Witch House (18 page)

“What? You’re telling me that I can’t go now
if I want to?”

I gestured toward the door. “There it is. You
want to go? Go. We can do this in the D.A.’s office if you
prefer.”

He shook his head. “Fuck it. Ask your damn
questions.”

I took a seat after waiting for Carlos to
reclaim his. “Let’s start with the casino robbery. Tell me what you
remember about that day.”

Powell crossed his arms at his chest and
dropped his gaze to the floor. “What’s to remember? I started my
shift early that morning, about a quarter to seven. I was out
patrolling Monroe Boulevard a mile east of the casino and I stopped
at the White Hen to pick up a coffee to go. I had just radioed in
my 20 when the call came in: a 2-11 in progress at the casino. I
radioed back that I was on my way.”

“What time was that?”

“6:55”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Simple, I looked at my watch the moment the
call came in. I remember thinking; boy the shit’s hitting the fan
early today.”

“Okay, what happened next?”

“I don’t know. I hit the switch to light up
my roof rack and everything went dead, the lights, engine,
radio—everything. It was like some electrical anomaly had shorted
everything out.”

“Did you call it in on your portable
radio?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“We didn’t have the portables then. I think
the department only had four patrol cars and a K-9 back then.”

“So, what did you do?”

“Well, after fuck'n around with the battery
terminals for a couple of minutes, I went into the White Hen and
phoned in a disabled unit call.”

“How much time do you think elapsed between
the 2-11 call you received and the call you made back to the
department telling them you were disabled?”

He shook his head. I knew that the D.A. had
asked him that question a dozen times before, yet still he seemed
to think about it. His answer to the D.A., as I later found through
records Spinelli dug up, differed by as much as ten minutes from
what he told us. “I guess about two or three minutes.”

“Two or three?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

I saw Carlos and Spinelli trade mistrustful
glances. I know Powell saw it, too, but he was not sweating it. He
eased back in his chair, rocking it up on two legs until it tapped
the wall behind him. I had my notepad out, similar to the one
Carlos uses, only mine was filled with questions, not answers. I
flipped to the next page. “Tell me how you knew to look for René
Landau up at the cabin a few days after the robbery.”

He laughed. “What, you think you plainclothes
preppies are the only ones who can do detective work?”

“What do you mean?”

“You think you’re big hotshots.” He looked at
Spinelli. “College boy over here takes a class or two in criminal
investigation and they promote him to Det 3 after only a couple
years in uniform. And you,” this to Carlos, “you made grade 2
thirty years ago. Is that the best you can do? It seems to me you
can’t detect your way out of a paper sack.”

“Now see here,” I said.

He rocked his chair back onto four legs,
pressed his chest to the table’s edge and planted his still-folded
hands squarely on top of it. “See what, Marcella, see how you and
your cronies manipulate the system? What are you, twenty-five, six?
How the hell did you become grade 1, S.I.O. anyway? Your old man
didn’t have that much pull around here. Was it your girlfriend,
your little witch bitch?”

“I wouldn’t call her that to her face,” said
Dominic.

Powell pointed at him and smiled slyly. “It
was you, wasn’t it? You’re like one of them Bill Gates computer
geeks, aren’t you?”

Dominic opened his mouth to refute the claim,
but I shut him down. “I’m asking the questions here, Powell. Tell
us how you knew to look for Landau up at the cabin that day.”

He rolled back again. “Like I said, you three
aren’t the only dicks on the force. I can do some handy detective
work myself. You think I can’t make detective if I want to?”

“I hope you never do,” said Carlos.

“Fuck you!”

Once more, Carlos started across the table,
and once more, I sprang into action to head him off. “Carlos!” I
pushed down on his shoulder. “Don’t let him rile you, man. You’re
better that that.”

Powell made a tick sound through his teeth.
“Yeah, that’s right, you’re better than me. You dicks are better
than us blue boys downstairs, ain’t cha?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, but that’s what you meant.”

As soon as I got Carlos settled into his
seat, I came around the table, pulled another chair up next to
Powell and sat down. “You like making waves,” I said to him, though
low enough that I did not think Carlos or Spinelli could hear me.
“I’m going to tell you something. You see that clock over
there?”

