Dust To Dust (12 page)

"In record time," Kovac said.

The IA lieutenant gave him her undivided attention at that. The green of her eyes was almost startling. Clear and cold, staring out from beneath brows several shades darker than the ash blond of her hair.The contrast intensified the sharp seriousness of her expression. He had to think she scared the shit out of a lot of cops with that look.

He'd been around too long to feel fear. He was numb to it. Or maybe he wasiust stupid.

He sat in the chair across the desk from her, ankles crossed. He'd done a brief stint in IA himself a hundred years ago, back when the department had been run by a real cop, not some brass-polisher looking to shine his way up the chain of command. He hadn't been ashamed to work the* ob. He had no love for bad cops. But he hadn't liked it either.

In those days there hadn't been any lieutenants on the force who looked like this one.

"Damn decent of them to do the slicing and dicing so quick, don't you think?" he said. "Seeing how backed up they are at the morgue this time of year. They've got bodies stacked up Eke Yule logs, for Christ's sake."

"Professional courtesy," Savard said curtly.

Kovac caught himself watching her lips. They were the perfect shape of an archer's bow, with a sheer coat of lipstick.

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"Yeah, well:' he said, "I feel like I kinda. owe old Mike the same courtesy, you know? Do you know him? Mike Fallon?"

The eyes went back to the papers. "I know of him. I spoke with him on the phone today and gave him my condolences."

"Yeah, you're too young.You wouldn't have been around in the days of Iron Mike.You must be--what? Thirty-seven, thirty-eight?" She looked at him as if she had a mouthful of bitters. "That would

be none of your business, Sergeant. And just a word of advice. If you're going to try to guess a woman's age, err on the side of youth."

Kovac winced. "Was I that far off"

"No.You were that close. I'm vain. Now, if you don't mind..." She lifted some of the papers and rattled them. The subtle reminder to leave.

"I just have a couple of questions."

"You don't need questions or answers to them.You have no case to investigate."

"But I have Mike," he renu'nded her. "I'm just trying to piece some things together for him. It's a tough thing for a parent to lose a child. If it helps for me to fill him in on Andy's last days, then I'll do that. That doesn't seem too much to ask, do you think?"

"It is if you want confidential information from an Internal Affairs investigation:' Savard said, pushing her chair back from the desk.

She had tried the cool dismissal. Now she would try to herd him out. Kovac stayed seated for a moment, just to irk her, just to let her know he wouldn't give up that easily. She came around the desk to show him the door. He waited until she was near his chair, then he stood, making her hesitate. She took a half step back, frowning, retreating and not liking it.

"I know about the Curtis thing," Kovac bluffed.

"Then you know you don't need to speak with me after an, don't YOU?"

A wry smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "You didn't ride in here on the equal rights bandwagon, did you, Lieutenant?"

"Believe me, I'm more than qualified for my job, Sergeant Kovac." There was something like amusement in her voice, but it was darker. Irony, maybe. He couldn't begin to imagine why, or where it came from, or why she would allow him to hear it. It wasn't important to him now, but he filed the curiosity in his brain,just in case he might need it later.

He crossed his arms and sat back against the edge of her desk as she made a move toward the door. Irritation flashed in the green eyes. Temper brought a tint of color to her cheeks. This, he thought, was what television wanted lady lieutenants to look like: classy, sleek, stylish in a steel-gray pantsuit. Cool, controlled, sexy in an understated way.

Too classyfor you, Kovac, he thought. A lieutenant. Jesus.Why was he even looking?

"Did you know Andy Fallon was gay?" he asked. "His personal life was none of my business.,, "That's not what I asked."

"Yes, he told me he was gay."

"Before you went to his house Sunday Might?"

"You, re pressing your luck here, Sergeant," Savard said. "I've already told you, I'm not going to answer your questions. Do you really want me to speak to your lieutenant about this?"

"You can call him, but he's busy practicing his it-was-a-tragicaccident-now-drop-it speech."

"He should be practicing it on you."

"I've already given him my critique-there's no beat and you can't dance to it. He should keep his day job as a petty bureaucrat and forget about politics."

