just served from the counter.

Angie crossed the street and hurried to the same door. Behind
her, Erika moved in the same direction, not really following, but staring up at
the bank building.

When Angie reached the entrance, she spoke to the officer.
“I want to know what’s happened. My husband is…”

“Sorry, ma’am. No one is allowed in,” the uniform said.

“I’m Mrs. Gordon Wesner. My husband’s president of this
bank. Please, go find someone I can talk to.”

Tony walked out of Erika’s apartment building and glanced up
at a street clock. Late again
.

A few blocks down, he watched as a businessman in a suit
pulled his Kawasaki Ninja into a No Parking zone by an open-fronted newspaper
and coffee stand. The cashier checking out people waved to him.

“Watch my bike?” the businessman asked as he hurried inside
to the coffee machine. The cashier nodded back, a daily routine, and continued
with his next customer.

Tony moved closer to the bike and saw the keys still in the
ignition. The bike was only a 250, but it would have to do. He stood by the
window and waited until the clerk turned around to get some cigarettes from a
wall rack.

He was on the bike in a split second and fired up the
engine. He ripped out into the street, already halfway down the block before
the cashier realized what had happened.

In his side mirrors, Tony could see the businessman rushing
out to the sidewalk and screaming after him.

“Suck on that,” Tony yelled back, and rolled back the
throttle.

He was so delirious over his heist that it was hard to head
to his parole appointment. But if he didn’t show up there, it would raise red
flags.

When he arrived at the building fifteen minutes later, he
pulled the stolen Kawasaki as far back into the parking lot as he could.

He scooted up the stairs and managed to arrive at the P.O.’s
office only ten minutes late. He stuck his head in and acted like he was out of
breath, showing how he’d rushed to make it.

Greg Chapman, a bent public servant who had lost interest in
late excuses years ago, looked up at him without curiosity. “Mr. Bonner, late
as usual. I’ve already closed your file.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Tony said, affecting an innocent persona,
“but somebody stole my bike. While I was trying to get coffee. I had to walk
the whole way.”

“Right,” Chapman said with a sigh, waving him in. “Well, as
long as you’re here…”

Tony pulled out his work record papers, which he had meant
to fix up but forgot.

Chapman frowned as he shuffled through them. “Watch all
these late reports to work. And remember, if you miss a whole day, like you
apparently did yesterday, you’re supposed to call me, too.”

“Sorry, Boss.” Tony ducked his head. “My girlfriend’s been
making my life a living hell.”

Chapman gave him the even stare of someone who had heard it
all. “Can’t let that interfere with work, Tony.”

Tony looked at the floor, cleared his throat, acting choked up.
“She screwed me around yesterday. Spent the whole night with somebody else—some
big muckety-muck.”

“Tony, you know how much is riding on you holding down a
job. Even if it is just cleaning floors. If you’ve got somebody going to ruin
it for you, get out of it. She’s not worth it.”

“I don’t know if I can just leave her, though. I really love
her.”

“Tony, if you lose that job, you’re up shit creek.” Then
Chapman exhaled sharply and signed off on him.

Tony perked up when he saw Chapman initial his papers. “I
know you’re right, sir. Thanks for the advice.” He picked up his stuff and
scooted out.

Chapman snorted through the glass tiled partition of his
tiny cubicle after Tony was gone, and said to himself, “Yeah, like you ever
wanted my advice before.”

“What do we got?” Edgars asked the officer who had come
downstairs from the bank president’s office to meet them.

“Looks like a robbery gone bad,” the officer reported. “One
dead, bank president, and the night watchman got whacked pretty good. He’s at
the E.R.”

Edgars and Horse exchanged looks.
No way this was a
coincidence.

“Lead the way,” Horse said.

Edgars and Horse gloved up as they entered Gordon’s office.
In addition to crime scene workers and ambulance personnel waiting for the
body, there was a growing crowd of curious law enforcement. Some were there
because they were supposed to be, others because they could be. It was hard to
resist checking out a huge case.

The sergeant who took them upstairs had to maneuver them
through mingling officers as they made their way to Wesner’s office. “Both the
president and vice-president’s safes were hit, but you might want to start in
here. They’re trying to move him as soon as possible,” he explained in a low
voice.

Edgars shivered. “Damn, it’s cold in here.”

Horse’s cell phone chirped and he put up a finger to halt
things as he answered. “This is Douglas.” After a moment, his eyes darted to
Edgars, and stayed there as he listened.

“Yessir, we were just saying that a coincidence is unlikely…okay,
Chief, we’re on it.” He clicked the phone closed and said, “We’re heading up
both cases—at least until we decide they’re not related.”

