The Hundredth Man (17 page)

“She’s at my place,” I said. “She couldn’t work today and yesterday because she was drunk. She’s been drunk since Saturday. She’s a mess, Clair.”

She tossed the pen on the desk and rubbed her eyes. “That explains a lot. In the past six months she’s called in sick seven times. Four of her sick days were Mondays. “Lost weekends,” probably.”

“Probably,” I admitted.

“You know how I run this place, Ryder. I have three paths to handle the bulk of the medical procedures. I handle as much as I can, but mainly I’m up to my ass in administration. I need people who show up on schedule and work.”

“She’ll get treatment. It’s a disease, Clair.”

She picked up the pen and poised it over the reprimand. “I can’t have an alcoholic here, Ryder, even one in treatment. The position demands attention to detail. And in the end, no matter how capable or well meaning she is, it’s not her ass on the line, it’s mine. My department, my reputation. She’s out of here.”

The pen point pressed at the paper. I caught the word capable in Clair’s description and threw a desperate rope to it. “Dr. Davanelle is good at her job, capable, as you say?

“Allowing for age and experience, she’s the best I’ve ever seen. When I was interviewing for the position only one person came close, Dr. Caulfield.”

Caulfield was a fresh-from-school pathologist hired six or seven months back. He was performing an autopsy on a low-life S & M practitioner named Ernst Meuller when a bomb in Meuller’s lower bowel detonated. It was speculated Meuller had crossed someone inventive with explosives. Dark-humored cops dubbed the perp the “Bottom Bomber,” and figured he’d gotten Meuller pass-out drunk, inserted the device, and left Meuller to awaken, attempt to remove the device, and die horribly. The hard-living Meuller foiled his nemesis by succumbing to a heart attack in his drunken sleep. The only casualty was Alexander Caulfield, who lost three fingers and a career. The case remained unsolved, an enigma.

I said, “If Ava was so good, why’d you hire Dr. Caulfield?”

Clair took a deep breath. She set the pen aside, stood, and walked to the window. “I don’t expect you’d understand, Ryder.”

“I’ve amazed others. Try me.”

There was a long pause as she stared into the clouds.

“I’m inflexible and unyielding,” she said as if reciting from a sheet of paper. “I demand excellence from my staff every minute they’re here, and have no desire to involve myself with their lives when they’re not. This is a hard job anywhere in the country, especially for a woman.” She reached out and put her hand against the window as if confirming its existence. “Don’t take that as whimpering, Ryder; the hardships are ingrained in the system and will be for years to come. I have to be tough to make it work.” She turned from the window. “But I wasn’t sure I could be completely unyielding with a woman pathologist.

I’d remember the struggles I’d encountered, make allowances, maybe even …” Clair grasped at the air if if trying to pluck the perfect words from it.

“Become empathetic?”

“Whatever. The whole dynamic and personality of the office might change.”

“With a man you could maintain distance.”

“Only after Dr. Caulfield’s … incident did I question why I’d hired him, what my motives had been.”

“And you hired Dr. Davanelle.”

She sat behind her desk again, the reprimand beneath her fingertips. “It was always her or Caulfield. They were on a different level than other applicants.”

“But you managed to avoid empathy, though, didn’t you, Clair? You pushed hard.”

Her voice tightened, defensive. “She was new and new people make mistakes, Ryder.”

My gut tightened. “I’ll bet you were right on her about her mistakes, right?”

“When she screwed up I let her know. She had to know!”

My hand slapped the desk and I spoke through clenched teeth. “Damn right, let her know. Put her through what you went through! No sympathy, no empathy, no quarter. Whip the little bitch. Show her how bad Clair Peltier had it. Shovel it into her face.”

The words scalded my tongue; I didn’t know where they came from. Clair jumped to her feet. “You’ve got no goddamn right to talk to me like “

“She thinks you hate her, you’ve always hated her and wish she’d never come here.”

“Don’t you dare think you can …” My words registered and confusion clouded the fire in Clair’s eyes. “What? Say that again, Ryder.”

“Ava thinks you hate her and want her gone. Is it true?”

“Hate her?” Clair looked unsteady, as if the floor had softened beneath her. She lowered herself, reaching for the arms of the chair with unsure fingers. “My God, no, I I think she’s exceptional, I think …”

“You don’t dislike her?”

“My God, no. I never meant for her to think …” She turned her head away and blinked several times. “Maybe I “

“It’s time for some empathy now, Clair. Maybe even overdue.”