He looked past Carlos and Dominic to the
clock on the wall behind them. “Yeah.”

“If you keep jerking my chain, I am going to
do to your hands what I’m about to do to the hands on that
clock.”

Powell eyed me with disdain, but when he
looked again at the clock, he saw the hour and minute hands curl
into twisted spaghetti loops and drop off the dial. His head
snapped back to me as if snagged by rubber bands. My lips thinned
neatly. “Get it?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.”

I got up and returned to my seat. Powell had
found the clock again, tweaking Carlos and Dominic’s curiosity.
Both turned and looked over their shoulders. The clock remained
intact, its hands sweeping smoothly across its face. I saw Carlos
wink at Dominic and both smiled at that.

“Do I need to ask you again?” I said to
Powell.

He blinked back his dismay. “What?”

“The cabin, how did you know to look for
Landau there?”

He shuddered, as if waking himself from a
fog. “Like I said, I did some detective work, asked around, called
in a few favors. I got a lead on his possible whereabouts from an
informant I knew.”

“Who was that?”

“Some druggie, doesn’t matter now. He’s
dead.”

“What happened next? You drove up to the
cabin and bumped into him there?”

“Yeah, more or less. It’s a narrow road
leading up to the place. As I was driving up, he was driving down.
All I had to do was stop in the middle of the road to block him in,
which I did. I pulled out my service revolver and took him in
without incident.”

“What about his accomplice, Johnny Buck? Did
you see him there?”

“Johnny, yeah I saw him, but he looked like a
charred twig by then. According to Landau, the cabin was already on
fire when he got there. He said Johnny Buck must have fallen asleep
and knocked over a lantern, said the money and everything went up
in smoke right there on top of that hill.”

“I see.” I looked to my left. Carlos and
Spinelli were already looking at me. I could tell from their
expressions that they were not buying a word of it. “So, that was
the first time you ever met René Landau?”

“That’s right.”

“And this morning at Pete’s Place, did you
know that was Landau’s body we were looking at?”

Powell rocked his head ambiguously. “You
know, I thought he looked familiar, but I didn’t know it was him
until you found his I.D. card.”

“You didn’t know he was out of prison.”

“How would I? Do I look like his fuck’n
keeper or something`?”

I flipped to the next page of my notepad. “Do
you know Stephanie Stiles?”

His answer came quickly. “No.”

“No?” I hooked my brow and drew a conspicuous
bead down at his watch. “That’s a nice time piece. I don’t think I
have ever seen one with a cop shield on the face of it like that
before.”

He smiled confidently. “And you won’t. It’s
one of a kind. I had it made special.”

“Oh, wait,” I said. “That’s right. I did see
one exactly like it yesterday morning at Stephanie Stiles
apartment. Carlos, look. Isn’t that exactly like the one we saw
yesterday?”

Carlos craned his neck to steal a peek at the
watch, knowing well that we had never seen it before. “Sure, I
remember seeing that watch. It’s just like the one on her night
stand.”

“All right, fine,” said Powell. “I know
Stephanie. What’s the crime in that?”

Carlos answered, “Besides you being
married?”

“Fuck you, dick.”

“Sergeant,” I said. “We know you are seeing
Stiles on an intimate basis, so you can cut the pretences.”

“Fine, I admit it, but my relationship with
Stephanie is none of your business.”

“Yes, it is, since she and René were engaged
to be married, I think that makes it our business.”

“Married?” I watched him deflate into his
seat.

“You didn’t know?”

“I had no idea.”

“I have to ask you this, Sergeant, are you
carrying the rent on Stiles’ apartment?”

That made him laugh. “Are you kidding? On my
pay? Look, she’s a good piece of ass, but she’s not that good.”

I looked to Spinelli. He seemed satisfied
with that. I flipped to the next page in my notepad. “You like to
gamble, Sergeant, don’t you?”

“Fuck, here we go again. Did I.A.D. put you
up to this?”

“Up to what?”

