Quicksand (5 page)

Nora listened intently.

“You know that Schacht assigned you to me because I've got so many years under my belt. I'm the best one here to train you, toughen you up. This is at least as important as how to fight bad guys.”

Nora raised her chin and held his eyes.

His voice was gentler: “Nora, I've lived through more racism than you will ever know. I guarantee it. You can trust me.”

She nodded, feeling something release inside of her, grateful for the sense of recognition, the familiar, she found in his eyes. “I trust you, John. Thank you.” The fatherly look she'd chafed under just a moment earlier suddenly felt warm and calming. Nora gave him a half smile. “I'm gonna go shoot stuff now.”

He waved her off, shaking his head.

She was grateful to find the firing range empty except for a dull-eyed young man signing out ammunition from behind a heavy glass partition.

The firing range occupied the back third of the basement. Nora hated it. She hated the long, dank hall she had to walk down, almost always alone. She especially hated that to get there she had to pass by Monty Watt's forensic lab, and she knew now all that it contained. She hated the angry crack of a firing gun and the acrid smell of a discharged weapon. But she also hated reeling in her target and finding a smattering of bullet holes everywhere but dead center.

She pulled the heavy plastic earmuffs over her ears and stood steadily in place. She slowly pulled her Glock out of its armpit holster under her navy suit jacket. It was a weight she'd grown used to; Nora knew her gun well. In her police academy training she had learned how to disassemble and reassemble it from the ground up. She knew the trigger mechanism housing from the magazine spring and floor plate, the locking block pin from the extractor depressor plunger spring. She understood what made the gun work, but it still felt alien and deadly in her hand.

She aimed carefully at the target. Slowly and methodically she emptied her clip.

The tap on her shoulder took her by complete surprise, and she whirled, her gun still raised.

Calder had his hands up.

She pulled off her ear protection.

“I was afraid of that,” he said, hands still in the air. “That's why I waited for you to empty your piece.”

“I think there's a shooting range etiquette, approaching from the
next
stall, not from behind.”

“I'll make a note of it.”

She waited for him to say something, and when he didn't, she turned and reeled in her target. The left side of the target bore the majority of the hits.

Ben looked over her shoulder. He looked bemused as he asked, “Did you pass firearms at the police academy?”

Nora was indignant. “Of course I passed.” She thought for a moment, then added, “But just barely.”

“And Nora Khalil doesn't like coming in anything but first,” he surmised.

She looked sheepish. “Something like that. Also I guess I'd like to feel competent to take the important shots.”

“Hmm. Okay, can I offer two suggestions?”

She nodded.

“First, I think you're not there yet mentally.”

“Meaning?”

“You have to really believe you need to shoot this person.”

Nora was silent, frowning.

“You have to stop thinking that you can run down the person and tackle him, or talk him out of it. There is no other way to deal with him than to shoot him dead. You have to be clear in your head that your partner or the victim or whoever—they need you more than the perp needs to live.” His face was very close to hers as he said, “Yesterday, I knew that I had no other option than to shoot that woman.”

She tilted her head, regarding him, aware again of the enormity of the life taken for her own. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Nora, I'd do it over a thousand times. It was absolutely the right thing to do.” His voice was strong. It looked like he meant every word.

“Even if it was my mistake for getting myself in that situation?” she said, her voice heavy with regret.

He gripped her arm, and his touch shot through her, electric. “Nora, you didn't hand her the gun!”

She nodded, taking a small step backward so that he was forced to release her. She fought to make her voice steady. “Okay, what's the other thing?”

He sighed, smiling. “You're tightening your elbow and upper arm on discharge. You have to relax.”

Nora narrowed her eyes. “How can I get all this clarity about the need to shoot someone and still … relax?!”

“Well…” Ben Calder scratched his head for a moment. “Would it make sense if I said that the clarity should let you relax? When there's no other choice whatsoever, your body should just submit to that and function in a way that lets your actions become really smooth and true.”