"I'm sure your opinion means a great deal to him."

"Yeah. Exactly nothing," he said. "Yours will mean more, if you decide to go that way. He'll ask me in his office and tell me to do my job the way he says or get suspended. Thirty days without pay.And all because I'm trying to do something decent for another cop. Life sucks, some days harder than others. But what am I supposed to do? Hang myselP"

Savard's face darkened. "That wasn't funny, Sergeant."'

"It wasn't meant to be. I'm sure you know it was meant to make you see Andy Fallon in your head again. I can show you the Polaroids if you want." He pulled one out of his inside breast pocket and held it up like a magician doing a card trick. "It's a hell of a thing to see, isn't it?"
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The blood drained out of the lieutenant's face. She looked as if she wanted to hit him with something. "Put it away.),

KQvac flipped it over and looked at it with the dispassion of someone who had seen hundreds of such photographs. "You knew him.

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You had a connection to him.You're sorry he's dead. Think how his old man feels."

"Put it away, 11 she said again.There was the barest hint of a tremor in her voice as she added, "Please."

He slipped the Polaroid back into his coat pocket. "Do you care enough to help lay a father's doubts to rest?"

"Does Mike Fallon have doubts about Andy's death being an accident?" she asked.

"Mike has doubts about who Andy was."

She moved away from him, silent for a moment, thinking, considering. "No one knows anyone. Not really. Most of us don't even know ourselves."

Kovac watched her, intrigued by the sudden turn to philosophy. She seemed reflective rather than defensive.

"I know exactly who I am, Lieutenant," he said. "And who are you, Sergeant Kovac?"

"I'm exactly what you're looking at," he answered, lifting his arms to the sides. "I'm a flatfoot, a straight-line cop in a cheap suit from JC Penney. I'm a walking, talking stereotype. I eat bad food, drink too much, and smoke-though I'm trying to quit and think I should score character points for that. I don't run marathons or do tal chi or compose opera in my free time. If I have a question, I ask it. People don't always like that, but fuck 'em-pardon my language, another bad habit I won't be shed of Oh, yeah-and I'm stubborn as hell." Savard arched a brow. "Let me guess. You're divorced?"

"Twice, but that won't stop me from trying again. Under the cheap suit beats the heart of a hopeless romantic."

"Is there any other kind?"

Kovac chose not to answer. The better part of valor.

"So, I want to do this for Mike," he said. "Ask around about his kid, try to put together a picture he can live with. Will you help me with that?"

Savard thought about that for a moment, digested it, dissected it, weighed the pros and cons.

"Andy Fallon was a good investigator," she said at last. "He always tried hard. Sometimes he tried too hard."

"What does that mean? Too hard?"

"Just that the job was everything to him. He worked too hard and took failures too much to heart."

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"Had he had a failure lately? The Curtis case?"

"Officer Curtis's killer is sitting in jail awaiting sentencing!, "RenaldoVerma'
"

"If you know that, then you should know there is no case ongoing in this department regarding Eric Curtis."

"I guess not, what with your investigator being dead and all." "The case was dead before Andy."

"Had Curtis complained about harassment?" Savard said nothing.

Kovac felt his patience slip. "Look, I can go to the gay and lesbian officers' liaison. Curtis would have told them before he came to IA. But then I'll come back here, and I gotta think you've already seen enough of me to last you."

"Yes," she said, letting the answer hang a moment. "Officer Curtis had filed a complaint some time before his death. Because of that there was some IA interest when he was murdered. But the evidence pointed to no one but Verma, and the case ended with Verma's plea agreement."

"And the names of the officers in question?" "Will remain confidential."

"I can dig them up."

"You can dig all you want," Savard said. "But you won't do it here. The case is closed and I have no reason to reopen it.

"Why was Fallon so upset if the killer is sitting in jail?"

"I don't know. Andy had a lot on his nuind this last month or so. Only he could tell you what or why. He didn't confide in me. And I don't care to speculate. No one can know another person's heart. There are too many barriers."

"Sure you can." Kovac met her eyes with an even gaze that tried to see past her barriers. Without luck, he acknowledged. Those walls were thick. A woman didn't get where she was by letting weaknesses show.

