Illegal alien, p.8
Illegal Alien, page 8
CHAPTER 12
The early start paid off; the office was peaceful when I arrived. Without much personality of its own, the space tended to soak up the emotions of its occupants. When we were flying high on a particularly good conviction, the bullpen felt open and energetic. If we’d just lost a suspect we knew in our hearts was guilty, the room grew claustrophobic and drab. Early mornings like this one were my favorites, because the room got quiet and calm, emptied of all the overnight craziness and waiting for whatever the next day would bring.
I put my quarter in the kitty and got my first cup of the morning, making a mental note to bring in more quarters and make an appointment with my hairdresser. In all the excitement of the past couple of days, I kept forgetting. I’d settled on the idea of a pixie cut. It would be out of my face, easy to take care of, and a little less soccer mom. Depending on how daring I felt, I might even get some red streaks. As long as I kept them subtle, I was thinking I might be able to get away with it. Department rules were against crazy hair, visible tattoos, and piercings other than ears, but a few of the new guys had ink, so maybe the higher ups were starting to relax on the gestapo rules a little.
When I sat down at my desk, I noticed a piece of paper taped over the gold finished name plate that I’d gotten when I was promoted to detective. Instead of my name, it now read, “Agent Scully.” I snorted, tore the thing off, and threw it in the garbage. Swish. Two points for Vorkink.
I settled in to answer my emails, dashing off a couple of responses to Mitch’s office and completing a couple of forms he’d requested. The monotony of the paperwork soothed me. This was something I knew, something I was good at, something under my control. No one would be throwing any unforeseen paperwork complications my way. The paperwork wouldn’t inexplicably disappear or fall into a coma or recant its testimony at the last minute. It was boring, but at this point, I’d gladly take a little boredom. Most of my excitement lately had been of the unpleasant sort.
Any piece of paperwork that was going to be seen in court needed to be completed meticulously, or the defense would have a field day with it. I’d been through the courtroom wringer before, and let me tell you, it was awfully humiliating to stand in front of a courtroom while the defense attorney argued you were poor with details and incompetent overall because you wrote that you had to “asses the situation” instead of assess it. I thought they were asses after that, but I also got extra careful with proofreading.
I was so wrapped up in it that I barely noticed when some of my colleagues filed in. Maybe I registered the noise in the background, but I didn’t give any attention to it. I was too busy trying to decide how to classify Demetrious White’s behavior when we’d arrested him. I really didn’t want to put the soccer mom cracks on paper, because if this morning had taught me anything, it was that the toddlers I worked with would never let me live it down.
Ronda sat down at her desk across from me. I registered her arrival, but she was talking to someone on her cell, so I just waggled my fingers at her in a semi-wave and went back to work until someone grabbed my shoulder from behind.
Someone had just broken a cardinal rule of police work—we never snuck up on each other. We’d trained ourselves to react to aggression instinctively, because stopping to wonder if maybe this was a good time to draw your gun was a good way to get dead. When the bad guy leapt out at me, those kinds of instincts were my only hope to get home. They didn’t distinguish between people who were messing with me and people who were serious about wanting to make my insides into my outsides.
The shoulder grab startled the crap out of me, and those instincts kicked right in. I balled my fist up and knocked real hard on the grabber’s knuckles like they were a particularly pesky door. A cry of pain rewarded me and brought me back to myself at the same time. I wasn’t being attacked in the middle of the detective’s bullpen. It had to be one of my toddler coworkers.
I swung around to find Brad Hardwicke shaking his hand out, a rueful grimace on his face. Part of me felt bad for hurting him, but he should have known better. In our office, you had to announce your presence long before you arrived, because all of us had been through the grinder once or twice, and unless you asked, you never knew if the person at the desk next to you had drawn his gun and faced the reaper that day. Even if you did ask, you might not know for sure. Some people didn’t like to talk about that kind of thing unless the shrinks dragged it out of them, and even then it was reluctant.
To his credit, Brad didn’t try to pin the blame on me. He jumped right in and said what I was thinking.
“I should have known better,” he said. “My bad.”
“Sorry.”
The apology was honest—I felt plenty sorry, because I’d been on the receiving end of door knockers and the bone-to-bone contact hurt like hell—but I meant it more as sympathy rather than an admission I’d done wrong. Because if he snuck up on me again, I wouldn’t hesitate to go on the offensive.
