Start with Chapter 1
CHAPTER 22
The Chief called Guthrie and Dean over the radio and asked to get an update on the investigation. They drove the short distance back to the station and dropped off their coats at their desks before entering Eric’s office. He sat in his chair tamping the tobacco in his pipe. He only brought the pipe with him on weekends. “So I just talked to the mayor boys. He wants a status on this Nimitz investigation.”
Dean nodded to Guthrie, who sat up straighter in his chair. “We’ve re-interviewed the witnesses from when this was a missing persons case. His friends. His family. His employer. We’ve interviewed additional people, including his girlfriend’s parents and Paul Zorn.”
Eric grunted at the name and chewed more vigorously on the pipe stem.
Guthrie continued, “Even interviewed the Pratts. Regarding physical evidence: We have the pistols found at the scene. The thirty-eight, fully loaded, deep in the victim’s coat pocket and unfired. The Remington, a forty-five, and likely the weapon that killed Billy—I mean our victim. That gun and bullet are at the crime lab downstate waiting to be examined. We just found the victim’s car, which is in the impound lot. Interior was clean as a whistle except for some cassettes. It’s been exposed to the elements. We’ll lift some fingerprints if we find them, but I wouldn’t hold out hope. Even if we found them, could’ve been anyone that touched the car. My gut tells me Billy parked it there and that’s the end of the story for the car. We don’t yet know what the stash of cash in the closet or the copy of the commie book mean to the investigation, if anything. Though that much cash seems connected.”
“I fought to stop those commies.”
Dean did not bother to correct his father, who had fought with those commies against the fascists. Nor did he remind himself of his own war’s convenient lies.
Guthrie nodded. “Yes.” He paused to see if the Chief had anything to add and looked at Dean when it seemed he did not.
Dean leaned forward in the chair. “There’s almost no physical evidence right now that leads us anywhere. The serial number on the gun led us to the license. It was purchased in 1952 by Dennis Kowlowski. He died in sixty-three—same day as Kennedy. The trail stops there. We think there were steps in the snow leading north. There were steps from the car back in the general direction where the body was found.”
“One set?”
“Yeah. Lost them in the woods. Got a call from the Quebec police—”
Eric looked at Dean. “That Renard fellow?”
Dean nodded. “They landed on a murder there of a former terrorist. Had a bunch of cash, copies of The Communist Manifesto, and passports. Some with William’s photo under different names. Other passports too with different people. That’s pretty much it in the way of evidence.”
“That’s it,” said Guthrie, wiping his hands on his pants.
“That’s it? That’s squat. That’s less than squat.” Eric held the pipe in his right hand and rubbed his neck with his left. “What the hell boys?”
Dean lowered his head before looking directly at his father. “It is what it is. Almost no physical evidence to speak of. A body left exposed for days. The day he disappeared seems to be the day he was killed. No one knows where he went after eleven-thirty that night. No one knows why he was out in those woods. Or why he had that kind of cash. We’ve got a ton of dead ends. He did buy back some of the pawned jewelry his girlfriend took from her parents. Until today, they assumed the vic stole it. The only other thing we know is that Alex showed up sometime before midnight but after Billy and his friends left the Shambles.”
“The girlfriend’s father, Carlos, right?”
Guthrie gave Eric a thumbs up.
Dean said, “Motive…but a long time between knowing of the supposed theft and the killing. His wife alibis him anyways.”
“Shit, that’s about as good as no alibi. A sliver above when a parent provides an alibi.”
“Yeah, but there you have it. Carlos seems good but doesn’t account for the cash. Doesn’t account for the book.”
“It’s drug money. We know it is.” Guthrie held his hands in front of him and gestured something akin to “this is obvious.”
“Probably,” conceded Dean.
“So that’s Zorn.” The Chief stood up and started pacing behind his desk, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
“Maybe,” said Dean. “I know you’ve been after Zorn for a while. I know and you know that he’s running H down from Canada. But we don’t have evidence. As far as we know, he didn’t even know Billy. And he’s not the only peddler of drugs in town. Smaller time guys, but others. Alex fingered Charlie McCord. Zorn pointed to Alex.”
Eric grunted. “Charlie wouldn’t know the sharp end of a butter knife if you asked him. So where does that leave us?”
“Have you seen his house?”
Eric shook his head.
Guthrie whistled. “It’s a beaut. A palace out in Highland Estates.”
“If that’s the kind of money he’s making,” said Dean, “we may have gone into the wrong business.”
“Charlie’s a respected businessman in this town.” Eric leaned back and crossed his legs. “That’s a pretty big accusation.”
“No more than calling Zorn a drug dealer. But it doesn’t matter. Given what we know, Alex is the center. We know he showed up late at the Shambles. Josh and Corey tell us he’s not getting along with William. I think there was something between Alex and Sarah. I think that’s the rift. You’ve got Paul fingering Alex. Alex fingered McCord. The common name in all of this is Alex. We’ve got to take a closer look at Alex.”
“The DA’s boy?”
Guthrie and Dean nodded.