Clair closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them she reached for the pen and tapped it on the reprimand. Fourteen times. She slipped the pen in her pocket.

“She gets this week and the weekend, Ryder. I’ll put her down for emergency family leave. Next Monday I want her back here clean and sober. One transgression, no matter how minor, and she’ll be gone while her footprints are still warm on the floor.”

I was halfway to the door and letting my breath out when Clair spoke.

“Ryder?”

“Yes?”

“Why did she come to you? Are you two romantically involved?”

“No. I guess she’s a friend.”

I was closing the door when she spoke again.

“Carson?”

I leaned my head in. “Yes, Clair?”

“I know you’re carrying double baskets of shit with the headless cases, but give her all the help you can spare. Please.”

I nodded and closed the door. I’d never heard Clair say please, and I’d never seen her look so beautiful.

CHAPTER 16

“I
‘m making a few changes in the assignments,” Squill said, dealing papers around the table like cards. I slapped down the one that flew at me. “Don’t read ahead, Ryder,” Squill said. “I’ll walk you through it.”

Today’s meeting held the usual crowd. Plus Blasingame had brought one of his sergeants, Wally Daller. Burlew was doing push offs from the wall and further straining the seams of his rumpled brown suit jacket. I smelled a gray sweat coming from him, like opening an old gym locker. He waited until his master passed out all the papers before sitting.

Squill said, “One of the reasons this case is going nowhere is diffusion. No focus, and poor communication.”

“Excuse me, Captain,” I said, “but we have meetings every morning.”

Squill threw his sheaf of papers down. “Another reason it’s in the crapper is I can’t get two words out without you contradicting me, Ryder.”

“I’m not contradicting, I’m enlightening.”

“I’ve had all the smart-mouth I can take.”

Harry nudged me with his leg. “We’re listening, Captain,” he said.

Squill waited until the silence in the room turned uncomfortable before continuing. “Everyone’s running the same ground. We need to become specialists. Each team has to take a portion of the puzzle and dissect it.”

I started to speak, but Harry’s knee smacked me quiet. Squill flicked his sheet with a shiny tailored nail. “I’ve made new assignments. I want Nautilus and Ryder to concentrate solely on Deschamps. I want to know everyone he talked to in the last six months, every meal he ate, who he fucked in his wet dreams.”

My hands squeezed the table’s edge. Stay down. Breathe.

Squill continued. “As for Nelson, I want his investigation to continue in the same fashion, but with Sergeant Daller at lead.”

Watty Daller?

“Take it easy, Cars,” Harry whispered.

I liked Wally. Everybody liked Wally. He was our comedian, more off-color stories than a Shriners convention. But he had analytical tunnel vision; ask him to investigate a road and he’d give you the total number of white stripes down its middle. I figured Nelson was an intersection of invisible lines: the first chosen, the missing papers, a lifestyle more likely to touch aberrant psychologies. Wally didn’t know dysfunctional psyches, he knew, “There’s a priest, a rabbi, and a hooker in a pork dress …”

“Begging the captain’s pardon,” I said, “but Harry and I’ve established relationships with people close to Nelson. We’re unraveling threads that might “

“You’ve gotten too near these people. We need fresh eyes and new threads.”

“Fresh eyes? You mean start from the begi “

“You’re running in circles, it’s not working,” Squill snapped.

“In the Adrian case I moved between the victims to establish “

“Get the hell out of this room, Ryder.”

“You said running in circles? What’s that mean?”

“Now. Go outside, Ryder. You’re done here.”

“There are dead people. I’m not done.” I felt hot sand rising in my throat, my voice rasping.

“Git,” Harry whispered.

Squill said, “Every time I try to speak you’re in my mouth telling me what I’m doing wrong. Insubordination is a big deal in my department, mister. Get the hell out of here while you’re still a detective.”

“Insubordination? If you think “

“Git, dammit,” Harry hissed.

The assignment sheet crumpled in my fist like foil as I closed the door behind me. I went back to my desk and waited. Harry reappeared ten minutes later. I was up before he got halfway across the floor.

“Wally! He put Wally Daller in charge of investigating Nelson, Harry. He wants us off Nelson. Why?”

Harry sat heavily and pressed his knuckles to his temples.

“Come on, Harry, give. We can’t let “

“Shut up, Carson. For once. Please just give my aching ears a rest.”

“There’s a guy out there chopping off heads, Harry.”