He opened and closed his hand a few times, wincing. “No worries. I’ll just do it to you next time you sneak up on me.”
“I’m smarter than that.”
A flash of irritation crossed his face, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. It wasn’t worth arguing over, anyway. Either I’d make the mistake or I wouldn’t. After my flub at the Sankaran house, I wasn’t so sure, but I wasn’t about to say that.
“Did you want something?” I asked, when he didn’t speak.
“Oh, I just wanted to know if you’d caught the aliens yet,” he said. His voice was mock-casual, a joking layer over an undertone of scorn. It took me by surprise. I’d thought we were friendly, and it seemed strange that a single door knocker would change that.
I tried to diffuse the situation by not reacting at all. “Aliens?”
“Yes, aliens. Isn’t that your theory, that your missing driver was abducted by aliens? Christ, Audrey. How do you maintain your conviction record and shovel shit like that?”
“What crawled up your ass and died, Brad?” I asked, not unkindly. If I’d done something wrong, I wanted to know and would apologize for it in earnest, but my patience was running out. “You seem pissed.”
“Me? Nah. I’m just asking a question. Me and the guys want to know.”
I frowned. “You and which guys?”
“Some of the other detectives,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Did you like the crop circle in your front yard?”
“That was you?”
“Yeah, me and Lipino and Vasquez. And the aliens.”
I shook my head, trying to figure out what to say. The prank hadn’t bothered me too much, but his behavior sure did. But before I could come up with a good way to get to the bottom of it, Ronda hung up the phone and turned on us.
“What’s this I hear about a crop circle?” she demanded. “And why are you being such an asshole?”
“Do you mean him or me?” I asked. “I’m honestly not sure.”
“Him!” she said, tossing her long black hair scornfully. “I swear, you’re like a toddler.”
It wasn’t anything I hadn’t thought before—multiple times—but this felt different. I’d used the word in exasperation, true, but it was the fond kind of exasperation you reserve for people who are close to you. I liked Brad, and more importantly, I respected him. I’d trusted him at my back in sticky situations. We’d grown into the teasing along with that trust. I knew that he wouldn’t take it personally if I called him a toddler just as he knew I wouldn’t take it personally if he called me a bitch, so long as it was done within certain tasteful parameters. Now he’d walked up to those parameters and toed the lines on them, but he hadn’t stepped over. But Ronda’s angry tone of voice had just launched right over those lines with rocket boosters. Hardwicke stiffened and went instantly red with over-the-top fury.
“I got news for you, ice princess,” he said. “Your opinion means exactly jack and shit around here. And I wasn’t talking to you anyway.”
“Well, that’s a new development,” she replied hotly.
“Oh, shut the hell up already!”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
By now, they were both on their feet, shouting into each other’s faces. If this had been a Hollywood cop movie, this would be the point where the two leads smeared their faces together in a dramatically lit kiss because their anger was really born out of an attraction they couldn’t deny. Thank the heavens that this wasn’t a movie, because if they’d done that I might have barfed all over them. Although that might have been preferable to them coming to blows and getting written up over it. Even if they were both being blazing idiots, I liked them, and I didn’t want to see that happen.
“Enough,” I said, but evidently it wasn’t because they kept on shouting. They were attracting quite a crowd, but no sergeant yet. “Enough!” Still no luck. More shouting, more red faces, and Margie from Accounting had her cell phone out and was taking a video with a gleeful expression. I shot her an exasperated look which she ignored. Fine, then.
I picked up my substantial print copy of the penal code. I’d only used the book twice—when the power was out—and slammed it down on my desk with a bang. That worked. Ronda and Brad both stopped mid-shout and stared at me like they’d just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. I spoke calmly and quietly. “If you were my children, I’d honestly consider turning you both over my knee and spanking you. I don’t know exactly what brought this on, but here’s what I do know: you will shake hands and apologize like grownups, or I’ll march right down to the sergeant’s office and report you myself. You are both better than this.”
That last line, delivered in a hiss meant for their ears alone, seemed to drill in. They looked around at their audience and then glanced at each other, shamefaced. Brad recovered first. He stuck his hand out with formal rigidity, clearly determined to do the right thing.
“I apologize for my words, Detective Ross. They were out of line,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”
There was a weighty pause during which I began to worry that she wouldn’t accept. But then her hand closed over his for the briefest pump and release.
“I apologize as well,” she said with equal stiffness.
