Jack Daniels and Associates: Snake Wine (4 page)

Judge Ceparullo thanked the jury for their patience that day and said, "I know it was a long one. I expect we have another full day tomorrow and then we'll move on to closing arguments after that. You can tell your families we'll be finished this week. Have a good evening."

The judge waited for the jury to leave the court and then turned to the lawyers, saying, "Right?"

Joel Roth nodded and smiled. "I'm ready for closing arguments now, your honor."

Alan Davidson rolled his eyes as he stood up and said, "I have two more expert witnesses coming in to testify. One on the weapon and one on the blood spatter. I can't guarantee how long either of them will take, your honor. My client is facing life in prison. It is in the court's best interest to allow him a vigorous defense to prevent lengthy appeals down the road."

Ceparullo looked at the sleeping defendant and said, "Apparently we've been keeping Mr. Marvin awake with all this legal nonsense while his fate is being decided."

"I wasn't sleep," Marvin muttered with his eyes still closed. "I'm just conserving my energy in case I need it."

Ceparullo glanced at Marvin's handcuffs, making sure they were still secured and said, "One can only imagine for what, young man, but just remember one thing. There's more under this bench than a pair of old man's legs and I win every turkey shoot at my gun club, even when they don't let me. Court is dismissed."

Two sheriff's deputies moved in to pick Marvin up off the chair and Davidson stopped them, waving his hands to back them off, saying, "Hey, hey, whoa! Guys, can I meet with my client real quick before you whisk him off back to prison? I'm in the middle of a murder case here! It's a little bit more important than making sure he gets back in time for his peanut butter sandwich and applesauce."

They let him escort Marvin to the interview room adjacent to the court, where prisoners were held before being brought in. There was an iron rail that ran along the walls above a flat wooden bench and the deputies said, "You want us to un-cuff him, cuff him to the wall, or leave him as is?"

Davidson looked at Marvin, his thickly muscled arms, his dark tattoos and dull eyes and said, "Why don't you leave him handcuffed for now? Just to make it easier when you have to take him back. We won't be long anyway." Marvin snickered as his attorney shut the door and sat down next to him, "Do you have any questions about what happened today?"

"Nope," Marvin said.

"Listen, I think things are going well, but we need to be realistic here. You are probably going to eat most of these charges. The important thing is that we set ourselves up for a good appeal, which has been my strategy all along."

Marvin closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, "Whatever, man. Ain't gonna be no appeals, because there ain't gon' need to be, you heard?"

"No, actually I didn't heard," Davidson mimicked his client's language. He stopped speaking when he heard one of the deputies talking to someone, giving an order to stop.

"I'm part of the defense case," Frank O'Ryan said. "I just need to pass on some information to Mr. Davidson real quick."

The deputy opened the door to ask and Davidson waved him in and said, "Sure, sure, let's make it a party." He smiled at Frank as he got up from the bench and said, "There's the man of the hour. You did great today. Those narcotics charges are poof! Gone."

Marvin stared at Frank through narrow eyes and said, "Yeah, after your dumb ass told them I was a drug dealer. The hell am I paying you for?"

Frank nodded silently as the deputy left the room and pulled the door shut, still nodding as he waited for the soft metal click of the handle and then he spun and grabbed Alan Davidson by the throat. Davidson let out a soft squeak of terror as Frank shook him and shouted, "You let me testify on behalf of this animal? This piece of shit tried to get that woman kidnapped and raped!"

"You said you didn't want to know what else happened in the case!" Davidson sputtered. "That's what you said!"

"I asked you if any of the victims were cops."

"No!" Davidson said. "You asked me if he'd killed any cops, and the answer was, and is, no."

Frank shoved Davidson back down on the bench so hard he thought the drywall would crack and turned on Marvin, getting in the man's face, getting close enough that their spit would hit each other in the face as he said, "You son of a bitch, I hope they bury you under the jail. You understand me? I hope they bury you. Under. The. Jail!"

Keenan Marvin looked up at Frank with bored, disinterested eyes and then he smiled slightly and said, "Y'all are real funny, you know that? You think jail means anything to me? It ain't nothing. I can do more business in jail than I can on the street. I can get anything I want and get anything I want done, you feel me? Every gang on these streets was built and run from a penitentiary, with thousands of soldiers taking orders from the inside. But the funny thing is, I'll never see no time. All this is just for show."

"That's enough, Keenan," Alan Davidson said sternly.

