Authors: Marjorie Doering
“Exactly. Stupid thing to lie about, though.”
In a pitted portion of his desk, Woody tapped out a quick staccato rhythm with the worn point of a pencil. “If he’s lying, we need to find out why.”
Ray nodded. “I’ll check his story out at the café. Maybe Amy Dexter or one of the others will remember whether or not he was even there yesterday morning.”
“Do that.” Woody took a swig of cold coffee and grimaced. “If he’s hiding something, we need to find out what it is.”
“Damn right we do. I’m on it.”
4
Sitting in his squad car, Ray bashed the steering wheel with the heels of his hands. He knew the dressing down Woody had given him over the interview with Davis was deserved. It wasn’t an easy pill to swallow.
Neil Lloyd opened the passenger door and leaned inside. “Where are you headed?”
“The Copper Kettle.”
“Lunch or business?”
“Business. Why?”
Neil slid into the passenger’s seat.
“What are you doing?”
“Going along to observe.”
“Who? Amy Dexter? Do it on your own time, kid.”
“I do, every chance I get. But today it’s
you
I want to observe.”
“Why? Does the head honcho want me under surveillance or something?”
“I thought I might learn something by watching you.”
“Some other time, kid. Go on, beat it.” He jerked a thumb toward Neil’s door. “Out.”
The rookie didn’t budge. “Everything on your terms, right?”
“Don’t get your shorts in a knot. It’s been a rough day, you know?”
“Heck, no,” Neil said. “Are you kidding? Why hell, it’s just been a picnic for me.”
Neil’s sarcasm caught Ray off guard. “Hey, kid, I—”
“It’s not kid, it’s Neil.”
“I always call you ‘kid.’”
“No shit. Like I said, my name’s Neil.”
“All right. Get out…Neil.”
“You want to be a lone wolf? Go ahead. I’m tired of busting my butt where you’re concerned.”
“Who asked you to? Look, it’s nothing personal.”
“And that makes it all right?”
“What’s with the attitude?”
“I’m a cop, Ray—not as good as you yet, but a cop all the same. I’m fed up with you treating me like something you scrape off the sole of your shoe.”
Ray stared at him for a second. “Geezus. I didn’t take you for the temperamental type.”
Neil’s face reddened. “Son of a bitch. Okay, you go ahead and take on the world all by yourself, but that leaves you slightly outnumbered.”
“Can’t argue that, but I kind of lost faith in the buddy system. It doesn’t work for me anymore.”
“Forget it. I’ll tell you this much, though. For a guy who’s got his eye on the Chief’s job, you’ve got one shitty attitude. In another five or ten years you’ll be no farther ahead than you are now—probably in some other city or town, maybe even raking in payoffs or something because it’s all about you—the hell with everybody else.” Neil ignored the hard set of Ray’s jaw and the vein throbbing in his temple.
“Shit. You figure just because your wife handed you a tough break, you’ve got an excuse to act like a jerk. Okay, so our local hardware store Handy Andy is nailing your wife somewhere between the socket sets and tub caulk. Big damn deal. It’s happened before to better men than you. Don’t take it out on me.”
Stepping outside, Ray rounded the front of the car to the passenger’s side and grabbed Neil by the lapels of his jacket.
“Hey, let go.”
Ray dragged him out and hurled a fist into his face. Neil hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud. Latching onto his jacket again, he straddled the rookie and cocked his fist back for another blow.
Neil threw his hands in front of his face. “All right. All right.”
Yanking him to his feet, Ray flung him backward against the squad car, holding him in place with a forearm pressed against his chest. “Don’t you ever call me a dirty cop. Not ever.” He held fast to the front of Neil’s jacket.
“C’mon, let go.”
Ray slammed him against the car again. “And in case you ever want to talk about my wife again—don’t. Got that?”
Neil wiped blood from his lips with the back of his hand. “Yeah, okay, I got it.”
In a single motion, Ray picked Neil’s cap off the ground and flung it in his face. “Now, get out of here.”
“Hey, Ray,” Neil said, watching him get back into his patrol car, “I’m sorry. I mean it.”
Jaws still clenched, Ray gave Neil a grudging nod and started the engine. Thoughts of Amy Dexter diluted Ray’s residual anger. The prospect of seeing a friendly face felt nearly as important in that moment as verifying or disproving Paul Davis’s story.