I clapped my hands together with a final, sharp retort. “Good,” I said. “Now let’s go catch some murderers and violent criminals and maybe get a little perspective on our lives in the process.” I sat back down at my desk and put my copy of the penal code back into its place where it would gather dust until the next blackout. Then I looked up. No one had moved. Ronda and Brad were frozen in shame. The onlookers still looked on, hoping for more action to gossip about around the water cooler. Sad, really, when you thought about it. I arched a brow. “Do we think the criminals are going to catch themselves? Go. Work. Earn your paycheck.”
Then I started typing. After a moment, Ronda sat down. Brad went back to his desk. The onlookers trickled away with agonizing slowness like a fart smell you just can’t shake.
Once they were gone, Ronda said, “I’m sorry, Audrey. I just heard about the crop circle thing, and Brad saw me out on a date with Greg, and—”
“Work,” I said, shooting for a tone that was firm without being mean. “Do the job, Ronda, and the rest will resolve itself or not. Just do the job.”
“Okay,” she said softly, and she booted up her computer.
CHAPTER 13
The day settled into normalcy after Ronda and Brad’s little tiff. I was enjoying some relative peace and quiet with a side of paperwork when the phone rang. I’d made a few calls earlier, working a lead on my veteran assailants, and I answered the phone hoping that something had finally turned up.
“Crimes Against Persons, Detective Vorkink speaking,” I said.
“Well, if that isn’t intimidating, I don’t know what is.”
The voice on the other end of the phone was male and vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I couldn’t think of anyone I knew who would answer a phone like that, and it exasperated me. But even though my patience was already a little ragged, I kept it under control. Mostly.
I sighed. “Is this a prank call?”
“No! No, this is Erich Bieber. We met yesterday at the university? I have the materials from VJ’s desk and a few things he loaned to me. I promised I’d phone, and here I am. Phoning.”
“Thanks, Dr. Bieber,” I said. I even pronounced it bye-ber, because I wouldn’t want to be reminded of a teen pop star every time someone said my name either. Vorkink was bad enough. I’d heard more “kinky” jokes in my 40 years on earth than anyone should ever been subjected to. “I’d be happy to pick it up on my way to lunch, if that time’s convenient for you?”
“Actually…” He drew the word out with enough reluctance that I immediately started waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’d been fired, or his car had caught fire, or some other unforeseen complication had occurred. Those things happened more often than expected. Once, I took a busted old computer into custody only to find that it was infested with cockroaches. For some reason, a cockroach-infested computer full of unrecoverable data isn’t admissible in court. Go figure. With that kind of experience, you’d think I would be prepared for anything, but his next sentence still took me by surprise. “Actually, I was wondering if you might like to have lunch with me?”
I considered for a moment. It was difficult to tell whether he wanted to talk to me about Dr. Sankaran or if this was a more personal request. The former seemed more likely when I thought about it, unless he had a thing for detectives with soccer mom bobs, in which case I wanted nothing to do with him. That was too much kink for Vorkink. So, assumption made that this was a business offer, making the question easy to answer.
“Sure,” I said. “Today?”
“I’ve got a faculty meeting in a half hour, and there’s no telling how long that thing will last. They try to make them as long and torturous as possible. Would it hold up your investigation too long if we waited until tomorrow?”
“I don’t suppose so, unless there’s a note in his belongings that says, ‘I know who killed me.’ In that case, I might want to pick it up today.”
He snorted, and Ronda gave me a surprised look from across my desk. I didn’t usually talk like that to informants in an ongoing investigation, but something told me that I’d get further with Bieber if I loosened things up a bit. Besides, there’s something nice about people who will laugh at your jokes. Especially the lame ones.
“I don’t think so,” he said, “but I didn’t look through everything. Mostly, I threw it into the box while thinking glum thoughts about the fleeting nature of life and listening to Depeche Mode.”
I groaned. “Thank you for giving me college flashbacks, Dr. Bieber. I’ll have lunch with you only if you promise never to bring up Depeche Mode again.”
“I can do that,” he said gravely.
We made arrangements to meet at Olga’s at the mall, which was very reassuring for me. Olga’s had some of the best bread in the history of mankind. Plus, the restaurant selection reinforced my not-a-date assumption. You couldn’t get much less romantic than a mall restaurant.
After I hung up the phone, Ronda said, “Did you just make a date with Dr. Bieber?”
“No, he wants to drop off the stuff from Sankaran’s desk. And I think maybe he has some things to tell me about the case. I got the impression he wants to talk.”
