Capitol Offense (12 page)

“Relax. It’s just chamomile tea.”

He looked into the cup and frowned. “You’re giving me hot leafy water? Doesn’t it have caffeine?”

“No. It’s not really even tea. But it will help you sleep.”

Ben took a sip. “That’s not bad.” He drank a little more. “Nice, actually.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you’re getting some benefit out of the marriage. Now, finish it off, then cuddle up close to me and go to sleep.”

“Oh … I don’t want to keep you awake.”

“Who are we kidding? You’ll fall right back to sleep. Men always do. Me, it will take a while.”

He put down the empty mug and snuggled in. “Thanks for being so nice about it.”

She kissed him gently on the forehead. “That’s what I’m here for.”

Loving parked his pickup a few blocks down Brady so he wouldn’t be observed. It probably wouldn’t matter, but he didn’t want anyone to see him coming. He liked to drink in the environment on his own time.

Sunday night was a surprisingly good time to be checking out a cop bar. Might be more crowded on a Friday night, but a lot of the boys were still working and didn’t have the luxury of getting plastered. Sunday night, however, most were off-duty, more than at any other time. There was usually a game on, it was guaranteed to be more exciting on the big screen, and it was a fair bet that no one living off a cop’s salary had a ninety-inch screen like the one inside this joint. And it was no small factor that Oklahoma still operated under the barely post-prohibition liquor laws that barred the sale of anything other than 3.2 beer anywhere but in liquor stores—which were required to be closed on Sunday. For the heavy drinker who failed to plan ahead, a trip to the local bar was mandated.

Loving heard the singing before he saw the people. Three big burly sorts, arms around each other, standing on the street corner, waiting for a taxi. The guys who regularly pulled people over for DUIs had the sense not to drive themselves home.

“Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are playin’ …”

Loving winced. After a few too many brewskis, the Irish buried deep inside anyone with Irish ancestry within the last forty-seven generations always seemed to emerge. He knew the lead vocalist. His name was Ginsberg. But there must be some Irish in there somewhere.

His two buddies joined in. “The summer’s gone, and all the leaves are fallin’ …”

Loving doubted they were in any condition to be interrogated. He passed them by, giving them a nod as he did, and entered Scene of the Crime.

This had been the top cop bar for some while. Back in the day, it had been Harry’s over on 41st and Peoria, but nowadays this place saw most of the boys-in-blue action. It was low-key enough, and with a reasonably restricted clientele, no one had to worry about what might be reported back the next day. Loving was not much of a drinker, but he could appreciate the need for a swig every now and again, or perhaps even more importantly, the need for a safe, friendly place to hang. It was easy to forget, given how arrogant some could be and how negative most of their encounters with the populace were, that police officers had a tough job, and at the end of the day, as they approached that car they had just pulled over, they had no way of knowing what they were going to face. Loving would not begrudge them the occasional opportunity to unwind.

As he passed through the front door, his senses were assaulted by so many different sensations they were hard to catalog. The strongest was the smell—pungent beer, mixed with stale breath and pretzels. Smoke thicker than oxygen. The clink and rattle of mugs and ashtrays. Loud music from the juke and the blast of the television even more deafening, especially every time the right team scored. A century of police paraphernalia hanging on the wall, some of it dating back to the Victorian era—billy clubs, truncheons, caps, badges, bullets. A huge television screen, bigger than some movie theaters he’d visited. And way too many people crammed into too little space, lubricated with hops and barley.

Actually, Loving loved it here.

He nodded at the owner, Jake Bradley, a retired cop he had known for probably twenty-five years. Bradley acknowledged him but did not smile. A bad indication, Loving thought. He must realize that Loving hadn’t dropped by just for a tall cold one.

Loving decided against the usual surreptitious approach—casual conversation, crazy bar tricks, something to get the tongues wagging. These men weren’t stupid. All too many of them spent a good portion of their days trying to get suspects or witnesses to talk. They weren’t going to be fooled by anything he tried. He might as well find someone promising and dig in. He’d read Dennis’s statement and knew everyone who had been involved or on duty when the week-long drama was playing itself out.

