“Hi, how you doin’?” MacAullif said.
I looked at him suspiciously. “Just fine. How are you?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
I was concerned. If things couldn’t be better, something was definitely wrong. Under normal circumstances Sergeant MacAullif treated my entrance into his office as an intrusion on his valuable time. If he was pleased to see me, the world was out of whack.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “I’m wondering if you have time to discuss a case.”
“As long as you can be calm.”
“Calm?”
“Yes. And don’t get riled up. And don’t get me riled up. Do you think you can do that?”
“Why would I get you riled up?”
“Because you always do,” MacAullif flared, and immediately pulled back.
“Jeez, MacAullif,” I said. “You mind telling me why you’re trying so hard to keep calm?”
MacAullif exhaled through his teeth. He sounded like a steam locomotive. “Blood pressure. I got high blood pressure. I had my physical, the doc says it’s dangerously high. Gotta avoid stress. Gotta avoid tension. Tough assignment, the work I do, but there are ways and there are ways. The main way, Doc says, is don’t take it personally. It may be a homicide, but it’s just a job. You handle it and move on. So the bottom line is, while I’d much prefer you didn’t bring me any more stress, I’m not gonna let it bother me if you do. So how about it, can you handle this on your own?”
“I could use some help.”
A frown crossed MacAullif’s face, was instantly replaced by a smile. “Of course,” he said. “Pray tell me what you want. So I may help you with it before getting back to the three homicides I am coordinating. Among five detectives, as one is out with the flu.” He considered. “I said that very calmly. I should get points for that.”
“You should get points just for saying among. Most cops would say between.”
MacAullif gave me an utterly baffled look. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your calm. I was just wondering if you had anything on the Grant Jackson case.”
MacAullif frowned. “What made you wonder that?”
“The mother called Rosenberg and Stone.”
“Indeed,” MacAullif said. He didn’t sound happy. “Well, it happens to have crossed my desk. It is not one of the three homicides I mentioned. It is in addition to the three homicides I mentioned. It is a closed case I was hoping to clear, for, as I say, manpower is short.”
MacAullif took a cigar from his desk, began twirling it through his fingers, a nervous habit he had when thinking something out. “The Grant Jackson case is rather straightforward. A kid with a bad heart shoots a lethal dose of coke. It’s a no-brainer. It’s a slam dunk. The type of case you pray for with a case overload. Just this morning I was quite thrilled at the prospect of having chalked it up and not having to deal with it again.”
“I’m not asking you to deal with it. I’m just wondering if you could discuss it.”
MacAullif took a breath, then smiled what had to be the most forced smile this side of the Mona Lisa. It occurred to me if he were working any harder at being relaxed, his jaw might crack. “Of course,” he said.
“You get anything from the autopsy report?”
“Just what I said. Kid OD’d. Shame, but it happens all the time.”
“The kid a user?”
“No, he wasn’t. Not according to the M.E. No track marks. He might have snorted before, but he never shot. And for good reason. Guy with a heart condition mainlinin’ got to be suicidal.”
“Think it was?”
“What?”
“Suicide?”
MacAullif’s face contorted in what could only be preparation for a barrage of sarcasm. He re-collected himself, composed his features. One could almost hear him reciting a mantra. “I would think you could rule out suicide. Suicides kill themselves. They don’t get high and go play ball.”
“What do you think of the theory he was trying to get himself up for practice?”
“I don’t like it, but I’d take it over suicide.”
“What do you think of the theory someone did him in?”
He raised one finger. “That theory I don’t like at all. That theory takes the Grant Jackson case out of my inactive file and places it in my pending file. That theory gives me four homicides and five detectives. You do the math.”
“I see your point.”
“Do you? Tell me something. Why are you pushing this?”
“If the kid OD’d, the mother doesn’t get a dime.”
MacAullif squinted at me sideways. “Richard kicked the case?”
“I was signing up the mother when we got the report that-”
“Richard kicked the case?”
“When we found out that the kid OD’d and-”
“Richard kicked the case?”
“You’re getting all worked up.”
He took a deep breath, blew it out slowly. “I’m not getting all worked up. I’m fine. Let me know if I understand you correctly. You came in to bother me about a case you are not even working on?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t working on it.”
“Is anyone paying you to work on it?”
“No.”
“Well, how delightful.” MacAullif spread his arms. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Actually there is.”
“I might have known. Pray what might that be?”
“Well, I know you scrutinized this case carefully before you decided it wasn’t worth your notice. I imagine you checked out where Grant might have copped the cocaine. Did that investigation bear fruit?”
“Oh, sure,” MacAullif said. “We had people linin’ up claimin’ to be the dope dealer who sold him his last toot. Would you like a list of names?”
“Good, MacAullif. You’re getting better at calm sarcasm. Actually I was wondering if you pulled the rap sheets on his friends, family, and teammates.”
MacAullif had.
Of the gentlemen in question, there were two with prior drug busts.
One was Larry White, one of Grant Jackson’s teammates.
The other was brother Lincoln.
Lincoln Jackson met me at a small coffee shop near the project in Bed-Stuy. He had no reason not to. As far as he knew, I was still working for his mother. He slid into the booth, propped his elbows up on the faded Formica table, and demanded, “Why we meetin’ here? Why not up there?”
“Don’t you want coffee?”
“I don’ want coffee. I want to know what’s going on.”
“I want to talk with you. I didn’t want to disturb your mom.”
“She interested.”
“I know she is. I wanted you to be able to talk freely.”
He glared at me suspiciously. “ ’Bout what?”
“I think you know ’bout what.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t ‘preciate this.” He turned, yelled to the waitress. “Hey, we get some coffee here?”
I didn’t remind him he didn’t want coffee. “Your brother died of an overdose. I bet the cops wanted to know where he got it.”
He muttered something about the integrity of the police force in general and one detective in particular. The waitress shoved a cup of coffee in front of him. He didn’t notice. He looked at me as if I were a cockroach he was about to step on. “They talk to me ’cause I got a prior. Is that stupid or what? That I’d give my own brother junk when I know he got a weak heart.”
“You knew that?”
“Course I did. Grant don’t want to tell, can’t hide nothin’. Face like a road map. He come back from the doctor, we all knew somethin’s wrong.”
“You dealin’ coke?”
His face twisted into a snarl. “I jus’ tol’ you, wasn’t me.”
“Yeah, but if it was in the house, Grant could have got his hands on it. Say if he wanted a boost, to play better.”