“Well, there goes the weekend,” Edgars quipped, but he was
smiling. This was big for him, being tagged as first team.

“He says we can have whatever we need, within reason,” Horse
smiled. Then he turned to the officer. “Sergeant, carry on.”

With a snap in his demeanor, the sergeant pointed out the
ransacked safe. “Looks like they hit the vice-president’s office first, then
this one,” the officer explained. “At least, we assume. The watchman surprised
them here.”

Horse asked, “He see them?”

“Don’t know. Got clobbered the second he came through the
door, apparently. They were loading him in the ambulance when I got here. ”

“How bad injured?” Horse asked.

“Slammed in the head a couple of times. Must be a tough
bird, though. He’s already on his way back down here to talk to you guys.”

Edgars and Horse moved into the president’s office.

The new Medical Examiner, an Asian woman whose smile and
porcelain skin made her look about seventeen, was working around the desk doing
a preliminary exam. She looked up as they edged closer to the body. Neither
Edgars nor Horse had met her yet.

“You the leads?” she asked.

They nodded.

“Hi, I’m the new girl. You probably don’t want to try for
the Vietnamese, so just call me Sarah, okay?”

Horse introduced himself and Edgars, then, “Got a time of
death?”

“Only an educated guess right now,” Sarah said. “Twelve to
fifteen hours. Single GSW to the head.”

“Odd,” Edgars observed after a minute. “Safe’s been robbed,
but first glance, this looks to be suicide.”

“Could have been staged,” Horse observed dryly.

“Residue on his hands?” Edgars asked Sarah.

“Yep,” Sarah nodded.

“Find the casing?”

“Right by him on the floor. Luckily, one of the many curious
lawmen mingling around didn’t step on it.” Sarah tilted her head with annoyance
toward the gallery of onlookers on the outskirts of the room.

Horse took charge. “Gentlemen, unless you’re on call here,
why doesn’t everyone head down to the lobby. Let’s give our techs some room to
work here. I’ll be down shortly.”

Sarah looked up at him with gratitude.

The sergeant, who had disappeared to take a call, came back
in and walked toward them, a frown on his face. Horse looked up at him. “What
is it?”

“Lieutenant, I don’t know what the protocol is here. Mr.
Wesner’s wife just showed up at the front entrance.”

Edgar smiled. “From the café to the scene of the crime.
Things get stranger.”

Horse asked, “She know he’s dead?”

“It doesn’t sound like it. Says she wants to know what’s
up,” the officer answered.

“Thanks,” Edgars said. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Let’s poke our heads in Buck’s office on the way down,”
Horse suggested.

“Yeah,” Edgars said. “Back to our original case.”

They spent a couple of minutes checking Buck’s office out,
carefully touching nothing. Horse noticed a few pieces of O.U. paraphernalia
seemed out of place or gone, but the opened, nearly empty office safe was the
only thing that stood out.

Horse squinted the way he did when he was trying to pull
together the pieces. “So if Buck was out in his Mustang last night running over
rodeo stars, how does he figure into this?”

“Maybe drunk, thinks he killed the rodeo star, panics, needs
to run,” Edgars said, thinking through it as he spoke. “But he needs money, so
he comes back here to his safe.”

Horse was nodding. “And surprised somebody robbing his
boss’s office?”

“Or his boss is working into the night.”

“But how does that lead to Wesner’s death? Nothing wrong
with a Vice-President opening his own safe, even if it is the middle of the
night.”

Edgars studied Buck’s desktop without touching anything.
“Maybe Buck figures as long as he’s fleeing the country, he might as well rob
the boss’s safe while he’s at it.” He thought a minute. “But is Wesner alive or
dead at this point?”

Horse put up his hands in a
you got me
gesture. “If
his boss surprised Buck trying to rob his safe, Dearmore might have panicked
and killed him. Tried to make it look like Wesner killed himself,” Horse said.

“Unless Wesner had already blown his own brains out.” Edgars
sighed. “The thing with Candy Myers…that could still be somebody else driving
Dearmore’s car. Stole it.”

“So why didn’t he report it? And where the hell is he?”

“We need to talk to this watchman,” Edgars said.

Horse nodded. “Until he gets here, let’s go see Wesner’s
wife. Get that out of the way. Maybe she can help with a timeline.”

A few minutes later Edgars and Horse emerged from the
elevator to find Angie Wesner hurrying toward them.

“What’s going on…all these police here?”

“Mrs. Wesner, please,” Edgars said, guiding her to a padded
bench in the lobby, “let’s sit down over here.”

