You Can Die Trying (13 page)

Gunner nodded, seeming to buy that. “Why do you suppose they split up in the first place? Washington was supposed to be pretty weak in the knees, and he was the one holding the cash. Doesn’t it seem odd he would take off on his own, rather than stick with his cousin, Ford?”

“Not if Ford was running the wrong way,” Lugo said.

“The wrong way?”

“Yeah. The wrong way. That was the first thing we heard Washington say when Ford took of: ‘You’re goin’ the wrong way!’ Or words to that effect.”

“What did he mean, the wrong way?”

“Well, it’s only a guess, but he probably meant Ford was running south, when they both lived to the north. Washington’s mother’s place is on the sixteen-hundred block of Leighton, and Ford’s is on the thirty-nine-hundred block of Dalton.” Lugo pointed to the north, just in case Gunner needed the help. “That way.”

“Then Ford was running
away
from home, not toward it.”

“Yeah.”

“And you think that was why Washington let him go.”

“Sure. Wouldn’t you have done the same thing, if you were him?”

“How did Ford explain himself later?”

“He didn’t. He wasn’t talking, except to say he didn’t do anything. You know, the usual denials. Washington did it all, he said.” She paused. “At least, that’s what he was saying at first. Until his lawyer got ahold of him.”

“And then?”

“And then he changed his story.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Well, he took the rap. Pleaded guilty to everything but carrying the gun. Since we never could find a weapon we could connect him with, his lawyer cut him a deal and he was back on the street in six months.”

“You wouldn’t happen to remember this lawyer’s name, would you?”

“No. But I’ve seen him around. He’s the same guy Washington’s mother’s hired to handle her case against the department, I think.”

“Milton Wiley,” Gunner said, nodding his head.

“Yeah. That’s him.”

Well, what do you know
, Gunner thought to himself.

Changing the subject, he said, “The gun McGovern said Washington dropped. You ever see it?”

Lugo paused conspicuously before answering. “Yes.”

“When?”

“When I first arrived at the scene. And later, when the IAD team asked me to look it over.”

“Describe it for me, if you can.”

Lugo shrugged again and said, “It was a thirty-eight-caliber Charter Arms. A Pug, I think. Black finish. No handgrips, no serial numbers. Just your typical piece of street iron.”

“And that fit the description the counterman at the liquor store gave you for the gun Ford was supposed to be flashing around?”

“No. The counterman at the liquor store couldn’t give us a description of the weapon he saw. All he was able to tell us was, it was a revolver of some kind. Not an automatic.”

“Then it could have been the same gun. Is that what you’re saying?”

“It could have been. Sure.”

“Except that Ford’s prints were never found on it.”

“That’s what I understand.”

“And the prints on the gun that belonged to Washington came from his right hand. His off hand.”

“Yes. At least, that’s what they said.”

“And you don’t find that a little strange?”

“What’s that?”

“That the prints on the gun came from Washington’s off hand.”

“Strange? No. I don’t find it strange.”

“Why not?”

“Because I gave up trying to understand everything that happens on this job a long time ago, Mr. Gunner. You live longer that way.”

She was looking him straight in the eye, daring him to call her a liar.

“Just for the sake of argument, let’s say the Charter Arms was a drop gun McGovern placed at the scene. Can we do that, Officer Lugo?”

“Just for the sake of argument? Sure.”

“Good. Now let’s go a step further and say that the reason McGovern planted the Charter Arms was because he couldn’t find the gun Washington really had. All right?”

Lugo shrugged.

“Okay, then. Question: What happened to Washington’s gun? How is it nobody ever found it?”

Lugo shrugged again. “I don’t know. I know Maggie always said it was pitch black in here that night. At least, it was before all the shooting started. That’s why alleys like this are so popular with the drug trade. They’re all dark as hell. Nobody has the money to keep their garage light on all night, and the few that do just get their light bulbs busted out for their trouble. On an overcast night like that one, Maggie probably wouldn’t have been able to see three feet in front of him in any direction.”