“Over lunch. With just you.” She poured the skepticism on. “Uh huh.”
“That’s right,” I said. “We’re going to Olga’s. Definitely romantic date material there. Maybe when we’re done, we’ll go to the cookie kiosk for a heart-shaped cookie cake.”
“With your names written in icing, and a little arrow through it?”
“Exactly.” I shook my head. This might have been a good time to ask about what had happened between her and Brad, but I decided against it. The room was full, and if there was dirty laundry to be aired, I didn’t want to be the one to stink up the place. “I think I’m going to head out. I want to get some more photos of our former Marine. They’re talking about taking him off life support.”
“That’s so sad.”
“I agree. I’m hoping something will come of my calls earlier, and we’ll finally get an ID on the bastards who did it. If my phone rings while I’m gone, will you get it? I’ll bring you a sub.”
“I’ll have a roast beast. Thanks, soccer mom.”
I nodded, ignoring the crack. By now, I knew her sandwich order by heart. She always called it “roast beast” like in Dr. Seuss. It was ridiculously endearing, probably because my son had done the same thing when he was little. He’d outgrown it, though.
Between the two of them, they made me feel old. But old or not, I was going to haul my butt out of this chair and serve some justice. Which was exactly what I did.
CHAPTER 14
I didn’t get out of work until late that night; the veteran case broke wide open when my calls uncovered a private surveillance video. The angle was much better than the video I already had, and I finally made a positive ID on the two guys involved. My instincts had been on point—one of them had tripped over my victim and dirtied his expensive kicks, so they’d come back later to beat the shit out of him. Both were the kind of druggie assholes that I loved taking off the streets; their rap sheets made me sick to my stomach. Running down the arrest warrant and making sure everything was in order with the DA’s office took much later than I usually stay and dashed any hope that I had of making it to kickboxing, but it was worth every minute. My stomach started rumbling by the time it was all over, though.
Since I’m not much of a cook even on a night when I have the time for it, I grabbed some Chinese takeout on the way home. My car filled with the smell of greasy egg rolls and tangy sauce. I’d have to air it out, or maybe invest in one of those air fresheners that smell cherry-adjacent. Not quite like cherries, but close enough for government work.
The early start paid off; the office was peaceful when I arrived. Without much personality of its own, the space tended to soak up the emotions of its occupants. When we were flying high on a particularly good conviction, the bullpen felt open and energetic. If we’d just lost a suspect we knew in our hearts was guilty, the room grew claustrophobic and drab. Early mornings like this one were my favorites, because the room got quiet and calm, emptied of all the overnight craziness and waiting for whatever the next day would bring.
I put my quarter in the kitty and got my first cup of the morning, making a mental note to bring in more quarters and make an appointment with my hairdresser. In all the excitement of the past couple of days, I kept forgetting. I’d settled on the idea of a pixie cut. It would be out of my face, easy to take care of, and a little less soccer mom. Depending on how daring I felt, I might even get some red streaks. As long as I kept them subtle, I was thinking I might be able to get away with it. Department rules were against crazy hair, visible tattoos, and piercings other than ears, but a few of the new guys had ink, so maybe the higher ups were starting to relax on the gestapo rules a little.
When I sat down at my desk, I noticed a piece of paper taped over the gold finished name plate that I’d gotten when I was promoted to detective. Instead of my name, it now read, “Agent Scully.” I snorted, tore the thing off, and threw it in the garbage. Swish. Two points for Vorkink.
I settled in to answer my emails, dashing off a couple of responses to Mitch’s office and completing a couple of forms he’d requested. The monotony of the paperwork soothed me. This was something I knew, something I was good at, something under my control. No one would be throwing any unforeseen paperwork complications my way. The paperwork wouldn’t inexplicably disappear or fall into a coma or recant its testimony at the last minute. It was boring, but at this point, I’d gladly take a little boredom. Most of my excitement lately had been of the unpleasant sort.
Any piece of paperwork that was going to be seen in court needed to be completed meticulously, or the defense would have a field day with it. I’d been through the courtroom wringer before, and let me tell you, it was awfully humiliating to stand in front of a courtroom while the defense attorney argued you were poor with details and incompetent overall because you wrote that you had to “asses the situation” instead of assess it. I thought they were asses after that, but I also got extra careful with proofreading.