"You planning something else?" Frank snarled. He grabbed Marvin by the orange collar and twisted it, "You going to try another move against one of us? I'll kill you myself. I swear to God, you so much as ask somebody to bump a shopping cart into one of my people at the supermarket and I'll put a bullet in your head."

Marvin glared at Frank and forced himself forward, getting to his feet to stand toe-to-toe with him, shouting, "This ain't where you from, bitch, and these ain't your people, neither. This Chicago. So go on with your gimpy ass back to Pennsylvania while you still can before somebody takes a sledgehammer to your other leg, you heard?"

Alan Davidson pounded on the interview room door, hollering for the deputies, and they finally came, yelling at Frank to back away and for Marvin to sit back down. Marvin slumped back down on the wooden bench as Frank stared at him. Marvin gave Frank his most malicious grin, revealing the white gold caps covering his teeth and the tiny diamonds built into them that spelled out "Ack Trife" and said, "Keep on looking, gimp. Take a real good look too, because when I get out of this, I'm a come see you next. That's a nice wedding ring. You got a real pretty wife, I bet. Keep looking. I'm a give you plenty to look at. Believe that."

One of the deputies grabbed Frank and shoved him through the interview room door, pulling it shut the moment he was past, just trying to remove him from the situation. Frank stood in the hallway, staring through the darkened, useless window. He tried to swallow but there was no moisture in his mouth or throat. Everything felt dry and brittle inside as he limped down the hall, moving away from the sound of the deputies shouting at Keenan Marvin to stand up and shut up as they prepared him for transport.

Jack Daniels was standing at the end of the hallway, hands stuffed in her pockets, watching him coming toward her before he realized she was there. Her expression was flat as she watched him, like the tip of an iceberg, Frank thought. He knew she wouldn't piss on him if his guts were on fire, and he didn't deserve anything else, but as he came closer she said, "Everything all right in there, Detective?"

"It's fine, they've got it under control," Frank said. He stopped and looked at her, sifting through the words like clumps of mud, but all he came up with was, "Listen, I didn't know."

"I can see that," Jack said, turning away from him to go for the door, unable to stand the sound and stench of the court house any longer. "But you certainly should have."

3.

I got into my car and sat for a moment without turning it on, holding the steering wheel with both hands, taking long, slow breaths. I told myself it was the lack of sleep. I told myself it wasn't the endless parade of maniacs showing up in my life and at my door, ready to kill me, the cat, and whatever mope happened to win the Who-I-Slept-With-Last lottery. I told myself it wasn't that I was getting old, or that I was getting tired.

That was enough of that. The parking lot was dark and empty, so I reached behind my passenger seat for my bag and double-checked to make sure no one was around before I slid out of my blazer and quickly unbuttoned my blouse. I tossed both of them in the backseat and pulled a light cotton top out of the bag and wiggled it over my head.

I looked again. No lookie-loos were peeking around any of the corners, trying to get an eyeful of me in my bra and panties. The only lights I could see were from a corner pub at the end of the street advertising ten cent hot wings, and it didn't look like the advertising campaign was drawing in too much business. Word had gotten out about a bad mugging the week before. It was going to take more than ten cent wings to bring people back around. I undid my belt, slid off my gun and unbuttoned my pants, lifting my butt off the seat and pulling the pants down to my feet.

Selecting clothes to wear for a night out is always complicated. The shirt has to be form-fitting enough so it doesn't look like I'm wearing a paper bag, but it has to be long enough and loose enough around the waist to cover up the handle of my revolver. There aren't many options for female cops. I saw a bra holster in one of the police equipment magazines left lying around the station and thought about getting one until I heard one of the guys say, "Look at this thing, it'll hold her cannons and her pistol. Har har har."

By the time I got my jeans on and had my gun back around my hip, it was almost time to meet up with Phin. It was good to be back in regular clothes. Like I was human again. Back when I'd been in uniform, the first thing I did when I got home was strip and get changed, just to be out of it, only wanting to curl up on the couch wearing sweatpants and eat a bowl of cereal. The uniform and badge are a sign to the world that says, "Come to me with all of your problems, fears, and emergencies. It doesn't matter what I'm doing, how I'm feeling, or if I might get hurt. I get paid to get shot at, spit at, and have psychopaths come after me where I live. It's all right. Really. I get good dental benefits for it."

Back then, I'd carried my gun and badge with me off-duty in case somebody needed help. Now, I carried it for a different reason. Times had changed. Or maybe, times hadn't changed, but I had.

I picked up my phone and called the Violent Crimes desk. "Hey, it's Jack. I'm just checking in. Anything happen today?"

