Small Crimes (2 page)

I
owed Manny a lot of money. I was paying him back as much as I could, but it was
never enough and he kept putting the pressure on. When he threatened to hurt my
wife and children, I knew I had no choice. I agreed to do jobs for him to work
down the balance. At first the jobs were small, fairly inconsequential, but
over time Manny kept upping the ante. Somehow I had to get out from under him.
I started taking bigger chances with what I stole from the police evidence
room. The sheriff of Bradley County, Dan Pleasant, who was maybe the most
corrupt law enforcement officer I'd ever met, found out that Phil had
discovered some of my forged documents and was building a criminal conspiracy
case against me. I thanked Dan for the information and told him I'd take care
of things.

I
was pretty coked up the night I broke into Phil's office. I found the documents
implicating me. I was pouring gasoline around his office when he showed up. It
was past midnight and he had no right showing up when he did, but there he was.
We just kind of looked at each other. He knew what I was up to, and he should
have left and called the police. Instead he tried to stop me. Now Phil's a big
guy. He was a star linebacker in high school and even played in college, but I
was fighting for my life. I guess I was also kind of crazed from the coke and
the adrenalin.

Somehow
I got him on his back and grabbed a letter opener from the desk. I guess I was
stabbing him with it. To be honest, that part is nothing more than a blur in my
mind. I really don't remember too much of it. What I do remember is at some
point Phil had stopped moving. I got off him, lit a match, and waited for the
fire to spread before leaving.

The
funny thing was I had always liked Phil. I always thought of him as a solid
person, a good family man, just an overall decent human being. If I'd had a
real knife, like a fishing or hunting knife, I would've killed him that night.
The letter opener wasn't sharp enough. I did damage - Jesus, did I do damage -
but I didn't kill him.

About
the time I was setting the fire he must've pulled a silent fire alarm. I didn't
see him but he must've done it then. The police and the fire trucks showed
while I was leaving the building. I just about walked into them. My dad was
working as a fireman then, and he was with them. Hell, I think I was still
holding onto that bloody letter opener.

I
was arrested that night. I could see the disappointment in some of my fellow
officers' faces, but I could also see some anxiety. Several of them would go to
prison if I talked. Harold Grayson, probably one of the better lawyers we have
around here, was hired for me by the police union. He wanted me to plead
innocent, claiming I suffered diminished capacity due to my excessive cocaine
use. I refused and pled guilty instead. It seemed time to take my medicine. And
I kept quiet about everything else I knew. I also worked out a deal with Manny
- I'd keep quiet about him, too, in exchange for wiping my slate clean, No one
else was implicated.

During
the last seven years, when I wasn't playing Morris at checkers, I spent my time
trying to understand how I had taken the turn that I did. It shouldn't have
been that way. There was nothing in my background to suggest I'd end up a
crooked cop, a cocaine user and a degenerate gambler. I'd had a normal
childhood. I was born in Bradley, spent my whole life there, played quarterback
for my high school team, and ended up marrying my childhood sweetheart. I'd
only been out of Bradley County a few times in my life and never more than a
four-hour drive away. Hell, I'd lived the perfect Norman Rockwell existence.

As
a kid, I watched
Adam-12
and
Dragnet
and can only remember
wanting to be a cop when I grew up. After I graduated from high school I joined
the Bradley Police Department. I never looked to make any money on the side,
but the bribes were there waiting for me and I took them. Some of the local
bars would offer me fifty bucks to look the other way on Friday and Saturday
nights about their customers maybe driving home drunk. And then I started
getting my weekly stipend for ignoring what was going on at a local strip club
named Kelley's. And there were other things. Like us splitting up money that
disappeared from the evidence room and helping ourselves to what we could take
off the occasional drunk. It started out small, little crimes, nothing big, but
that's what got me into gambling and cocaine. The payoffs and thefts made me
feel dirty and made me want to unload the money as quickly as I got it. I'm
pretty sure that's what got me started.

The
big crimes began one summer night about twelve years ago. It was three in the
morning, and I was having trouble sleeping. I had gotten into my cruiser and
was driving around town when I noticed the front door of a jewelry store
jimmied open. As usual, I had my service revolver with me, and when I went to
investigate I found Dan Pleasant and several of his boys ransacking the place.
So I had a choice; bust our county sheriff and several of his officers or go in
for a split. I guess I felt uneasy busting a fellow officer, especially feeling
as dirty as I did, so I took my cut. Dan worked with a fence in upstate New
York, and my share was fifteen grand - which I pissed away as quickly as I got
it. After that robbery I joined Dan on others and got hooked up with Manny.

When
I thought about all the things I did, none of it seemed possible, but all I
have to do is look Phil Coakley in the face to prove to myself it all happened.
So now I was an ex-police officer, a felon, and a divorced husband. I hadn't
seen or heard from my ex-wife or kids since the day I was arrested. Other than
Morris I hadn't had any visitors or company for seven years, not even my
parents. When I thought about all that I'd lost for money I didn't even want, I
could barely believe it.

Chapter 3

Bradley
County is made up of half a dozen towns and sits in a valley on the edge of the
Green Mountains. Back when I was a cop, the population of Bradley County, not
including the eight thousand students who attended two liberal arts colleges in
Eastfield, was around seventy-two thousand. Bradley is the largest town in
Bradley County and its population alone is twenty-four thousand.

