Caught Red-Handed (3 page)

So Frank told Mattson what he had learned from Mrs. Erkstrom about Donnie O'Keefe's background and habits, about his own look through the trailer, and about the troublesome former neighbor.

“Probably should have left the television alone,” Mattson said mildly. “Your job in this situation is to observe and secure the scene, not to touch. The coroner and the Kern County crime lab folks get unhappy when we do anything that might change the temperature in the room, or if we drag in whatever little fibers or hairs or—ahem!—flour that was previously clinging to our asses. All of that disturbs the scene. To some extent, that can't be helped, of course. But the television—well, you'll know for next time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“So—what bothered you other than the stink and the flies and the heat?”

“I saw a couple of things that don't make sense.”

“Name them.”

“The position of O'Keefe's right arm didn't seem likely for suicide. He was positioned as if he had been relaxed and slightly propped up, watching TV on a hot night in the nude—not attractive, but would someone committing suicide want to be found in the nude?”

“Naked suicide isn't all that common, but it isn't unheard of, especially not in indoor suicide cases.” Mattson paused. “Don't see it much in suicide-by-firearm cases.”

“Why was the television on? The volume wasn't up high enough to cover the sound of a shot.”

“Another unknown. Televisions provide the illusion of companionship. Maybe he wanted company, of a kind. What else bothered you?”

“Why would he put his dominant hand behind his head and shoot with his left?”

“That's a little harder to figure out.”

“Also, his fingers were wrapped around the grip of the gun—”

“That can happen—it's called cadaveric spasm.”

“But he didn't have a finger on the trigger.”

Mattson raised his brows. “No shit. That's the trouble for killers—can't make it look like cadaveric spasm after the fact.” He made a few notes, then asked, “You didn't touch anything other than the TV, right?”

“Right, except a couple of doors, when I was making sure no one was in a closet or the bathroom. I wore gloves.”

“Good. Well—”

“There's more.”

Mattson smiled. “Okay, I'm listening.”

Frank explained about the holes in the two trailers.

“Show me.”

After looking at them, Mattson stared at the other trailer. “What do we know about the owner?”

“Not much. We didn't get to see the manager, so we don't have a name. I'm not even sure he's the owner of the trailer, but the person who was living there until recently is a young man O'Keefe and Mrs. Erkstrom nicknamed ‘Tomcat.'”

“Did you get a description of him from her?”

“No, not really,” Frank said, feeling foolish for not asking her for more details. “She did say he was clean-cut and, um . . .”

“Sexually active with numerous partners?”

“Yes.”

“Could have guessed that from the nickname. Females?”

“She only mentioned women.”

He made more notes, then looked up at the sound of an approaching vehicle. “Here comes the meat wagon. Go help Bear to keep the neighbors back. Also try to keep them from talking to one another about anything they may have seen or heard, so we can get witness statements—although based on how long they waited to call about this smell, I'll be surprised if we get anything from them.”

Eventually, Frank and Bear went
back to patrolling the part of town originally assigned to them. Bear was cracking jokes. Frank was trying to decide if he could really still smell decomp or if it was his imagination when Bear asked him if he thought he could shower and change and still have time to eat something on their dinner break.

“You know,” Bear said suddenly, “too much of this job is just sad shit, but today I'm going to get to do the amount of ass-kicking I need to do to cheer myself up.”

He pulled over, jumped out of the car, and started running. By then Frank had seen why he'd stopped—Mouse was getting beat up by her pimp, Alvin.

Mouse was April Strange, Leticia Anderson, Bonnie Boone, or Callie Comet, depending on which ID she had on her at the time. She was an addict who supported her habit through prostitution. She was petite, improbably blonde, and thin to the point of fragility. She wore a red crop top, hot pants, fishnet stockings, and platform heels, which likely had made it impossible for her to keep her balance after Alvin struck the first blow. Alvin, five times her size, straddled her now, pinning her to the sidewalk and raining blows on her face. A crowd was gathering, but no one intervened.

Bear shouted, “Step away from her, Alvin, and keep your hands where I can see them!”

Alvin took one look at Bear, already halfway to him, and took off. Frank was just steps behind his TO when Bear caught Alvin and tackled him to the ground. “Take care of Mouse,” Bear said, as he put the cuffs on Alvin.

Frank still felt adrenaline pumping through him, but Bear was cool and calm. Bear took out his reading glasses and began to read from his Miranda card, all to hooting from the crowd. Frank was relieved to see that they were rooting for Bear.

“I'm done with that bitch!” Alvin shouted from the ground.

When Frank came closer to Mouse, stooping down next to her where she lay curled up on the hot sidewalk, she flinched away.

“Hey, Mouse, it's Frank Harriman. You remember me, don't you?”

Mouse's face was a mess. Her eyes were beginning to swell shut, her nose was bleeding, and her lips were cut. She was crying and seemed dazed.

“Yeah, sure,” she said. “You're Brian's kid.”

Kid. She was younger than he was. In years, anyway.

“Yes,” he said, “he's my dad.”

“You smell weird.”

“Sorry about that. Visited a dead guy in a trailer today and haven't had time to clean up. I'll bet you feel worse than I smell,” he said, handing her a Kleenex.

“I'm not sure about that,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Had the dead guy been there a long time?”

“Hard to tell, with all the heat lately.”

“What happened to him?”

“Hard to tell that, too.” He could see that she was looking for distraction from her pain, though, so he added, “It's a beautiful old trailer, although I don't know if they'll ever get the stink out of it now. You'd like it—it's your favorite color.”

“Red?”

“Yes.”

“Is it at Lazy Acres Trailer Park?”

Surprised, he said, “Yes.”

“I think I've seen it. At the back?”

“Yes,” he said, realizing that she might have been there with a john. “You ever been inside it?”

