Smoke Screen

CHAPTER 21

BRITT GAVE RALEY A SIDELONG GLANCE AND TAPPED HER fists together. “You two are buddies now?”

“Brothers actually. Because I’m trying to expose the corruption in the police department.”

“Ah.” As they drove away, she gave the trailer one last glance and shuddered with revulsion. “He gave me the creeps.”

Tongue in cheek, Raley said, “He spoke highly of you.”

“He said something about me? What?”

“You don’t want to know. But he also recognized you as the TV gal gone missing.” Her surprise must have shown. Raley added, “I didn’t think he knew you, either, but we don’t have to worry about him blowing the whistle. He made it clear he hates cops.”

“And everybody else. I found myself feeling sorry for Cleveland Jones.”

“He raped a twelve-year-old.”

“I know, I know, but…He was baptized in hatred. It sounds like he never knew a single day of love or nurturing, not in his whole short life.”

“His granddaddy gave him a cigarette lighter, don’t forget.”

“With a naked girl on it.”

Her disgust made him smile. “Granted, it wasn’t a standard keepsake from a grandfather, like, say, a pocket watch, but it shows there was some affection there. Obviously it meant a lot to Cleveland.”

“Yet it was conspicuously missing from the things the unidentified policeman said Cleveland had on him the day of his arrest.”

“Um-huh. Funny that a lewd cigarette lighter would slip his mind when he could remember the exact amount of money Jones had, down to thirty-seven cents.”

“They had him cremated so his remains could never be exhumed and reexamined.”

“Very tidy.” He thought a moment, then said grimly, angrily, “They covered this thing, Britt, and they did it right. We are exactly nowhere.”

“I can’t continue playing Nancy Drew forever. I can’t stay in hiding the rest of my life.”

“If you come out of hiding, your life may not last all that long.”

“That much we have determined. So, what next? Any ideas?”

“If I made another run at George McGowan, he would only bow his back and tell me to fuck off. Or worse, if he’s the one having me tailed. I don’t want to risk leading them to you.”

“That leaves Cobb Fordyce.”

“Who’s in his ivory tower at the state capitol, protected by guards and his lofty office. I couldn’t get near him without being arrested, and even if I could, he isn’t going to raise his hands in surrender and confess.”

“Jay and Pat Wickham are dead.”

“Right. They’re not talking.”

She suddenly remembered something Raley had told her the night before. “What about Pat Junior?”

“What about him?”

“You said you caught him staring at you and George McGowan after the funeral, and that his attention seemed to make George nervous.”

“Nervous or angry, I couldn’t tell. But Pat Junior was definitely flustered.”

“Flustered? He’s a police officer,” Britt argued.

“Yeah, but he wasn’t looking at us like a cop would. His staring was covert, but in a jittery way, not a surveillance sort of way.”

“Two men who hadn’t seen each other in years, chatting at the funeral of a mutual friend. What about that would give a police officer the jitters?” she asked, surmising out loud. “Why would seeing you and George McGowan talking together bother him? But since it did, why didn’t he mosey over and check it out? Better yet, why didn’t he speak to you at all?”

Raley stopped at a red light and looked over at her. “Maybe we should ask him.”

“Maybe we should.”

“I wonder what his shift is.”

“Eleven to seven,” she replied. “A.m. to p.m. Unless that’s changed since I interviewed him.”

Raley turned his head toward her so quickly, his neck popped. “You interviewed Pat Junior?”

“When his father was killed.” Feeling the familiar stirring of excitement that came with being on the trail of a hot story, she checked her watch. “He’ll be on his lunch hour. We can catch him there.”

“You know where he’s having lunch?”

She nodded happily. “Same place every day.”

He looked at her for a moment longer, then said, “You’re full of surprises today. Where to?”

“That’s it,” Britt said, pointing. It was a basic house in a basic middle-class neighborhood.

“He eats lunch at home?”

“Every day,” she replied. “He told me he likes to take a power nap, so he comes home, eats a sandwich, then sleeps for twenty minutes before going back to work.”

“A creature of habit.”

“Apparently.”

“And kinda squirrelly.”

She shrugged. “Different strokes.”

“You got to know him pretty well.”

“Not really. I interviewed him three times, and the focus was Pat Senior. But I remember the bit about his lunch hour.”

Raley parked at the curb in front of the house. It was a white frame structure with dark green storm shutters and a well-maintained yard. “You’re a fugitive from the law,” he observed as he turned off the car’s ignition. “He’s a police officer. You’re about to come calling at his house.”

