“I will,” Frank said. The line went dead. Frank’s first instinct was to call Vic, but he found himself staring at the phone without dialing. He tossed the phone aside, then finished his beer and turned the TV back on.
9
Vic was sitting at his desk, waiting as Frank walked into the office. He smiled broadly and said, “There he is. Our Miss America. How you feeling?”
“Like hell,” Frank said. “My knee is killing me.”
“I can see the pain in your eyes,” Vic said. “It’s how I know you haven’t been taking that shit anymore. How you making out with that?”
“What I don’t understand is if my doctor says it’s okay, and the Chief of Police says it’s okay, why do I need to listen to a not-even-promoted Detective who says different?”
“How many drug addicts does the Chief know?”
“He doesn’t need to know any drug addicts. He has the Staff Sergeant at his side, who is an expert in all aspects of law enforcement. That’s a real police officer, with a real rank, Vic…” Frank stopped talking and held up his hand, “I really tried to get all that out without laughing. Let me try again.”
“No need. So how was your night, last night?”
“Good.”
“What did you do?”
“Iced my goddamn knee because I’m not allowed to take the proper medicine for it.”
Vic started tapping his pen on his desk anxiously. “Did Dez reach out to you? I figured he would because that’s his M.O. He likes nothing better than to divide and conquer.”
“Really?” Frank said.
“So did he?”
“Did he call me?”
“Do you know what the number one thing people do when they are confronted in an interrogation situation and they do not want to answer the question? They repeat it. It allows them to create psychological space and distance from the interrogator so that they can gather their thoughts. Do you know what the number two thing they do is?”
“No,” Frank said.
“They swear they are telling the truth. They swear to God, swear on their lives, swear on anything really. I once had a man swear on the soul of his dead child that he was telling me the truth. He was actually wearing a t-shirt with a silkscreen of the kid’s picture on it that said, IN MEMORIAM.”
“That sucks,” Frank said.
“So what did Dez want?”
“He wanted to know why we hadn’t signed up Billy as a CI yet, and to tell him if you weren’t going to do it.”
Vic nodded, still tapping his pen anxiously. “So were you going to tell me about it?”
“Maybe. I was trying to decide if it was necessary or not.”
Vic came forward on the desk, “Necessary? You mean a guy I introduce you to tries to cut my throat and turn you against me and you have to decide whether or not it’s necessary? After everything we’ve been through? That’s bullshit, Frank. You were waiting to see if you could play the cards in your favor. Well I’ve got news for you, pal. Dez promises a whole lot and delivers very fucking little. He creates discord and misery wherever he goes just because he likes to see people fight. And then, when you think he’s your friend, he jams it up your ass sideways and moves on to the next person!”
Frank waited to speak until Vic had finished and caught his breath. “Can I talk now? I was trying to decide if it was necessary to get you all upset about it. I have no interest in the FBI or anything like that. All I ever wanted to be was a town clown, and that’s what I am.”
Vic sat back down and said, “Oh.”
“So let me ask you, just from me to you, with no hidden meanings, are we going to sign Billy up as a CI or not? The guy he can work seems like a badass and we should focus on getting him while we can.”
Vic looked like he was having trouble making sense of Frank’s words. “You’re a cop all of a sudden?”
Frank pulled out his badge and showed it to Vic, “You see this? It might be silver now, but it’s about to turn gold. I am the next not-even-promoted detective, buddy, and you better get used to it. I swear to God.”
Vic raised his hand to knock on the door, but stopped and said, “You do it.”
Frank rapped gently on the screen door, and Vic scowled and pushed him out of the way. “Nobody’s going to take you seriously if you do it like that. Here, watch this.” Vic put his hand flat against the metal frame to hold it in place and kicked several times, loud enough to make Frank cover his ears. “You need to get their attention or they think you’re the landlord coming to collect rent or something.”
There was no answer. Frank said, “Nice technique, boss. Works great.”
Vic looked back at the driveway and saw Helen’s cars were there. “Maybe they went for a walk?”
Frank shrugged. He bent to peek through the porch window and saw that the television was on. “Knock again.”
Vic held the screen door and kicked it again, harder and louder. He banged on the frame with his fist and shouted, “Open up, Billy. It’s the police!”
Frank pressed his face against the window, “There’s food on the counter. Half-empty bottle of milk on the coffee table. If they’re not here, they left in a hurry.”
“Shit,” Vic said. He opened the screen door and reached for the door’s handle when he saw that the frame around it was cracked. There was a large footprint on the center of the door where someone had kicked it in. Vic drew his gun and pushed the door open the rest of the way. “Billy? Mrs. Helen? You in here?”
Both of them crouched low, keeping their guns aimed at the hallway. “Police!” Frank announced. “Anybody in here?”
They moved together toward the hall, keeping out of the deadly “fatal funnel” where anyone could be ambushed as they squeezed together into a smaller location. Vic pressed himself against the sidewall and poked his gun and face into the hallway at the three doors that waited. “One bathroom and two bedrooms,” he whispered. “We’ll take them one at a time.”
Frank moved in behind him, keeping his gun aimed down the hall when Vic swung into the first doorway. It was the bathroom, and he instantly threw the shower curtain aside, expecting someone to be hiding behind it. “Clear.”
Frank felt Vic’s hand on his shoulder and they continued down the hall, moving so slow that Frank’s leg started to tremble from the weight. He was about to turn to the first bedroom, when Vic grabbed him and whispered, “Don’t move.”
Frank looked down at the dried drop of blood on the dirty carpet, leading back to the master bedroom at the end of the hallway. Both men straddled the blood trail and hurried down the hall until they came to the door. “Ready? Go!”
They piled into the bedroom, turning with their weapons in every direction of the ransacked room. Dressers were overturned and drawers lay broken on the floor. Clothing and bedsheets were strewn about the room and someone had cut the mattress open with a knife. On the surface of the mattress, soaked into the cotton and sliced open fabric was a pool of blackened, crusted blood.
Vic stood staring down at the bed and finally said, “Ruh-roh.”
Two cars rolled down the street toward the Helen house. Staff Sergeant Erinnyes arrived first in his green unmarked police take-home vehicle followed by Special Agent Dolos’ Audi. Dez stepped out of the car and fixed his suit coat, toying with the cufflink on his right sleeve. Erinnyes waddled toward the front step and reached out for the strip of neon crime scene tape, when Frank said, “Stand by, sir! You can’t come in.”
Erinnyes looked up at him with a thin-lipped smirk, “Excuse me, patrolman?”
Frank waved the clipboard in his hand as he came down the steps. “I’m running the crime scene log and not allowed to let anyone in unless authorized by the Chief or Detective Ajax.”