When they were settled in, he introduced himself and Horse,
then continued. “When was the last time you saw your husband?”

“Uh, it was before he flew out on business Thursday
morning.”

“And he seemed fine then?” Horse asked.

After a moment, she said in a low voice, “We did have a
fight the night before he left.”

“What about?”

“The usual,” she said. “He’s always been a workaholic. He
called and made me cancel a dinner invitation,
again
, for Wednesday
night. I was at the end of my rope.”

“So there was trouble in the marriage?” Horse asked.

“I don’t know. He seemed to think this was just the way
things were…” She shook her head.

“So he worked late Wednesday night?”

“Until after midnight, yes.”

“And you didn’t see him all day Thursday or Friday?” Edgars
asked.

She shook her head. “He was in Houston on business.”

“And when he didn’t come home last night, why didn’t you
call someone?”

“He works late so often, I figured he might be still pissed
and didn’t want to come home. I tried to call him, several times.”

Even though he was the younger of the team, both detectives
had agreed that Edgars was better at notifications. He had a more empathetic
approach than Horse, who, even after many years of doing it, still seemed
uncomfortably abrupt.

“Well, I’m afraid we have bad news, Mrs. Wesner,” Edgars
began. “Your husband, I’m very sorry to say, we found him in his office this
morning and, unfortunately, he is dead, ma’am.”

Angie Wesner sat there, shaking her head.

“We’re so sorry for your loss,” Edgars added.

She put her head in her hands. “How? His heart?”

“Did he have heart trouble, ma’am?” Horse asked.

“He was on beta blockers and I can’t pronounce what else.
The doctors kept telling him he had to slow down. But Gordon just ignores them.
Is he still there…?” She motioned with her head to the upper floors.

“Yes, ma’am, he is,” Edgars said. “And Mrs. Wesner, I hate
to have to tell you, but it doesn’t look like a heart attack.”

Her head popped up toward him. “What do you mean? What…what
was it then?”

Edgars struggled with his wording before beginning. “We
can’t be sure yet how it happened. Was your husband upset about anything in
particular? Perhaps someone?”

Mrs. Wesner frowned. “He was always upset about something,
or someone. He was a volatile man.” She put her hands in her lap. “How did he
die then?”

“He was shot,” Horse said.

Mrs. Wesner visibly shuddered.

Edgars gave his partner a sharp glance for jumping the gun.
That was Horse, though. He always cut to the chase, while Edgars liked to get
as much information as possible before dropping the bomb.

Edgars touched her elbow, but didn’t speak for a moment.
“Would you like some water?”

She ignored his offer, but, after a moment, sat up straight.
Her eyes were clear and sharp. “Are you saying my husband was murdered? Or that
he did this to himself? What?”

Horse jumped back in. “That’s what we need to find out, Mrs.
Wesner. It’s not clear yet just how it happened.”

“Can I…see him?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that’s not possible. Crime scene
technicians are still gathering evidence in his office,” Edgars said quickly.
“Is there someone we could call for you? A relative or friend?”

“No, I have no family, really. I’ll be alright.” She stood
up and started for the door. Edgars followed her.

“Here’s my card, ma’am,” he said, pushing it into her hand.
“We may have some more questions for you at a later time.”

“Of course,” she said, looked at the card as though it was a
mind puzzle, then turned to leave.

“Uh, one more question, ma’am,” Horse said.

She stopped and turned to him.

“Did you know your husband’s vice-president? Mr. Buck
Dearmore?”

She shook her head, as though confused by the question.
“What do you mean? Doesn’t
everyone
know Buck Dearmore?”

“We’re just looking for connections,” Edgars explained.

“I know who he is, of course. I’ve seen him at social
events,” she said. Then, “You don’t think he…?”

“We’re not sure of anything now,” Horse said. “Do you need a
ride home, or…”

“No, it’s okay,” Angie said. “I’ve got to figure out what I
need to do, I suppose.” She looked a little lost. “There’ll be things to do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Edgars said. “You go ahead…unless you want us
to call someone for you. I’d be glad to.”

“No. That’s alright.”

“We’ll be in touch.”

As she slowly moved toward the front entrance, Edgars looked
at Horse and said low, “Knows Dearmore well enough to call him a bastard at the
café before.”

“Yeah,” Horse agreed, following her with his eyes as she
walked out of the bank. “But I imagine a lot of people watching the morning
news called him that.”

“What’d you think of her reaction?” Edgars asked.

“I wasn’t quite sure how to read it,” Horse said.

“Yeah, me neither,” Edgars said. “Maybe a little off.”

Horse added, “Liquor on her breath.”

“Big time.”