Tunnel Vision (10 page)

The drunken man looked startled for a second by their reaction. That was all the time Maggie needed to grab him by the arm and slam him face first into the nearest wall. She heard a cracking sound, followed by blood running from the man’s nose after his close encounter with the peeling sheetrock. She used the extra time to throw the stunned man to the floor, jamming her right knee into the middle of his back. Grabbing his right arm, she handcuffed it while reciting, “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand that, sir?”

Before the man could spit out his answer she brought his left arm behind him and completed cuffing him. She finished reading the man his rights and pushed past the female officer and her partner, stopping next to where Simmons was still lounging against the door frame.

“I got him down. Now you can get his fat ass up,”

she said through clenched teeth.

She walked to their patrol car, straightening her department issue shirt on the way, working hard to control her anger. Leaning her arms against the vehicle, she took several deep breaths and exhaled them slowly.

“Are you all right?” Brodie’s voice asked from behind her.

Maggie turned her head around quickly and

glanced at her before turning away again. “Yeah, I’m fine. But I’ll probably be dead by next week if I don’t get transferred away from that motherfucker Simmons.”

“Rookie?”

“First week.”

“Are you related to Commander Weston?”

“What if I am?” she asked defensively.

Brodie shrugged as she smiled at the rookie.

“Make sure you write this up in your report. I’ll file a backup report and I’ll speak to the Watch Commander about getting you with someone else.”

“I don’t expect special treatment because of my father,” Maggie said as she squared her shoulders and glared at the woman.

“I’m not giving you any,” Brodie said. Seeing Wheeler and Simmons leading the man out of his house she called out, “Put that tax-payer in our car, Wheeler.”

Wheeler nodded and changed direction with the drunk who was complaining loudly that his nose was broken and he felt sick. Wheeler looked at Brodie and Maggie and smiled before abruptly turning the drunk toward Simmons in time for the man to vomit. Simmons wasn’t fast enough to get away out of the way and suddenly looked like he might puke himself. When the suspect was secured in the back of Brodie’s patrol car, Brodie looked Simmons over as he walked toward his unit.

“Jesus, Simmons, you look like shit,” she said, the scent of regurgitated beer wafting from the officer’s uniform.

“Yeah, and he don’t smell so good either,”

Wheeler said with a grin.

“What happened, bud? There’s blood on your uniform. Did you get hurt?” she asked with little genuine concern in her voice.

“Naw,” said Wheeler. “We had a little trouble getting the moron up and his bloody nose sort of ran into Simmons’ uniform. Sorry ‘bout that, man.”

“Fuck you, Wheeler,” Simmons mumbled.

“Well, you better get back to the station house and change. Your shift is about over anyway,” Wheeler smiled.

“Y’all be careful now,” Brodie said as her soft brown eyes turned to Maggie and winked.

Maggie barely had time to close the door of their patrol car before Simmons peeled away from the scene. Two days later Maggie was transferred to a new training officer, at least in part due to the recommendation of Officers Royce Brodie and Stan Wheeler.

IT WOULD BE three months before Maggie finally saw Royce Brodie again. She hadn’t been able to get the tall, confident officer out of her mind. She wasn’t much of a socializer, but a friend talked her into going out for a couple of drinks after her shift. DreamWorks was a new women’s club a couple of blocks off the interstate in Austin and although she had never been there, she had heard of it. She had been suffering from bouts of insomnia and decided that a few drinks might help her get some sleep. When she walked in, it took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the low light and high volume level. Colorful neon beer signs decorated the wood paneled walls. She found her friends involved in a serious game of pool and after a round of hugs and handshakes, she excused herself to make her way to the bar which was fifteen feet of polished wood.

“What can I getcha?” the cheerful blonde behind the bar asked.

“Miller Draught, please,” Maggie smiled,

dropping a five on the bar as she winked at the blonde, placing her in her mental notebook of women to check out more carefully later. Leaning against the bar, sipping her beer, she looked around the bar. About twenty couples with varying degrees of ability moved around the dance floor. Once upon a time she had loved to dance, but it had been a long time since she had taken a spin on a dance floor. Maybe later, she thought.

