Everyone Pays (6 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Hendricks and I sat in our car on O’Farrell, trying to let the violence of what we’d seen wash away. We each had a coffee and donut from a trashy place on the corner, basically the best of what you could expect from this part of town.

I checked the clock on the dash, trying to imagine myself going home and having a normal night, even getting to the gym to shoot around. Didn’t seem likely after what all we’d just seen. Ibaka was right about the damage done to Dub; it was worse than we’d seen, Farrow included.

This was turning into some kind of a single-nutjob case, to use a technical term, a possible killing spree by someone bent on taking out parts of the filth in the city’s sex-and-pain-for-hire racket. This went way beyond any normal on-call week in homicide. A killing spree meant talking it over with our lieutenant, Mike “the Knife” Bowen. If that went well, he’d start a separate detail to handle the case, take us off call to let us focus. He’d even give us some support, if he felt generous.

Any chance of me getting time to myself was fast disappearing. I’d be lucky to see Alan in two weeks.

But who was he? Just some guy I’d barely met. There was no reason for me to even be thinking about him when I had active profiles on Match and OkCupid. Was there? Tons of guys in this city, and I could go out with one any night of the week I could get free time.

Still, thoughts of a guy I’d barely played one game with kept tumbling back.

I tried to shake it off, physically shaking my head to clear it.

The coffee helped. I told Hendricks it wasn’t half bad, offered a toast.

“You and your high-priced lattes, Donner. You miss out on the quality of an old brewed pot of crappy French vanilla.” Hendricks tipped his cup. “Or hazelnut.”

“Awww. You’re such a sweet tooth at heart.”

“Exactly. Nothing wrong with a cruller now and then.” Hendricks held up his old-fashioned. “So long as the civilians don’t see. Can’t live down to our stereotype.”

“So what about this case? We need to go to Bowen.”

He took another bite, said through his mouthful, “I was just thinking: it’s the little things in life that make it all worthwhile. A little perk given all the caloric requirements of our work.”

“The little things.” Something I’d said a hundred times in the months we’d partnered. I tried to convince myself to have perspective each time, saying it for myself as much as for him. Now he turned it around. This reminder to keep up a healthy awareness of the present, life’s small offerings.

If I believed in anything, this was it. This was my faith.

At least, that’s what I tried to convince myself.

Maybe I could make it to the gym.

He drank more coffee. “Here’s to having stomachs like iron.”

We toasted. I had added two spoons of sugar, but the coffee still tasted bitter.

“So what do we do?”

“I say we step away for a minute. This freak’s out there doing his damnedest to make it a bad week in homicide, in the city, but maybe we miss something if we go rushing in half-cocked. Let’s let it all wash over us with a night’s rest, see what shakes out.”

To say this was an unconventional approach would be an understatement. But then, Hendricks had been accused of doing things his own way for years, since long before we became partners.

“So we don’t tell Bowen yet?”

“Let’s let Lund and Peters catch a few cases now. We focus on this ourselves without getting the big man involved.”

“What’s the benefit?”

He drank again, sucked anything extra off his upper lip. “I need to think a bit.”

“So now you’re getting all Zen-style on me?”

He lifted and dropped his shoulders. “Maybe I am.”

I stretched in my seat; I was on the passenger side, with the laptop bolted in front of me. Maybe Hendricks wanted me to read between the lines. If he was letting our guy have the night, wipe out another sleazebag maybe with some additional time, then why would I go against it.

But really I had no idea what to think.

I touched my lips, thought about smoking a cigarette. I’d given it up over a year ago, both at my own urging and Tim’s insistence that it left an awful smell on my hair and clothes, but all of a sudden, I missed it.

Even without Tim, I was glad I’d quit. I felt better and liked my new nonsmoking life—being a smoker had turned from a night-out anomaly into something I needed. That had real effects. Now I had better wind and felt physically stronger.

“Go outside and smoke,” he said. “If I thought it’d help me get past that scene, I’d do the same.”

“I’m good.”

He laughed. “I was just thinking, won’t this make a good story on my next date?” He reached down for the starter and revved the engine.

“Especially if you never want to see her again.”

“Oh, Donner. You’re the only date I could share this fine moment with.” He batted his eyelashes.

“Harassment. Seriously.
And
you’re making me ill.” I put my coffee in a holder. “I’m going to start carrying a recorder in my purse.”

