A human man walked up, apparently intent on using the phone. I flashed my badge and said, “Sorry pal, police business.”
“What does that mean, police business?”
“It means I’m using the phone.”
“You clearly are not. You’re standing there preventing anyone else from using it.”
The phone rang, and I spread my hands in my best public-servant-what-can-I-do way, then lifted the receiver. “Yeah?”
The guy crossed his arms and glared as Guyer’s voice spoke in my ear. “Oh. It’s you.”
“You sound less than excited,” I said. “I heard you wanted to talk to me.”
“That was before everything went to Hells.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We’ve had fourteen 187s so far today.”
That was far above the normal number of homicides for a single day, but it wasn’t completely unheard of. The man beside me looked at his watch.
“You wanted me to call in to tell me that?”
“I wanted to tell you that we’re seeing a shocking number of homicides, and that many of them are accompanied by confessions.”
I dragged in a breath. “Let me guess,” I said. “Confessions from people who are confused and terrified, who were overcome with anger and lashed out at anyone nearby.”
“How did you know that?”
The guy leaned into my space. “Are you going to be much longer?”
I covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “You in a hurry?”
“Yes! Obviously!” He tightened his grip on his briefcase. “My tax dollars don’t pay for you to stand around talking to your friends.”
“Okay.” I spoke into the phone once more. “Hey, I need you to do something for me.”
Guyer paused. “Did you not hear what I said?”
“Put in a report with the nearest patrol car. Suspicious individual at the corner of Bryer and Jenis.”
The man frowned. I made a show of looking him over, then continued.
“Aged about fifty, wearing white button-up shirt, tan trousers, light green sweater under a black overcoat and hat.”
The man shook his head. “You can’t intimidate me—”
Guyer said, “What the Hells are you talking about?” But the man couldn’t hear that.
“I just need them to detain him while I confirm he’s not the murder victim’s missing roommate. I should be able to do that in a few hours.”
“You can’t arrest me for no reason!”
I covered the mouthpiece again. “No one’s arresting you. But you might be detained until we have control of the situation. Like I said, shouldn’t take more than a few hours.” His faced reddened. “Sorry about you being in such a hurry and all. But I have to follow up every possible lead. We don’t want to waste those tax dollars.”
He tucked his newspaper under his arm and marched away as fast as his tan trousers would allow, glancing down the street as if a patrol car might come bounding around the corner, lights blazing, at any moment.
“Okay, Guyer. I’m back.”
The DO was chuckling. “Did he fall for it?”
“They always do.”
“Good for you,” she said. “But listen, we need to talk, and the sooner the better. You have time tonight?”
“No.”
“Make time. I’ll be at Hammer Head’s for dinner. Meet me there.” She hung up before I could tell her no.
It was another hour or so, but when the last of the caravan congestion cleared, we handed Donna off to a pair of patrol cops.
So Donna disappeared into the back of a patrol car, and we drove the Hasam back to the Bunker in silence.
As we parked, I asked Jax if he was still fuming about what I’d said about Talena.
“Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am. But I’m even more concerned about this killing. It’s too similar to Bobby Kearn’s murder. If there’s some common cause, does that mean it’s going to happen again?”
“Harris said there’s more bodies acting like electrocuted frogs.” I turned to face him. “But that’s not what you’re thinking of, is it? You’re thinking of what happened right before Sheena attacked Bobby.”
“Bobby Kearn and Saul Petrevisch. Both victims and their killers had access to the same batch of snake oil. What if the supply is tainted in some way?” He unfastened his seat belt. “We ought to notify Guyer. At the very least we need to fill out a CS report.”
I winced. Controlled substance reports were a pain. “I already told Guyer.”
“We still have to fill out the report,” he said. Then asked, “How did she react?”
“She’s buying me dinner.”
He paused. “Well, that sounds nice.”
“She’s suspicious,” I said. “Of me, and what happens around me. And that means she’s suspicious of you.” I looked at him, waiting for his objections, but they didn’t come. “That’s what I was getting at when I said you oughta keep this to yourself.”
He got out of the car, but leaned into the open door to answer me. “Talena’s more resourceful than you give her credit for.”
“When I said no one can handle her, I meant her included.” I exited the car and he slammed his door shut.
I spun the keys around my finger. “I’m just saying—”
“We should be careful,” he said. “I heard you the first time.”
“Yeah.” I stretched my back and wondered about the guy at the pay phone, if throwing a scare into him was the equivalent of demanding free coffee from a store owner. And I wondered what that said about me. I scrubbed a hand down my face, trying to shake loose the thoughts. “This was a pretty shit day, partner. I’ll be glad when it’s over.”
12
BACK AT OUR DESKS, JAX and I began to build the flotilla of forms and reports that would ferry Donna Raun through Titanshade’s justice system. After we were done she’d be in the hands of the City Attorney’s Office. Maybe they’d let her plead down to lesser charges, or maybe she’d spend the rest of her life behind bars. Honestly, I did my best not to dwell on it. That’s part of the job, as much as anything else: compartmentalize, rationalize, forget about the living and focus on the next dead body demanding