“Jimmy Babbitt! How are ya, you old boozehound?”

Babbitt turned and gave Loving a sharp stare. He was closing in on forty but he didn’t look it. He’d gained some weight since Loving had last seen him, but he still didn’t have the soft paunch that spoiled the line of too many police uniforms. Loving knew he had been the first responder at the scene of the murder of Detective Sentz.

“Loving.” Babbitt looked at him levelly. “Haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“No. I’ve been busy.” He pointed toward the empty chair at his table. “Mind if I take a seat?”

Babbitt did not respond immediately. “Are you here on business or pleasure?”

“Both.” Loving sat down even without the invitation. “No, that’s crap. You know I’m here on business.”

“Figured as much. You’re still working for that lawyer, right?”

“Proud to say I am.”

“Representing the man who killed Chris.”

“He represents the accused, Jimmy. It’s his job.”

“Wasn’t there a time when he was accused—”

“If you remember that, you must also remember it was a put-up job. A frame.”

“That’s what I heard.” Babbitt poured some beer down his throat. “Still, I don’t mind saying a guy as resourceful as you ought to be able to find a better way to make a living.”

“I like working for Ben Kincaid. He’s a good guy doing good work. And he helped me out when I really needed it. More than once.”

“Whatever.” Babbitt glanced over at the big screen. “I can’t talk about the case.”

“I know you can’t.” Loving fell silent and let several seconds pass. “Heck of a thing, though.”

Babbitt’s head pivoted slowly. “What are you talking about?”

“Chris gettin’ killed. With all those cop buddies swarmin’ around the hotel.”

“They were working.”

“Not hard enough, I guess.”

“They were on a stakeout. They didn’t expect some nutcase with an axe to grind against Chris.”

“Still, you’d think they’d notice somethin’. When that Thomas guy waltzed in the front door.”

“For your information, Officer Shaw saw him at the elevator—” He stopped himself, smiled. “Oh, you’re good. You’re trying to Scooby-Doo me, aren’t you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“This is how you get me to tell you something you don’t already know.”

Loving returned the smile. “It was worth a try.” He chuckled a little. “Heck of a weird thing, though.”

“You’re still doing it.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Loving shifted in his seat. He crossed his legs, then uncrossed them. He folded his arms. “But why didn’t they do somethin’ about Thomas?”

“They didn’t see him coming.”

“Didn’t see him comin’? Officer Shaw says he talked to him!”

“He was busy with something else.”

“Right, right.” Loving frowned. “And you didn’t see anythin’ suspicious when you got there?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“And there was no sign of a fight, right?”

Babbitt’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me what you already know, or trying to get me to tell you what I already know?”

“Little of both. No fight, right? No sign of forced entry.”

“True enough.”

“So Sentz let him in. And they didn’t scuffle.”

“You have a problem with that?”

“Well, holy moley, Jimmy. Sentz refused to find the man’s dying wife. They have a big knockdown grudge match at the scene of her death. Sentz has him arrested. When they meet again, I figure it’s not gonna be to play canasta!”

“Yeah, that part is odd, I admit. But I don’t think it means anything. You know how Chris was. He probably tried to talk some sense into the guy. Probably felt sorry for him. And paid for it, big-time.”

“Why were you the first responder when there were already cops on the premises? You came in from the street.”

“Like I told you, they were busy.”

“And like you also told me, Shaw stopped the guy on his way to the elevator!”

“Did I hear my name?”

Loving bit down on his lower lip. He didn’t have to swivel to know who that was. Served him right for being stupid enough to raise his voice.

“If you’ve got questions about me, Loving, why don’t you ask me?”

Loving turned and saw Peter Shaw standing behind him, bald head, goatee, sour expression. Two of his buddies were standing behind him.

It was never a good sign when they came with muscle.

“I’m just tryin’ to find out what happened at that hotel,” Loving said, as cool and nonchalant as the circumstances allowed. “Kind of a strange deal.”

“What’s so strange about it?” Shaw obviously worked out. His arms and pecs were artificially inflated but, Loving reminded himself, size did not necessarily equal strength. He wore a tight T-shirt and, since Loving had seen him last, he had shaved his head. A necessity, Loving wondered, or had he just spent too many nights playing his DVD box set of
The Shield?
“Doesn’t seem strange to me.”