"Not that I can see. It's all good in the hood, Lieut," the cop said.

I paused for a second, biting my lip because I wasn't looking forward to what I had to say next, but it was the right thing to do, as much as it sucked. "Is Herb around?" I asked.

"I haven't seen him. He wasn't at court with you today?"

"He might have been, but he's sequestered so I didn't see him. I thought maybe he stopped back at the office."

The cop covered up the phone and I heard him yell, "Anybody seen Herb?" There were muffled voices in the background and he came back on the phone and said, "Nope. Hey, if you can't find him, just set out a trail of candy bars. He'll come to you."

I hung up the phone.

It rang a dozen times on Herb's cellphone until it finally went to voicemail. I ended the call, waited a few seconds, then called it again. The phone was off. Straight to the mailbox. I left a message that said, "Herb, it's me. Are you ditching my calls? Listen, I'm sorry about last night. I've just been…under a lot of stress lately. Call me." I called his house phone and tapped my nails impatiently on the center console until someone picked up.

"Hello?" a pleasant-sounding woman's voice said.

"Hi, Bernice. It's Jack."

"Hi, Jack. How are you? How's the trial going?"

"Good. Just taking a long time. There's a lot of charges. Is Herb around?"

"No," Bernice said. "I figured he was still busy with you. What did you guys have last night?"

"Last night?" I said.

"I figure it had to be bad for him not to call. He must have come home after I fell asleep and been out before I woke up because I never heard him come in. He normally wakes me up with his snoring. Anyhow, I've been checking the news but didn't see anything. Was it a murder?"

I watched an empty potato chip bag skirt across the parking lot, carried by the wind. In the alleyway behind the courthouse, the red gleaming eyes of an animal looked out at the bag, caught in the glare of my car's headlights. "Yeah," I said softly. "Something like that. Pretty bad."

"Unreal what the people of this city do to each other," Bernice ended in a sigh. "With all that you have going on already, I'm sure another big crime is the last thing you need."

"Listen, when he gets in, have him call me right away, okay?"

"Okay, dear. Have a good night."

"You too." I hung up the phone and threw the car into drive.

I checked the burger joints and donut shops frequented by Herb. I checked the parking lots of fleabag motels looking for his car. I checked the strip clubs. Nothing. I called his phone and left four voicemails that ranged from anger to outright panic, ending with, "So help me God you better call me back or else you better be dead!"

I picked up the phone again and steadied myself, knowing the next one would have to be tactfully placed. The man on the other end of the line answered and I said, "Hey, Joel. It's Jack. You got a minute?"

"Yeah, sure," Roth said.

I could hear the hesitation in his voice. He thought I was calling to tear him a new one for putting me on the stand earlier as a victim. As much fun as throwing him down a fire escape into a pile of broken glass and rubbing alcohol sounded, I still had to put on my nice girl act and play this one cool. "What's the game plan for tomorrow?" I asked.

"I guess we just wait for the defense to put on their dog and pony show. They're going to bring in a few heavy hitters for the homicide charges. There's a ballistics expert…" his voice droned on for several minutes talking about challenges to the calibration certifications for the laser measuring machines we used to diagram the crime scene. As he talked I kept driving. And looking for Herb.

"Sounds good, Joel," I said, cutting him off. "Do you think you'll need Herb tomorrow?"

"Probably not," he said. "I don't want to use him until after the defense rests. He's my ace in the hole with that big, boisterous personality that will overshadow all this dry expert testimony. If he's the last person the jury hears before they go into deliberation, we're golden."

"Okay. Where did you have him holed up today?"

"What do you mean?" he said.

"Where did you have him today while he was sequestered? I didn't see him all day."

"I guess he was in the witness room at the court house," Roth said. "Probably reading magazines and watching soap operas with all the little old ladies from domestic relations. They all bring in cookies and cupcakes. I'm sure he was in heaven."

"Right," I said softly.

"So, I'm trying to get ready for tomorrow before I hit the sack. Is there anything else, Lieutenant?"

"No, that's it," I said. "Have a good night."

There was a pause and he said, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said quickly. "Of course, I'm sure. Why wouldn't I be sure? Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I just thought, well. Maybe after the case is finished, you might want to grab a drink or something. After work."

I closed my eyes and tried not to laugh. Joel Roth looked like a little kid to me. Ah well, I thought. I could hear my mother saying, "I still got it!" I stifled a laugh and said, "We'll see, Joel. Right now I'm just focused on the case."

