“Scott, let me ask you—did Daryl threaten you during this conversation?”
Scott found Anson’s question odd, and wondered where he was going.
“No, sir. He didn’t threaten me. We talked.”
“Did you see Daryl a second time yesterday, after the park?”
Scott found this question even more odd.
“No. Did he say I did?”
Shankman interrupted again.
“You buy drugs from Daryl?”
The drug question came out of nowhere, and caused a sick chill to flash up Scott’s spine.
“Oxy? Vicodin?”
Shankman made jazz hands, as if taunting Scott for an answer he already knew.
“No? Yes? Both?”
Both painkillers had been prescribed by Scott’s surgeon, and legally purchased from a pharmacy two blocks away. Shankman had used brand names, not generic names. He specifically named the two painkillers prescribed for Scott.
Shankman dropped the hands, and turned serious as death.
“No answer? Are you medicated now, Scott? Do the anxiety meds make it difficult to think?”
The chill spread across his shoulders and out to his fingers. Scott flashed on Maggie’s intruder alert when they returned home the other night.
Scott took a step back.
“Until and unless I’m ordered otherwise by my boss, this Q&A is over. You assholes can fuck off.”
Anson remained calm and casual, and made no move to leave.
“Do you blame Marshall Ishi for Stephanie’s murder?”
The question froze Scott like the click of a shutter.
Anson kept going, voice reasonable and understanding.
“You got shot up, your partner was murdered, these two assholes maybe saw it, and never came forward. You must carry a lot of anger, man. Who could blame you, with the shooters still running around? Marshall and Daryl are letting them skate. I can see how a man would be angry.”
Shankman nodded agreeably, his unblinking eyes like tarnished dimes.
“Me, too, Bobby. I’d want to punish them. Oh, yeah. I’d want to get mine.”
The two detectives stared at him. Waiting.
Scott’s head throbbed. He now understood they were investigating something worse than a harassment complaint.
“Why are you people here?”
Anson seemed genuinely friendly for the first time.
“To ask about Daryl. We did.”
Anson turned, and walked to their car.
Shankman said, “Thanks for your cooperation.”
Shankman followed his boss.
Scott spoke to their backs.
“What happened? Anson, is Daryl dead?”
Anson climbed into the passenger side.
“If we have further questions, we’ll call.”
Shankman trotted around the front end, and dropped in behind the wheel.
Scott called out as the Crown Vic started.
“Am I a suspect? Tell me what happened.”
Anson glanced back as the car rolled away.
“You have a good day.”
Scott watched them leave. His hands trembled. His shirt grew damp with sweat. He told himself to breathe, but he couldn’t make it happen.
Barking.
He heard Maggie barking. Him here, Maggie trapped in the guest house, she didn’t like it and wanted him back.
“I’m coming.”
Maggie bounced up and down when he opened the door, and spun in happy circles.
“I’m here. Hang on, baby. I’m happy, too.”
Scott wasn’t happy. He was confused and scared, and stood numb by the door as Maggie swirled around him until he noticed the phone’s message light was blinking. The counter showed he had received two calls in the minutes he was outside with Anson and Shankman.
Scott touched the playback button.
“Hello, Scott, this is Doctor Charles Goodman. Something rather important has come up. Please call me as soon as possible. This is very important.”
As if Scott wouldn’t recognize the man’s voice after seeing him for seven months.
Scott deleted the message, and moved on. Paul Budress was next.
“Dude, it’s Paul. Call me before you come in. Call right now, man. Do
Scott didn’t like the strain in Budress’ voice. Paulie Budress was one of the calmest people he’d ever met.
Scott took a deep breath, blew out, and called him.
Budress said, “What the fuck, man? What’s going on?”
Scott prayed he wouldn’t throw up. He could tell Budress knew something from his tone.
“What are you talking about?”
“Some IAG rats are here waiting for you. Fucking Leland is gonna explode.”
Scott took deep breaths, one after another. First Anson and Shankman, and now Internal Affairs.
“What do they want with me?”
“Shit, man, you don’t know?”
“Paul, c’mon. What did they say?”
“Mace heard them in there with Leland. They’re hauling you downtown, and you won’t be coming back here.”
Scott felt as if Budress was talking about someone else.
“I’m being suspended?”
“Full on. No badge. No pay. You’re going home, pending whatever the fuck investigation.”
“This is crazy.”
“Call the union. Hook up with a rep and a lawyer before you come in. And for Christ’s sake, don’t tell them I called you.”
“What about Maggie?”
“Dude, you don’t own her. I’ll find out what I can. I’ll call you back.”
Budress hung up.
Scott felt woozy and off balance. He clenched his eyes, and imagined himself alone on a beach the way Goodman taught him. Distraction came with focusing on the details. The sand was hot from the sun, and gritty, and smelled of dead seaweed and fish and salt. The sun beat down until his skin crinkled with its terrible heat. Scott’s heart slowed as he calmed, and his head cleared. He had to be calm to think clearly. Clarity was everything.
Internal Affairs was investigating, but Anson and Shankman hadn’t arrested him. This meant no arrest warrant had been issued. Scott had room to move, but he needed more facts.
He called Joyce Cowly’s cell, and prayed his call wouldn’t go to her voice mail.
She answered on the third ring.
