‘I’m positive, damn you.’ A sneer curls her lip. ‘Don’t think I ain’t seen the way you’ve been looking down on me. I ain’t always looked like this.’
To emphasise her point, she rummages in a drawer and pulls out a framed picture. When she shows it to me, I see her arm in arm with a tall beefy guy.
Perhaps it’s the nurse’s uniform distorting my opinion, but while she’s no knockout in the picture, she’s several leagues above where she is today.
‘Sorry if I’ve offended you, but it’s something I had to ask.’
She doesn’t speak. Again her eyes fall to the carpet. Or whatever is covering the carpet.
I don’t tell her, but her logic is wrong. Working at the Tree for so long, I have seen every possible reason for a fight and the majority have been started over the fairer sex. Either one man is chasing another’s wife, or a woman’s flirting achieves the desired effect and makes her partner jealous. Hands get raised and blood gets spilled.
The next night, or week, the drama will be repeated by different characters. There may be a subplot or a twist, but it’s the same drama every time.
One thing it’s taught me is, regardless of who’s waiting for them at home, some people will always stray. It’s one of the reasons I stay more or less single; I’m one of them.
‘What about his work, you mentioned something of a… dispute?’
‘Asshole foreman thought Roger was on the take. He mighta been a lotta things but he wasn’t never a thief.’
‘You said before, people who knew what was good for them didn’t argue with Roger. What did you mean by that?’
She turns her head to one side. ‘Just that he was a big man who could take care of hisself. He weren’t no troublemaker, but when it found him he could deal with it.’
Alfonse probably says the same about me.
‘Was there any trouble he dealt with that might have come back to bite him?’
‘No. He did what he had to do and stopped there.’ Her fingers pick at a spot on her forehead. ‘He never whaled on a man who couldn’t fight back.’
‘Do you keep in touch with Roger’s family, or any of his friends?’ Perhaps one of them will have the information I need. Faith may have it, but she isn’t prepared to share it lest she inadvertently cuts off a source of possible money. ‘And if you do, have you got a contact for them?’
She reaches inside her shirt and pulls out an old model cell.
I try not to think too hard about where she was keeping it as she gives me a couple of names and numbers.
64
I notice a different air in the police station when I enter the reception. Even Darla appears subdued. Two men with dark suits and cropped hair stand by the desk. Their faces are serious yet blank. Neither looks as if a winning ticket or the death of a family member will change their expressions.
The door to the chief’s office is closed so I give a knock and wait. There’s no answer although I can hear voices inside.
A hand touches my shoulder. It’s one of the statues from reception. He’s being gentle so far, but I know a firmer, more insistent grip is seconds away. ‘Please step away from the door, sir. Chief Watson is busy with Special Agent Doenig. They are not to be disturbed.’
‘I’m working the case and need to update the chief.’ I keep my tone level and fight the impulse to engage him in a staring match.
‘Tell me what you got and I’ll inform them both when they’re finished with the current briefing.’
‘No. This is too important to wait.’ It isn’t, but he doesn’t know that.
Taking advantage of his indecision, I’m two steps into the room before he’s had time to react.
‘What is it, Boulder?’ There’s irritation in the chief’s voice, but I’m confident I’m not the source.
I make a point of acknowledging the squat guy wearing a dark suit and darker expression before turning to the chief. ‘Thought you’d want an update.’
‘What you got?’
‘Ingerson was a big man who knew how to take care of himself. The wife says he hadn’t made any enemies but I’m not so sure.’
‘So you know him better than his wife?’ Doenig’s voice is the raspy drawl of someone who smokes rough tobacco too often. The smell of nicotine hangs over him like a damp hammock.
‘Of course not.’ I’m not trying to antagonise the guy, but it has been a long day and I’m too weary to keep the scorn out of my voice. ‘But I do know guys. Ninety-nine out of a hundred don’t tell their other halves when they’ve been fighting unless there’s no way they can avoid it. Then they make a point of being the one to break the news.’
I get a scowl but no further argument because I’m right. As much as women may like us to assume the role of protectors should trouble come along, deep down they hate to see us fighting because they’re afraid we’ll get hurt. Or worse, too used to solving problems with our fists.
My father never showed Mother the hairy side of his hand, but she’s told me how my paternal grandfather used to beat his wife. Growing up I never knew about it but armed with hindsight and more knowledge, I remember the constant stream of bruises dismissed as ‘silly old granny falling over again.’
‘Thank you, Mr Boulder, your cooperation is appreciated by the United States Government, but I think it would be appropriate for you to stand down now.’
I look at the chief as he’s the man who hired me. It may be a technicality, but there’s no way I’m being sidelined.
The chief is motionless, his face gives nothing away. Perhaps he’s auditioning for a role as a feebie statue. Then again, he’s a wise old bird who knows how to play the political game when he has to.
By staying mute and still, he’s showing allegiance to both sides while leaving us to sort it out between us. As a law enforcer, he operates in a hierarchical system and the special agent outranks him, the counterbalance being this is his patch and the FBI will find things a lot easier with his cooperation.
‘You didn’t hire me, therefore you can’t fire me. I have been assisting the police, and everything I’ve learned has been shared with them at the earliest possible opportunity. I’d like that situation to continue.’ I spread my hands out. ‘You can make the arrests and take the credit. All I want is to stay involved.’
‘The FBI does not work with amateur sleuths, Mr Boulder.’ His face softens a fraction of a fraction. ‘But in respect of what you’ve already achieved, I think Chief Watson should one day hire you as a detective. If today should be that day…’
The chief gets his inference a second before I do. A gnarled hand leaves his temple and opens a drawer. A badge flies my way along with a pointy-fingered admonishment.
‘You’re on probation until this case is over, then we’ll review your situation. You ain’t getting a gun until I know you’re competent. Understand?’
‘Yes, Chief.’ I decide this isn’t the best time to ask about a 401K.
‘Let’s get one thing clear right from the start, Mr Boulder. The FBI leads and you as a rookie detective follow.’
Doenig waves me to a seat and starts to pepper the chief with questions about the case. His instincts are good and the points he’s interested in are the ones which have been puzzling me.
He suggests a profiler, so I tell him what I’ve gleaned from Dr Edwards. I get a firm nod as a sign of approval but he still wants to speak to his own guy. It’s only right he does. However good the advice we’ve gotten so far may be, an experienced FBI profiler will always have better insights than a small-town psychologist.
When Doenig is finished questioning the chief, I tell them what little I’ve learned from Faith Ingerson.