and jacket. 'I've got a good mind to split.'
'We've got better things to do, but I think we'd best stay put if we don't want to get grounded even longer; the police will get cranky if we're not here when they do show up. What do you suppose Valley meant by that business with the 'second beast'? Just more loony talk?'
It was not surprising that Garth, always the better of the Frederickson brothers in biblical studies taught at our mother's knee, would know the answer; considering some of the things we'd been through over the past decade, I should have known, but it was Garth who came up with the words.
'It's Revelations, Mongo,' he said in a weary voice as he sighed and rested a hand on my shoulder. 'Chapter six, verses three and four. 'And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see.'
' 'And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword.' '
4
The police finally arrived while we were going through papers in Valley's study, which we'd found on the second floor of the town house. There didn't seem to be much of value in his files-a lot of Jesus White Christian racial smut and creepy apocalyptic literature, including a dozen or so thin but savage tomes by William Kenecky, but no bills, letters, or anything else that might indicate where Nuvironment was storing the hundred tons of dirt Craig Valley had undoubtedly arranged to get for them.
The detective in charge of the investigation was decidedly unhappy; he was unhappy to find us searching the study, and he was unhappy simply to find us-or, more specifically, to find Garth. The detective in charge of the investigation didn't like Garth, and he had reason.
Malachy McCloskey was just under six feet. He was about Garth's age, but looked decidedly older-something he would undoubtedly blame on Garth. His thick hair was steel gray, with an occasional streak of the original black showing through. He had black eyes, acne-scarred cheeks, and features that seemed to be fixed in a kind of permanently brooding expression. For as long as I'd known him, about fifteen years, he had been a slovenly dresser, and he hadn't changed his habits for this occasion; he was wearing green socks and a green tie with a blue suit which looked as if it hadn't been pressed in the decade or so since he'd bought it off some pipe rack.
McCloskey didn't much care for me, either, since I was Garth's brother. Years before, soon after both Garth and McCloskey had earned their detective shields, Garth had turned McCloskey in to Internal Affairs for accepting gratuities from businessmen-free drinks and meals, that sort of thing. It was petty stuff, and Garth had been virtually the only person involved who'd been interested or taken it seriously. McCloskey had been given a mild reprimand and told to go and sin no more. He hadn't sinned again, as far as I knew-but he also hadn't moved up the promotional ladder as fast as Garth had. Naturally, he'd blamed Garth for 'putting a blight' on his career-and he still did. Malachy McCloskey was definitely not a man I was happy to see at this time and place, while Garth and I were busily going around disturbing the scene of an investigation.
'The famous Fredericksons,' McCloskey said in his gravelly voice, making no effort to hide his disgust as he entered the study, stopped, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his crumpled, coffee-stained trench coat. The dark eyes that darted back and forth between Garth's face and mine were clouded with suspicion and hostility. 'I might have known. You two really made a mess of things, didn't you?'
'How so, Lieutenant?' I asked as I straightened up, smiled broadly, and gently pushed a desk drawer closed with my hip.
'For one thing, those Goddamn bloody footprints all over the floor downstairs, and the bloodstains in the kitchen sink, which I assume came off the two of you, and now the fact that you're up here rifling through the victim's possessions. What the fuck is the matter with you two? Don't you know that you're disturbing evidence at the scene of a crime? I have a mind to haul your asses out of here right now, take you to the station and book you.'
'There's no crime, Lieutenant,' I said. 'Not unless you want to charge the stiff in the bathroom with killing himself. Garth explained over the telephone that it was a suicide.'
'The police aren't in the habit of taking the word of citizens in matters involving little things like death, Frederickson. You know that, and so does that famous big brother standing next to you. There has to be an investigation and a coroner's report, and we definitely don't like coming to a scene that's been all fucked over by civilians like you. Come on.'
Garth and I dutifully followed McCloskey, who was moving as if his back hurt him, downstairs, where a moderate crowd of uniformed police, forensic people, police photographers, and a couple of stray reporters were milling about. We'd heard them come in five minutes before, but had been too intent on looking for some scrap of paper that might tell us where to find Vicky Brown to go downstairs immediately; that little lapse in judgment was beginning to loom as a serious mistake.
The three of us stepped back in the hallway downstairs as two white-uniformed paramedics wearing gauze masks and rubber gloves carried Craig Valley's rubber-bagged body past us on a stretcher. McCloskey led us into the living room, over by the fireplace, then abruptly turned around. Anger had mottled his face, making the acne scars on his cheeks appear white and shiny. 'You two are arrogant sons-of-bitches!' he snapped. 'For Christ's sake, you had to have heard us come in, and you didn't even bother coming downstairs!'
'Who do you suppose left the door open for you, McCloskey?' Garth asked in an even tone.
'You know that doesn't mean shit, Frederickson!' the police detective shouted at my brother, causing heads in the dining room to turn. 'When you were a cop, you'd have flipped if you'd walked into the situation I did!'
'You're right, McCloskey,' Garth said in the same even, mild tone. 'I apologize for Mongo and myself; we acted improperly. But, when I was a cop, I think the first thing I might have done after walking into this situation is to ask the aforementioned civilians just what the hell they were looking for, and why the man who was just carted out killed himself.'
McCloskey flushed, and for a moment doubt swam in his black eyes; it was quickly replaced by renewed anger. 'I was getting around to that, Frederickson, so you don't have to be a smart-ass. The duty officer told me what you said to him over the phone. Now, do you expect me to believe that you were just talking to the man, and then suddenly, for no reason, he jumps up, runs into the bathroom, and sticks two razor blades into his throat?''
'I didn't say there was no reason.'
'Then what was the reason?'
'I think he was afraid we were going to force information out of him.'
McCloskey was openly incredulous. 'And so he killed himself rather than talk to the two of you?'
'That's right. That's how Mongo and I figure it, McCloskey.'
'Did you thump him a little bit?'
Garth shook his head. 'I ripped his shirt. I think he was afraid I was going to thump him if he didn't tell us what we wanted to know.'
'Was his fear justified, Frederickson?'
'I didn't hit him.'
'What information were you looking for?'
'Talk to Mongo,' Garth said tersely, nodding in my direction.
'I'm asking you.'
'Talk to Mongo, McCloskey,' Garth repeated, and turned away. 'I don't feel like talking to you any longer. Your interrogation technique stinks.'
'We're looking for a load of dirt, Lieutenant,' I said quickly as the blood drained from McCloskey's face and he took a step toward Garth. My brother's brusque manner could, at the very least, get us a ride to McCloskey's precinct station house, and it was time Vicky Brown couldn't afford for us to waste. 'It's why we came here. Valley could have told us where to find the dirt, and when we find the dirt we'll also find a little-'
'What the hell are you talking about?' the detective snapped. 'I find the two of you here all covered with blood, and you try to feed me some-!'