“But it wasn’t that dark later that evening. Is that what you said?”

“You mean, when Ford and I got here?”

“Yes.”

“No. It wasn’t that dark by then. By that time, half the neighborhood was up and awake, and there were lights on over that garage there”—she pointed toward the one garage Gunner had found to have a bulb installed in its floodlight—”and in several of the yards on both sides.”

“Then Washington’s gun
should
have been visible to someone from that time forward.”

“Yes. Except that no one was looking for another gun then. We all thought the gun Maggie turned in was Washington’s. There was no reason for anybody to go looking around for another one until the lab boys came back and said the so-called ‘wrong’ set of Washington’s prints were on the Charter Arms.”

She was right, of course. Gunner could have kicked himself for not seeing the same point sooner.

“Let’s talk about the money for a minute,” he said, groping for the upper hand in their conversation again.

“The money?”

“The money that was missing from the liquor store cash. The hundred dollars or so McGovern was supposed to have lifted off of Washington’s body.”

“Yes?”

“That sound like something McGovern would have done to you? Was he into that kind of action?”

“You mean stealing?”

“Yes. That’s the word I’m looking for, I guess. ‘Stealing.’”

He said it while meeting her gaze head-on, to let her know she could bullshit him here if she wanted, but it wasn’t going to wash if she did.

“Let’s just say that Maggie hated to see a good dollar go to waste, Mr. Gunner. All right?”

She hadn’t intended for the line to get a laugh, but Gunner found it amusing, nonetheless. Wisely, however, he allowed himself only the slightest of grins and moved on, not caring to test the limits of Lugo’s tolerance for insult.

“You said Harry Kupchak told you that I’m trying to prove McGovern got the shaft. Is that right?”

“That’s what he told me, yes.”

“Were those his words, or yours?”

“What? That Maggie got the shaft?”

“Yes.”

“Those were his words. Not mine.”

“Meaning that you don’t see it that way.”

“I didn’t say that. I think Maggie got the short end of the stick in a lot of ways, sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. At least, he sure as hell didn’t get as many breaks as he could have. Did he?”

“Breaks of what kind? From who?”

“From everybody. IAD, the department brass, the media people—you name it. From the moment the Washington kid’s body hit the ground, Maggie didn’t get an inch of slack from anybody.”

“And you think he deserved one?”

“I think he should have gotten a little more support from some people. Yes.”

“You don’t include yourself in that group, I take it.”

“Me? Why should I?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you were so vague about the number of shots you heard fired that night, for one thing. I mean, while McGovern had insisted there’d been five—Washington’s two, followed by his three—you’ve always been relatively uncertain about it. And that’s a somewhat unusual stance for a cop’s partner to take under the circumstances, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t tell how many shots had been fired. I was twelve blocks away,” Lugo said forcefully.

“I know. You said that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is, that wouldn’t have stopped some cops from saying they heard five, anyway. You know that, and I know that.”

Lugo was about to dispute that when a loud noise from the far end of the alley caused both of their heads to turn. A black man in a soiled and tattered black tuxedo was rummaging through the trash cans several yards down, tossing the aluminum lids over his shoulder as he went from can to can. He had a beard full of dust and lint obscuring his face, and a shopping cart loaded with clothes and refuse standing at his side.

It wasn’t anything Gunner and Lugo didn’t see every day.

“Look,” Lugo said, turning back around. “If you think I should have lied just to make things go a little easier for Maggie, you’re crazy. The second I saw that kid lying there, I knew Maggie’s fate was out of my hands. It wouldn’t have mattered what I did or said to save him.”

“How could you know that?”

“Because I was his partner. You think I could be the man’s partner and not know what everybody thought of him? How much some people wanted to see him dead, let alone drummed out of the department? He was old school, Maggie. He was hot-tempered and pigheaded, and his ideas about some things were downright ignorant. Maybe qualities like those didn’t mean much at one time, but these days they mark you for extinction. Not to mention make you as safe to be around as a stick of lit dynamite.

