The Betrayers (9 page)

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Authors: James Patrick Hunt

BOOK: The Betrayers
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The wine hissed and spattered when Hastings poured it into the pan. He stirred it around with the olive oil, onions, garlic, meat, and peppers. He would let it simmer until the alcohol burned off. Then he would add the tomatoes and the paste. It was a recipe Eileen had taught him. She was a good cook when she wanted to be.
The telephone rang.
“Amy,” Hastings said. “Get that, will you please?”
A moment later, Amy brought the receiver. “It's someone named Sam Hall. You know him?” At twelve, Amy was good at screening out telemarketers.
“Yeah.” Hastings gestured for the phone, wedged it between his head and shoulder.
“Sam?”
“Yeah, George. You page me?”
“Yeah. Listen, I gotta guy got arrested this evening by county deputies on a minor shoplifting charge.”
“Okay. You want him bonded out?”
“Yes. I want him out.”
It was an unusual request for a police officer. But Sam Hall did not push it. He had been on the force himself years earlier before he left and started a bail bonds business. Hastings imagined he made a lot of money, though he seemed to end up with more cars than he did cash, clients valuing freedom more than their vehicles.
“When?” Sam said.
Hastings said, “Tonight. His mom's upset.”
“They all got mothers.”
“Just help me, all right?”
“Well, okay. Let me see what I can do. You say he's at county?”
“Yeah. His name is Kody Sparks.” Hastings spelled it out.
Sam said, “Okay. You gonna be at this number for a while?”
“Should be here all night.”
Sam hung up and Hastings handed the phone back to Amy. Then he asked her to cut the French bread up and put it in the oven.
Amy said, “You want a beer?”
“Yeah.”
She got a Heineken out of the refrigerator and popped the top off. She set it next to the stove so he could sip it while he cooked. Then she sat back down at the dinner table with her friend Jennifer, a frequent guest at Amy and George's evenings together. They chatted about kids at school and other things Hastings made no attempt to listen to.
 
 
Sam called back after dinner.
“Okay,” he said, “I got a lawyer who'll O.R. him out tonight. Her name's Carol McGuire. You know her?”
“Carol McGuire … isn't she with the P.D.'s office?”
“She used to be. She went out on her own a few months ago. She doesn't need the business; she's doing it for me.” Sam said, “She can meet you at county jail at nine o'clock. She'll want money.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred for the trip. Can you handle that?”
“What'll she be wearing?”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Hastings said, “Two hundred's okay.”
“Listen, don't be mad at her. She's all right. And she's driving out there at night.”
“I'm not mad at her. I don't even know her.”
“Okay. Well, surely the kid's mom can come up with the two hundred.”
Hastings gave Amy the standard instructions before he left: don't unlock the door for anyone, let the answering machine answer telephone calls, and call his cell in case of emergency. He drove the Jag to a bank kiosk and cursed with resignation as he withdrew two hundred in flat, crisp twenties.
He saw a willowy looking woman of about his own age sitting in the waiting area at the county detention center.
Hastings said, “Carol McGuire?”
The woman said she was and stood up to meet him. She gave him a mechanical handshake.
Carol McGuire was pretty without makeup. She wore jeans and a gray sweater under a mackintosh raincoat. Her hair was dark and short and straight.
Hastings said, “Thanks for coming.”
She gestured a
never mind
and said, “I've already checked in with them. They're getting him now.”
“Great,” Hastings said. He reached into his jacket pocket. “I brought your fee.”
She looked at him.
“Why are you paying it?” She still wore the wary expression public defenders have around law enforcement officers.
“I don't know,” Hastings said. “I really don't. He's helping us on a case.”
“What kind of case?”
“That's confidential.”
The woman shook her head. “I'm not going to let you talk to him alone,” she said.
Hastings said, “It's not up to you. It's up to him.” He was getting irritated now. Two hundred dollars poorer and now a lady lawyer was giving him heat. He wished Sam Hall was here to explain why he had sent this woman.
The McGuire woman was still looking at him.
Hastings said, “Ma'am, I need to question him about the murders of the two deputies who were killed the other night. Okay?” Like, happy now?
“That's your case?”
“Yes. I'm in charge of the investigation.”
“Is he a suspect?”
“No,” Hastings said. “He is not a suspect. You want me to write it down and sign it?”
“All right, calm down.” She said, “What do you want to ask him?”
“I'll ask him that.”
Hastings walked away from the woman and sat on the bench. It was a calculated move, intended to make her feel insignificant.
But when he took his seat on the bench and looked back at her still standing, he thought he saw the hint of a smile on her face. It surprised him. Willowy and pretty in her way, but no pushover.
Then the hint of smile was gone and she was still looking at him. She said, “I saw it on the news. I'm sorry.”
Hastings made a gesture. We're all sorry, aren't we?
The woman said, “You're not mad at me, are you?”
Yeah, she was tough all right. “Yeah,” Hastings said. “Furious.”
Carol McGuire walked over to a wall and leaned back until her shoulders rested against it. Her face was at a right angle to Hastings and her hands were in her coat pockets. A cool pose, he thought. Yet she didn't seem the sort to pose. Hastings looked at the way her dark hair contrasted with her fair-skinned neck. Was still looking as her head pivoted slowly toward him, busting him. She regarded him, unembarrassed.
Hastings said, “I was trying to remember if we'd met before.” He felt awkward.
“We haven't,” she said. “I've seen you at the courthouse before. You always look so serious.”
Okay, enough with the patronizing, he thought. “Yeah?” Hastings said. “I hear you're pretty mean yourself.”
“Did you.” The woman seemed unimpressed.
After a moment, Hastings said, “You quit working for the P.D.?”
“Yes.” She wasn't going to say anything else.
Hastings said, “I don't blame you.”
The McGuire woman didn't seem to like that comment. She gave him a glance that was mildly hostile, but left it at that.
Hastings felt conscious of himself then. Did all recently divorced men have this sort of trouble communicating with women? The last date he had had was … oh, God, eight years ago? Then he thought, why are you thinking in terms of
dates
?
They heard the buzzer sound as the first door unlocked, and they could see people and movement through the small square window of the second door separating them from lockup. The second door buzzed open and out came a deputy escorting Kody Sparks. He was back in street clothes, tired and unwashed; looking like he just got out of jail.
“Hey, Lieutenant,” Kody said.
“Hey, Kody,” Hastings said. “This is your attorney, Carol McGuire.”
Kody was confused. He looked at the woman. He said, “What?”
Hastings said, “She got you released on your own recognizance. Using her bar card.”
“Yeah, I know that,” Kody said. “But I mean, what's she doing here?”
“Well …” Hastings said, looking between the woman and the informant. The woman seemed confused too, and not happy.
“Well,” Hastings said again. “Are you hungry, Kody?”
“Oh, hell yeah.”
“You want to get something to eat?”
“Yeah, man. If you're buying.”
The McGuire woman stepping forward now—
“He's buying all right,” the woman said. “Kody, as you attor—”
“Ms. McGuire's going to join us,” Hastings said. “Maybe she's hungry too.”
 