"You just have to be willing to chip away the bullshit," he said. "Me, I'm knee-deep in it half the time. I don't even mind the smell anymore.
"

The lieutenant said nothing, though Kovac had the impression she had much to say, that words were building up inside her like water behind a dam. He could sense the tension in her. But in the end she stepped away from him.

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I "Take your pickax and chip elsewhere, Sergeant Kovac." She pulled the door open, offering him the view of the outer office. "I've told you as much as I'm going to tell you."

Kovac took his time going to the door. When he was even with Amanda Savard, he stopped-just a hair inside her comfort zone. Close enough to catch the subtle hint of her perfume. Close enough to see the pulse beat beneath the delicate skin in the hollow at the base of her throat. Close enough to feel something like electricity hum just under his skin.

"You know, somehow I don't think so, Lieutenant," he said softly. Thank you for your time."

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Z H A P T E

RENA LDO V E RM A WAS anoilyrat of aman.Shghtofbuild,he had the sinewy, boiled-down look of a longtime crack addict, which he was. It was difficult to imagine him overpowering anyone, let alone a police officer. Yet he had pled guilty to murder in the second degree for beating a man to death with a baseball bat. His record ran the gamut from sohcitm*g to drugs, from burglary to robbery. Assault and murder were recent additions to his repertoire, but he had shown a flair for both. He had fallen into a pattern of robbery and assault that shared traits beyond MO. The mindlitinters liked to call it

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signature'" acts committed during the crime that were unnecessary to the completion of the crime but fulfilled some inner need. He might eventually have graduated to serial killer had he been better at eluding capture.

Verma came into the interrogation room with a swagger to his gait, as if he had something to be cocky about. He took his seat opposite Kovac and immediately reached for the pack of Salems on the table. His hands were long and bony, like the paws of a rodent, the skin marked with lesions that were likely a sign ofAIDS.

"I hadn't ought to be speaking to you without my lawyer," he said, and blew smoke out his nostrils. His nose was thin and long, with a

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pair of bumps along the bridge. A pencil-thin mustache rode his long upper lip like a dirty shadow. He had an affected, somewhat efferminate way of speaking, and an elaborate body language. His whole upper body swayed and bent and twisted as he spoke, as if he were listeming to ballroom dance music in his head.

"So call your lawyer," Kovac said, rising. "But I don't have time for that bullshit. By the time he gets here, I'll be long gone and you'll get stuck with the bill."

"Taxpayers get stuck with that bill," Verma said, snickering, his bony shoulders collapsing together as his chest caved in. "What do I care?"

"Yeah, I can see you don't give a rat's ass about anything," Kovac said. "So you'll only feed me what you think I want to hear because you're looking for a trade. Only it's too late for a trade.You made your bed with the county attorney. It's in the pen in St. Cloud."

"No, it ain't," Verma said with smug confidence, wagging a finger at Kovac. "It's in Oak Park Heights. I ain't going to that slab of granite way the fuck north.That place is medieval. I'm going to the Heights. That's part of the deal. I got friends in the Heights."

Kovac pulled a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket of his suit coat, consulted it as if it were something
more important than the receipt for his dry cleaming, put it back. "Yeah, wen, whatever you think."

Verma narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What do you mean? We did the deal.The deal is done."

Kovac shrugged, indifferent. "Whatever. I want to talk to you about the Eric Curtis murder."

"I didn't do it."

"You know how many mutts say that?" Kovac countered. "Every last frigging one of 'em. Do I heed to point out this ain't the RitzCarlton we're sitting in?"

"I copped to the Franz murder. And I didn't mean to kill him." "Of course not. How were you to know the human head can take only so much beating?"

"I didn't go there to kill him," Verma clarified, pouting.

"Oh, I see. It was his fault for being at home when you came by to rob him. He was clearly an idiot.You should be commended for taking him out of the gene pool."

Verma stood up. "Hey, I don't need you on my ass, Kovac."

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"Yeah, I'm sure you've got some big homey back in lockup to cover that for you. Think he'll go up to St. Cloud too? Or win YOU have to get back in the dating game?"