“So I told it the way I saw it and let the chips fall for Maggie where they would. It was all I could do, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“Considering they would have taken me down with him, if they’d been forced to. I told you.”

“Who are you talking about? The IAD guys?”

“Yes.”

“Kubo and Jenner.”

“Yeah. Them.”

“You think they set McGovern up?”

“I don’t know about a setup. It just seemed to me they were going about their work building a case against him with an awful lot of enthusiasm. More than the usual amount, anyway. Jenner, especially.”

“You ever meet either man before?”

Lugo shook her head. “No. And I don’t plan to again. I like being a cop, Mr. Gunner. And I intend to be one for a long time. If that means I’ll have to do things differently from time to time than another cop might under similar circumstances, so be it. I apologize to nobody.” She waited to see how Gunner would take that, but the investigator had no reaction to it, as near as she could determine. “Any more questions?”

“Just one,” Gunner said.

“Let me guess. Am I free tonight? What’s my sign? Something like that?”

It was hard to tell how much cynicism was hidden in the question. Smiling despite himself, Gunner said, “Actually, I was going to ask you to give me your gut feeling about what happened here that night. Regardless of what you saw or didn’t see, heard or didn’t hear. All things considered—”

“Do I think Maggie shot the Washington kid without due cause?”

“Yes. That’s my question.”

Lugo thought about it for a moment, then nodded her head almost despondently. “Yes. I do.” She shrugged. “So I guess it doesn’t matter what kind of job they did on the poor bastard, does it?”

“Not unless you’re the kind of cop who’d take offense at that sort of thing.”

“You mean having the men upstairs come down on your partner like a load of bricks?”

“Yes.”

“I should be more outraged than I am, I guess.”

“Let’s just say, I find myself wondering why you’re not.”

“Okay. I’ll give you a hint. Know how many of Maggie’s old partners showed up at his funeral yesterday morning? Two. Me and some detective out of Harbor who used to ride with Maggie back in the early eighties. I don’t remember his name. Maggie must have broken in close to fifty rookie partners over his lifetime, and only two of ’em cared enough about him to say goodbye. That tell you anything?”

Gunner didn’t answer, preferring to wait for her to answer the question for him.

“He was bad news. That’s what it should tell you. And every cop who ever rode with him has the scars to prove it. Whether they realize it or not.”

Suddenly, she was in a hurry to leave. The cool, unshakable professionalism she had exhibited up to now was fading fast, and Gunner was starting to get a good look at the angry young woman she really was.

“Look, Mr. Gunner. I hate to cut this short, but …”

“You have to be going.”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Thank you for coming.” The investigator reached out to shake her hand again. “On the off chance I might need to talk to you again, would it be all right if I called you? Or have you said all you have to say on the subject of your ex-partner?”

Lugo produced one of her business cards and handed it to him. “You want to call, call,” she said. “But do me a favor. Don’t try to tell me that when you do, the only thing you’re going to have on your mind is Maggie. All right?”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“Come on, Mr. Gunner. That goofy look you’ve been giving me for the last fifteen minutes hasn’t had anything to do with business. Obviously, I’ve got something you need—or at least, something you can deeply appreciate—and it could be the feeling is mutual. I don’t know. It’s a little early to tell, yet.”

Gunner kept expecting her to grin, but she never did. She was deadly serious.

“Wait a minute,” Gunner said, thoroughly caught off guard.

“Look. Forget I said anything. You think of any more questions you’d like to ask about Maggie, just give me a call down at the station, all right?”

Lugo turned and started out of the alley.

For a brief moment, Gunner thought about going after her. But then it occurred to him that he’d have to
say
something to her if he did—and his mind had just become a total blank.

Getting caught with one’s libido showing could do that to a man.

8