“No.”

Bear passed them with Alvin, giving Frank a grin and saying, “Guess who didn't have time to dump his weapon or take the coke out of his pockets?” He glanced at Mouse and added, “I'll call for an ambulance. Go with her, I'll meet you at the hospital.”

He almost asked Bear if he was going to need help handling Alvin, but stopped himself. Bear had been at this job a long time. He knew his limits.

Mouse slowly moved herself to a sitting position, but didn't try to stand. Doing even that much seemed to make her dizzy. She closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead. “Alvin's gonna kill me,” she said softly.

“Looks like he already made a try.”

“He'll get out. He always does. He knows people—not all cops are like you, baby. He'll pay them off, they'll let him out, he'll come looking for me, and that will be that.”

“You know people, too,” Frank said, thinking of Bear.

“That little bastard?” She glanced up at him and sighed. “Hell, I wish I didn't.”

At Frank's puzzled look, she said, “You know Alvin lets the dude have it for free.”

“Who?”

She frowned, then glanced at the thinning crowd. “Forget I mentioned it.”

The ambulance pulled up, so Frank held his questions for the time being.

Later, after Mouse's injuries had
been photographed and X-rayed, her wounds cleaned and treated, she was released by the hospital. Frank drove her back to headquarters, where Bear brought a meal to her while Frank showered and changed clothes.

“Much better,” Bear said, when he rejoined them. “Let's take Mouse back home.”

As they started to walk out, Darryl Cross walked in. He came to a sudden, startled halt, then continued walking into the building.

“What was that all about?” Bear asked.

Mouse was shaking.

“Mouse?” Frank asked.

“Get me out of here,” she said.

When they were in the parked patrol car, she said, “I mean it, Bear. Please! Please get me out of here.”

“What's going on, Mouse?”

“That guy—the one that just walked in? He's gonna make sure Alvin gets out. I can't stay in Bakersfield, Bear. You know what Alvin will do to me.”

“You know him?” Bear asked. “The guy who just walked in?”

“I don't know his name,” she said, but Frank thought she was lying about that.

“Where'd you meet him?”

“Where do I meet anybody? At a curb.”

“Can't help you if you bullshit me,” Bear said.

She was silent for so long that Frank turned around to make sure she hadn't passed out. The doctors had said she had a mild concussion.

But she was awake, arms crossed over her stomach. She was shivering. He got out of the car and opened the trunk. He retrieved a blanket—an item he was beginning to see he'd use more often than his gun. He opened the back door farthest from her and placed it on the seat, then closed the door. He got back in the front seat.

She pulled the blanket around her, looked at him, and said, “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

As if this small kindness and polite exchange had decided something for her, she said, looking at Frank and not Bear, “We all know who he is, and who his father is. He's got a place out in the trailer park. Alvin says Darryl's dad doesn't know about it, but Alvin lies all the time. So I don't know about that. I just know he's got this place next to that red trailer we talked about.”

Frank forced himself not to look at Bear, prayed Bear would just let her talk. He needn't have worried.

“Alvin says, ‘I'm taking you there, you show him a good time, he just likes knowing that he's doing something his old man doesn't know about.' So he took me out there.”

She looked toward the building, pulled the blanket closer around her. “Some men—you know, some men don't really want sex. Well, they want sex, but it's not about having fun or feeling good. It's all about the power. They get mean. He's mean.”

“He hurt you?”

“Nothing that hasn't happen to me before. I'm just saying, you're going to work with him, you should know he's mean.”

“Thanks,” Frank said, although he already knew this about Darryl.

“It scared him to see me with you two, and when mean people get scared, they get even meaner. You know what I'm saying, right, Bear?”

“I do, Mouse. See it every day.”

Frank hoped Darryl didn't come back out of the building anytime soon, because he didn't trust himself to keep hold of his temper if the SOC showed his face.

Then he thought of his dad, who had once told him, “The best cop is a cop who can stay calm in a situation that practically begs him to go apeshit on somebody. That's the real test of respect for the uniform.”

He calmed down.

Bear said to Mouse, “How long have you been clean?”

“Two weeks,” she said. “Not long. I don't know if I'm going to be able to stay clean. Not with all this shit happening.” She paused. “How'd you know?”

“No fresh tracks, no doctors telling me that your head injury couldn't be evaluated because you were high. And—well, you're a different person when you're clean. More yourself. Alvin didn't like it?”

“No. He didn't like it at all.”

Bear put the car in gear. “I must have a hole in my head,” he murmured, and drove off the lot.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You want to be safe?”

“Yes.”

“What if I told you that right now you are the most powerful person in Bakersfield?”

“I'd say you do have a hole in your head. Stop clowning, Bear.”

“I'm not. Let me see what I can do.”

He drove to a gas station at the edge of town, told Frank to stay in the car, gathered up a roll of dimes, got out, and walked over to a pay phone.

When he got back to the car, he seemed amused.

“What's so funny?” Frank asked.

“I'll tell you in a second.” He turned to Mouse. “Just talked to Detective Mattson. He and Tucker are going to meet with you and a prosecutor who's the head of a task force that has been working on an investigation into Chief Cross. Cross is about to lose his job. And being unemployed will be the least of his problems.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Just tell them what you told us, and they'll put it together with some other little facts they have about Darryl and his dad.” He hesitated, then said, “When all that's over, I have a friend who will give you a ride to Las Piernas. She has family there and is headed back there for a visit tomorrow. She'll take you to a place that's run by another friend of mine down there, someone nobody else here is connected to. It's a place where runaways can stay, so you'll be older than most of them, but she said she'd welcome having someone there who's between her age and theirs to listen to them, help them out. If you can't stay clean while you're there, then I'll find another situation for you, but you have to promise me you'll at least try to stay out of trouble while you are under her roof.”