Triptych

“Brush her!” the woman had screeched, and the ambulance doors had slammed shut.

Will didn’t know the neighbor’s name. Other than her love of listening to The Price Is Right at full volume, he knew little about her. He had no idea where the ambulance had taken her or if she had any family or, for that matter, if she was ever coming back. The only reason he knew the dog’s name was because the woman had a habit of yelling at it.

“Betty!” he would hear in the middle of the night, her voice a deeper baritone than any man’s. “Betty, I told you not to do that!”

Angie had her arms crossed over her chest as she stared up at Will. “You realize you look absolutely ridiculous carrying that little dog around.”

Will sat across from her, leaning back in his chair. He picked up the remote control for the stereo and stopped the audio book he had been listening to. Two very long years had passed since he had talked to Angie Polaski, and now here she was back in his living room like they hadn’t missed a day. She had always been like that, ever since they were children. Pretend nothing was surprising and you would never be surprised.

He said, “Thanks for helping me with the vending machine this morning,” leaving out that he’d almost had a heart attack when he saw her standing in the hallway at City Hall East today.

“What were you doing with Michael Ormewood, anyway?” Again, she didn’t let him answer. “Jesus, I can’t believe that about his neighbor. How weird is that?”

He tried to settle on one topic at a time. “He pulled a case that interested me. How do you know him?”

“Used to work Vice,” she told him. “Do you have anything to snack on?”

Will got up to check the refrigerator, Betty close on his heels. He ate most of his meals out, but the dog liked cheese and he kept some on hand for her.

Angie had followed him into the kitchen. He asked, “When did Ormewood get transferred to Homicide?”

“About six months ago.”

Will had been living in north Georgia six months ago, exiled to busting abandoned chicken farms that had been turned into methamphetamine labs while his boss decided what to do with him.

“Vice was his first big assignment when he got his gold shield,” she said. “He worked it about ten years.”

Will figured she was trying to tell him something. “Why did he leave?”

“Me.” She pulled out a chair and sat at the table. “I told him he had to leave or I’d report him.”

“For?”

“He was diddling some of the girls.”

Will put the cheese down on the counter. “That’s interesting.”

“I thought it was pretty fucking disgusting, but to each his own.”

Will mulled this over a moment, his picture of Michael Ormewood changing yet again. The man was certainly hard to pin down. “Was he doing this the whole ten years he worked Vice?”

“I only worked on his team for a few months. If I had to guess, I’d say yeah.”

He asked, “Is that common?”

She shrugged. “Happens sometimes, especially with the married guys. Free pussy, who’s gonna say no?”

Will turned to get a plate out of the cabinet so she couldn’t read his expression, but Angie had known him since he was eight years old and she laughed anyway.

She said, “You’re such a prude, William.”

“Not much has changed in two years.”

She didn’t take the bait. Two years and a handful of months was more like it. They had been in this same kitchen, Angie screaming at him and Will looking down at his shoes while he waited for her to stop. She had stopped finally, only it was when she slammed the door on the way out.

He cubed the cheese with the knife, trying to ignore the expectant look Betty gave him. “What did you hear about what happened this afternoon?”

“Michael’s neighbor?” Angie clarified. “Not much. Just that it’s probably connected to the Monroe case.”

“The neighbor’s tongue was severed. They haven’t found it yet.”

“Why would someone go after Michael’s neighbor?”

“That’s what I was wondering.”

“Do you think it’s random?”

He leaned his back against the counter and looked at her. “Doesn’t seem likely. Does Ormewood have many enemies?”

“I’m not his best friend, but from what I can tell, the guys like him. He hangs around with that asshole Leo Donnelly a lot, so there’s no explaining his taste.”

“Were there any cases you heard about where he might have angered somebody?”

“You mean pissed them off?” She shrugged again, a new habit she’d picked up since he had last seen her. “Nothing spectacular. You really think it’s connected to Monroe?”

“The coroner’s report on the girl will be ready tomorrow. From what I could see, there were some differences.” He paused, recalling the scene in his head. “The top of her foot was scratched. She had obviously tripped over the fence. There was a wound here.” He touched his temple. “She hit a rock when she fell, pretty hard from the look of it. And the blood.” He paused again. “There wasn’t enough blood. With Monroe, the mouth filled with blood pretty quickly, enough to choke her. This kid was facedown, of course, but there wasn’t much blood on the ground. If I had to guess, I’d say her heart had stopped beating before the tongue was removed.”

“Was she raped?”

“There was bruising on her thighs, but we won’t know for certain until they get her on the table.”

“Pete Hanson’s handling this?”

“Yeah. The murder was in DeKalb County, but I asked them to let him handle the body just for continuity.” He provided, “Hanson did Aleesha Monroe this morning. He seems like a good man.” Will thought of something the doctor had raised during autopsy. “Do condoms with spermicide and lubricant cost that much more than the ones without?”

She stared at him. “Do I look like an expert?”

He knew that she probably was but did not want to have that particular discussion right now. “Monroe’s killer used a condom that had lubricant and spermicide on it. I was just curious if they cost more.”

Angie made the obvious conclusion. “He didn’t want to leave his DNA.”

“Ormewood thinks it means he didn’t intend to kill her.”

“That’s bullshit,” Angie countered. “The Johns don’t bring rubbers with them. They’re not exactly worried about the girls they’re banging. You know what they call all that extra skin around the vagina? A woman.” She added, “Michael Ormewood of all people should know that.”

“Then that brings me back to the original question. Are they more expensive?”

Angie studied him for a few seconds. She knew he had never bought a condom in his life. “The girls are just like everybody else in the world: they think if something costs a little bit more then it’s better. They’ll spend the extra thirty, forty cents if they think it’ll stop hep C.”

“They’re not more worried about AIDS?”

“AIDS you can usually hide. Hepatitis turns you yellow. Leesha was one of the smart ones. She took whatever precautions she could.”

Angie looked at her hands as if she was checking her nail polish. She seldom let the job get to her-she would probably end up an alcoholic in the street if she did-but Will could see that she was struggling with this one. As much as she hated working Vice, she had a sort of kinship with the girls. They shared similar backgrounds of abuse and abandonment. She could have just as easily been one of them.

“I liked her,” Angie finally said. “Monroe. We locked her up about six times in a row last year. She was sweet. Got into the game for the usual reasons, didn’t know how to get out. I tried to get her into treatment, but you know how it is. Can’t make someone do it unless they want to.”

He tried to think of something nice to say about the dead hooker, knowing it would comfort Angie in some way. He settled on, “She was pretty.”

“Yeah, she was.” Angie stood up and walked over to Will. He kept perfectly still, foolishly expecting her to do something, but she only took a few cubes of cheese and sat back down. “I asked Michael about her this morning. He didn’t even remember her.”