Cop Town (39 page)

“Delilah knows her weapons. Her father knocked over his share of liquor stores.”

“She saw all of that?” Maggie forced some incredulity into her voice. “She was close enough to make out the gun and the Shooter’s face and what he was wearing, and she was still alive when it was over?”

“If I know Delilah, she was under a cardboard box shooting H.”

“She was stoned?” Maggie felt a glimmer of hope. “That’s not what I’d call a reliable eyewitness.”

“She’s reliable when there’s a knife in her twat.” Eduardo reached up to the counter. With much groaning and popping, he managed to pull himself up from the floor. “I’m telling you what we got out of her. I let Anthony handle it. Delilah told him everything she saw. On that, you can trust me.”

Maggie felt sweat rolling down her back. The kitchen was too hot. She was going to throw up if she didn’t get out of here soon.

Kate asked, “What were the two cops doing when the Shooter came around the corner?”

Eduardo turned back to the sink. “She didn’t say. And I’ve told you ladies everything I know. May
HaShem
strike you down if you fail to carry out your part of the bargain.”

“We will,” Kate said. “I promise.”

Maggie stood up. She had to get out of this house. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Kate said, “May heaven comfort you.”

Maggie forced herself not to run up the hallway. Her throat was closing up. She pulled at her collar. Her fingers brushed the bruises on her neck. She wrenched open the door and took great gulps of air into her lungs.

Kate put her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. “You all right?”

Maggie shrugged her off as she walked down the stairs. She buttoned her collar. She had told Kate not to trust anybody; why were they trusting Eduardo? He could be lying about the description. He could be lying about the girl who was a witness. The girl could be lying to everybody.

But then how did she get Jimmy’s transmitter?

Kate said, “Well, I guess that was interesting, but I’m not sure that it was helpful.”

Maggie wiped the sweat off the back of her neck. Her stomach was churning. She felt strung out and exhausted.

Kate said, “We were already considering the fact that the Shooter might be white. And that description—tall, athletic, mustache, long sideburns. Who does that sound like?”

Maggie tasted bile in her mouth.

“Every cop on the police force, that’s who. Including Jimmy and your uncle Terry. And all of them wear black driving gloves. Too many Steve McQueen movies, methinks.” She handed Maggie the keys to the cruiser. “It’s probably best if you drive to Dabbler’s. I’ve never been to that part of town.” She opened the car door. “I’ll give Gail credit for this: she was right about those people. I can’t believe the way Eduardo talked about that poor girl. I know she’s a prostitute, but still. You’d think he was discussing a side of beef.” She paused for a second. “He? She? Gosh, which is it?”

Maggie walked around the car. She got in behind the wheel. She tried to put the key in the ignition but the ring slipped from her fingers. She blindly reached down to try to find them.

Kate chattered on. “She, I guess. We ought to reward the effort. That’s what I would prefer in his shoes. Her shoes. I couldn’t believe it when she opened the door and I saw that beard. Eduardo Rosa. That explains the voice. Yesterday, I kept expecting her to talk about soft Corinthian
leather.” Kate laughed to herself. “I guess we should run her name just to be sure nothing else surprises us. My gosh. I hate to sound arrogant, but one just
expects
more from a Jew.”

“Goddamn it,” Maggie muttered. She could feel the keys but her fingers couldn’t grip them.

“I know. I shouldn’t be unkind. She’s sitting
shivah
. It’s actually a beautiful ritual. There are all kinds of rules. You’re not supposed to shave or use makeup. She tore her clothes—that’s called
kriah
, to signify grief and anger over the death. She was sitting on the floor because you’re supposed to keep low to the ground. Though you’re supposed to bury the body within twenty-four hours. That’s why she’s so upset. The mourning should go on for seven days.
Shivah
means seven.”

“Got ’em.” Maggie’s cheek bumped against the steering wheel. She winced from the pain. The bruise had its own heartbeat.

Kate brought her rambling to an end. “Maggie, I’m running out of pointless things to say, so I would really appreciate it if you would give me some kind of response.”

Maggie took the easy route. “I’ll call in about Eduardo Rosa. See if he has a sheet.”

