Truth be known, looking at Allen Lindstrom’s haggard face was probably pretty hard on Molly as well. No doubt she was just as happy to have him out of the house as he was to be gone.
For a while, the two of us sat there quietly in our dingy little cubicle. A ring of latte had slopped out of the cup onto Big Al’s desk top. Idly he ran one finger through the sticky stuff, leaving behind a blurred, milky finger painting on the worn laminate.
“They’re saying Ben went bad,” Al said eventually.
He left the words hanging in the air between us like an ominous cloud while he waited for me to say it wasn’t so, to give him the comfort of a heartfelt denial. Unfortunately, I had seen copies of Ben Weston’s loan applications with my own two eyes. I had also read through the voluminous rap sheets on Ben’s nefarious cosigners.
“The jury’s still out on that,” I said noncommittally. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
Big Al slammed his massive fist onto the desk top while the paper cup with what was left of his latte danced wildly in place, spilling another ring of coffee.
“The hell we will!” he thundered. “Ben Weston’s never going to get his shot at due process. He’ll never have his day in court, but he’ll be tried and convicted in the media anyway. You know that as well as I do. Once somebody gets labeled a bad cop, that reputation sticks. It never goes away, no matter what, not even when you’re six feet under!”
He paused for a moment while the voices of detectives in nearby cubicles fell silent. Big Al Lindstrom wasn’t the only one thinking those thoughts, but he was the only one voicing them. Aware that other people were listening, Al did his best to regain control.
“Think about it,” he said, lowering his voice, forcing himself to speak calmly. “What if Ben didn’t really break any rules? What if he just bent them real good? You said last night that Sue Danielson was checking with the various schools to find out whether or not those kids were actually enrolled. What did she find out?”
Big Al was clutching at straws. I didn’t blame him, but I couldn’t encourage him either.
“Nothing,” I told him. “Not a damn thing. She ran into all kinds of bureaucratic tangles with each of the three registrars’ offices. No one would tell her anything, one way or the other. They all said she’d have to have a court order if she wanted more information.”
“So let’s get one.”
“Did you say ”let’s‘? How often do I have to tell you? It’s not up to me, Al. That’s not my end of the investigation, and it sure as hell isn’t yours, either.“
“Let me loose for half an hour in those goddamned administration buildings. I’ll bet money I could find out.”
“No doubt you could, but my advice is don’t. Leave it be. You were given strict orders to butt out, and that’s what you’d better do.”
“Since when did you become such an observer of rules and regulations, Detective Beaumont? Who appointed you guardian of the world?”
“You’re my partner, Al. I don’t want to see you do something stupid.”
He thought about that for a moment or two and finally nodded. “Thanks,” he said bleakly. “I guess.”
Allen Lindstrom shoved a roll of black electrical tape across the top of his desk and rolled it onto mine. “Here,” he said, “put some of this on your badge.”
I tore off a hunk of tape, stuck it across the face of my badge, and then passed the roll back to him. Big Al stood up, pocketed the tape, picked up his latte, and wiped up the remaining spillage from his desk with a hankie.
“Where are you going?”
“Out,” he said. “My main job here today is as a dispenser of black tape for the fifth floor. It’s not much, but it sure as hell beats staying at home.”
What he said sounded innocuous enough, but I didn’t quite believe that was the whole story. “Stay out of trouble, Al,” I cautioned.
“You betcha,” he replied.
I wasn’t convinced, but I figured Allen Lindstrom was a big boy, and I didn’t take him to raise. I had my own agenda, one that needed attending to, starting with Dr. Emma Jackson. I called her first thing.
“Detective Beaumont here,” I said. “Am I catching you at a bad time, Dr. Jackson?”
“Actually, I was on my way out the door. I have to stop by the hospital this morning for a few minutes.”
She sounded composed, businesslike. It occurred to me that a doctor’s patients don’t necessarily stop being sick just because the doctor’s child happens to have been murdered. We agreed that after her hospital visit we would meet at the Little Cheerful, a university area hangout known citywide for its homemade, onion-laden hash browns. I was halfway through my breakfast, hash browns included, when Emma Jackson showed up. She ordered black coffee and orange juice.
“Nothing else?” I asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
Emma Jackson sat there stone-faced, watching me eat and making me feel terribly self-conscious. “The funeral arrangements are all handled?” I asked, trying to make casual conversation.
She nodded. “Reverend Walters is taking care of most of it, coordinating it really. I’m just not up to it, and neither is Harmon, Ben’s father. He wanted to have a joint service.”
“How big is Mount Zion?” I asked.
She frowned. “Big enough. Why?”
“Ben was a police officer,” I explained. “There will probably be a fairly large contingent of law enforcement people from all over the state in attendance.”
“Oh,” she said. “I never thought of that. I doubt Ben’s father did either.”
I was probably way out of line asking the question, but if I did it, Big Al wouldn’t have to.
“What about pallbearers?” I asked.
“What about them?”
“Usually, when a cop dies, a contingent of fellow officers carries the casket. We consider it a duty and an honor.”
Dr. Emma Jackson’s eyes met and held mine above the rim of her coffee cup. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Not this time. Adam’s father was a cop. He was also a rat. I won’t have cops for pallbearers and neither will Harmon Weston.”
“It’ll break my partner’s heart.”
“Why?”
“His name’s Detective Lindstrom…”
“He has another name, doesn’t he?” she interrupted.
“Big Al.”
“I know about him,” she said, “and I know he was a good friend of Ben’s, but Harmon and I agreed, no cops whatsoever, no exceptions. Now let’s get down to business. I don’t have much time.”
Leaving the last few crisp crumbs of the hash browns languishing in traces of egg yolk, I pushed my plate aside. “Thanks for squeezing me in,” I said. “I more than half expected to have to take a number and get in line to talk to you this morning.”
Emma frowned, taking umbrage. “Are you being sarcastic because I’m not taking time off, Detective Beaumont? I can’t afford to. Medical school rules don’t allow for residents’ children being murdered. It’s not supposed to happen that way.”
I flushed in confusion. “That wasn’t what I meant at all.”
“Maybe you’d better explain.”
“I expected you’d be busy with calls from reporters and from some of the other detectives down at the department as well.”
“No. No one called except you.”
“I don’t understand that,” I said. “The other detectives should have been in touch with you the minute they got out of the task force meeting.”
There was the slightest softening in the anger-hardened contours of her face. She looked at me and shook her head, smiling sadly. “You’re really very naive, aren’t you, Detective Beaumont? You don’t understand at all.”
