Murder Mountain (10 page)

Coop remained quiet for several minutes, absorbing everything I had just told him. I didn’t say anything because I was waiting for Coop to start screaming at me and blaming me for Boz’s death.

“Have you told Kincaid all of this?” he said, finally.

“The extremely edited version; I didn’t want to get her all excited if this turned out to be nothing. You know how she is.”

“Well, I guess it didn’t turn out to be nothing, did it?”

“No, I guess not. I’ll tell her when everything calms down, but you know, and you’re assigned to Boz’s murder. Have the uniforms go to Andrea Dean’s right now and find out if Boz ever showed up.”

“Do you really think this has something to do with your case, CeeCee? I mean, tell me your gut instinct, it’s usually right on. Does it?” Coop looked me right in the eyes.

“How in the hell am I supposed to know that right now, this very minute, as I stand here? Tell me Coop, how? You know better than to ask me that. If I truly thought it did, I would tell you, wouldn’t I? I’m feeling really shitty right now about this whole thing. Just go with the uniforms, check Andrea’s house and let me know,” I said angrily, walking away.

Coop started to follow me and I just waved him off. I couldn’t talk to anyone just then. I was too upset.

For the next hour or so, everyone stayed pretty quiet. Sheriff Stephens and Chief Raines had arrived shortly after I did, and now we all stood and watched as the crime lab techs processed the scene and the coroner took Boz’s body away.

I wondered how Boz’s parents were doing. He was an only child and their entire life. They were always bragging to people about how their son was a policeman, a detective even. The sheriff had sent one of the patrol captains and the police chaplain to the Boscerellis’ house to give the death notification. He would be headed over there himself shortly, I was sure.

After the coroner left, I called Eric. Uncle Mike had called him and he was pretty shook up about the whole thing. He didn’t know Boz as well as I did, but losing a brother cop hurts the same for everyone.

Eric could tell I was a mess and asked if he needed to come pick me up. I was okay, and not to worry, I told him. Eric started asking me details about the murder. I didn’t tell him over the phone that Boz was in Roseland because I’d asked him to go there.

I wasn’t in the mood to get into that just then, and I knew that it would upset Eric. Anyway, I had to start helping everyone knock on doors and look for witnesses. I told Eric I would see him later.

Not one witness. A police officer essentially gets his head cut off in broad daylight, and not one person saw or heard a thing. It’s amazing how many people live their lives with their heads buried in the sand—or do they? This was Roseland. I wondered how many of these people shut their doors after telling the cops they didn’t know anything, knowing that they saw something but refused to tell us, or worse, started celebrating that a cop was dead. It wouldn’t surprise me, but God forbid I heard them do it.

We were at a dead end already, which wasn’t good. We had to hope that the crime lab was going to pull something that would lead us somewhere. We would all have to put all of our snitches out, and put out a substantial reward, which usually brings in tips, as well as all the mental cases and drug addicts giving false tips thinking they’ll get the money for them.

Coop called me on my cell phone as I was driving home. No one was at Andrea Dean’s house. He said he put a business card on the door requesting someone call the minute they get home. The neighbors said that they hadn’t seen her all day, and that her mother works all different hours. I wasn’t aware she still lived with her mother. I told Coop I would find Andrea, and that he could concentrate all his efforts on finding Boz’s killer.

It had been five years since we’d lost an officer. The last one had been making a car stop, and had been barely out of his car when the suspect had got out and had started shooting, all because he’d had a misdemeanor warrant for petty theft. That officer hadn’t even had time to draw his gun.

Before that, we’d gone through a period where we were losing cops left and right. We’ve lost seven in the last twenty years. The previous five years was the longest we’d gone without a cop being killed, and I think everyone believed we had broken the spell. The problem is, with this job, it comes with the territory, unfortunately.

