Silent Joe (15 page)

I looked away, took a deep breath and looked back.

Buzz.

I tried to put it out of my mind, to just watch and witness.
Mouth shut, eyes open.

Behind them was Harmon Ouderkirk, Rick's partner. Ouderkirk short, thick, around forty. He shut the door hard.

Gaylen stared in my direction, though he couldn't see me. He looked at the video camera in one corner. It's on a tripod, a decoy camera leave turned off most of the time. The operational one is hidden behind air conditioner vent on the opposite wall.

"You didn't say anything, about a taping."

Nerves rioted up my back. I felt my scalp get cold and tingle, voice—deep and clear, with the funny, slightly skewed cadence.

It came through the video mike, amplified just enough for me to well.

Will! Ah, Will Trona! Let's talk.

The voice of the shooter? So close. So hard to remember the exact sound of a sound.

"We're not taping," said Birch.

"That's right, you're not."

"Turn the damned thing to the wall if you don't believe him," said Ouderkirk. "Unplug it."

Gaylen looked at the camera, then took off his suit coat, folded and hung it over the lens end and the microphone.

"Who's behind the mirror?"

"Nobody."

Gaylen looked at me through the mirror again. "He looks like a nobody."

I breathed deeply and observed him, trying to steady my nerves, trying to be sure about that voice. I was as sure as the memory of a voice could make me.

He was tall, with copper skin and a strangely handsome face. High cheeks, heavy epicanthic folds, full lips. His eyes were wary and quick. He wore a navy suit with a silver-blue silk shirt and a silver-blue silk tie. His watch was a Rolex or a knockoff.

There was a table in the interview room, bolted to the floor. Four chairs, two on each side, bolted also. They were originally painted tan but the paint has worn from the edges and corners to show the metal underneath. There are still cigarette scars from the days when people smoked while they talked. No smoking now. But the deputies decided years ago to leave the marks there, figuring someday they might make some creep feel even more desperate to know he couldn't smoke.

There's a push button hidden under the tabletop, in front of chair four, that lets you control the real camera, but Rick had already turned it on from outside.

"Have a seat, John," said Rick.

Gaylen picked the chair facing away from the decoy camera. The usual move. That left me a clear view of his face on the monitor, and a good angle through the mirror. Ouderkirk leaned against the door and crossed his arms.

Birch sat across from Gaylen and brought out a pen and notepad.

"Wednesday night, John," Birch said. "We've got an eyewitness to Trona shooting. Told us it was the Cobra Kings."

"Take it up with them."

"Which ones?"

"I wasn't there."

"Really. Where were you?"

"With a woman."

"I'd like a name and number."

Gaylen looked at me, then over at Ouderkirk, then back to Birch.

"Ah, I'll bet you would, wouldn't you?"

Ah, Will Trona!

Birch sat back, tapped his pen on the tabletop.

"We got a good description of the shooter that night. And it sounds a lot like you. Here, see what you think."

Birch flipped back in his notebook. "Tall, average build, overcoat or trenchcoat. Dark skin, maybe African American. Right-handed. Deep voice."

Gaylen stared at Birch while he read. He nodded twice, faintly. ‘’That could be a lot of people."

"Not really. Five guys with long coats? What's the use of having colors if you don't fly them? Five guys with long coats is five Cobra Kings."

"I wasn't there."

"Then who was? Help me out."

Gaylen sneered.

Ouderkirk walked out, slamming the door.

"Look, John, I'm going to bring your guys in. Every one of them. I'm going to rattle their cages. Hard. If you know anything about that night you better tell it now. After today, you're looking at obstruction of justice and that carries three-to-five. Think about three years without that woman you had two Wednesdays ago. Think about three years without any woman at all. If you're holding out on me, John, you're going to pay some pretty high rent."

Gaylen stared at him.

Ouderkirk joined me in the observation room. "That the guy?"

"Yes. The voice."

"We can't hold him on a voice, Joe. What about the face?"

I could hardly keep myself from going around the corner, into the interview room, and taking care of John Gaylen on my own.

"The fog blocked his face. But not his voice."

"Too bad. To me, he looks like the kind of guy who'd do two of his friends just to protect his own well-clad little ass."

"You might ask him if Sammy Nguyen knows about him and Bernadette Lee."

"The babe in the picture?"

"Yes. She's Sammy's girl. He's got a picture of her over his cell cot. He's a murderer, with plenty of friends on the outside."

"Got ya."

We watched as Birch continued. "John, maybe that wasn't you guys. Maybe it was five people trying to
look
like you guys. Not very likely, though, is it? We're on to you. We've got at least one witness—a good one. And one more, in the hospital. Cao's going to make it, you know. Tough young guy. And he'll be happy to talk, won't he? We know you shot him. Our wit, he saw everything."

"I don't shoot my friends. Maybe you do."

"Come on, John. Put yourself in Ike's shoes. Betrayed like that by his own guy? If he won't finger you, we'll crack one of your boys, maybe a young one, maybe somebody looking at his third strike. Maybe somebody who doesn't like you so much. And if your name comes up—wow. You're in the deepest possible shit. But right now you're in a position to help yourself, and help us."

"Help you? That's enough reason to walk out of here," said Gaylen.

"Any time. Door's open. How did you know Will Trona?"

Gaylen shook his head. "No. Didn't. Don't."