On her way in she had seen a few interesting faces in the pool room and wandered back toward it. She leaned against a wall and observed the games already underway. Then she noticed a familiar face and a smile made its way across her lips. Fishing quarters from her pocket, she stepped forward and placed them on the side rail of the table, a challenge to take on the winner of the match in progress.

When the match ended, she picked up a cue stick and walked to the table. The winner walked up to Maggie as she shoved the coins into the slots. “Royce Brodie,” the winner said. Looking at Maggie closely, Brodie asked as they shook hands, “Have we met before?”

“Sort of,” Maggie said.

“Shit! You’re the one with the drunk Bubba last month!”

“Is it true what they said around the station?

About Simmons,” Maggie asked.

Brodie smiled at the mention of the rookie’s former partner. “I heard he fell off his roof while adjusting his satellite dish,” she said as she shrugged.

“Yeah, I heard that, too.” Not long after the incident Wheeler had suggested he and Brodie should give Simmons an off-duty attitude adjustment. When reason hadn’t worked they wound up knocking the shit out of him. Maggie laughed as she hoisted her drink. “To the roof.”

As the challenger, Maggie racked the balls and watched as her opponent prepared for the break. She guessed Brodie was ten or twelve years older, but still attractive enough for Maggie to consider getting to know her a little better.

“I’ve got a twenty that says I can take you,” the rookie challenged, reaching into the back pocket of her jeans.

“Your money,” Brodie said with a shrug.

“I should warn you,” Maggie said, her eyes flashing. “I hate to lose.”

“Yeah, well, I hate green beans, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get stuck with them on my plate from time to time.”

Maggie lifted the rack from the balls and took a drink of her beer as she stepped back for the break. A solid ball fell into the side pocket and Brodie walked confidently around the table looking for her best shot. Four balls later she missed a difficult shot and had to turn the table over to Maggie. She picked up her beer and leaned against the wall as her opponent surveyed the table. Maggie couldn’t suppress a smile as she leaned over the table to line up her first shot and gave her opponent a primo view of her ass.

She studied each shot carefully, considering where the cue ball should stop for her next shot. She never spoke and seemed to be oblivious to the appreciative looks from the older officer. She got down to her last two balls on the table before a ball rattled a corner pocket, but failed to drop.

“Better not miss or your ass and your money will be mine,” Maggie said in a low voice as she brushed past Brodie.

“I’ll do my best, but suddenly losing doesn’t sound like such a bad thing,” Brodie responded with a grin.

She sank her remaining balls, but was left with a difficult bank shot the length of the table for the eight ball. Squatting down, she estimated the angle to the corner pocket before tapping it with her cue and leaning over the cue ball. The second her stick hit the cue ball Maggie knew Brodie had hit it perfectly and watched the eight ball drop into the designated pocket. She walked over and extended her hand. As Brodie took it, she smiled broadly. “Keep your money,” she said.

“I always pay my debts.”

“It wasn’t a fair match, you know. I’ve probably been shooting pool since you were in diapers.”

“I never make excuses for losing. You just outplayed me, this time. But you could ask me for a dance to soothe my damaged ego.”

Stepping onto the lightly saw-dusted floor, Brodie took Maggie in her arms and glided off into a slow two-step. Maggie followed her every step and spin as they moved effortlessly around the floor.

The way Brodie’s body moved against hers made the room seem warmer than it was. Maggie hadn’t been with anyone for quite a while and hadn’t expected anything more than a dance. The song finally ended and Brodie released her, but Maggie’s arms remained around her waist as she looked up at her. Unable to redirect her eyes anyplace except Maggie’s lips, Brodie began to lean closer, then pulled away.

Maggie stopped her, wrapping her arms around Brodie’s neck, engulfing her senses as she pulled her into a slow, exploratory kiss. As their lips parted, Maggie looked into her eyes. “I like you, Royce,” she said, the low timbre of her voice an invitation to more.

“I like you, too, Maggie, but...”

“But what?” she challenged.

“Well, for one thing, no one calls me Royce except my mother,” Brodie said.

