Season of the Witch (7 page)

“What? What’s your hurry, buddy?” he asked, slightly taken aback. He looked slightly hurt that I wasn’t nervous.

“I know you guys want to let me stew for a while, and I’d love to cooperate, but I’m ready to get out of here.”

“And just what makes you think that you’re going anywhere, pal?” He looked at the two-way mirror with a quizzical expression. The rest of them would be in there waiting to relieve him.

He looked me up and down in an intense, yet somehow uncaring manner. Like the man in the Ford had—the man I had killed.

“Look, I know the routine, and I’m getting is bored.”

“Is that so? And just where did you come by all of this experience, mister private eye?”

“I was a detective over at the North Precinct for some years.”

“Oh, yeah?” He tried to sound unconcerned, but something in his voice changed. “Who was your partner?” As he spoke the doors to the interrogation room flew open.

“I was.” A voice boomed from behind him.

“Now, listen Mister, you can’t just come in here while we’re in the middle of a police interrogation . . .” He fell silent as he caught sight of the gigantic cop who had just strode into the room. Detective Lieutenant Broom pulled out his golden shield and held it in front of him. He looked at the young detective with omnipotent disdain. He took in a mighty and ferocious breath.

“What you have here is a Mongolian cluster fuck, son. And that’s ‘sir’ to you.”

There were other cops in the door now, the younger ones looking at Broom with blatant curiosity or outright awe. I guessed that the room behind the mirror had probably just gotten very empty. An older detective pushed through the milling group and looked up at Broom.

“I’m chief Detective Magnuson. Inspector Broom, there’s a situation here that you may be unaware of. We all know who you are, and well . . . we have nothing but respect for you. I had no idea that this man used to be your partner. But we have a dead officer here, one of our detectives. And this man is responsible.”

“You’ve got jack shit is what you’ve got. The dead cop was under investigation by Internal Affairs. And whatever your man was doing when he got lead poisoning wasn’t legitimate.” Broom leaned down, his face close to Magnuson’s. “And that’s a fact.”

The older cop placed his hands on his hips and drew himself up to his full height. He still looked like a child next to Broom. “And just how do you know this?”

Broom smiled his Cheshire cat smile and produced a computer printout from his inside pocket, which he held out in front of him. He smacked it with his other hand and held it out to Magnuson and sneaked me a wink.

“You West Precinct boys checking stolen cars out to your officers nowadays? Because he was driving a stolen car—one that hadn’t been reported as recovered. And the word on the guy is he was being looked at by IA. You guys wanna cover for your crooked buddy, fine. You can
all
talk to the IA people. They love cover-ups. But if you’re planning on making somebody else dance for his sins, it isn’t going to be Longville.” He pointed one oversized ham my way.

There was a moment of profound silence while everyone digested this. The older detective took the computer printout, read it quickly, then handed it to a subordinate. While it slowly made the circuit, he murmured something and they walked out into the hall. “I wonder if you would come with me, Inspector Broom,” he asked in a positively courtly tone.

“Sure.” Broom turned to leave, then stopped and looked back at me. “Just sit tight a minute, Roland.” He looked at the young cop, who had sat frozen in front of me since Broom first addressed him. “And you!”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get him some coffee.”

They all turned to me and slowly filed out. I tried not to smile openly. The interrogation was going just fine without me.

* * *

After about an hour they all came back, their body heat terrifying in the stagnant, hot little room. Despite my discomfort, I noticed most of them looked slightly bemused. So, the peace pipe had been passed. Chief Detective Magnuson pushed to the front and came up to me.

He looked tired, in the way only homicide or vice cops look, tired deep down in the soul, as if he had seen too much evil and carried the burden of his knowledge with him always, a hulking weight one can never be free of completely.

“Lt. Broom here says that you were a good cop, and I hear that you’re decorated. That speaks damn highly of you, and I can tell you sincerely that I regret putting the both of you through this. But that doesn’t change the fact that one of the detectives from my squad is dead. And I need answers.”

There was a pregnant pause while everyone tried to figure out what to say next. The young man, taking out his chewing gum, spoke up first.

“We just want the straight story. If you’re on the level, Mr. Longville, tell us what you know and we can get this over with. For starters, what were you doing at Dodge Drive?”

“I received an anonymous call from someone requesting that I meet them at that address.”

The older man looked at the young detective crossly and spoke up. “Are you now or have you ever been associated with Longshot Lonnie O’Malley?”

What did Longshot have to do with anything?

“Longshot?” I finally managed.

Broom chimed in now. “What’s that two-bit thug got to do with anything?”

“As I’ve told you, Detective, and as you have apparently learned from other sources, the officer who was killed was under investigation, but we’re short-handed like everybody else. He wasn’t on suspension. There were hearings scheduled. He was also
conducting
an investigation. I happen to know that the investigation had been pointing to businesses on the North Side. Also some names came up, people dealing with Lonnie O’Malley’s racketeering—”

“That’ll be enough, Keeler!” Magnuson cut him off.

Keeler nodded toward me. “For Christ’s sake, Chief, Longshot wouldn’t use
this
guy . . . uh, because he ain’t Irish. Besides, we know Hazelwood was a dirty cop. He was in Longshot’s hip pocket. We all know it.”

So. At last I had a hint of something that began to explain the set-up. Magnuson sighed heavily and sat down across from me.
 

“Detective Keeler’s right, Longville. Hazelwood had wandered from the fold. But what I want to know is this. What did you have on Hazelwood?” He kept his eyes on my face. The ball was in my court again.

“Chief, before tonight I never even heard of this guy. I think he was following me a couple of days ago, but I don’t know why.”