A simple stop for coffee at the Copper Kettle Saturday morning—it was a minor detail, but if Davis was caught in a lie…
Ray accelerated through an amber traffic light.
Woody stood just inside the doorway of the station, looking Neil over as he dusted off his cap and came up the steps. “What happened to you?”
“I fell.” Neil tried to step around him, but Woody caught him by the arm.
“I guess that couldn’t be called a lie exactly, but since it’s your mouth that’s bleeding and your backside that’s dirty, I’d say more than a shouting match was going on between you and Ray outside my office just now.”
Neil brushed off the back of his pants, refusing to meet Woody’s eyes.
“Tell me what’s going on, Neil.”
“It’s nothing, Chief. It’s okay.”
Woody pointed at Neil’s swelling lip. “A fellow officer hauls off and belts you in the mouth and you’re telling me it’s okay?”
“It is. Really, Chief. Things are straightened out.”
“It’s Ray who needs straightening out. I’ve had it with him.” Woody headed back to his office. “He gets hauled in on a drunk and disorderly…Crap. We haven’t even dealt with that yet. Then the Davis interview. Now this. I’m done with Ray’s bullshit. It might take a while to get the job done, but he’s history.”
Neil stepped in front of him. “You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.” He stepped around the rookie.
“Chief, it wasn’t his fault. Not this time.”
Woody dropped into his chair like a lead weight. “You’ve covered for him from the start. You’ve downplayed his infractions and taken all his shit. Let Ray take his lumps for a change.”
“Chief, I had it coming.”
The comment brought Woody out of his seat. “You know, sometimes that Pollyanna attitude of yours annoys me about as much as Ray’s going for asshole of the year. Don’t you ever just want to beat the crap out of him?” Woody crossed his arms. “I’m not suggesting you try, but I’m curious.”
Neil responded with a one-shoulder shrug. “I inflicted some damage out there, too.”
A look of hope sprang to Woody’s face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. When I stuck my jaw in front of his fist, it must’ve hurt like hell.”
Woody threw his hands in the air. “Joke all you like, but Ray just put his butt in a sling.”
“Chief, I made some really stupid cracks.”
“Like what?”
Neil lowered his head. “I’d rather not say.”
“I’m not giving you a choice.”
Neil shifted from one foot to the other. “I…I made some remarks about Ray’s wife and Mark Haney.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“I shouldn’t have shot my mouth off, but I was so damn pissed I even made a stupid crack about him becoming a dirty cop someday.”
Woody interlocked his fingers over his head as if he were trying to keep his skull from exploding. “Holy shit, Neil.”
“I didn’t mean it, but—”
“The guy helped send his own father to prison for corrup… Damn it.” He jabbed a finger into the rookie’s chest. “That information is not to leave this office. Understand?”
“Ray’s father was a crooked cop?”
“Toward the end. If it hadn’t been for Ray’s records from Chicago, I wouldn’t know about it either. My father never let it slip.” He poked a finger into Neil’s chest again. “Keep it to yourself. That was meant to be strictly confidential.”
“Not a word, I swear.” Neil touched his swollen lip and winced. “Ray really sent his own father to prison?”
“He turned him in.”
“But—”
“Go on. Get back to work. I’ve already said way more than I should have.”
Neil turned toward the door.
“Hey…” Woody said.
“Yeah, Chief?”
“I can’t get into it, but Ray had his reasons for doing what he did. It cost him personally and professionally. The man was his father, but to the other men on his force, his father, right or wrong, was a cop. They had it in for Ray. There were even some who bought into that �fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree’ bullshit. Ray’s record and commendations didn’t count for anything after that.”
Neil ran his tongue over his swollen lip. “No wonder he wanted to knock my head off.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t. Keep one thing in mind, Neil: Ray doesn’t need your sympathy; he already feels sorry enough for himself. Just don’t be too quick to judge him.”
“Never crossed my mind.” The rookie closed the door behind him.
“Damn boy scout.” Woody knew the information would be safe with Neil. It galled him to know it would be less about keeping his word than hero worship. “Some hero,” he scoffed. Ray was a bull in a china shop—a thorn in his side, but he was experienced and capable. He needed him.