“Please do.”

He popped the last bite of cruller into his mouth. With his coffee in one hand, he shifted into drive and pulled out onto the street. It was just about rush hour in San Francisco, and we were headed toward the worst of it.

“So what’s next?”

“We go home for the night, come back at this again tomorrow.”

“You’re sure?”

Hendricks nodded. “What you have planned for later? Anything good?”

“Tonight? Nada. I’ll probably check email and see if I can drink myself to sleep.”

“No. No. Do something good for yourself. Clear your head after that scene at Dub’s. It’ll do us both some good.” He smiled. “Partner’s orders.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

So I followed what Hendricks said. I went home from the Hall and ate a salmon filet with a side of steamed kale and quinoa. I checked in with my online dating, saw nothing I felt any need to respond to, and left it at that.

At seven thirty, when the youth league practices ended, I was the first adult out on the basketball courts at the rec center. Dribbling my own ball, making layups from both sides, it took me only a few minutes of activity to break a sweat and start feeling better. I felt the rush of breathing hard, transitioned to knocking down jumpers from the wings and picked up the pace a notch.

Two guys came on at the other end of the court, started a game of one-on-one. I was only peripherally aware of them; my focus was on the case in the back of my head and the ball in the front. At times, the best and biggest breaks on cases or realizations of life happened while I was doing something athletic, getting my mind free and clear.

Maybe this was what Hendricks meant by doing something good for myself, clearing my head, why he’d insisted we take the night off. At the same time, if a lax attitude led to another dead scumbag, I wouldn’t be the first one to sound an alarm.

But there
was
something that nagged at me about it. I spiked the ball with my fist; it bounced up hard, just missing my face.

“Hey, watch out there.”

I turned and saw Alan standing before me. He and a few of his friends had just arrived. No Mustache, but I recognized one of the others from our game.

“Hi. Yeah, don’t want to hurt the ball, do I?”

He smiled. “To say nothing of your face.”

I could feel myself blush, which made me say something fast: “Not that.”

“Listen, I—” He paused, and in that moment, my phone rang. I had set it on a bleacher under the basket. That was part of the job: to stay by the phone. We were, after all, still on call.

The ringer chimed again.

“That’s your phone?”

If Lund and Peters were dodging another body, I would kill them.

I said, “I should get that,” and jogged over to it. Picking it up, I saw Lieutenant Bowen’s number on the screen and knew my night of relaxation had come to an end.

“Sorry.” I pushed to talk and held the phone to my ear. “Donner.”

Alan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. I hated being
this girl
, the one who could never give herself in to what was happening, who always had to answer her job’s call.

“We got a potential wit for your body on Ellis. Says she was on scene as it transpired and saw your suspect. You’ll want to get down here and get whatever you can from her.”

“Roger that, Lieutenant.”

He had already hung up.

I would have to rush home, take a shower, and get down to the Hall fast. Hendricks would be on his way too, and maybe he’d offer me a ride. If not, I’d call a cab.

Alan said, “You have to go.”

“It’s that obvious?” I reminded myself to enjoy the little things, that this guy had actually come over to talk to me. I checked out his black-with-white-trim Kobe high-tops and baggy shorts. Tight shirt. He was all right.

But my internal Bowen clock ticked.

“Yeah,” I said. I pushed my hair back behind my ear. “I do have to run. Wish I could stay.”

“Light up that jumper again.”

I laughed. Complimenting a girl on her game—he could do a lot worse.

“What are you?” He gestured at my phone. “Do you work for a startup? My friends with startups work
all
the time.”

I started shoving my basketball into my duffle, pushed an arm through a jacket sleeve.

I wanted to ask his number, get it, and run, but being so forward scared off more guys than it didn’t, in my experience.

What was even worse at scaring guys off was the truth of my job.

I drew in my breath and gave it to him straight. “I’m a cop. Homicide.”

“Oh.” His face showed surprise, then tension, then pleasure. I could live with that. Better than the usual scared reaction. “Must be something important then.”

With my jacket on both arms now, I sat to yank my sweatpants up over my Jordans. “It’s a case. So yeah, kind of.”

He turned to check his friends, who appeared to be more interested in shooting buckets than their friend talking to a woman. Maybe I really was becoming one of the guys. That or these were real ballers. I knew there was a reason Alan kept popping into my head. He wasn’t fake; he really had game.

