He thought it over. “You were a cop though. Cops protect each other.”
“Kind of like a gang.”
He nodded.
I stood to leave. “Thanks for your time, Warren. I know it's a hard day. I'll see you at the church.”
He held his hand up. “Hold on a minute …”
I waited.
“I heard what happened over at the CA's office … Okay, I'll try to set up a meeting for you with the ‘bangers. But I want Priscilla in on it too.”
Now we were getting somewhere. “That's gotta be up to her.”
“Right. If she says it's okay, I'll try and set it up for tomorrow night. Soon enough?”
I nodded.
“You carry a gun?”
“Yes.”
“You can't bring it with you if we go. These brothers don't play around.”
We'll see about that, I thought, but I said nothing.
He was staring into the dust on his darkened computer screen. “What about other police agencies? Any involved besides the sheriff?”
“There's a state police investigator and his partner on the case. They'll be down here tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“You gonna do another story on this for the paper?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Not right now. Too many conflicts of interest.”
“You and I both,” I said.
19
Regan Quinn's house faced the steepest street in town, a narrow climb up a hillside where the trees and any other type of vegetation had mostly eroded away. Structures occupied only one side of the road, and even there precariously. Tall three-families with peeling paint and cantilevered foundations, craning into the electric blue. I could only imagine what the slope looked like after a rainstorm.
I parked behind a big UPS truck and a Toyota that looked like the car I had seen fleeing from a distance the day before. A few window air conditioners made noise from the building. Her apartment was on the second floor and I made a lot of noise myself on the stairs hoping that she would think I was the driver with a package. The bell sounded like a set of wind chimes from inside.
I heard fumbling and footsteps through the walls.
“Just a minute!” Her voice was high-pitched but muted.
There was no peephole. She turned the lock, undid the chain, and pulled open the door.
“Regan Quinn?”
Squinting. Her face dull from sleep. Long blond hair. Narrow waist with hips poured into blue jeans. Confused. “Mr. Pavlicek? I thought you were the delivery driver.”
“No, ma'am.” I showed her my license. “Just have a few questions I'd like to ask you.”
The corners of her mouth twisted toward a frown. “I don't think I should, I mean … talk with anyone,” she said. She closed the door an inch or two as if to protect herself.
I put my foot over the threshold. “I'm just trying to help Nicky. …”
“I know you are,” she said with a sigh. “I guess you won't give up … might as well come in.” She pulled back the door.
I stepped directly into her living room. Huge overstuffed couch. Deep pile carpet. Big screen TV. No whips or chains or strange costumes anywhere that I could see. A collection of Beanie Babies warranted its own special shelf.
“Nicky send you?” she said, but before I could answer she went on: “I'm gonna get some coffee, decaf. You want some?”
“Sure.”
She was gone for less than a minute and came back with two mugs. “Cream and sugar?”
“Black's okay.”
She handed me mine. “Machine brews it on a timer. Hazelnut. Hope you like it.”
There was a big oak rocker next to the couch. She folded herself in among the pillows on the couch with her coffee and bid me sit down.
I like rocking chairs. They remind me of long-ago summers on porches and moments when there is time to just sit and contemplate things.
“I heard about Nicky,” she said. “Dewayne too.”
“Seems like you knew both of them pretty well.”
“We all went to school together, ‘til I dropped out.”
“You seem intelligent enough. Curriculum bore you?”
“That, and I have an old man who likes to beat the hell out of my mother. Nothing I could do about it since she wouldn't do anything about it, so I got out.”
“They still live around here?”
“No, thank God. Moved to Louisiana … She's still with him. Go figure.”
We sipped the hazelnut.
“Nicky's in a lot of trouble,” I said.
“I know.” Her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. She turned her head away. “I know.”
“She's been doing okay in school. Why would she want to get involved with drugs?”
“She's not, Mr. Pavlicek. I swear.”
“What about the stuff they found on her car?”
“Someone must have put it there. Nicky wouldn't have had anything to do with that kind of thing.”