“It fits you,” she said as she teased a finger across the taller woman’s mouth. “I like it.”

Clearing her throat, Brodie continued, “Your father
is
my watch commander.”

“What we do off duty is no one else’s business, including his.”

“There’s a pretty big age difference between us.”

“Is that a problem for you?” Maggie laughed.

“Not usually. One of my many faults is that I enjoy the company of attractive women,” Brodie admitted. “Of all ages.”

“Do you work tomorrow?”

Brodie shook her head slightly. Bringing her mouth closer to Brodie’s ear, Maggie said with a smile, “I’m on second shift, but I’ll make sure you’re up before I leave for work.”

For the next two years they were never separated until the night that marked the beginning of the end. NICHOLLS SLAPPED THE side of the computer

monitor, snapping Maggie back to the present. “Come on, you hunka shit, give with the information already!”

Half a minute later the computer finally began doing something constructive. He read the

information coming up on the screen and jotted down a few notes.

“Is that about one of the recent cases?” Maggie asked.

“No. We’ve had a rash of afternoon vandalisms and a witness said she saw some kids hanging around one of the places that got hit. So I tapped into the school computer to check attendance records. Never know, I might get lucky and nail the little shits.”

Maggie closed her notebook and got up. “Well, I guess I better get going.” She picked up a small stack of papers from her desk and shoved them into a manila envelope before grabbing her purse and heading for the front door. It had been an eventful two days, despite some latent hostility on Brodie’s part.

As Maggie walked past the front desk, the desk officer was engrossed in a heated conversation with a tall, patrician-looking older woman. She was dressed like an English housewife in a green wool plaid skirt, white blouse, and tan cardigan sweater. Her gray hair was pulled up into a semi-bun, but it didn’t make her face look stark or severe.

Maggie pushed the front door to the police station open, but the desk officer stopped her. “Detective, perhaps you can help this lady.”

Maggie glanced at her watch quickly and walked back toward the front desk. “What seems to be the problem?”

“My husband has been missing for five days and the police department doesn’t seem to give a damn. That’s the problem, young woman.”

“Have you filed a missing person’s report, Mrs.–”

“Brauner. And I have filed a report and called every day. So far I haven’t even had the courtesy of a follow-up phone call. How far up the food chain do I have to go before you people take this seriously?”

The officer behind the desk looked frustrated.

“Ma’am, maybe he just wanted to get away for a while.”

“Officer, my husband simply would not just get away. He may be sixty-five years old, but despite what you young people seem to believe, people our age do manage to have quite healthy personal relationships.”

“When did your husband disappear, Mrs.

Brauner?” Maggie asked.

“Thursday evening, but because Elliott hadn’t been gone forty-eight hours these fools made me wait until Sunday morning before taking a report.”

Maggie was intrigued by the woman’s

appearance. She was between fifty and sixty years old, but there were few wrinkles on her face or hands. Her manner, even though she was obviously

aggravated, was warm and familiar. She was quite tall, about five-ten, and Maggie had to look up to speak to her, which made her feel like a school girl standing repentantly in front of her teacher.

“I’d be happy to talk with you, ma’am. I’m Detective Maggie Weston.”

“Helen Brauner,” the woman said extending a hand to Maggie. Her grip was surprising strong, not the limp handshake Maggie had expected from the older woman.

Maggie led Helen back to her desk and pulled a chair over for her. Nicholls was pulling his jacket on and preparing to leave.

“Need some help, Maggie?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I’ve got it, Nicholls.”

“When you finish up here why don’t you join me at the Super Burger? Cheap food and doesn’t taste half bad either.”

“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “I’ll take a rain check.”

Nicholls left Maggie and Helen Brauner alone in the squad room.

“I don’t have a copy of the missing person reports right now, Mrs. Brauner, so why don’t you just start with Thursday night.”

“Please, call me Helen. Everyone does,” the woman said. “Even my students.”

“Okay, Helen. You said your husband

disappeared Thursday evening.”

“Yes. Elliott came home on time, but later remembered there were some papers in his office at the university that he needed for Friday.”