She blinked a few times, skeptical. “Okay. Show me.”

Calder stepped into the next stall, and they both pulled earmuffs over their ears. He extracted his weapon from its holster and extended his right arm, resting his wrist in the palm of his left hand. He looked at her, then spoke loudly enough so she would be sure to hear. “Your neck muscles have to be soft, relaxed—it's an easy way to tell if your upper arm is gonna be tense or not.” She watched him pat the tendons in his own neck by way of demonstration.

He took a visible breath, centering himself, and then unloaded a round of bullets.

Nora waited 'til he had reeled in his target to walk into his stall. “Impressive.”

The target's head was gaping with bullet holes.

“Try again?”

She nodded. “Okay.” She had another full magazine.

“Show me your stance.”

She faced the target, cradling her gun hand in her open palm.

He shook his head. “Try turning your right side—you are right-handed, yes?—turn slightly toward the target.”

She turned obediently. She felt his palm against her neck, as his other hand tugged the left side of the ear protection away from her ear. “Relax,” he said, softly, before replacing the plastic. When he withdrew his hand from her neck, he left traces of his scent on her skin. She inhaled deeply, then leveled the gun and depressed the trigger as she exhaled. One, two, three, four … she stopped at ten, reluctant to waste all seventeen rounds again.

“Better,” he said, as they both pulled off their earmuffs to pore over the target. “Stick with me, you'll own the range in no time.”

She nodded, noting the improvement. “Thanks. Thanks, Ben. I'll spend some more time this afternoon, after we're done with Dewayne Fulton.”

“Good.” He took a breath, and the now-familiar flirtatious glint came back to his eye. “Now, why won't you go out with me?”

“Oh, man…” Nora forced herself to look away. She made her voice cool. “If I'd known you'd start hounding me, I'd never have let you save my life.”

“Come on, Nora. I'm a really nice guy. Ask Burton.”

Nora laughed. “Burton hates me. I'm not Ivy League enough. Or too PD—not FBI material. Or too brown.”

Calder couldn't disagree with her. “I think it's because you run so much faster than he does. Makes his manhood feel all threatened and stuff.”

She gave a half smile, disappointed that Calder didn't refute what she had guessed about his partner's dislike for her.

“BUT!” Ben continued, “But he's brilliant, so he'd be a good character witness, right?” As she shook her head, he added, “Okay, look, ask Wansbrough. Hey, you can do a background check on me and everything.”

“Look, Ben…” she sank onto the bench at the shooting stall's edge. “What you're up against here is … complicated.”

“Complicated how?” he demanded.

“I just—look, I just don't date. That's not how we do things.”

“Who? How who does things?”

“Egyptians. Muslims. It's just not done.”

Ben holstered his gun and sat down on the bench across from her, frowning. “Are you seriously telling me you can't date me because I'm not Muslim?”

“I don't…”

He leaned forward, then, eyes intense. “Wait. Are you seriously telling me that this kick-ass, fast-as-lightning, proud officer of the Philadephia Police Department has
never
been on a date before,
ever
?”

“Oh, for…” Nora sighed. “Yes, okay. I've never dated. I don't see how that affects my ability to kick ass.”

“Never gone to prom?”

“Never gone to prom,” she affirmed. “So?”

He tilted his head to regard her. “Never been kissed?”

Nora rose. “Okay, this conversation is over. Come on, it's almost nine.”

“Nora, have you ever kissed a guy?”

With her left hand, she pointed at the Glock. “Benjamin Calder, I have seven bullets left in this thing. Do not push me.” She made for the door.

He stood too, then placed himself between her and the door. “You would prefer shooting me to kissing me?”

Nora swallowed hard, inhaling the scent of his aftershave again. “Yes,” she answered curtly.

“Why won't you date me?”

“Are you sexually harassing me?”

He put his hands up again. “No, I'm asking a perfectly valid question.”