“You and Nicky are real close, huh?”
She snickered. “She always calls me her dark side.”
“Dark side.” I checked her bare arms. They looked clean. “You ever snort?”
“I've tried it a couple times. But I couldn't see the point, you know? Seems like a big waste of money to me.”
I looked again at the tasteful furnishings around the room. “You're a dancer.”
“Yes … exotic.” She added the more descriptive word as if it were necessary, as if we were comparing dinner recipes.
“Why'd you run out on me yesterday at the Spade?”
She bit her lip. “I didn't want to … I was afraid you were going to try to pin Nicky's rap on me.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“That's what her mother would try to do.”
“Should I have?”
“Should you have what?”
“Tried to pin Nicky's rap on you,” I said.
“No. I've got nothing to do with it.”
“You see her much lately, I mean, since you've been working at the Spade?”
“Not as much I used to … every couple of weeks or so.”
“But you're certain she didn't know about the coke.”
She nodded.
“Seems inconsistent.”
“I don't have to see Nicky all the time to know she wouldn't have had anything to do with that garbage. She's just against all that kind of stuff, okay? Told me if she ever found out I'd been using, she'd turn me in.”
“You've got to admit, the habit fits with your profession.”
“Hey lookit, not all of us are on the spike. I make a decent living.”
“Okay.” I finished my coffee. “Let's talk about Dewayne.”
She turned her head again and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “Nicky told me that you … you were the one who found him …” Her voice trailed off.
“Yes. Nicky says he asked her out.”
“Yeah, right. I wouldn't doubt it.”
“What was he like?”
She averted her gaze, seemed to struggle for words. “He was good-looking, kind of muscular. He had kind eyes.”
“Kind eyes. Doesn't sound like your typical gang-banger.”
“Oh he wasn't … I mean, he wasn't part of any gang … not anymore,” she said.
“You two friends?”
“… sort of.”
“Any idea why he would have been arguing with Nicky the last time he was arrested? Cops said she threatened to kill him.”
She put her hand to her mouth. After a few seconds she said: “Dewayne was always a little scary, I mean, you know, he had a reputation.”
“Like you, maybe.”
She shrugged.
I stood and walked across the room. On the opposite wall there was a bookshelf next to the TV and VCR. A few books were lined up neatly—popular novels—and some exercise videos. The tape cases leaned haphazardly against one another so I could see most of their covers. They all featured women in leotards and tights, but one caught my eye. On this particular cover the women's torsos looked slightly comical in leotards, their faces flushed with special health, their knees bent, their bellies distended. I read the title.
Regan was still trying to keep from crying.
“Is the baby Dewayne's?” I tried to ask softly.
Her eyes flew open, but she didn't say anything. She lowered her head and stared into the carpet. The tears began. Finally she nodded.
“Maybe that's what Nicole was arguing with him about,” I said.
She reached across to a side table where her purse lay and took out a tissue. She blew her nose. “He said I should have an abortion. Nicky went to talk with him. I asked her to. They ended up … I mean … you know the rest. …”
“Is that everything?”
“No,” she said. “Later, after Dewayne disappeared and all, Nicky came and told me she was sure he was going to change his mind. He was really broken up about it, she said. He was even going to talk to his pastor about it … she said she was sure.”
A clock on her mantel struck the hour. It was a formal Westminster chime.
“Anything I can do?”
She shook her head.
“When are you due?”
“Five months.”
“Have to stop dancing soon. You've got savings, somewhere to go with the baby when the time comes?”
“Yes.” She'd stopped crying now. “But one thing. Nicky's got to be there for me. She promised.”
I nodded. This was a whole new dimension to my daughter's life, one I had never even imagined, let alone considered. Loyal friend. Fighting to preserve a life, two lives really, the baby's and Regan's.
Guys like to fantasize, watching Rambo or Dirty Harry or Jean-Claude Van Damme. We think bravery has to do with violent upheaval, with extraordinary acts of valor far outside the scope of our daily lives. What we too often miss is the bravery that happens every day, right before our eyes, deeper, more enduring.