I was so wrapped up in it that I barely noticed when some of my colleagues filed in. Maybe I registered the noise in the background, but I didn’t give any attention to it. I was too busy trying to decide how to classify Demetrious White’s behavior when we’d arrested him. I really didn’t want to put the soccer mom cracks on paper, because if this morning had taught me anything, it was that the toddlers I worked with would never let me live it down.
Ronda sat down at her desk across from me. I registered her arrival, but she was talking to someone on her cell, so I just waggled my fingers at her in a semi-wave and went back to work until someone grabbed my shoulder from behind.
Someone had just broken a cardinal rule of police work—we never snuck up on each other. We’d trained ourselves to react to aggression instinctively, because stopping to wonder if maybe this was a good time to draw your gun was a good way to get dead. When the bad guy leapt out at me, those kinds of instincts were my only hope to get home. They didn’t distinguish between people who were messing with me and people who were serious about wanting to make my insides into my outsides.
The shoulder grab startled the crap out of me, and those instincts kicked right in. I balled my fist up and knocked real hard on the grabber’s knuckles like they were a particularly pesky door. A cry of pain rewarded me and brought me back to myself at the same time. I wasn’t being attacked in the middle of the detective’s bullpen. It had to be one of my toddler coworkers.
I swung around to find Brad Hardwicke shaking his hand out, a rueful grimace on his face. Part of me felt bad for hurting him, but he should have known better. In our office, you had to announce your presence long before you arrived, because all of us had been through the grinder once or twice, and unless you asked, you never knew if the person at the desk next to you had drawn his gun and faced the reaper that day. Even if you did ask, you might not know for sure. Some people didn’t like to talk about that kind of thing unless the shrinks dragged it out of them, and even then it was reluctant.
To his credit, Brad didn’t try to pin the blame on me. He jumped right in and said what I was thinking.
“I should have known better,” he said. “My bad.”
“Sorry.”
The apology was honest—I felt plenty sorry, because I’d been on the receiving end of door knockers and the bone-to-bone contact hurt like hell—but I meant it more as sympathy rather than an admission I’d done wrong. Because if he snuck up on me again, I wouldn’t hesitate to go on the offensive.
He opened and closed his hand a few times, wincing. “No worries. I’ll just do it to you next time you sneak up on me.”
“I’m smarter than that.”
A flash of irritation crossed his face, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. It wasn’t worth arguing over, anyway. Either I’d make the mistake or I wouldn’t. After my flub at the Sankaran house, I wasn’t so sure, but I wasn’t about to say that.
“Did you want something?” I asked, when he didn’t speak.
“Oh, I just wanted to know if you’d caught the aliens yet,” he said. His voice was mock-casual, a joking layer over an undertone of scorn. It took me by surprise. I’d thought we were friendly, and it seemed strange that a single door knocker would change that.
I tried to diffuse the situation by not reacting at all. “Aliens?”
“Yes, aliens. Isn’t that your theory, that your missing driver was abducted by aliens? Christ, Audrey. How do you maintain your conviction record and shovel shit like that?”
“What crawled up your ass and died, Brad?” I asked, not unkindly. If I’d done something wrong, I wanted to know and would apologize for it in earnest, but my patience was running out. “You seem pissed.”
“Me? Nah. I’m just asking a question. Me and the guys want to know.”
I frowned. “You and which guys?”
“Some of the other detectives,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Did you like the crop circle in your front yard?”
“That was you?”
“Yeah, me and Lipino and Vasquez. And the aliens.”
I shook my head, trying to figure out what to say. The prank hadn’t bothered me too much, but his behavior sure did. But before I could come up with a good way to get to the bottom of it, Ronda hung up the phone and turned on us.
“What’s this I hear about a crop circle?” she demanded. “And why are you being such an asshole?”
“Do you mean him or me?” I asked. “I’m honestly not sure.”
“Him!” she said, tossing her long black hair scornfully. “I swear, you’re like a toddler.”
It wasn’t anything I hadn’t thought before—multiple times—but this felt different. I’d used the word in exasperation, true, but it was the fond kind of exasperation you reserve for people who are close to you. I liked Brad, and more importantly, I respected him. I’d trusted him at my back in sticky situations. We’d grown into the teasing along with that trust. I knew that he wouldn’t take it personally if I called him a toddler just as he knew I wouldn’t take it personally if he called me a bitch, so long as it was done within certain tasteful parameters. Now he’d walked up to those parameters and toed the lines on them, but he hadn’t stepped over. But Ronda’s angry tone of voice had just launched right over those lines with rocket boosters. Hardwicke stiffened and went instantly red with over-the-top fury.