Nora met his green eyes, then carefully holstered her weapon. She sighed. “Because … our relationship has nowhere it can possibly go. Girls like me don't date just to date, for entertainment. And guys like you, no matter how nice, are not interested in going where girls like me want to go.”

“Which is?” he asked softly.

“Home to meet my dad,” she answered. This time, when she moved for the exit, Calder let her pass.

*   *   *

Dewayne Fulton was
defiant. He did not look like he had appreciated the night in the holding tank where he'd come down off his high. His lawyer exuded
slick
—expensive suit, mauve tie, chunky gold watch. From her position on the other side of the two-way glass, Nora felt queasy. Dewayne was not scrimping on legal fees. What sort of defense could he possibly be planning?

Calder and Burton took the lead on the questioning. Nora stood with John, listening to the tinny sound of the voices as they were piped through the hidden speakers. She was relieved to be able to stand on the sidelines this time and watch the scene unfold. Dewayne was by turns hostile and silent. His attorney kept repeating like a mantra, “I advise you not to answer that, I advise you not to answer that.” The agents worked hard to establish Dewayne's whereabouts on the night Kylie was murdered, and they came up against wall after wall.

Finally, Eric Burton asked about Kylie. “How long had you been following her before you got her alone?”

Silence.

“How did you get her into your car?”

Silence.

“How did you muffle her screams?”

This set him off. Dewayne sprang out of his chair, twisting his cuffed wrists in frustration. “I didn't rape that raggedy girl. And I sure as hell didn't kill her!”

“Isn't it true that you raped and stabbed Kylie out of revenge? Wasn't one of your Junior Black Mafia brothers killed by Kylie's brother Kevin?”

“Nobody messes with my crew. Nobody!” Dewayne Fulton shouted furiously.

His lawyer was on his feet, “That's enough, Dewayne, just calm down!”

“Exactly,” Burton was saying, ignoring the lawyer, his voice the picture of Princeton calm. “That's exactly right. Nobody messes with the Junior Black Mafia. So you taught the A&As a lesson they wouldn't forget.”

“Shiiiit,” Dewayne said, shoving his chair aside with his foot. It careened across the room, toppling when it hit the wall.

“Sit down, Dewayne,” Calder said, retrieving the chair. “Why don't you tell me about the meth we found.”

“I don't know shit about no meth.”

“Dewayne. Are you still buying from New York?”

Dewayne looked up contemptuously. “You don't know shit.”

“Okay, enlighten me,” Calder replied, perching on the edge of the table.

But Dewayne Fulton had lapsed back into silence.

Calder said softly, “We found a laptop at the scene.”

Dewayne looked up sharply, but said nothing.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“You're fishing, Agent Calder,” the lawyer observed. “I doubt you have anything at all.”

Nora watched as Dewayne's features relaxed. Dammit.

Burton leaned in, practically hissing at the lawyer, “At this point, you should know there's a ninety percent chance that Dewayne will be looking at the death penalty. I give no guarantees, but your client has intimate knowledge of the meth trade here in Philly. Might be a smart legal strategy to convince him to tell us what he knows. The more information he can give us, and the more meth labs we can shut down and supply chains we can disrupt, the more likely it is that he will be looking at a life sentence instead of death.”

The lawyer actually rolled his eyes. “You're in no position to offer life or death at this point. You have no crime scene to place him in, and no murder weapon. Do you have anything concrete to link him to drug trafficking? Not that you've offered. What are you planning, to convict him on hearsay? The word on the street? You have
nothing
at this point—except a dead hooker.”

Calder gave the lawyer a cursory look, then spoke while staring down Dewayne. “Dewayne knows what we have. Ask
him
.”

He and Burton exited and joined Nora and John in the next room.

“There's one other thing we do have,” Nora said immediately.

“What's that?” demanded Burton, still irritated from the interview.

“The not-dead hooker. The hysterical one.”

Wansbrough was nodding, his face pinched. “I got reports that she had a tough night in the hold. The methamphetamine levels in her system were apparently much higher than Dewayne's.”