"That's not what Will Trona said."

"So you brought him back to life?"

"I read his appointment book."

It took Gaylen a second to think of something. "Don't tell me he us down for lunch at Bamboo 33."

"No names, John. Just CK this and CK that."

Gaylen's face went hard. "Probably his boyfriend."

I knew Birch was making this up, because I'd photocopied every page of Will's calendar and his appointment book before handing them over him.

"I don't see it that way. I see it as a link. That and the descriptions. Another reason to bring in Cobra Kings one at a time. Shake the chain until a link breaks. That's what I'm going to do."

Gaylen stood, walked to the dummy camera and pulled his coat off of it. He slipped it over his arm. "I guess we're done, then."

"Kings take scalps, don't you?"

"No."

"Sure you do—make the grunts kill to get full membership. Your guys have told us that much, so there's no reason denying it."

"I've got no idea what you're talking about."

"Maybe you guys got a contract to take out the supervisor. Be a nice opp for making bones. That would explain why you called him by name that night. Might even explain why Trona had you in his appointment book."

Gaylen smiled. "Make an appointment to get yourself popped? You must be dreaming now, Detective."

Birch stood. "Every once in a while, one comes true."

"Then keep sleeping. You're good at it."

"How about the name and number for your date that night?"

"No. You'll have to arrest me for that."

"You could save us all a lot of trouble."

"I don't help cops."

"Then why'd you come in? A little worried maybe, wanted to see what we had?"

"You've got nothing."

"When did you meet Alex Blazak?"

Gaylen stared at Birch. "Ah, another thing I haven't done."

"Then how'd you know where to find Savannah that night?"

Gaylen shook his head. "You've got no reason to hold me. And the more you talk, the more you prove it."

I watched Ouderkirk blow back into the interview room. He had something in his hand. "Leaving so soon?" he asked Gaylen.

"Not so much to talk about."

"There might be, if Sammy Nguyen hears about you and Bernadette."

Ouderkirk held up the surveillance photo of Gaylen and the woman.

Gaylen took a step forward for a better look, and you could tell that we'd caught him. He froze. Just briefly. He'd probably heard the story of Nguyen and Bernadette Lee's admirer long before we did. But he'd never seen that picture before, guaranteed.

"That's not your business. You want me to help you do your jobs, then you turn around and fuck with me?"

"Saddening, isn't it?" said Ouderkirk. He glanced at the picture, shrugged and smiled.

"Asshole," said Gaylen. He started out of the room. Birch held the door for him while Ouderkirk waved the picture.

"Is she the alibi, Gaylen?" Birch asked. "Is that why you won't give us a name? You know, we can keep that picture real quiet. Or not."

"You can both go to hell or not."

Gaylen walked out, then Birch. Ouderkirk looked at me and nodded as he pulled the door behind him.

"I love this job," he said.

Birch came in and told me to wait at his desk. I waited a few minutes, then a few more. I looked at the picture of his family. Wife, children, grandchildren. Birch looked happy. There was a stack of case files on his desk, a clean blotter, a legal pad with Birch's handwriting on it. There was a standard Interview Contact form on the blotter, clean. But I couldn't help but see Gaylen's name, address and a phone number written down on a Post-It and stuck to the top sheet. A few minutes later Birch called me into one of the empty confer rooms.

He looked at me cautiously but said nothing.

"It was him, sir. I could tell by the voice."

"Voice won't cut it for us, Joe."

"I understand that. I can't identify him visually."

"Then we can't arrest him."

"It was him, sir.
That's the man who shot my father. "

"I believe you. But the DA can't make a homicide case with a voice ID. We'd never get past the preliminary. We need a lot more. What else, Joe?"

"I felt something wrong when he walked into the room, sir. Before opened his mouth. I know that doesn't help you."

"No, it doesn't."

Birch sighed, sat back, considered. "If he pulled the trigger, why did he come in and let me question him?"

"Because he's bold and confident. He's got faith in the Cobra K not to break if you bend them. And he knows that you don't have enough to arrest him outright, or you would have."

Birch was quiet for a moment. "What if he's just a wiseguy doesn't know anything about Will? Why come in and talk to a homicide cop?"

"He isn't."

"You didn't see him! What if he wasn't there? What if he's got a voice like the guy who
was
there?"

"It's not just the voice. It's the way he phrases things. Sir, I don't know why he'd come in and talk to you if he was innocent."

"I'll tell you why. What usually happens is, if they did it and know you're on them, they'll haul ass while they have the chance. If they didn't, they'll come and talk, watch you run your circles, laugh you off. Gaylen didn't run for daylight. He came in. Talked tough. Wouldn't give us his alibi's name and number. He was even on time."

I wanted my words to be accurate, but it was hard to describe what I’d felt when Gaylen walked into the interview room. "He strikes me as unusual, sir. I still can't define my reaction to seeing him. Like a warning. A recognition. I can't describe it."

Birch looked at me, then shook his head. "I'm going to watch the video this evening at home—I always learn something. One thing, though, I think he's scared of what Sammy Nguyen would do to Bernadette Lee. If he knew about Gaylen and her."

I nodded. "Are you going to talk to her?"

"You can bet I am."

"I can give you her address, from Sammy's letters."

Another long slow look from Birch. "Why do that?"

"To help, sir."