5
Amy Dexter was busy scrubbing at a coffee spill on her red-and-white checkered apron when Ray stepped inside the Copper Kettle Café. The brass bell jingled over the door, turning the heads of several supper customers, but Amy didn’t look up. Even from his seat at the counter, Ray could see the spot wasn’t coming out.
In defeat, she flicked a hand through her dark, pixie-cut hair and flung the damp towel into a corner behind the counter.�She snatched up a menu, placemat and utensils in one hand while pouring a glass of water with the other. As though directed by radar, she walked to where he sat and set the menu and other accoutrements in front of him before looking up. Her sparkling hazel eyes widened. “Ray. Hey, I haven’t seen you in over a week. I thought you started taking your business elsewhere.”
“Why would I? The best service in town is right here.”
“True, and don’t you forget it. What’ll it be? We’ve got a terrific pot roast special today.”
He’d known as much from the second he’d opened the door. The aroma of beef, potato, carrot and onion set itself apart from the other food scents. Ray’s mouth watered. “Maybe later. This is a business call. Can you take a few minutes to talk?”
“Bless you. I’ve been looking for an excuse to get off my feet for the last two hours. New shoes,” she groaned. She brought her face within inches of his and spoke in a hushed voice. “Does this have anything to do with all the sirens around here this morning? What’s going on?”
“Can't discuss it. Sorry.”
She shrugged it off, but didn’t give up. “Well, whatever it was, it must have been bad. Was it a car accident?”
Amy was twenty-four, full of enthusiasm and as fresh and striking as a hothouse rose with the unpretentious appeal of a daisy. Ray had taken to her from the start. Since his separation from Gail, she provided a sort of refuge—a warm welcome always at the ready and an infectious laugh that could bring a smile to his face when he felt at his lowest.
An old man with a halo of white hair, seated himself two stools away.
Ray surveyed the room. “It doesn’t look like anybody’s in danger of starving to death.” He pointed toward a booth at the front of the restaurant. “How about joining me over there? I’d like to keep this private. It won’t take long.”
“Sure. Want a cup of coffee while we gab?”
Ray felt like he’d run a marathon. “Sounds good. I could use a jolt of caffeine.”
Amy called another waitress’s attention to the newest customer and poured Ray’s coffee while he slid into a booth beside one of two broad windows bordering either side of the door. He watched pedestrians walk by as they did every day. Just another pleasant Sunday. Ray knew that would all change when news of Valerie Davis’s murder got out.
Amy set a steaming mug in front of him and slid into the opposite side of the booth. The aroma told Ray the coffee was strong enough to dissolve tooth enamel. He chanced a taste and grimaced. “How many pounds of coffee beans to the cup?”
“That bad? It must be one of Lou’s batches.” She started to get up. “I’ll put on a fresh pot.”
He caught her wrist. “Don’t bother.” Her skin felt soft and warm beneath Ray’s palm. He let go as though it might burn him.
She slid back across the red vinyl bench seat. “Okay, Ray, what’s up? Judging from the sirens, whatever happened must have been somewhere on the south side of town, right?”
Ray wrapped his hands around the cup, trying to rid himself of the chill that gripped him since he’d entered the Davises’ home that morning. “You’ll hear about it soon enough. He checked the proximity of the nearest diners and lowered his voice. “Was Paul Davis here yesterday morning?” he asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“You’re certain?”
“Positive. In fact, he sat right where you are now.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know exactly, but it was pretty early. He beat most of the regular breakfast crowd.”
“Damn.”
She leaned across the table, her expression incredulous. “What’s this about?”
“I can’t get into it. Did anyone join him here?”
“He was by himself.”
“He was alone, but he took a booth?”
She nodded. “He came in by himself and left the same way.”
Ray held onto a last shred of hope. “Maybe you were too busy to notice.”
“No one ever sat down with him, Ray. I’m sure of it. It was practically dead in here when he came in and not much busier by the time he left. It’s rare that Paul Davis stops in here at all, but when he does, he always takes a booth or table. I guess he likes his solitude.”
“Or maybe sitting at a counter with commoners is beneath him.”
“You really don’t like him, do you? What’s going on?”
His questions took on the rhythm of a stone skipping over the surface of a pond. “Was he upset? Nervous? Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?”
“He was quiet. Pleasant.”