“I got news for you, ice princess,” he said. “Your opinion means exactly jack and shit around here. And I wasn’t talking to you anyway.”
“Well, that’s a new development,” she replied hotly.
“Oh, shut the hell up already!”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
By now, they were both on their feet, shouting into each other’s faces. If this had been a Hollywood cop movie, this would be the point where the two leads smeared their faces together in a dramatically lit kiss because their anger was really born out of an attraction they couldn’t deny. Thank the heavens that this wasn’t a movie, because if they’d done that I might have barfed all over them. Although that might have been preferable to them coming to blows and getting written up over it. Even if they were both being blazing idiots, I liked them, and I didn’t want to see that happen.
“Enough,” I said, but evidently it wasn’t because they kept on shouting. They were attracting quite a crowd, but no sergeant yet. “Enough!” Still no luck. More shouting, more red faces, and Margie from Accounting had her cell phone out and was taking a video with a gleeful expression. I shot her an exasperated look which she ignored. Fine, then.
I picked up my substantial print copy of the penal code. I’d only used the book twice—when the power was out—and slammed it down on my desk with a bang. That worked. Ronda and Brad both stopped mid-shout and stared at me like they’d just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. I spoke calmly and quietly. “If you were my children, I’d honestly consider turning you both over my knee and spanking you. I don’t know exactly what brought this on, but here’s what I do know: you will shake hands and apologize like grownups, or I’ll march right down to the sergeant’s office and report you myself. You are both better than this.”
That last line, delivered in a hiss meant for their ears alone, seemed to drill in. They looked around at their audience and then glanced at each other, shamefaced. Brad recovered first. He stuck his hand out with formal rigidity, clearly determined to do the right thing.
“I apologize for my words, Detective Ross. They were out of line,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”
There was a weighty pause during which I began to worry that she wouldn’t accept. But then her hand closed over his for the briefest pump and release.
“I apologize as well,” she said with equal stiffness.
I clapped my hands together with a final, sharp retort. “Good,” I said. “Now let’s go catch some murderers and violent criminals and maybe get a little perspective on our lives in the process.” I sat back down at my desk and put my copy of the penal code back into its place where it would gather dust until the next blackout. Then I looked up. No one had moved. Ronda and Brad were frozen in shame. The onlookers still looked on, hoping for more action to gossip about around the water cooler. Sad, really, when you thought about it. I arched a brow. “Do we think the criminals are going to catch themselves? Go. Work. Earn your paycheck.”
Then I started typing. After a moment, Ronda sat down. Brad went back to his desk. The onlookers trickled away with agonizing slowness like a fart smell you just can’t shake.
Once they were gone, Ronda said, “I’m sorry, Audrey. I just heard about the crop circle thing, and Brad saw me out on a date with Greg, and—”
“Work,” I said, shooting for a tone that was firm without being mean. “Do the job, Ronda, and the rest will resolve itself or not. Just do the job.”
“Okay,” she said softly, and she booted up her computer.
CHAPTER 13
The day settled into normalcy after Ronda and Brad’s little tiff. I was enjoying some relative peace and quiet with a side of paperwork when the phone rang. I’d made a few calls earlier, working a lead on my veteran assailants, and I answered the phone hoping that something had finally turned up.
“Crimes Against Persons, Detective Vorkink speaking,” I said.
“Well, if that isn’t intimidating, I don’t know what is.”
The voice on the other end of the phone was male and vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I couldn’t think of anyone I knew who would answer a phone like that, and it exasperated me. But even though my patience was already a little ragged, I kept it under control. Mostly.
I sighed. “Is this a prank call?”
“No! No, this is Erich Bieber. We met yesterday at the university? I have the materials from VJ’s desk and a few things he loaned to me. I promised I’d phone, and here I am. Phoning.”
“Thanks, Dr. Bieber,” I said. I even pronounced it bye-ber, because I wouldn’t want to be reminded of a teen pop star every time someone said my name either. Vorkink was bad enough. I’d heard more “kinky” jokes in my 40 years on earth than anyone should ever been subjected to. “I’d be happy to pick it up on my way to lunch, if that time’s convenient for you?”
