Tanya Nikolic was tall and on the cusp of thirty, a black-haired beauty descended from Eastern European stock. She examined his wound closely and then poured hydrogen peroxide over it. Lucas watched it bubble over the raised crescent mark. When his hand was dry she affixed a butterfly bandage to the cut.
“That ER doctor did a good job,” said Nikolic. “It healed nicely.”
“What about that scar?” said Lucas.
“It’s real. You’ll have it for life.”
“Is that it for us?”
“What else would you like me to do?”
“You could take my blood pressure. I think it’s up right now.”
“Why’s that?”
“It always happens to me when a good-looking woman walks into a room.”
“You’re the first patient that’s ever said that to me.”
“Really?”
“No.” Dr. Nikolic smiled a little as she removed her gloves. “Just let that bandage fall off naturally. You’re good to go.”
Lucas left the clinic and headed downtown. Petersen had asked him to come in. Something to do with Calvin Bates.
Twenty minutes later, Lucas sat before Petersen’s desk in the offices at 5th and D. Petersen, in Western drag, wearing a shirt with a yoked back and snap buttons, reached into a drawer and produced a deck of playing cards in a cardboard case. He dropped the case on the desk in front of Lucas.
“Do you know what these are?” said Petersen.
Lucas opened the pack and inspected the top card. The back of it read, “District of Columbia,” and the next line read, “Cold Case Homicides and Missing Persons,” and had a phone number and phone code printed below it. In the center of the card was a rendering of the D.C. flag overlaid with a small map of the District.
“Turn it over,” said Petersen.
Lucas looked at its flip side. It was the four of hearts, with the words “Unsolved Homicide” and “Up to $25,000 Reward” under the heart. Below that, a photo of a deceased woman named Sharmell “Mella” Hall, her age, the location of where her body had been found, a brief description of the crime, and its case number. She had been shot to death in 1989.
“I’ve heard of these,” said Lucas.
“The company that manufactures the cards distributes them in prisons and jails via various law enforcement agencies. They make them for about thirty different states and cities. Inmates love to play cards. The idea is, while they’re playing, a prisoner could see a missing person or murder victim, and they might know something about the perpetrator.”
“You mean, they’d roll on a killer? That doesn’t happen too often.”
“But it does happen. They do it for the reward, or just because they don’t like someone. Or for consideration at a later date. People who cooperate with the law do better at parole hearings. Of course, it’s often a false lead. But there’ve been a number of arrests and convictions off these tips.”
“How does this connect to Calvin Bates?” said Lucas.
“Apparently, a friend of his was playing poker in the common room of the jail and he recognized a name on one of the cards. Calvin asked to speak to you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” said Petersen, and Lucas tried to read Petersen’s face for the lie. For legal reasons, and to preserve their relationship, Peterson made it a point to stay out of Lucas’s side work and private affairs.
“That a fact,” said Lucas.
“You’ll have to ask him. You should do it quickly, though. His case has gone to the jury. If he’s convicted, he’s going to be moved to a federal facility. That means he’ll be incarcerated somewhere far away.”
“What are his chances of an acquittal?”
“I did the best I could,” said Petersen gravely.
Lucas looked at the cards. Petersen watched him intently as he began to slowly go through them. When Lucas came to the ace of spades and saw the photo and murder description of Cherise Roberts, and her nickname, his eyes registered surprise. Petersen saw this, too.
“They’re not all cold cases, strictly speaking,” said Petersen. “They’ve recently produced a new series for D.C. The deck you have is the latest.”
“What was Bates’s friend holding?” said Lucas.
Petersen grinned. “I thought you’d want to know. You do like your details.”
“What was it?”
“Bates said it was eights and aces,” said Petersen. “The dead man’s hand.”
“I thought that hand was known as aces and eights?”
“It scans better the other way,” said Petersen. “It’s more poetic. Bob Seger thought so, too. He changed the order in ‘Fire Lake.’ ‘Who wants to play those eights and aces’? Do you know that song?”
“My father liked it. He said that Seger was Springsteen for the authentic workingman.”
“Indeed.”
“When can I see Bates? I know they schedule visitation days by the first letter of the last name.”
“I already put in a letter to the DOC. You can see him today. Actually, you’ll be seeing him on a video screen in a building alongside the old D.C. General. They’ve got a new policy down there.”
Lucas got up out of his chair, slipped the deck of cards in a pocket of his jeans.
“You okay, Spero?”
“I’m fine.”
“You seem stressed.”
“Tired, is all. Thanks for this.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” said Petersen.
Lucas didn’t comment. He was already walking away.
Lucas checked in to a room holding rows of chairs and screens in the shuttered hospital’s grounds, near RFK Stadium and close to the D.C. Jail. In the jail, which held prisoners awaiting trial, convicted detainees transitioning to federal prisons, or those serving less than one-year sentences, men sat in common rooms in front of similar screens and spoke to loved ones, relatives, priests, nuns, or attorneys. Face-to-face visits had recently been stopped, a money-saving measure that eliminated the humiliating, time-consuming search-and-frisk procedure that all visitors to the facility had once endured. The shift in policy and procedure had also taken away the needed human contact that came from two people sitting across from each other and looking into each other’s eyes. Even if there had been glass between them, and armed security in the room, most found that closeness preferable to the coldness of video visitation.
“My man,” said Calvin Bates, his face and shoulders filling the screen. “I appreciate you stopping by, Mr. Lucas.”
“Make it Spero.”
“I know what you did for me. Finding that dirt on Brian Dodson, and all that. Putting the possibility out there that it could have been his truck in that field. I’m thinking maybe it’s gonna help me with the jury. Least, I hope it does.”
“If you get a break, it’s probably because of Petersen.”
“You went beyond, though. You did.”
Lucas studied Bates. He was older than Lucas had expected him to be. His eyes were baggy, moist as a hound’s, and not unkind. It was hard to imagine him planning the murder of his girlfriend, Edwina Christian. But Lucas had seen all kinds of killers. Quiet men, fathers, educated men who’d grown up in stable, loving homes. Men who wore crucifixes, and men who killed in the name of Allah.
“Petersen said your buddy recognized someone on one of the playing cards they hand out in the jail.”
“That’s right. My friend’s name is Josh Brown. He’s in on a manslaughter thing.”
“Josh recognized this person when he saw the victim’s photo?”
“No. It was when he saw her name. Also, how the card said her body got found.”