of war. The senseless loss of lives….”
“You’re a war criminal,” Gladys shouts. “A baby killer! I heard what you did! How you gunned down that taxi driver's family! Baby killer!”
Guess the chief shared some stuff with Gladys he might've kept confidential if he lived by a different kind of Code.
“I thought I could bring you home,” the chief says, all hushed and earnest. “Thought I could give you a chance to put it all behind you. Instead, you go all gung-ho? Become some sort of vigilante? You hunted down and killed your suspect?”
I'm going to keep my mouth shut.
Not because I'm afraid, even though I totally am, but because I have a hunch Ceepak doesn't want me saving his butt by blurting out the truth about Squeegee. Otherwise, he wouldn't have hidden it from me last night at the hotel.
“Goddammit, John.” The chief shakes his head in disbelief. “You took a sniper rifle upstairs to execute Squeegee?”
“His name is Jerry!” Gladys screeches. “Jerry Fucking Shapiro!”
The chief raises his hand, cueing the radical socialist bag lady to put a lid on it.
“You shot him like a dog?”
“He did!” She's spitting with rage. “I was there when it went down, man. I'll fucking tell the world what you fucking did, you fucking motherfucker!”
“I'm sorry, sir,” Ceepak says. “What is it I'm supposed to have done?”
“You fucker!”
“Miss? I'll handle this.” The chief rivets his gaze on Ceepak.
Ceepak doesn't flinch. In fact, he smiles and raises his eyebrows as if he's eager to hear what the chief has to say.
“Last night, you tracked down your suspect, this woman's fiancé….”
They're engaged? I'll have to find out where they're registered.
The chief checks his legal pad.
“Mr. Gerald Shapiro, a.k.a. Squeegee. You tracked him down and proceeded into the old Palace Hotel with an M-24 sniper rifle….”
“Awesome weapon system, sir. But, of course, you already know that. You're the one who gave it to me.”
The chief ignores that shot across his bow.
“You then went upstairs and, instead of apprehending the suspect for further questioning, you shot him….”
“Negative. I did not shoot Mr. Shapiro.”
“John, John, John.” The chief kind of chuckles, one for each John. “I will not lie nor tolerate those who do. Remember our Code? You shot this man because you suspected him of being a child molester. You took the law into your own hands.”
“No, sir. I did not. However, I'm certain that was your intention.”
“Come again?”
“Was this the final phase of your plan? To dispose of me via these false accusations?”
The chief puts down his notepad.
“What plan?”
“You brought me here to Sea Haven, sir, not, as you claim, for rest and relaxation, but to kill whomever you and Miss Bell decided to blame for your own nefarious actions.”
“What's he talking about?” Gladys asks. I think the word “nefarious” got her attention.
Ceepak turns to her.
“I did not complete my mission as envisioned by Chief Cosgrove here. Your fiancé? He's safe.”
“What?” The chief is even redder.
“In fact-if you walk to the top of the Ship John Lighthouse, I believe you will find Mr. Jerry Shapiro up there enjoying the view, perhaps taking a well-earned nap. I did ask him to not indulge in hallucinogenic drugs while sequestered there. It wouldn't be prudent. The steps inside are quite steep.”
“Jerry's alive?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“You didn't kill him?” the chief looks like he was just sucker-punched.
“No, sir. I know you wanted me to. In fact, I know gunning Squeegee down was the sole reason you invited me to join your police force. Why you said ‘you don't even have to drive….’”
“You’re nuts, Ceepak. You know that?”
“Can I go now?” Gladys has forgotten her righteous wrath. A reunion is what's on her mind, and she's in a hurry.
“Get the hell out of here!” the chief screams at her.
“Fuck you.” Gladys bolts.
When she swings open the door, I notice we've attracted quite a crowd in the hallway.
“Go back to work!” the chief yells. “All of you!”
Nobody moves.
I suspect folks have been eavesdropping.
“Now! Move! Go! Boyle? The door?”
“Yes, sir.” I swing the door shut. When he does that coach-yell at me? I do as I'm told. Reflexes.
“You two? You're fired. Both of you.”
“Earlier today, I did some research,” Ceepak says, moving closer to his old friend's desk. “Asked Gus. Adam Kiger. Even your pals Santucci and Malloy. Nobody has ever heard of one Jennifer D'Angelo, the young victim of a rape perpetrated by a homeless man underneath the boardwalk….”
“We kept it quiet!”
“No, sir. You made it up.”
“Bullshit.”
“It was really quite clever.”
Oh, boy. Ceepak's addressing me. Like I'm the jury box or something.
“You see, Danny-because of our past friendship, our time spent together in Germany, the personal and sometimes painful stories we told each other over a few beers….”
Of course. The chief knows about Ceepak's drunk father. His brother. The dead kids in Iraq.
“… because the chief thought he knew me, he orchestrated what he thought would be the perfect scenario to turn me into his personal killing machine. Why do you think Ashley was instructed to lure her father to the Tilt- A-Whirl Saturday morning? Because the chief knew
I hear the chief's chair squeak. He's leaning back.
“You get any sleep the last couple days, Ceepak? I gotta tell you-you're sounding kind of goofy. Squeegee lend you some of his wacky tobacky?”
“You had a good plan, chief. Thought of every angle. Hart was killed when you knew Dr. McDaniels would be out of town and Slominsky would catch the call.”
“How much you been drinking? I heard you were down at The Frosty Mug the other night bending your elbow. Some buddies of mine said you were soused, all tears-in-your-beers about Iraq. Hell, maybe you can't hold it … maybe being a lousy drunk runs in your family….”
“Remember those evidence gloves I brought in?”
“How could anybody forget? We all laughed about them for weeks.”
“The box is empty. You took them all.”
“Bullshit.”
“No, sir. I have a witness who saw Miss Bell wearing a pair. Oh, she had Gus's gun, too.”
“Who told you this crap? That junkie?”