“So, think I can get your number?”

I stopped what I was doing, sweats at midthigh, and looked up. Not my most attractive moment, I’m sure, but I’m not sure he didn’t feel as awkward as I.

I might have giggled, just a little.

I know: Clara Donner, homicide cop, is not supposed to do that, but it happened. It did.

He shrugged. “Maybe we could play ball or something else. Get together for a movie.”

“Even dinner,” I said.

“Yeah. That’s cool too.”

I stood up and showed him my phone, went through the routine where I called him so he had my number. Then I had his too. I’d add his name to it later.

Then he said, “I’m Alan.”

“Clara. Yeah. I remember.” We shook hands. Awkward. I wanted to give him a pound or a knuckle bump, but that’d have been even worse. What I really wanted to do was kiss him. But not yet.

I’d see what happened when he called.

CHAPTER TWENTY

When I got to the Hall, I found Hendricks already waiting for me at his desk, pushing paper around with a pencil. Bowen’s office was dark, blinds drawn.

“Witness in four. So much for us thinking about it, huh?”

“I was surprised it was Bowen who called us.”

Hendricks frowned. “Yeah, well. Bad news travels. You ready for her?”

He handed me the file, and I buzzed through it. Her name was Deborah Szajngarten, and I’d be damned if I’d try to say that out loud. She had walked in off the street about two hours before, talking about Dub, details of the murder scene she couldn’t have faked.

It was strange to actually get a witness, especially one who came in. Maybe that’s what interested Bowen.

“Come on.” Hendricks got up and led me around to the viewing room. We checked out Szajngarten through the two-way glass while she waited. She looked worse for wear, like a seven-month street zombie who’d gotten there in four—and was pissed off we’d kept her waiting.

I felt my adrenaline rise. No need for caffeine now.

“Let’s do this,” I said, and Hendricks led us in.

“Why you got me in here like this?” she asked as soon as we’d opened the door. “I’m not a suspect.” She pointed at the mirror. “Who’s behind there?”

“I apologize, Ms. Szaj—” Hendricks stopped. “How do you say that?”

“Just call me Shine,” she said, “Debbie Shine what everyone calls me. Or Sunshine.”

He smiled. “Nice. I can do that, Ms. Sunshine.”

I leaned on a wall, watching her body language as he asked for her particulars, went over what was already in the file. When I saw he was making her uncomfortable, I sat down.

“What my partner’s trying to say”—I reached across the table to show her my empty hand, a peace gesture—“and you’ll have to excuse him for being so male tonight. He’s not always like this.” I winked. “We dragged him away from some private business.”

I shot Hendricks a wink of apology but knew he was happy to be the sacrificial lamb if it made her more comfortable.

“We can take you back out to talk at our desks, but this room is more quiet. Outside can get pretty loud.”

Hendricks said, “There’s no one behind that mirror. I promise.”

She pushed her lips out, nodded like it was settled. “I’m all right.”

She started rummaging through her purse, brought out a crumpled soft pack of Camels. “Mind if I smoke?”

I pushed an empty paper cup toward her to use as an ashtray, the ring of old coffee long dried on its bottom.

“How about if you tell us what brought you in tonight?”

“My friend got killed. I saw who did it.” She massaged her face, rubbing around her eyes. I wanted to know if she’d slept, what all she’d done, and where she’d been since Dub’s death the night before.

“Your friend?” Hendricks said. “Dub.”

She turned away, lit her cigarette, and inhaled hard enough that I could hear the tobacco crackle. Squinting through the smoke, she said, “I seen the guy clear as I see you two right now. I cared about Dub. No matter what you heard.”

“Would you be willing to identify him? Maybe look through some mug shots or sit with a sketch artist?”

“Yeah. I could do that.” She nodded. “I would.”

Hendricks asked if she knew the man she’d seen, and she pulled her lips away from yellowed teeth like they hurt her—or the memory did. Her gums weren’t as far gone as some of the others’. The cigarette burned in her hand. In truth, I liked the secondhand smoke. “Had you ever seen him before last night?”

“I thought Dub maybe recognized the dude. He said something to him.” She coughed. “I don’t know who the hell this guy was.”

“How did he get inside?”