“Actually…” He drew the word out with enough reluctance that I immediately started waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’d been fired, or his car had caught fire, or some other unforeseen complication had occurred. Those things happened more often than expected. Once, I took a busted old computer into custody only to find that it was infested with cockroaches. For some reason, a cockroach-infested computer full of unrecoverable data isn’t admissible in court. Go figure. With that kind of experience, you’d think I would be prepared for anything, but his next sentence still took me by surprise. “Actually, I was wondering if you might like to have lunch with me?”
I considered for a moment. It was difficult to tell whether he wanted to talk to me about Dr. Sankaran or if this was a more personal request. The former seemed more likely when I thought about it, unless he had a thing for detectives with soccer mom bobs, in which case I wanted nothing to do with him. That was too much kink for Vorkink. So, assumption made that this was a business offer, making the question easy to answer.
“Sure,” I said. “Today?”
“I’ve got a faculty meeting in a half hour, and there’s no telling how long that thing will last. They try to make them as long and torturous as possible. Would it hold up your investigation too long if we waited until tomorrow?”
“I don’t suppose so, unless there’s a note in his belongings that says, ‘I know who killed me.’ In that case, I might want to pick it up today.”
He snorted, and Ronda gave me a surprised look from across my desk. I didn’t usually talk like that to informants in an ongoing investigation, but something told me that I’d get further with Bieber if I loosened things up a bit. Besides, there’s something nice about people who will laugh at your jokes. Especially the lame ones.
“I don’t think so,” he said, “but I didn’t look through everything. Mostly, I threw it into the box while thinking glum thoughts about the fleeting nature of life and listening to Depeche Mode.”
I groaned. “Thank you for giving me college flashbacks, Dr. Bieber. I’ll have lunch with you only if you promise never to bring up Depeche Mode again.”
“I can do that,” he said gravely.
We made arrangements to meet at Olga’s at the mall, which was very reassuring for me. Olga’s had some of the best bread in the history of mankind. Plus, the restaurant selection reinforced my not-a-date assumption. You couldn’t get much less romantic than a mall restaurant.
After I hung up the phone, Ronda said, “Did you just make a date with Dr. Bieber?”
“No, he wants to drop off the stuff from Sankaran’s desk. And I think maybe he has some things to tell me about the case. I got the impression he wants to talk.”
“Over lunch. With just you.” She poured the skepticism on. “Uh huh.”
“That’s right,” I said. “We’re going to Olga’s. Definitely romantic date material there. Maybe when we’re done, we’ll go to the cookie kiosk for a heart-shaped cookie cake.”
“With your names written in icing, and a little arrow through it?”
“Exactly.” I shook my head. This might have been a good time to ask about what had happened between her and Brad, but I decided against it. The room was full, and if there was dirty laundry to be aired, I didn’t want to be the one to stink up the place. “I think I’m going to head out. I want to get some more photos of our former Marine. They’re talking about taking him off life support.”
“That’s so sad.”
“I agree. I’m hoping something will come of my calls earlier, and we’ll finally get an ID on the bastards who did it. If my phone rings while I’m gone, will you get it? I’ll bring you a sub.”
“I’ll have a roast beast. Thanks, soccer mom.”
I nodded, ignoring the crack. By now, I knew her sandwich order by heart. She always called it “roast beast” like in Dr. Seuss. It was ridiculously endearing, probably because my son had done the same thing when he was little. He’d outgrown it, though.
Between the two of them, they made me feel old. But old or not, I was going to haul my butt out of this chair and serve some justice. Which was exactly what I did.
CHAPTER 14
I didn’t get out of work until late that night; the veteran case broke wide open when my calls uncovered a private surveillance video. The angle was much better than the video I already had, and I finally made a positive ID on the two guys involved. My instincts had been on point—one of them had tripped over my victim and dirtied his expensive kicks, so they’d come back later to beat the shit out of him. Both were the kind of druggie assholes that I loved taking off the streets; their rap sheets made me sick to my stomach. Running down the arrest warrant and making sure everything was in order with the DA’s office took much later than I usually stay and dashed any hope that I had of making it to kickboxing, but it was worth every minute. My stomach started rumbling by the time it was all over, though.
Since I’m not much of a cook even on a night when I have the time for it, I grabbed some Chinese takeout on the way home. My car filled with the smell of greasy egg rolls and tangy sauce. I’d have to air it out, or maybe invest in one of those air fresheners that smell cherry-adjacent. Not quite like cherries, but close enough for government work.