When
I was a kid, once you got five miles away from the town center all you saw was
farmland, cow pastures, and woods. About twenty-five years ago, a defense
contractor moved in, bought two hundred acres of farmland, and built
manufacturing plants on it. By the time I got arrested, more and more cow
pasture and farmland was paved over for strip malls and shopping centers.

Even
with the loss of farmland, jobs in Bradley County were evenly split between
farming, dairy, manufacturing, and tourism, with tourists being either leaf
peepers or parents visiting their kids at college.

For
most people life in Bradley was uneventful. Just the typical middle-class,
bucolic New England town. For most people, anyway.

The
cab let me out in front of my parents' house. They had a small three-bedroom
ranch on Maple Street, less than a mile from downtown. My dad had bought it
forty-five years ago for six thousand dollars. Even though it had less than
twelve hundred square feet of interior space, the house was probably worth two
hundred grand now. Joe Sr., my dad, had grown up in Bradley, just like his dad
before him. Dentons had been living in Bradley for almost a hundred years.
Morris had told me that my dad had retired from the fire department a few
months after I was arrested, although my dad never said anything to me about it
during the half-dozen phone conversations we had while I was in jail.

I
looked over the front yard. The grass was freshly mowed and the flower beds
were neatly arranged. Paint was beginning to peel in a few spots, but other
than that the house seemed to be in good shape, at least from the outside. I
carried my duffel bag to the front door and rang the bell.

When
I had found out three weeks ago that my parole had been approved, I called my
parents to tell them I'd be staying with them until I could get back on my
feet. It shouldn't have been any surprise that I was coming, but it took a
while before my dad opened the door. He had an odd look on his face as he stood
staring at me. I watched the slow transformation while he manufactured a pained
smile.

'Joey,
I almost didn't recognize you,' he said. 'Come on in, I'll make you something
to eat.'

He
led me back into the house. He turned once and gave me a quick nervous glance
before chattering on about whether I'd like eggs or hot dogs and beans. I told
him I planned to go out and get something to eat.

'Nonsense.
Tell me what you want and I'll cook it up for you.'

I
saw arguing was useless. 'Okay. You got any salami?'

'I
got some. I'll make you a sandwich on Wonder Bread with a little mayonnaise.
How's that sound?'

'Sounds
fine.'

I
followed him into the kitchen. He seemed ill at ease as he made me my sandwich.
He also seemed to have aged quite a bit more than the seven years since I'd
seen him last. He slouched as he stood, his shoulders more stooped than I
remembered and his jowls heavier. When I had last seen him, his hair was mostly
black with a little gray mixed in. Now there was a lot less of it, and what was
left was white. He was only sixty-five, but he looked closer to eighty.
'Where's Mom?'

'She's
volunteering today at the library.'

'I
thought she'd want to be home to greet me.'

He
gave me an uneasy smile. 'Friday's her day to volunteer at the library. She'll
be home later.' He cut the sandwich in half, put it on a plate, and handed it
to me. 'I'll make you some coffee,' he said.

'How
have the two of you been? You never really said much during our phone calls.'

'We've
been fine, Joey. My blood pressure's high, and they've got me on some medication,
but other than that and some arthritis I'm in good health. Your mom spends a
lot of her time volunteering now.' He paused for a moment. I don't know if
you've heard, but I retired from the department.'

'I
heard something about it.'

I
looked out a kitchen window and watched two squirrels chase each other around
the backyard. After they chased each other out of sight, I asked if he had
heard from my ex-wife.

He
shook his head. 'No, son, we haven't heard from her. Not since you went to jail.'

'What?'

"That's
right, son.'

'You
haven't heard from Elaine once in seven years?’

‘No.'

'Not
even to let you talk to your grandchildren?'

He
shook his head.

'Or
send you pictures of them?'

He
gave me a sad, uneasy smile. 'She has full custody of the girls. She doesn't
have to contact us. I guess she decided to make a clean break. Joey, you know
she moved shortly after your sentencing. But we never got her new address. We
don't know where she moved to.'

I
couldn't help feeling angry thinking of my parents being cut off from my kids.
'I'm surprised,' I said. 'Elaine always liked you and Mom. I would've thought
she'd want to keep in touch with you. And I would've thought she'd want my kids
to know their grandparents.'

He
shrugged. 'I don't know, son.'

I
took a bite of my sandwich and chewed it slowly, buying myself time to process
what he was telling me. 'It's not right,' I said after a while. 'Now that I'm
out, I'll see a lawyer about changing this.'

'Well,
I don't know. You can think about it, Joey, but going to court can be
expensive, and your mom and I don't have the money to help you with it.'

I
stared at him until he looked away. I didn't believe him. The two of them were
nuts about my two kids, and I knew they'd do anything to reestablish contact
with them. Of course, he knew I was broke. My house was gone and Elaine had
taken whatever savings were left. The only thing I had was two hundred dollars
that were in my pocket the night I was arrested and my car. At least, I hoped I
still had my car. My dad had agreed to take care of it for me while I was gone.

'I
forgot to tell you,' my dad said, trying to smile. 'You got a phone call. I
wrote down a message for you.'

He
took a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me. Dan Pleasant had
called and wanted me to call him back.

'Dad,
is my car in the garage?'