“I’ve done crazier things lately,” she said, pushing open the passenger-side door. “Ever since you kidnapped me, the rules of standard and sane behavior have ceased to apply.”

They went up to the front door, and Britt rang the bell. They waited, but a minute passed and no one came to answer. “Sound sleeper,” Raley said. “Or else he’s inside with his service revolver trained on us while he’s calling in backup. But somehow that image doesn’t jibe with the man I saw yesterday. He’s no Dirty Harry.”

Britt tilted her head to one side as though listening. “Do you hear that? Water running?”

She followed the sound to the corner of the house, then along the side of it toward the back. Walking behind her, Raley glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone on this placid, tree-lined street had a bead on his broad back. If there was a sniper, he didn’t see him. But then he wouldn’t, would he?

He wondered what Butch and Sundance were doing right now. Searching his cabin again for something they might have missed yesterday? Had they been dispatched first thing this morning to return and eliminate the dual problem of Raley Gannon and Britt Shelley? Finding the cabin abandoned, were they now scouring the city, checking hotels and motels for recent check-ins that fit his and Britt’s descriptions? Or were they just laying low, waiting for him and Britt to pop up again? Whatever, he felt certain the pair hadn’t been pulled off the job, and they wouldn’t be until it was finished.

So his paranoia wasn’t an overreaction. It wasn’t silly. He would continue to watch his back.

Pat Jr. kept a neat backyard. There was a sandbox and a swing set, but also a lawn of lush Saint Augustine grass and pretty flower beds. Using a hose and nozzle, Pat Jr. was watering a bed of red flowers with waxy green foliage. His back was to them, and he didn’t hear their approach.

To announce them, Britt said, “Those are beautiful begonias. They must be the hybrid that likes sun.”

Pat Jr. was so shocked to see them, he dropped the nozzle. The water pressure caused it to flip and roll, spraying wildly until he recovered his wits enough to rush to the faucet at the foundation of the house and turn it off. He was dressed in civilian clothes. A badge was clipped to his belt, but Raley noted that he wasn’t armed.

His eyes darted back and forth between him and Britt. To her he said, “You’re wanted for murder.”

“I didn’t kill Jay Burgess.”

“Clark and Javier think you did.”

“They’re wrong.”

He looked at Raley. “What are you doing with her?”

“We want to ask you some questions.”

“About what?”

The suburban backyard was as peaceful and benign a setting as could be, but Raley still felt exposed. “Inside.”

Pat Jr., who should have been reading Britt her rights, looked ready to bolt and run, or wet himself, or be sick on the begonias, but after a long hesitation, he nodded and led them toward a screened back porch. He went in ahead of them, something no savvy cop would do.

The porch was casually furnished. Britt chose a wicker chair, Raley took the matching settee, and Pat Jr. remained standing. “I can’t let you leave here. You know that.”

Under other circumstances, his aggressive posturing would have been comical. Raley certainly didn’t quail from it. “Is anybody else here?”

Pat Jr. shook his head. “My wife volunteers two days a week at the hospital. She drops the kids off at her mother’s. Did you plan to hold us hostage?”

It was such a ludicrous notion, Britt didn’t even honor it with a reply. “The last time I saw you, your wife was expecting.”

“With our son. We’ve had a girl since then. They came close together. Just a little over a year apart.”

“Belated congratulations,” she said.

The man seemed to mistrust her politeness. Nervously, he licked his misshapen lips, calling attention to them. His mouth and jaw were out of kilter. His mouth stretched toward the left side of his face, his jaw stretched toward the right. His nose, too, was off center and crooked. Raley wondered about the nature of the accident that had rearranged his face and couldn’t help but compare the young man with his late father.

Pat Sr. had been average looking, tall and slender, not brawny, but certainly beefier than his son. Until the morning that he’d woken up with Suzi Monroe beside him, Raley had known Pat Sr. only through Jay. Their paths had crossed a few times, always in Jay’s company, and always socially. He’d seemed a nice enough guy. He wasn’t gregarious, but no one was when around Jay, who was always the center of attention. In his company, no one else was allowed to shine. But Pat Sr. wouldn’t have shone anyway. He came across as reserved, serious, a man who could intimidate with his stoicism.