Kate studied Maggie. “All morning, I’ve felt like there’s something important that you’re not telling me.”

“
Gosh
, really?” Maggie mimicked. “Like that I’m Jewish? Or that I’m a widow? Or that my father is the richest gardener in the history of the world?”

“Yes, all of those are excellent examples of what I’m talking about.”

Maggie jammed the key into the ignition. She started the car.

“Does your throat hurt?”

“Only when I have to answer stupid questions.”

28

Kate stared at the transmitter in her lap. Every other call to dispatch was about a possible sighting of Jimmy’s car or a new lead on the Shooter. She had been right about today being a criminal’s holiday. Wanda Clack called in a cleared chicken bone and one of the colored girls reported finding a previously reported stolen CB radio, but those were the only crimes that were being solved today.

She leaned her head against her hand. Kate was sitting in the cruiser outside of Dabbler’s while Maggie used the pay phone on the side of the building. She had no idea what part of town they were in, let alone if they were still inside the city limits. To say the bar was nondescript was an understatement. Kate supposed that was its own protection. You didn’t come here unless you knew what it was for, and if you didn’t know what it was for, you probably never noticed it. The brick façade was painted black. The narrow windows were tinted to block out the daylight. There were no neon liquor signs that she could see from the street. There wasn’t even a sign on the door.

What gave the place away was the clientele. One after another, well-dressed
men in suits got out of their expensive cars and walked through the swinging door. Their hair touched their collars. Their sideburns hugged square jaws. They all had mustaches and they all to a one looked like the gay men with which Kate was more familiar.

That there was a police cruiser parked outside the establishment seemed to have little impact on traffic. Within ten minutes of Maggie getting out of the car, the parking lot was full. Cars surrounded Kate on all sides. Some of the men even smiled at her as they walked toward the building.

So, a police officer wasn’t an unusual visitor at Dabbler’s. Kate wasn’t surprised. You didn’t wind up in this part of town by accident. You had to know exactly where you were going. They could assume Don Wesley had visited the establishment at least once. Had Jimmy, too? Was he inside the building right now nursing his wounds? Because he had to be wounded, and not just from the pieces of skull embedded in his leg or the bullet that ripped through his arm. No matter how cavalier he had acted at the house yesterday morning, Kate could not accept that Jimmy Lawson did not feel something for his lost lover.

Or his sister. Maggie had killed a man yesterday. Did Jimmy know that someone had also tried to choke her? The bruises were starker now. Kate could make out the finger marks where a hand had wrapped around Maggie’s neck. She assumed that Terry was the attacker. Jimmy could be a self-righteous prick, but she could not imagine him strangling his sister.

Then again, Kate could not imagine Maggie losing her shit, but that was exactly what had happened with Lewis Conroy. Kate couldn’t very well say she’d never seen anything like it. Gail had attacked that prostitute. She’d broken the woman’s leg, then tortured her. Maggie had not tortured Conroy in the same sadistic manner, but there were some eerie similarities.

Was this what Kate had to look forward to? Was there a fourth person lurking in her psyche who was going to be a violent sadist?

As with everything else that had to do with this impossible job, the situation wasn’t completely black and white. Or maybe in the case of
Lewis Conroy, it was. That he was a white man and his victim was a young black girl meant a great deal. There was no question of his guilt. Conroy had just as much as admitted to it. He had shown no remorse, even when he was on the ground straining for air. He’d never apologized. Actually, he’d sounded arrogant, like a man arguing with a waiter over a miscalculated bar tab. If you were the sort of man like Conroy, you knew that was an argument you were always going to win.

No wonder they all hated people from Kate’s side of town. She was beginning to hate them herself. The sense of entitlement. The attitude. Was that what had set Maggie against her? She’d been enraged after they left Conroy. Kate had assumed she just needed some time to collect herself. Instead, Maggie had taken that time to redirect her vehemence toward Kate.

The radio hummed with another possible Shooter sighting. Kate turned down the volume. She studied the white plastic brick in her lap. If she lived to be a million years old, she would never forget what this thing looked like. Gail had used it as a weapon. Sir Chic had used it as a bargaining chip. Jimmy had left it at the scene of Don’s murder.