He banged his desk with his fist. Everything on the desk jumped an inch. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t care? What? You think you’re the only person in the whole department, Carson-fucking-Ryder, give me a high five, Harry, we whipped their asses, Harry?”

I jabbed my finger toward the meeting room. “You didn’t say jackshit in there.”

Harry’s jaw twitched. “Don’t you tell me when to move my lips.”

“Why didn’t you back me up?”

“Same reason I don’t bet on three-legged horses.”

“I was trying to keep our hands in Nelson’s case. That’s where the break’ll come from.”

Harry flung his hand up, thumb and index finger touching. “You came about a shit-hair’s distance from getting us kicked off everything, that’s what you did.”

“Squill wouldn’t do that.”

“He’s doing it right now, you’re just too dumb to see it.

He pokes, you squeal, he runs and tells Hyrum you’re an insubordinate pain in the ass who got lucky once but who’s now upsetting the applecart. Hyrum nods and says, “Do what you have to do, Terrence.””

“We can nail this if he’ll give us room to move.”

Harry rolled his eyes. I said, “What? Squill doesn’t want it solved?”

“On his terms and putting the glory on him alone. Here’s surprising news, Cars, you’re not the only detective in the department.”

“It’s a Piss-it case, Harry. It’s ours.”

“Did those pretty birdies come with your crib? The ones spinning above your head? Grow up, Carson, what’s ours is what Squill tells us is ours.”

“The manual says “

“If the manual said it was going to rain pussy at noon, you’d be out there with a net, wouldn’t you?”

I opened my drawer just so I could slam it shut. Harry had his phone on speaker and the desk clerk announced a call. “Says his name is Jersey, Harry. Said you wanted him put through.”

Harry clicked off the speaker and turned away with his hand cupping the phone. I figured Harry was talking to old Poke Trenary, a janitor at City Hall. Several times while in that citadel of mirrors I’d seen Harry glide the slow-mopping Poke to a quiet corner for a fast milking. Harry put down the phone and whispered, “Damn.”

“Damn what? Yankees? The torpedoes?”

“I was thinking because Hyrum retires in September the chief decision would be in September. I forgot about get-ready time. The commissioners decide early, then work on transition crap. The decision’ll be made at the next executive session, when they get to close the door. They won’t vote or anything, but they’ll weigh the input, and make the decision, and it’ll hold until the official announcement in a few weeks.”

“And this unofficial coronation will be when?”

“Eight days from now.”

“Eight da No wonder we keep getting cut off at the knees.”

“You got it. Squill’s gonna keep us bottled and throttled until then. After that it doesn’t make a bit of difference. He’ll either be a deputy chief or not.”

I asked, “How’s Poke putting the odds?”

Anyone with a jones for political intrigue suffers a touch of paranoia. Harry glanced around the room to make sure no microphones were aimed our way. “No one hears about this,” he whispered.

I slapped my forehead. “Shit. Dan Rather’s offering fifty grand to hear what Poke gets from sc ruffing through trash bags at City Hall.”

Harry sighed.  ”Tell Danny-boy odds are running about five to three in favor of Plackett … and that Squill guy hanging off his tit.”

“For nine days we’re gonna be shoved away from Nelson? Just so we don’t get lucky and break the case, maybe making the chief decision an even race at best?”

“Squill’s set to make a two-level jump, Cars. He doesn’t want even money.”

“Tell that to the next guy looking Mr. Cutter in the knife.”

Harry went to fetch a coffee. I watched him walk slowly through the maze of desks, giving himself time to think. He returned three minutes later, hard resolution in his eyes.

“It’s looking more and more like we’re gonna have to nigger this case, brother. Do most of the work for none of the credit. You cool with that idea?”

“It’s what we’re doing now,” I said, standing and rolling up my sleeves. “Let’s surf ‘em and turf ‘em.”

Harry shook his head sadly.

“That don’t mean a damn thing, Cars. They got to mean something.”

Apartment manager Briscoe Shelton wasn’t thrilled about being pulled from his TV viewing, a fuck opera by the sounds through his door, bass-heavy synthetic music and moan-inflected ululations. I’d returned, unsatisfied after yesterday’s toss of the place got chopped short by Squill’s meeting. Harry was pounding pavement, revisiting Deschamps’s contacts. He did what we were supposed to do, I did what we hoped would work, making one final run before Wally hippoed through. If Squill found out, I’d be humping an oil rig, handing Harry tools.