Raley saw nothing resembling Pat Sr. in his son, and the differences between them went beyond the physical. Pat Jr. possessed none of his father’s stolidness. He was unsettled. Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and he couldn’t keep his eyes focused on any one spot for too long.

Despite these giveaways to his nervousness, he made another futile stab at seeming courageous. Addressing Raley, he blurted, “You left town in disgrace. Why’d you come back?”

“So you did recognize me yesterday at Jay’s funeral.”

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you come over, say hi? Was it because you remember the circumstances of my getting fired and leaving town?”

Pat Jr. wet his lips again. “I remember my dad talking about it.”

“Oh, yeah? What did he say about it?”

“I…I don’t remember details. Just that you were involved in some sort of sex scandal and a girl wound up dead.” He looked at Britt. “Are you in cahoots with him now? I could have the whole police department here in under two minutes, you know.”

Britt didn’t even blink. Raley actually smiled. Rather than following through with what was so obviously an idle threat, Pat Jr. looked nearer to crying. “Whatever it is the two of you are doing, you’re going to get caught.”

“What do you think we’re doing?” Raley asked calmly.

“Evading capture.”

“I’m not wanted.”

“She is!” he said, his voice cracking. “You’re aiding and-”

“Abetting. I know. Sit down.” Raley put menace behind the order and the other man crumpled. He dropped into the chair behind him, again looking like he might throw up. Raley was afraid he would have a heart attack before he could ask him the important questions, so he started with something easy. “I didn’t see your mother yesterday at the funeral.”

“She’s in a…a facility. Alzheimer’s.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Britt said.

“Me, too,” Raley said.

“At first I thought her symptoms were part of the grieving process, you know, after Dad was killed, but she just kept getting worse. Couldn’t trust her to be alone anymore. She’s been there two years.”

“It must have been a terrible blow to her.”

Pat Jr. looked over at Britt. “What?”

“Your father’s death.”

“Oh. It was. Terrible for all of us.”

“Refresh my memory of how it happened,” Raley said.

“It’s painful. I don’t like to talk about it.”

Raley just stared back at him unsympathetically.

Reluctantly, Pat Jr. complied. “Dad was off duty. He’d gone to the supermarket for Mom. On his way back, he saw some guys fighting in an alley. He used his cell phone and called it in, said the officers on that beat should come check it out.” He raised his narrow shoulders and released a sigh through his twisted mouth.

“We can only speculate what happened after that. The best guess is that the fight turned violent quickly and Dad was afraid somebody was going to get hurt before the patrol officers could get there. In any case, he left his car and went into the alley.”

He paused for a moment, released another sigh. “When the officers arrived, Dad was lying in the alley. He’d been shot in the stomach. He was in shock. He bled out before the ambulance could get there.” He looked at Raley, at Britt, then back at Raley. “That was it.”

“The crime remains unsolved, correct?” Raley asked.

“There weren’t many leads,” Pat Jr. said. “No weapon, no eyewitnesses, nothing really to go on.”

“His killer has gone unpunished. That must be frustrating.”

Britt’s observation caused Pat Jr. to lower his head. “You have no idea.”

After a short silence, Raley asked, “Who investigated the homicide?”

Pat Jr. raised his head and looked at him. “Well, several detectives. The whole department was gung ho to catch the killer, or killers. You know how it is when a cop is killed,” he added, glancing at Britt, a none too subtle reference to the murder of Jay Burgess.

Raley said, “Was Jay on the case? George McGowan?”

“Along with others.” At the mention of their names, he became visibly more nervous. “Why do you ask?”

“Their names, along with Cobb Fordyce’s, are always linked to your dad’s because of their heroism the day of the fire.”

“Did your father ever talk about that?” Britt asked.

“The fire? No,” he said, answering hastily. “Not really. Not often.”

“Why not?”

“He hated all that hero b.s.”

“Why?”

“What Dad did that day, he saw as his duty. Nothing else.”

Raley said, “That fire was a defining moment in his career, in his life, and he didn’t talk about it?”

“No.”

“Not even privately? Not even to you and your mom?”

Pat Jr. glanced in Britt’s direction before answering. “The news media wouldn’t leave it alone. Dad didn’t like all the publicity. He didn’t want a big to-do made over it.”

“Jay and the others made a big to-do over it,” Raley said.

“Dad didn’t want to capitalize off a tragedy.”

“Did that affect his friendship with the other three who did?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Raley paused for several beats, then asked, “When did you last see Jay Burgess?”