“You know what. Listen, Internal Affairs has
raked this dead horse over the coals until it is black and blue. So
I go to the casino occasionally; does that mean I have a gambling
problem? No.”

“Did I say you did?”

“You were going there.”

“No, I was going to ask you about your
relationship with Chief Running Bear.”

“What about it?”

“Do you consider yourselves good
friends?”

He gave that some careful thought, possibly
weighing the consequences of answering in the affirmative. “We are
on a first name basis, if that is what you mean.”

“You call him Dan?”

“I call him Chief.”

“Has he ever done any favors for you?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, like maybe forgive gambling
debts?”

“No.”

“Do you owe the casino money now?”

“What? No! Look, Marcella, I don’t see what
any of this has to do with Landau. Now, unless you have something
relevant to ask me, I think we are just about through here.”

“Last year you responded to a 211 at the
casino, which ultimately involved the shooting deaths of two
burglary suspects. Dispatch documented your arrival on the scene
within three minutes. How was it you able to get there so
quickly?”

“Are you kidding?” Powell’s face wracked with
disgust. “First you criticize me for answering a call too late, and
then again for answering too soon? What is with you, Marcella?”

“You’re right,” I said. “Forget it.” I
flipped to the next page. “Were you on duty the night before
last?”

“You know I was.”

“So, you were on duty at twelve-fifteen when
a 10-103 went out, but you didn’t respond to it, did you?”

“A disturbance? Where, at Pete’s? I didn’t
hear it.”

“Why not? Where were you?”

“I called in a 10-48 about then.”

“A 10-48, not available?”

“That’s right.”

“Why weren’t you available?”

“I was taking a shit. Is that all right with
you?”

“Where were you between the hours of one and
three A.M. that night? Were you with Ms. Stiles?”

“Is that about the time Landau died?”

“It is.”

“Then yes, I was with Stephanie. You can ask
her.”

“We will. In the meantime, I don’t want you
talking to her about this case.”

“Marcella, come on, what do you take me
for?”

I put my hand out. “Let me see your
weapon.”

“What?”

“Your gun, let me have it.”

He unstrapped his holster and handed me his
.38. I opened the cylinder and spilled five rounds out onto the
table. I then sniffed the breech and muzzle and held it to the
light for inspection. I looked to Powell. “You’ve recently cleaned
this weapon.”

He scoffed. “No shit, Dick Tracy. A good cop
keeps his piece clean and oiled.” He turned to Spinelli. “They do
still teach that in Academy, don’t they, kid?”

I said, “When is the last time you fired
it?”

“Last month at the shooting range.”

I handed it to Dominic. “Check it with
ballistics.”

“Hey, just a minute!”

“Don’t worry, Sergeant. You will have it back
before the start of your next shift.”

“No. This is bullshit. I demand you tell me
what’s going on. Am I a suspect in Landau’s murder now?”

“No, we simply have to check out a few loose
ends so we can eliminate the fringe elements of the case.”

“Fringe elements? Is that what I am?” He
pointed to Carlos. “Have you done ballistics on his weapon? How
`bout his?” He pointed at Spinelli. “What about your own piece,
Marcella? What about Burke, Delgado, Chandler or Smithy? Have you
run ballistics on their weapons, too?”

“Sergeant, you have a history with Landau,
and intimate ties to key figures in this investigation, not to
mention the fact you just admitted to spending several hours of
company time on personal affairs. Now, you know as well as I do
that we need to run ballistics on your piece, not to incriminate
you, but to rule you out as a suspect. Which I am sure we will do
once the results come in.”

He eased off. “All right, fine, but I’m not
going to forget this, Marcella. You boys upstairs like to stick
together. What you forget is that all too often you rely on us
downstairs boys to cover your asses when things get rough, if you
know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. What are you saying?”

“I’m saying what goes around comes around.
That’s all. You would be wise to remember that.”

Powell left, leaving the three of us
scratching our heads in dismay. “Did he just threaten us?” I
asked.

Dominic answered, “I think he did.”

I gestured toward Powell’s gun. “Gee, I am
sorry to say now, I am kind of hoping ballistics comes up positive
match on that.”