"Oh, sure. Me too," he said quickly. "Super focused. Listen, I'll see you tomorrow."

I tossed the phone into my passenger seat and racked my brain, trying to think. My brain hurt. From not sleeping, from sitting in a dreary courtroom all day, from being so close to that scumbag Keenan Marvin without killing him, and now, from not knowing where my partner was.

The only thing I could think was that Herb knew tonight was my pool night at Joe's. Maybe he was waiting for me there. To tell me he was going through some kind of mid-life crisis and was leaving Bernice to go live in a one-bedroom apartment above a Mexican bodega with some waitress he'd met. The first thing I'd do was hug him for being all right. Then I'd punch him right in his flabby chin. Chins.

God, I needed a drink.

Phineas Trout was hunched over our pool table in the farthest corner of Joe's Place, looking up the moment I walked in, then lowered his eyes and made an excellent bank shot off the side to sink the eight-ball. If only he'd meant to hit that one. "Well, at least there's plenty of other balls left on the table for you to hit," I said. "And look, they're all sorts of pretty colors and some have stripes even."

Phin smirked as he bent to start scooping balls out of the catch and I grabbed the wooden triangle and dropped it in front of him. "It's late," he said. "I figured you were a no-show."

"Who, me?" I said. I grabbed a stick off the wall and started to chalk it, taking the time to look around the bar. Herb wasn't there. I watched Phin rack the balls and said, "Hey, you know the guy I work with?"

"Stay Puft with a 'stache?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes and said, "Yes. Have you seen him? And not everybody can be lucky enough to have cancer keep all their weight off, jerkwad. "

"Nice," he snickered. "No, I haven't seen him. There was another guy in here, earlier, looking for you."

I froze, immediately thinking of Keenan Marvin and his goons. What if they hadn't given up? What if they'd gone to my mother's house? I felt the shakes coming back on, when Phin said, "Some white guy. He looked like a cop."

"Did he say he was a cop?" I said.

"No. But that's what he was. He was asking Joe about you."

"What about?"

"Me acquiring this information from across a crowded bar isn't good enough? I perform a miraculous feat of clandestine intelligence gathering and you're giving me grief for not getting more? Women. See, this is why I'm single. You give them something, right away it's onto the next."

"Phin?"

"Yes?"

"You done?"

"You getting the first round since you're late?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm done."

"How did you know the guy was a cop?" I said.

"He had that I'm-better-than-you, judgey look about him. Plus, he smelled like bacon."

"You ever seen him before?"

"Nope. He had a slight limp, too."

A limp? I thought. Interesting. I walked over to the bar and leaned against it, laying my hands flat on the lacquered surface. Joe threw a towel over his shoulder and said, "Just the woman everybody's looking for."

"I heard," I said. "What did that guy want?"

"Just to know when you normally came in."

"How the hell did he know I came here in the first place?" I said.

"I dunno. I didn't ask. Is he bugging you? I'll bust him in the head if he comes back in, you want me to. We'll take him out back."

"No, it's all right. I think it's someone from my work."

"A good someone or the other kind?" he said, knowingly. The police department hadn't released the attempted kidnapping to the papers, but the court documents were public record and had to get processed through the system by all sorts of people. I'm sure the first clerk who read those charges and my affidavit rang an alarm in the courthouse that brought her entire floor running. Then, through the magic of modern technology, every person with a cellphone, email, and smoke signal would be spreading the story about how the poor, weak female cop almost got tied up and blowtorched by two bastard gangbangers. It was enough to make me sick. It
had
made me sick.

"The good kind, in his own way, I guess," I said. There was something in Frank O'Ryan's face as he'd come out of the interview room with Marvin and his attorney. I'd heard him yelling so loudly that his voice echoed through the walls, telling Marvin he'd put a bullet in him. I imagined the guy must've been some sort of badass back in Philly. Real police. But the reality was, he'd come all the way out here to testify on behalf of a man who'd built an empire murdering people and dealing drugs and had taken out a contract on me. Some things were unforgivable.

I put a few bills on the bar, and Joe brought over two large mugs with ice frosted on the glass. Before I could leave, Joe put a shot glass on the bar and filled it to the top with whiskey. He pushed it toward me and said, "You look like you need this."

I tipped the shot back, downing it with precision and felt the alcohol's warmth splashing down my insides. The beer was cold and good and I had already finished half of it by the time I walked back to the pool table. Now, things were beginning to settle. The wild horses of my imagination were slowed to manageable trot. Still there, still pressing forward, but at a steady pace instead of running me over.