I decided not to tell them that I did indeed know Longshot Lonnie O’Malley, that we were such good friends that he’d even had his hoods beat me up before. Or that I’d saved his life once and he still owed me. No use getting them all stirred up again.

Broom looked down at me. “Roland, you know the way it works. Chief Magnuson here has agreed to release you on your own recognizance, but there’s going to be some questions. I’ve assured him you would cooperate freely.”

“Okay. Fair enough. Fire away.”

Chief Detective Magnuson leaned in a little closer. He had a resigned look on his face. Taking a weary breath, he began with the battery of questions that he had to ask.

“Are you working on any case of your own that in any way involves Longshot Lonnie O’Malley, the criminal activities in the greater Birmingham area, or are you aware of any corrupt police activity in the city itself?” Magnuson leaned down and glared into my eyes.
 

I sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 6

Broom sat waiting in the lobby when I finally was allowed to leave that close little incubator of truth.

He rose and stretched ponderously. “What a night, huh?”

I smiled and slapped him on the back. “My hero.”

“Don’t thank me. Most of my information came from my friend in Motor Vehicles . . . and another friend of mine,”

I walked wearily out into the wet and weepy daylight, Broom beside me.

“Well, thank them both for me.”

“No sweat. I would ask if you wanted to go have a shot and a beer, despite the unholy hour, except that I know you don’t hit the tiger juice anymore.”

I shrugged. “I just need a little sleep, at this point. Those guys really grilled the hell out of me.”

Broom clicked his teeth with his tongue, and looked down at me with a fatherly air. “Hey, Roland, remember, these are the good guys. Anybody can make a mistake.”

“No hard feelings with me, Les.”

A black Crown Victoria cruised up and stopped in front of us. It was Keeler, the young detective with the freckles and the bubble gum.

“Hey, Longville, you need a ride?” His eyes shifted from me to Broom.

“To err is human,” Broom murmured. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Give me a call later.”

“Hop in,” the young man called out. I slid into right front seat as Broom walked away. “I figured I’d give you a ride to wherever it is you need to go,” Keeler said.

“Well, if my Buick’s not stolen or stripped, it’s over on Dodge Drive trying to look inconspicuous to the local thieves.”

“Sure.” He gave a little chuckle, and put out a big freckled hand. “James Keeler. Call me Jake.”

“Roland Longville. Call me Roland.” We shook hands.

“Sorry about all of the hard stuff in the interrogation room. We gotta do what we gotta do, you know.”

“No sweat, I’ve been there.”

“That’s what I hear. So, you were partners with Big Broom. The two of you must have really put the fear of God into the shitbirds.”

I suppose I must have smiled. “We were a good team.”

The young man sat chewing on what he was going to say, then made some sort of internal decision and plunged in: “Hazelwood was a rotten cop, and frankly he was on his way out. Word is he was taking money from Longshot Lonnie. He was under investigation by IA, like Broom said. To most of the rest of us he was, you know, an outcast. But you’ve still got to look after your own, you know? Personally, I had no respect left for the guy. I never liked him. If he was mixed up with Lonnie, it was just a matter of time before he got what was coming to him.”
 

I took in this last bit in tired silence. I needed some rest before I could digest it all.

* * *

Keeler pulled up next to my Buick. We shook hands again. I thanked him for the lift and told him I’d be around, then I got out of his car. He nodded and pulled away.

I got into my Buick, which was, amazingly, all in one piece. I started the engine and pulled away from the curb, heading for home.

* * *

I slept fitfully, dreaming of policemen in plain clothes and Eve without any. I awoke around 11:00 a.m. and, feeling none too rested, went into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. I needed someone to find out some things for me. I needed someone who knew people in this part of Birmingham. Somebody connected. Lucky me. I just happened to know someone like that.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in my office, phone to my ear. I had managed to catch up with Jake Keller at the West Precinct. I got the feeling that he liked to spend a lot of time on the job.

“You’ve helped me to a degree already, Jake. Can I count on you to go a little further?”

“What is it you want from me?” Jake’s voice was a low, non-committal hiss.

It was a mixture of complex emotions, that voice, with just a hint of
don’t call me here
and a generous dash of
not you again.
I knew I had him roped in, though. He loved police work and this was an intriguing puzzle. I couldn’t tell him everything, though, not yet. That made me feel all the more sleazy for asking my next question. “What’d you guys have on Hazelwood?”

“I can’t talk to you about that; it’s an active case.” His voice grew firmer, but was still a whisper. I could mentally see him, casting about nervously to see if he was overheard, part detective, part college boy.

“Forget the paranoia, Jake. You know I need that info if I’m going to sort this out. You guys are on the wrong track. I don’t want to get you into any trouble; I just want to get myself out of it. I need something, anything, so I can clear myself.”

“Listen, Roland, I want to help you, but I can’t discuss this here.”

“All right, then. I’ll meet you somewhere.”

“That would be fine, I know the perfect place.”

* * *

Keeler arrived at the “Double Nickels” around 12:30. The place was a hash house and bar that served as a hangout for the cops that worked at the West Precinct. It’s located on 55
^th
Street, hence the name. He had suggested the place, of course. Home court advantage, I supposed. I would have preferred Sally’s Diner. To further the Double Nickel’s motif, the place was decorated with obsolete road signs from “55 MPH” speed zones; various police paraphernalia was hung on the walls.

Young Jake looked none the worse for wear. I wondered if he’d slept at all since I saw him last. If he hadn’t, he showed no outward sign of fatigue. By contrast, I felt like a survivor of the Bataan death march.
Rejoice, O young man in thy youth
. We took a seat in a dim corner booth, under a large framed photograph. It depicted two long lines of men in what looked like British bobby uniforms. The caption read: