Safeword (20 page)

Here it comes.

“You okay, son?”

I blinked. Had not expected that
at all.
“Yeah, I think so. Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you. Only thing keeping me from wiping the smirk off that asshole’s face myself is his friendship with my boss,” Lieutenant Bachman said jovially. “I heard what he said to you, and man, woman, gay, or straight, we’re all human beings, and he was wrong to talk to you like that.”

In a flash, I remembered. The red rage, the connection of knuckle to jaw, fist to bone, the sound of a tooth hitting linoleum. I’d gotten two solid punches in before Buchman pulled me off Trent, both of which broke something on Trent’s face. Judging by the blood caked into my knuckles, his nose had been the first casualty, the tooth the second.

Bachman led us back inside and gestured to the other side of the squad room, where a few people crowded around Trent with first aid supplies. “Soon as they’re done cleaning the bastard up, I’m giving him a three day unpaid suspension. Not that it’ll do any good, but I’ll be free of his bad attitude for a while.” Buchman grinned at me. “Need someone to look at your hands?”

“No, thank you,” I said, stuffing them in my pants pockets, embarrassed.

“See, Herman raised you DeGrassi boys to be polite. Trent could have used your dad growing up.”

“I’d rather not be related to him,” I grumbled, making the man roar with laughter.

“I will be forced to inform your supervisor of what happened here, but I’ll tell Kittridge I gave you a verbal dressing down and anything else he does should also be verbal. Kittridge is a good man. I was glad to see him promoted, even if it meant he left our little fiefdom here at Fourth. Get your coats. From now on, anything you need from us about Halloran or Ditmar, you come straight to me.” A shadow crossed his features. “What’s your take? Same perp?”

“We don’t know yet,” Myah answered honestly, shrugging into her coat. “But there are enough similarities between the scenes to test the evidence with that in mind. We’ll keep you in the loop, sir.”

“What are your next steps? Anything I can help with?”

A detective named Westlyn brushed past me more roughly than necessary, carrying a baggie of ice, and I nearly stumbled, but Bachman steadied me with a hand on my arm and shot the passing detective a glare. I ignored the man completely as he walked toward the group surrounding Trent.

“I think going to the media might be about the only option we have left. I don’t want to lose any more cops.” Myah looked at me sharply, frowning, but she said nothing.

We shook hands before departing, and while I avoided the gazes of the others in the bullpen, a couple called out goodbyes. It seemed Trent divided loyalties wherever he went.

“Let’s stop by that church while we’re down this way,” I said, pulling the driver’s door open.

“Gavin,” Myah said, stopping me from putting the car in gear with her hand on top of mine. “Trent was wrong.”

“I know,” I said hastily, not wanting to pick it to death.

“I mean, he was wrong about you abandoning me to fend for myself. You never abandoned me, even if we didn’t work together for a while. I don’t want him twisting anything about our partnership for his sick head games. Even if he thinks you left everybody behind, you didn’t.”

I met her concerned gaze. “I know, Myah. Even though I lost my temper, I know how to deal with Trent. It’s okay. Though I’m surprised he risked you going to Victoria about his D.A.R.E. program fuckup by pushing my buttons.”

She frowned. “Yeah, that threat didn’t last as long as I’d hoped.” A long beat of silence passed. “So, the media? You’re still thinking about that?”

I shrugged. “We’re running out of options, and someone else just died.”

The church was a great stone behemoth on a stretch of Gravois Road that wasn’t as commercially populated as one would expect for that area of the city. The cavernous doors opened easily, despite their obvious weight, and the hushed interior was dim enough to require we take a moment for our eyes to adjust.

Once we sought out the main office, we were led through the narthex to a large kitchen suitable for feeding school children. It opened off a cavernous banquet room that was currently set up with long tables and chairs, and a few people milled about, most of them layered against the cold, and looking weathered and beaten down. Lunch time in the soup kitchen was near.

Leslie Bell was a fierce woman with a ready smile and a spine so straight she could have given Atlas a run for his money holding up the world. As kitchen manager, she made a believer out of me that she could actually make a difference to the homeless population served by the volunteers who buzzed behind the long counter, tending pots and pans the size of five gallon buckets and measureable in feet as opposed to inches. Her short stature—barely five feet—meant nothing in the face of her gigantic presence and her obvious warmth.

“You’ll have to follow me to talk, detectives,” she said, ushering us into the warm room redolent with the smells of mashed potatoes, chicken, and warm bread. “If I don’t keep up, we don’t open the doors on time for the next meal, and that doesn’t happen on my shifts.” She murdered a carrot, then another and another. Her skills with a knife were formidable.

“Detective John Ditmar was a regular volunteer for you, correct, Miss Bell?” I asked.

“Was?” She raised a brow at me without taking her eyes off her chopping.

“He was found dead in his home yesterday, I’m sorry to say.” And I was.

She stopped cutting, eyes wide and shocked, disbelieving. She called one of the other volunteers to take over maiming vegetables, and then led us to the side by the back door, out of the way.

“With this outfit, we see a lot of hardship, bad circumstances and the consequences of those. We care, but we also have to keep enough distance to stay sane. These people can bring you down with their stories if you’re not careful to protect yourself. But we don’t do that with the volunteers, you know? We bond, because someone has to be strong for these people, so we bolster each other as much as we can. It’s not unusual to hear of the death of a visitor to the food line, but a volunteer....” Her voice wavered and she teared up. After a moment, she composed herself. “What can I tell you that will help?”

“Did you ever see anyone display anger at John, or distrust?”

“Anger, no, but every person coming through the line distrusted him at first. He’s... was a cop, and these people are wary of cops.” A quick glance around the room showed people through the kitchen window eyeing us with suspicion, hunching away despite the yards of space between us. “John got to them, though. He always had a smile and a word of encouragement for them. Sometimes, they’d see him outside the church, and he told me he made a point to let them know he was on their side if they needed help. Before they got themselves in trouble. Many of the regulars came to know him.”

“Any of them show hostility?” Myah asked. “Or have a reason to think him less than a helpful volunteer?”

“Not that I know of,” Leslie said.

Close to the doorway to the serving room, there was a sound, drawing our attention to a young boy, maybe no more than sixteen. He was in a long-sleeved gray T-shirt and black jeans, and his worn shoes were untied, the laces flopping around as he stepped.

“Danny?” Leslie all but barked, zeroed in on the boy.

“Yes, ma’am?” Danny asked, polite but disinterested.

“You know something I don’t about John?”

“Nothing I need to tell the cops,” Danny replied, eyes cast down on the cups he was stacking.

We carefully approached him, Leslie in front and clearly used to dealing with the boy’s sullen tone.

“You know that doesn’t fly with me, Danny Taylor. A man is dead, a good man. If you know something, why don’t you want to help?”

“Good in what context?” he grumbled, surprising me with his articulation. Up close, I could see the stubble unevenly poking from his chin and the greasy look of his hair pulled back by a simple rubber band into a small ponytail at the back of his head, two chunks on either side of his face not quite long enough for the band’s capture. He was tall, lanky, and his skin was a pockmarked mess. His jeans had holes in the knees, and not the deliberate kind many his age wore. The sole of one of his shoes was pulling loose. He was shabby, but not unclean. Homeless? I couldn’t be sure. He yanked on a pair of rubber gloves and set about pulling apart a sheet pan of hot rolls for distribution into baskets.

“What do you mean?” Myah asked. “John wasn’t a good man?”

Danny glared at her but said nothing.

Leslie huffed. “Danny, you know the rules. To work in my kitchen and get the benefit of regular use of the church’s facilities, you have to stay on the right side of the law. That includes answering questions when the police ask them.”

Danny slapped his palms on the counter and turned to us in exasperation. “I’m sure to that fucking Rick asshole, Officer John was a great man, but then don’t we have to consider how upstanding Rick is?”

Rick. Why does that sound familiar?
“Who is Rick?”

“Never mind.” Danny sulked, going back to the bread. Leslie stepped forward and slid the pan out of Danny’s reach.

“Answer them, or I’ll have you on bathroom duty after chili night.”

Danny surprised me by bowing his head slightly to Leslie. She had a way with people, it was obvious, knowing when pressure could be applied and when to back off. Despite her warning, the hand she settled on his arm—she couldn’t quite reach his shoulder—was supportive. She wouldn’t make him face whatever was bothering him alone.

“Rick’s the guy who tried to pick me up a couple weeks ago,” he finally admitted. He looked around to see who might overhear, and Myah stepped forward immediately.

“Is there somewhere else you’d be more comfortable talking, Danny?”

Looking at her through his eyelashes, Danny seemed to take Myah’s measure first, then mine. I wore my confusion on my face, but not an ounce of suspicion.

“C’mon,” Leslie said, tilting her head and pulling Danny toward the back of the kitchen. We stepped outside by the dumpsters, the creak of the screen door sending a few crows to flight, their dinner interrupted.

The quiet of the parking lot was incongruous with the steady hum of voices growing inside, but it stood to reason. Homeless people didn’t exactly drive for their lunch fare.

“Okay, so who’s Rick?” Leslie asked, steering the conversation back to relevance.

“Rick’s the name of the john who tried to pick me up last week,” Danny said, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders against the cold and us. “At least, that’s what he told me when he introduced himself.”

The file in Ditmar’s desk, the college friend he’d pulled a favor for. It was starting to fall into place.

“Did you go with him?” I asked, earning myself a scowl.

“No!” Danny denied vehemently. “I may be down on my luck, but I’m not a whore. At least, I haven’t had to yet.”

“And you won’t,” Leslie promised. She wrapped her arm around his waist, her sheer force of will seeming to hold him up.

“No, I didn’t go with him, but the cop who overheard him offer me money for a back alley blow job didn’t seem to hear me turn him down. Or see me try to give the money back. All that cop cared about was that money changed hands for sexual favors, and that was it for me. Fucker got me kicked out of the one foster home I’ve ever liked.”

“What happened?” Myah encouraged. “Where was this?”

Danny took a breath, jiggling on his toes a little as he assessed us. He leaned into Leslie marginally, for warmth maybe, or the support she offered. “I was late going home that night. Spent some time at the school library studying for a chemistry test with a classmate, and I was walking home around five when this guy pulled up in his minivan. He asked if I wanted a ride, but I said no, my parents were waiting for me with dinner. I was only a couple blocks from home and I know better than to get in some strange dude’s car. I don’t care how nice they look, there are some sick assholes out there.”

Don’t I know it,
I thought, but kept my focus on Danny and his story.

“Anyways, he wouldn’t drive away, so I walked faster. Dude parked and got out, walking with me. I didn’t want him to see I was scared, so I kept walking normal, but tried to ignore him. He offered me fifty bucks for a blow job and slapped the money in my hand, telling me he was good for it. That’s when the cherries pulled to the curb. The cop in the car got out just as another cop came out of a doorway we’d just passed, and they slapped cuffs on both of us. Said I was soliciting. I had my backpack full of school books and was goin’ home, but they wouldn’t listen, especially when they found a condom in the front pocket of my book bag. Said I didn’t have to look like a pro to be one. Hell, my foster mother gave me that condom when she overheard me ask Felicity Steuben to the Junior Prom. Said I had it hard enough without screwing up my future, you know?”

I nodded. “Your foster mother sounds like she cares.”

Danny scoffed. “Not enough. Soon as I called her to tell her what happened, she called my case-worker, who came and got me out of lock-up. I don’t have a record, but they see a foster kid and assume the worst. That night, Mrs. K had me placed with another family. Said they didn’t want to, but they couldn’t risk me being around my foster sister, Sara, anymore, not if I was tricking. No one believes me when I say I wasn’t.” His eyes were wide, pleading, and he’d pulled his hands from his pockets, palms up. Classic declaration of innocence, and I found his steady gaze and lack of nervous gestures telling.

“I believe you,” I assured him. “So how’d you know John Ditmar had anything to do with Rick.”

Danny shrugged. “The new home they put me in was a toilet. Stank of glue, and the foster dad was one of those military, scream-at-em-drill-sergeant types. I took off my second night there. A couple days later, I was outside a coffee shop waiting for Felicity to meet me. She found out what happened and didn’t want to talk to me at school, but finally agreed to hear me out so maybe I could save our date. While I was waiting, I saw the same asshole harassing another guy up the street. He obviously learned his lesson.” He angrily kicked a pebble into the side of one of the dumpsters. “I went into the coffee shop to wait so he wouldn’t see me and bother me again.”