When I pulled into my garage, Eric was waiting for me at the door. It was his night off and the girls had already gone to bed. It was that late. When I walked inside, I dropped my briefcase and fell into his arms, sobbing, my emotions finally breaking all over me. Eric just held me, saying nothing, until I got myself together. Without asking, Eric made me a drink, a very strong scotch on the rocks. I rarely drink hard liquor, but, as with the tears, that night was an exception. We sat down in our sunroom, still quiet. I immediately lit up a cigarette, which is a cardinal sin in our house, and drank half my glass of scotch. Eric didn’t say anything about the smoking. Usually he would go ballistic about it, but he just sat there.

I have always had serious death issues. I swear, no one goes through what I do when someone dies. I lay awake most of the night for weeks, thinking about death. I don’t know that most cops are like me, but I was raised different than most of them. Maybe looking at pictures of homicides when I was only six years old scarred me for life. Maybe it was when both my grandfathers died when I was twelve. Who knows? Every time I see a dead body, my own mortality hits me in the face. Then I convince myself that I’m going to die soon and get all worked up. After that, I diagnose myself with every terminal illness on the planet for the next month. Of course, my condition just screams therapy, but since I had no use for therapists, I tried to deal with it on my own.

After I’d started on my second glass of scotch and had begun to feel its effects, I opened up and told Eric everything. When I was done, he just looked at me and said nothing.

“Hello? What’s the matter?” I snapped, a little irritated by his lack of response.

When he finally did speak, he did so slowly, saying, “I think it’s pretty clear that what happened to Boz today had something to do with your case. And for you to sit there and pretend that you don’t know for sure is pure bullshit.”

I thought I liked his lack of response better, because what he did say moved me from being somewhat irritated to being plenty irritated.

“I’m not pretending anything! We know absolutely nothing that links Boz to my case. I’m being realistic. You’re being an ass!” I was getting angrier.

“Do you realize that would have, not could have, but would have been you today?” Eric was clearly angry, something I was not used to.

“It entered my mind, but I refuse to dwell on it. If I did, you would be putting me in the nut house right now. I can’t think about it; it makes me sick. Not to mention that I’m overwhelmed with guilt, thinking that should’ve been me, not Boz, and happy because it wasn’t!” I started to feel the tears coming again.

“You better dwell on it.” Eric wasn’t letting up. “You better dwell on it hard. I don’t know what you’re getting yourself into with this case, but it sounds to me like these people are downright dangerous!”

I cut him off. “You were the one who told me the whole story was ridiculous in the first place! Remember? At Selina’s game? You said I was ridiculous for believing Hensley then, but now, I’m foolish for getting mixed up with dangerous people! Which is it Eric? Do you believe all of this or not!” I yelled.

“Just relax,” he said, trying hard to keep his voice calm. “Yelling at each other is not going to help. All I’m saying is watch yourself. Did you call the FBI today?”

“I told you I’m not calling them until I have a lot of these facts confirmed.” I thrust my jaw forward stubbornly.

“You had a cop get his god damn head cut off today! What other confirmation do you fucking need?” He was shouting again.

“Eric, please quit yelling at me. I really can’t take this tonight. I have no evidence to give the FBI. If I call them right now, the first thing they’ll ask me is if we checked into arrests Boz has made in the past, did he piss anybody off, blah-blah-blah. We’ll have to get those answers, or significant evidence linking his murder to my case, before they’ll help. They won’t come down on a hunch. You know that.”

“Okay. You win, but like I said, watch yourself. If it starts to get too out-of-hand, I’ll call the FBI myself.” Eric got up off his chair and came over to sit next to me. He put his arm around me while I laid my head on his shoulder. “I love you,” he said quietly. “I worry about you. The girls need a mother more than anything. I didn’t mean to yell at you, but thinking about that being you today scared me to death.”

We spent the rest of our evening in silence. I barely remember walking up the stairs and into our bedroom. I was so emotionally exhausted, plus clobbered by two and a half glasses of scotch, that I think I fell asleep taking my shoes off.

When my alarm woke me up, I felt like I’d just been asleep for about fifteen minutes. I was undressed and under my sheets, though, a clear indication that Eric had put me in bed. It took a few minutes for the events of the previous day to come crashing down on me, almost bringing me to tears before I even sat up. I thought about the day ahead and truly didn’t think I could bear it, but knew I had to.