“What were you stakin’ out at the Marriott? No drugs out there. No gangs.”

“That’s not the only kind of crime in town.”

“Then what was it?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“How ’bout I run through a long list and you tell me what it wasn’t? Gold, silver, rare stamps, old comic books, Krugerrands—”

“Give it up, Loving. I’m not telling you anything.” He was inching closer, defensive and irritated and expressing both through his attempts to be intimidating. Which would work fairly well even without his muscle-bound buddies. “Go home.”

“And then there’s the question of why Sentz was alone in the hotel room. Every stakeout I ever heard about, two men partner up and stay together. It’s too dangerous for one to be alone. As I guess this proves.”

“Sometimes I was in the room, sometimes one of the other boys. We had a lot of ground to cover. We couldn’t afford to stay in one place all the time.”

“Sounds like you weren’t followin’ procedure.”

“We weren’t expecting a murderer.”

“Didn’t he threaten Sentz when his wife died?”

“Nobody thought he meant it.”

“Or maybe you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Truth to tell, Loving didn’t really know. But there was something odd about Shaw’s reaction. “I know you were on the premises when it happened, Shaw. Why didn’t you stop Thomas before he got upstairs?”

“I was working!”

“In the hotel bar? I can just imagine.”

“I was watching the front door.”

“With a couple of martinis, I’ll bet. Is that why you couldn’t stop Thomas? Vision a little blurry?”

Shaw clenched his teeth. “I don’t know who you think you are—”

Loving pressed ahead. He wasn’t going to make friends with this guy, and he sensed his time was limited, so he might as well play for as much information as possible. “You did stop and talk to him. But then you let him ride on up the elevator. That’s weird.”

“I couldn’t make a big scene! I was undercover!”

“So you let a guy who supposedly threatened your pal a few days before ride up the elevator and plug him.”

“I didn’t know he was planning to kill Sentz!”

“Your report says you knew he was packin’ a gun. Did you think that was for huntin’ rabbits?”

“You know as well as I do that carrying a concealed weapon is not illegal in Oklahoma.”

“So you let the guy ride up and shoot your friend.”

Shaw’s fists clenched. “You sorry—” He almost swung, but caught himself at the last moment. “I want you out of here, Loving.”

“Gee, you own this place now? Ousted Jake with a hostile takeover?”

“I don’t have to own the place to police it. That’s what I do.”

“I hope you do it better here than you did at the Marriott. Otherwise everyone in the joint is doomed.”

This time Shaw’s arm swung around, but one of his heavyweight buddies caught it just before it impacted on Loving’s face.

Loving did not flinch, did not even blink. Instead, he smiled. “What are you tryin’ to hide, Shaw?”

Shaw launched himself again, but his friends still held him back.

Behind them, toward the big screen, Loving heard someone clearing his throat. It was Jake, the owner.

“You know, Loving,” he said calmly but firmly, “maybe it would be a good idea if you headed out.”

“You sayin’ I’m not welcome here anymore?”

“No, no, of course not. But maybe just until this thing blows over?”

“I think Shaw’s the one who needs to blow over.”

“Just for tonight, Loving. As a personal favor to me.”

“Well. If you put it that way.” Loving stood and brushed himself off. “What’s a little favor for an old friend?” He nodded toward the three huge men eyeing him with venom. “Been a pleasure, boys.”

Loving strolled out of the bar, glad once again that he had parked a distance away, this time because if Shaw had known where he parked, he might be walking home.

That hadn’t been as productive as he’d hoped. But it hadn’t been a total waste of time, either. He’d laid his groundwork. Rustled the bushes. Now he had to wait and see what shook out.

Shaw knew he was being watched. Perhaps he would make a mistake. And everyone in the bar knew Loving wanted information. Eventually someone would produce some. He hoped.

Loving didn’t begin to know what was going on here. But the two conversations convinced him that someone was covering something up. Probably several somethings.

Tomorrow night, he’d be back. And the night after that and the night after that. Until he had what Ben needed.