“Dub lets in guys. Dudes that needed a quick fix.” She shrugged. “Maybe.” She stopped, unsure what was all right to tell us.

I touched her hand. “Go on. It’s all right. Whatever you tell us is okay.”

“Time to time. Usually someone he knew real well, but last night we was partying hard. What was Dub thinking? I don’t know. Never seen this dude before last night.”

Her leg started bouncing double time under the table. “Why he let him in, then? Dub. Why he do that?” She smoked. “I really can’t get in trouble for what I say here, right? No Carmen Miranda?”

It was all she could do to stay seated at the table.

“You’re safe, Debbie. Nothing you say can get you in trouble here. We’re just after the man who killed your friend.”

“That’s good. Good then.” She inhaled, nodded as if settling something inside her. She tested the surface tension of the tabletop with her fingers, as if trying to draw reassurance.

Then more words came out in a rush. “I asked if he wanted something from me. You know? Like, he was staring. So I asked. Right? Said he wanted to get me out of there.
Save me
from Dub. I laughed. Who’s he gonna take out of there?”

Hendricks asked, “You said Dub called him something? Can you remember what it was?”

I touched his wrist, trying to ease him off, get him to let her tell it. The story was coming out; we just had to give it space to flow.

“We both saw his face then, saw he wasn’t right. No.” She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, she said, “Something was in his eyes, like, you know when you see something in a person real bad?”

I told her I did, though from the looks of her, she had already seen plenty of hard, bad things in her world. More than I. This guy must’ve been a real prize. “His eyes?”

“Yeah, creepy. Maybe Dub did know him. I don’t know. He called the dude ‘Father,’ I think. ‘Padre.’ This guy didn’t like that one bit. But then Dub just did it again. You don’t kill a guy for that though. Uh-uh.

“Maybe he knew the guy from somewheres, I’m figuring. Then the dude looked angry. His clothes was all black. This white dude. He was white. Did I say that already? Clean cut, you know?” She bit her lips, nodding to herself.

“Then he got this look. He stared me right in the face and told me he loved me.
Loved
me, he said. The fuck is that? What kind of love?”

She had smoked her cigarette down to its filter, then lit another off the butt.

“Then he grabbed D and threw him against the wall. Broke things. I tried to fight him off, to help out D, you know? But the guy tossed me. I hit my head.”

She fingered the back of her skull.

“We can get that checked out for you,” Hendricks said.

“No. No hospitals. I’m fine.” She paused, studying the table again. “When I come to, I was tied up in the bed. Then I just heard what he did. To Dub. I couldn’t move.”

She stopped for a time, gathering herself, smoking, her hands shaking.

“I couldn’t hear what the guy was asking, you know? But I heard Dub saying names between when he was crying out. Just some names.

“Why he did that to D?”

We looked at her without answers. She paused as if she might cry, but didn’t. I wished I’d brought a box of tissues in with us. In my jacket I kept a handkerchief, but didn’t offer.

“Then the guy come in and untie me. It was done. Dub been quiet for a while. He told me to wait fifteen minutes before I moved. Said he didn’t want to hurt me, but he would though. He told me again that he loved me. Said I could be all right if I left the city.

“So I waited. He left. I heard the door close. I still waited. Like, you know, it could be a trick or something.”

I nodded, but she was already into it on her own.

“Then after what I thought was fifteen minutes, enough time, I come out and seen what he did. How he done Dub.
Man.
” She squeezed her eyes shut and tears spilled over.

When she was calm, Hendricks said, “You said he wanted to save you? Why would he say that?”

“Man, I don’t know. Some strange shit, right? But not like save me take me to the country or something, more like save me in like a Biblical sense. He said, offer salvation. Like he was a preacher man or something. A freak what he was.”

“Anything else you can remember? Anything at all?”

“He took a picture. I saw it when he was leaving. Had one of Dub’s pictures, framed, under his arm. I don’t have no idea why he would.”

Hendricks leaned in. “What was it a picture of?”

“Who,” she said. “Just one of Dub and some of us girls from a Christmas party.”

“A picture?” I said. “Anything else?”

She shook her head no. Then when we asked her again about working with a sketch artist, she nodded.

She ground out her cigarette in the paper cup. “I don’t care. Tell me who I talk to. I can describe him. I want you to catch him.”