By the time I got to work, which was earlier than usual, Kincaid and Coop were already there. Coop grabbed me in the hallway.

“Brace yourself and don’t flip out,” he started out. “I told Kincaid what you told me yesterday. I had to, and I know you understand why.This is about Boz. So just go in there and listen to her, and then get on with your case. She’s hugely pissed off, and she’s in her office waiting for you.” He gave me a weak smile. “I hope you’re not angry at me, but you know there is a lot of relevant information in your case that might help us catch Boz’s killer.”

I knew this day was going to be one of my worst, and that I should’ve called in sick. Coop was right, though. The captain needed to know.

“I’m not angry, Coop,” I sighed. “You’re right. Let me go and get this over with.” I slouched off toward Kincaid’s office.

I was barely though her door when she let me have it with both barrels. She was sitting behind her desk, but immediately stood up and grabbed its sides. I sat down in a chair in front of her and held my breath.

“Are there some things you
failed
to tell me about your case when you briefed me on it? You didn’t feel that the possibility of other missing girls, probably
dead
girls, a major drug operation, and the fact that Bobby Delphy is involved in this? Hey, this was something I needed to know! Who do you think you are? You think you can just come and go as you please, do what you want, when you want? You made your case sound like nothing but a girl who got involved with a shit-bag and drugs, and decided to take off! I am your immediate supervisor and you lied to me. I could have your badge for this! Maybe your lack of details wouldn’t have bothered me as much two days ago, but it sure as fuck bothers me today! I guarantee, had I known all this, you wouldn’t have
forgotten
to interview Andrea Dean, you
would
have interviewed Bobby Delphy by now, and,” she screamed, “Boz
would not
be dead!”

She had just crossed the line with her last sentence, basically blaming me for Boz’s death. I’d had more than enough and stood up.

“Sit down!”
she shouted, “I’m not done!”

“I will not!” I shot back. “Just
who
do you think
you’re
talking to? Let me tell you something,
Captain!
I was investigating cases while you were still in the administrative bureau giving blowjobs! Don’t
you
tell me how to do anything! You couldn’t find your way out of a paper bag! And as for your insinuation that I am responsible for Boz’s death, I am offended! If I would’ve told you the details, you surely would’ve ruined this case up beyond belief! Why? Because you’re an incompetent Captain, that’s why! You shouldn’t even have this job; God knows you’re not qualified! On your knees, maybe, but you’re not even qualified to be a God damn jailer!”

“How dare you!” she cut in.

“I’m not finished!
If you took your head out of your own ass for just one day, you would have some clue to how this job works. I
still
have no concrete evidence that anything Matt Hensley said is true! Just listen to yourself! I’ve had enough of your crap and this conversation!” I snarled dismissively as I walked towards the door, kicking the garbage can against the wall on my way out.

“CeeCee, you get back here!”

“I don’t think so!” were my last words as I was through the door.

Coop and Sean were standing in the middle of the hallway with their mouths hanging open as I went barreling by them into my office, slamming the door. I sat down at my desk and took several deep breaths.
Could this day have possibly started out any worse?

After I calmed down, I started thinking about what I was going to do over the next several weeks, if not months, that I would obviously be suspended for, if I wasn’t terminated completely.

Maybe I would have those candle or Tupperware parties. That might be fun. I was still in thought about my career change when there was a light knock at my door. I knew it wasn’t Kincaid since the door didn’t fly off its hinges.

“Yeah. Come in,” I sounded more tired than angry. It was Coop.

“Jesus, CeeCee. Are you okay? I’ve known you for a long time and never heard you go off the wall like that.” He almost tiptoed into my office. I think he was actually scared.

“I’m fine. I’m just thinking about what my new career will be when they fire me for that minor episode.”

“I doubt if they’ll fire you. You may have a nice, long 30-day suspension, though,” he smiled.

“What’s she doing now?” I asked, assuming she was already headed for the sheriff’s office.

“Actually, CeeCee, I think she’s crying. You were a little harsh, talking about blowjobs amongst other things. I know you’re mad, but ...”