I thanked Regan Quinn and left her nursing her mug of coffee, legs tucked beneath her on the couch.
20
The more I knew, the less likely a murder suspect my daughter became.
Rhodes Real Estate and Development Corporation occupied a picturesque Victorian, which served as its headquarters, on another dead-end street in town. Kevin Weems's Porsche was in a slot with his name on a little sign next to it in the lot. Inside the front door another man talked on the phone, seated behind a rose-colored desk. He had a blond ponytail, but was conservatively attired: blue sport coat, white shirt with a tie, chinos.
I waited until he was through.
“You must be Mr. Arnold,” he said after hanging up the phone.
“No.”
“I'm sorry. We were expecting someone else.”
“My name is Pavlicek. I was hoping to have a chat with Mr. Weems.”
“Well, Mr. Weems is pretty tied up at the moment. Does he know you?”
“He knows me. I'm Camille Rhodes's first husband.”
“Right. Okay. Let me tell him you're here.”
He disappeared down a carpeted corridor to the left and I heard him knock softly on one of the doors before going in. A few seconds later the door opened again and Weems’ voice rang out: “Come on back.”
I followed the voice. The walls were made of dark wood, punctuated by brass wall fittings with brightly-lit bulbs. Mr. Ponytail passed by me without a word on my way through the door. Weems was at his desk, a huge, antique executive model, dressed very much like his office mate. The room had a nice view of the quiet street.
“What can I do for you, Pavlicek? I'm busy.” He gestured for me to sit opposite him in a high-backed chair and I did. We didn't shake hands.
“You don't say?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. Now what do ya want?”
“You seem to have this remarkable ability to blow hot and cold, almost schizophrenic I think.”
“Yeah? So what's it to ya?” He rolled his neck as if he were flexing his muscles.
“I actually came by to ask you something.”
“Okay … then ask already.”
“Who is Kevin Pauling?”
That got his attention.
He crossed his arms and rolled his neck again, this time in a little circle, staring at me blankly. “Never heard of him.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Should I have?”
“Unless you've developed amnesia. You used to be him. … Easy enough to find out.”
His arms trembled almost imperceptibly, and his eyes took on a more menacing glow. “You trying to threaten me or something, Pavlicek? Who you working for anyway?”
“Nobody in Atlanta.”
“Hey, listen. I got as many rights as the next person.”
“Sure. And I'm not a cop anymore either. Otherwise, your name and whereabouts would have already been sent to the Georgia authorities, who in turn would have contacted the sheriff's department here.”
He glared at me. “What do you want?”
“Why were you following me last night?”
He said nothing.
“It's a simple question. What were you doing tailing me last night after I left the Turners’?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Are you working for Morelli?”
“Who?”
I stood.
He stood too and came around the desk. For a moment he must have thought he could try the business routine. “Come on, Pavlicek. We must have some common interest in all this. We can get together. We all just gotta do what we gotta do.”
But then something animalistic seemed to well up from inside him. His eyes grew small, his knees flexed, and he bull-charged me low. I sidestepped the punch, used a wrist-grab and his own momentum to bend him over. With the same motion I brought my knee up into his chin. He made a sound like a whoopee cushion exhaling as he crumpled to the carpet.
He didn't try to get up. “Fuck, man. I think you broke my jaw.”
“I'm still waiting for an answer to my question.”
Blood was trickling from his nose and mouth. He pulled out a handkerchief and stumbled back to his chair.
I waited some more.
“It was Cowan, man.” His words were slurred.
“The sheriff?”
“You know any other Cowans around?”
“Why'd he ask you to follow me?”
“I don't know, man. He just told me to keep an eye on you, see what you were up to and let him know. He brought up the Pauling thing too. Said if I didn't cooperate he'd run me in … Christ, I need to see a doctor.”
“That it?”
“Yeah, that's it, man.” He made eye contact with me for just a moment.
“I'm disappointed in you, Kev.”
“What do ya mean?”
“You're not a very convincing liar.”