“To talk to? At Dad’s funeral.”

“Not since then?” Raley asked in surprise. “That’s a long time, Pat.”

“Well, I saw him occasionally at headquarters,” he said. “But not…not socially or anything. Why’s that important?”

“Because hours before Jay was smothered, he told Ms. Shelley that he had a story to tell that would boost her ratings, probably get her on a network. She was drugged and Jay was killed before he could give her that exclusive. Do you know what that story might have been?”

Pat Jr. came to his feet jerkily, like a puppet whose master was uncoordinated. “I have no idea. Like I said, I hadn’t had a private conversation with Jay in years.” Then he turned to Britt and pointed a shaking finger at her. “I’m placing you under arrest.”

“Not today.” Raley stood up. Britt, taking her cue from him, did likewise. Raley walked toward Pat Jr., essentially trapping him against the chair in which he’d been sitting. “What do you know about the night Jay died?”

“Nothing.”

Raley gave him a hard look. Pat Jr. squirmed like an insect about to be pinned to a corkboard. “Nothing except that she killed him,” he stammered. “I don’t work homicide, but I’ve heard word around the department. Everybody has. It’s a big case. Clark, Javier, they’ve got solid evidence that proves she killed him.”

“Wrong,” Raley said. “Either you’re lying now or the detectives are feeding bullshit to the grapevine. They don’t have any such evidence, because there is none. She didn’t do it. And when you see Clark and Javier, you tell them I said so.” For emphasis, he poked the policeman in the chest.

“Now Ms. Shelley and I are walking out of here, Pat.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“We’re leaving and you’re not going to do anything to try and stop us.” Raley held him with a warning stare, then motioned Britt toward the door. He went out after her. As expected, Pat Jr. did nothing to impede or halt them.

Raley kept their pace calm and easy, but when they rounded the corner of the house, he dropped the pretense. Taking Britt’s elbow, he hustled her toward the parked car, scanning the peaceful neighborhood street for signs of the men in the maroon sedan and listening for the wail of police car sirens.

Pat Jr. wasted no time. Using his cell phone, he punched in a number committed to memory. It wasn’t 911, and it wasn’t the number of the police department.

He was hoping he’d get voice mail and not have to talk directly to the person on the other end, but it was answered on the third ring. “It’s Pat Junior.”

“What?”

“Guess who paid a surprise visit to my house.”

“I don’t want to guess, I want to know.”

“Britt Shelley.”

A moment of stunned silence, then, “You don’t say. That is a surprise.”

“She was bold as brass.”

“What did she want with you?”

“To ask what I knew about a big story Jay wanted to tell her before he was killed.”

“Fuck!”

Pat Jr. wiped his sweaty palm on the leg of his trousers. “It gets worse. Guess who was with her.”

“Raley Gannon.”

Well, he thought with relief, at least he hadn’t had to be the bearer of that bad news.

“What did you tell them about Jay?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I swear. I tried to arrest her, but couldn’t get to my service weapon. Gannon, uh, overpowered me, wrestled me to the floor, stunned me. While I was down they ran.”

“In the gray sedan?”

“Yes, same car he was driving yesterday at the funeral.”

“License plate number?”

“I…I thought you had it.”

“He’s no fool. He would have switched.”

Pat hadn’t thought of that. “B-by the time I got to the window, they were too far away, and it had mud-”

“Did you get it or not?”

“Not.”

Another expletive was hissed in his ear. “Did they say where they were going?”

“No.”

“Give you any hints?”

“No.”

“Did you think to ask?”

He hadn’t. Why hadn’t he? “They wouldn’t have told me.”

“Why didn’t you notify me while they were there?”

“I couldn’t. Gannon had a pistol.”

“He threatened you at gunpoint?”

To tell the truth, no. The pistol had remained securely tucked in Gannon’s waistband. “It was an implied threat. He made sure I saw it.” Which wasn’t exactly true, either, but it made his situation sound more life threatening than it had actually been.

“What will you do now, Pat? Call your fellow officers and tell them the fugitive they seek was in your house?”

The question was a ploy. Actually, he was being instructed not to do any such thing. “Gannon threatened my family with harm if I told anybody.”

“You must protect your family.” That was said with a trace of amusement. “If you see Gannon or Britt Shelley again-”

“I’ll let you know immediately.”

“Do, Pat. Because this big story of Jay’s could ruin all of us. Including you.”

On that ominous note the call ended.