“Hell.”
“I think…and it’s just a hunch…but I think Alex is running drugs, as well,” said Dean. “Small time stuff. But enough to piss off Zorn or McCord. Maybe both. Josh, Corey, Alex, and Billy were a group. If Zorn knows Alex was doing something, he might have gone at him by going after William. And Alex was all beat up today at the funeral. And McCord’s hand was red and tender.”
“The cash?”
“William was holding it for Alex?”
“Or Billy was a part of the operation,” said Guthrie. “They seemed tight. At least until the falling out over Sarah.”
“So back to love and not drugs?”
Dean shrugged. “Maybe it’s both. Maybe Alex is in love with Sarah and had started using William in his drug thing. And Sarah did mention she thought William was stealing the money from Charlie.”
“Damnit boys, this or that. Drugs or love or revenge. All you’ve given me is a bunch of maybes. This is squat. I can’t go back to the mayor with this.”
“It is—”
“Yeah, I know the goddamned phrase.” The Chief dropped into his chair. “We’ve got a murder. A murderer on the loose, and nothing.” He pulled at his right ear. “What’s next? Tell me how you’re going to solve this.”
“I think we need to probe deeper into Alex. And Josh and Corey. But Alex primarily. We’ll dig deeper into McCord as well.” Dean caught the glare from his father. “But nothing invasive. Light touch. I’d like to get surveillance on Alex as well.”
“What? This isn’t New York City. Surveillance?”
“If we can follow him, we can see what he’s up to.”
Eric waved it away. “We don’t have the money for that kind of operation and no way the DA approves surveillance on his son.”
“I think it’s our best bet.”
“Ain’t happening boys.”
“Then I say we bring all three of them in. Make it formal.”
“Do it.”
* * *
Dean drove to his parents’ house, going over in his head the plan the three of them agreed to. Get Billy’s three friends into the station and push a bit harder and see if something pops. They did not have much leverage; that was clear. Dean agreed with his father, at least in the bureaucratic reasons for not conducting surveillance on Alex: Money and the DA would not allow any surveillance, especially since it was an intuition unsupported by facts.
Jenny slid into the front seat with a large sheet of thick paper covered with a light blue mat. Without prompting, his daughter explained grandma had shown her how to paint with watercolors. Dean recognized the location. The long boarded walk to a pier and deck extending onto Lake Tonga. His parents’ summer house. Jenny’s version of it was very pastel and diaphanous and awkward in proportion and perspective. Still, she had done a good job for her first time at it. His mother was more accomplished, though far from professional—a hobby as she liked to point out.
Dean drove them to Burger Palace for dinner. The chain of six restaurants had opened its second store in Zion in the early seventies. It seemed like a treat for Jenny to go into the brightly lit building and sit across from her dad with her kid’s meal and vanilla milkshake. He asked her if she was having fun with grandma, and she said she was. And they talked about how she liked history at school. The past semester they had been studying the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812. They were due to learn about the Civil War this coming semester. And science class was okay, but she preferred history. Her stepdad, Spencer Jackson, was making her take piano lessons, and she hated practicing. She asked Dean if he could get her out of it.
“The lessons?” he asked.
“Yes. Urrrrr. I hate them.” She sucked on the straw.
“It’s good for you.” He smiled at her look of surprise. “I mean it. Face it, you’re not going to get any culture from me.” While she was in the bathroom, he let his mask fall and sighed. Sometimes he hated what his life had become, despised that he had so little influence over his daughter, that he was a bit of decoration at the margins of her life. And here she was, staying with him during the worst time he could think of: the first murder investigation since Sixty-Eight. He consoled himself that he had his evenings with her, and she was able to visit with her grandmother.
He drove them to the Pratt farm, where Cindy was waiting with her mother. Cindy told Jenny to use the bathroom before they began the long drive home. While in there, Dean updated Cindy on what Jenny had done all week. “We even saw Superman.”
“You did? She’s already seen that. With Spencer right after it came out.”
He could not hide the crestfallen look on his face. Cindy might as well have punched him.
“Oh,” she said. “She probably just didn’t want to tell you. Wanted to see it with you. Did you only get to spend evenings with her?”
He felt tears welling up, but the tone of her last question bothered him enough that he forced them away. “You know what happened earlier this week. I had a job to do.”
Cindy shook her head. They both heard Jenny come at a fast clip down the stairs.
Cindy said to Dean, “Being a father is your job.” She turned and said to Jenny, “Slow down. Say bye to your father.”
Dean knelt down and he and his daughter embraced. And tears, this time, did come. Not many, but enough. He told his daughter he loved her and they would go to an Expos game this summer. He walked out of the warm Pratt home into the January cold. He felt like a husk ready to be blown into the waiting fields.
On the way home he noticed the car tailing him. At least, he thought it was tailing him. Too distant to determine the make. A pair of lights that followed him—not a difficult task in the town. When he turned into his subdivision, they did not follow him, but he still triple-checked the locks on the doors and windows and sat in the living room, his revolver on the end table until early in the morning.
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