Kate could guess why Jimmy had left the transmitter in the alley. You couldn’t sit with one of these clipped to your belt, let alone pull down your pants with one on. He must have put the brick beside his leg the same as everyone did. Unplugging the jack ensured no accidental transmissions were sent out. And when Don was shot, the last thing Jimmy would have been worried about was his radio.

Maggie had finished her phone calls. She was walking across the parking lot. She weaved between the cars. Her head was down. Her spiral notebook was in one hand. She got into the car. She rested her arm on the door. She stared at the building and did not say a word.

Kate stared at the building, too. She had tried questions. She had tried pointless babbling. Now, she was going to try silence.

Maggie seemed content to let it drag out. She watched the men going into the building. The lot was full, though it was only eleven in the morning. Overflow parking lined the street.

She finally spoke. “My contact at the coroner’s office is going to see
what she can do. She’s just a secretary. I don’t know if they’ll listen to her.”

Kate bit her lip so that she wouldn’t answer.

“I asked for Eduardo Rosa’s rap sheet. Rick said he can leave it at the hospital for us. I thought we could check on Gail.”

Kate couldn’t help herself. She nodded.

Maggie hissed out a stream of air between her teeth. “This is a gay bar, isn’t it?”

Kate hesitated. “Yes.”

Maggie pulled the door handle. “Ready?”

Kate got out of the car. She clipped the transmitter on her belt. She put Jimmy’s smelly hat on her head.

Maggie resumed her silence as she walked between the cars. Her hat was low on her head. She kept her hands down at her sides. Her shoulders were stooped. Kate wondered how little pressure it would take to knock her to the ground. She hoped she didn’t find out.

Everyone inside the bar looked up when they entered. There were some curious mumbles, but for the most part, none of the men seemed worried that two female cops had walked through the door.

And none of them were Jimmy Lawson.

Maggie headed toward the bar. Yet again, Kate followed.

The inside of the building was just as dark as it looked from the outside. Men sat close to each other at the tables. They were jammed shoulder to shoulder into the small booths. Linda Ronstadt played softly through the speakers. The song choice seemed appropriate for the crowd—“When Will I Be Loved.”

Kate didn’t know what she had been expecting. Lecherous glances, filthy back rooms. For the most part, the men looked like couples who’d met for a drink before lunch. Hands were being held. Arms were draped over the backs of chairs. Glances were stolen across the room. The atmosphere was loose and casual. Barring the fact that everyone was of the same sex, the place felt like every club Kate had ever visited.

Chivalry was not lost at Dabbler’s. Two men gave up their places at the bar. Maggie didn’t acknowledge the gesture. She sat down. She put
her hat in front of her. She looked like she wanted a drink, but Kate was still surprised when she ordered a bourbon neat.

She asked Kate, “You want one?”

“Sure.” Kate put her hat on the bar.

Maggie stared at the mirror behind the rows of liquor. Her eyes slid back and forth across the room as she checked each face, noted each gesture.

“On the house.” The bartender put two glasses in front of them. He was gorgeous, probably no more than eighteen, and sporting the same long sideburns and thick mustache as the rest of them. “Is there something I can help you gals with?”

Maggie reached into her breast pocket. She pulled out a photograph. “Have you seen this man?”

He smiled. His teeth were straight and beautiful. “Yeah, that’s Jim. Is he a friend of yours?”

Maggie put the photo facedown on the bar. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

The bartender narrowed his eyes. “Is he in trouble?”

“It depends on when you saw him last.”

“Couple of nights ago?” He gave it some more thought. “It must’ve been for Don’s memorial service. That was Monday night, right?”

Maggie picked up the glass. She finished the bourbon in one swallow.

Kate asked, “You haven’t seen Jimmy since then?”

“Nope. He doesn’t usually come during the day.”

“He’s a regular?”

“Sure. Everybody loves Jim.” The bartender nodded at a customer, indicating he’d be a minute. “Is there anything else?”

Maggie asked, “Have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around here?”

“Other than two Pepper Andersons?” He told Kate, “I love your hair, doll. The color is dazzling.”