 
The three of them sat in a booth in Irv's, an old eatery off Vandeventer Avenue. It was run-down and the red seats had tears in them. The food was cheap and bad. Night people sitting at the counters and tables. The locals said that Irv's was a dump and it should've been bulldozed into the ground years ago, but there it stood. Kody ordered the “nightmare” platter: chili over eggs cooked sunny-side up. Hastings looked at the dish and remembered a time when he could eat such things. He ordered coffee. Carol McGuire ordered coffee too.
Hastings was tempted to laugh at this scene. Mom and Dad taking Sonny out for dinner. Welcome home, Kody. From jail. It was what Joe Klosterman would call surreal.
Hastings said, “Kody, I need to ask you a few things.”
Kody stabbed on the egg yolks with his fork. The yellow bled out into the surrounding chili.
“Okay,” Kody said.
“You know Steve Treats?”
“Yeah, I know him.”
“You know he's at Marion now.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You know how he got busted?”
“Sure, I know.”
Hastings said, “How?”
“Undercover cop ratted on him.”
“So you know about that?”
“Everybody knows about that.”
Hastings didn't tell him he'd found out about it yesterday. He said, “You knew about the undercover cop.”
“Well, I knew about it after they arrested Steve.”
“The cop,” Hastings said. “His name was Chris Hummel.”
Kody was bent over his plate. “Yeah?” he said.
“You remember him?”
“Yeah, I remember him.”
Hastings said, “Did he ever take money?”
“Who?”
“Chris Hummel.”
Kody broke off a piece of white Wonder Bread and dipped it in the yellow-brown mixture.
“You mean from Steve?”
Hastings said, “I mean, from any dealer?”
Kody Sparks shrugged. “I never heard that he did.”
Hastings was aware of the McGuire woman staring at him, but he forced himself not to look at her. He said, “You telling me the truth, Kody?”
“Yeah.” Kody looked up from the meal. “I wouldn't lie to you, George. You and Sergeant Joe been good to me. Where is the sergeant, anyway?”
“He's in the hospital.”
“Ahhh. What's wrong?”
“He's fine. He had a little surgery. He'll be all right.”
“Well, you tell him I said to get well.”
“I will.” Hastings said, “So. No word on the street that Hummel was taking money?”
“Nope.”
“Kody, let me be clear: if there was, it's okay to tell me.”
“I know that, George. There wasn't.”
Carol McGuire said, “You offering something, Lieutenant?” Some edge in her voice.
“No, ma'am,” Hastings said. To Kody, Hastings said, “What about Steve?”
“He's in jail.”
“I know that, Kody. I mean, did Steve ever tell you or anyone you know that Hummel was taking money?”
“Nope.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Lieutenant,” Carol McGuire said. “May I speak to you in private?”
“Sure.” Hastings said, “Kody, we're going to go outside for a minute. We'll be right back.”
Moments later, Hastings and the McGuire woman stood outside against the dirty white front of the food shack. Behind them, interstate traffic rumbled over Vandeventer and Kingshighway, forcing them to speak in voices slightly raised.

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