ZERO HERO (The Kate Huntington Mystery series) (6 page)

            After a couple of seconds, Pete nodded. “That’s about right.”

            “I believe you when you say you can handle it,” Kate said. “But it could be months before your case goes to trial. That’s a long time to have to stay inside that shell.”

            Pete nodded again without saying anything.

            Afraid the guards would come back, Kate jumped to the crucial issue. She’d come back to how he was coping if there was time. “I am going to try to raise the funds to get you out on bail.” She paused. When he didn’t object, she continued, “I’ve asked the priest at my church if I can ask for donations from my fellow parishioners. In my opinion, if anybody’s a worthy cause, you are. She wants to meet with you before she’ll agree to that.”

            Pete looked away from her. He stared at the side wall of the room.

            “I’ll tell her not to come if you’re not comfortable with it. I’m not trying to evangelize here, and neither is she. I’m just looking for a way to get you out of jail.”

            His eyes cut back to her. “A female priest?”

            “Episcopal.”

            A slight nod. After a beat, he said, “I was raised Catholic.”

            Kate knew what that phrase implied. He hadn’t said that he
was
Catholic.

            “So was I,” she said. “You’re not practicing now?”

            “No.” A pause. “I guess you’d say I lost my faith, after 9/11.”

            “A lot of people did.”

            “I’ll talk to your priest. But I don’t see you raising twenty-five grand by passing the plate on Sunday.”

            “There are a few deep pockets in the congregation, so we’ll see. A bail bondsman will want collateral though. I’m not real sure what to do about that.”

            “I have a piece of land, in western Maryland, with a trailer on it. I bought it a few years ago, thinking it would be a good investment, and a place to get away in the meantime. It didn’t quite work out that way. I’ve only been there twice. The second time, I left after one night.”

            Kate intentionally paused, then said, “Too much time alone isn’t always a good thing, with PTSD.”

            Pete nodded. “It’s for sale, but the market’s dead out there right now.”

            A key rattled in the door. “Time to go back into my shell,” he said, with a small smile.

            Kate returned the smile. “Elaine will probably be by tomorrow or the next day. I’ll try to get over here tomorrow as well.” She stood up as the door swung open.

            “Hang in there,” she whispered, then walked out of the room. Pete didn’t need a witness to the humiliation of being locked back into those shackles.

~~~~~~~~

            When she stepped through the outer door of the sally port that separated the jail itself from its lobby, Skip was standing at the guard’s window.

            “I don’t care if you’re the king of Persia, mister,” the guard was saying. “No more visitors tonight.” As Kate walked toward the window, he put her license and keys into the tray in front of him and hit a button. The tray pushed past the metal plate covering the small opening at the bottom of the window.

            Kate retrieved the items and the tray retracted. “I can vouch for this man. He does work for my client’s lawyer.”

            The guard shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am. They’ll be taking the prisoners into the dining hall soon for dinner. No one’s allowed in or out while they’re out of their cells.”

            Skip cocked his head and gave a half shrug. Kate knew the gesture well. It meant the issue wasn’t worth fighting over. “Makes sense,” he said. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

            “It’s better if you get something in writing from the lawyer,” the guard said.

            “Will do. Have a good evening, officer.”

            Skip walked Kate to her car, parked on a nearby side street. “I got lots to tell you when we get home.”

            “Me, too,” she said, standing on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek. “See you in a few minutes.”

            Once at home, Kate checked on Billy, who was playing with his matchbox cars in his room. Then she stuck her head in the kitchen doorway. Waiting for Edie to take a breath in her monologue about her day, Kate said to Maria, “Skip and I need to confer about a mutual case for a few minutes.” To Edie, she added, “Help Maria set the table, okay?”

            “Sure, Mommy,” the little girl said, then picked up where she’d left off. “Susie’s really mean to Jill and I don’t think it’s fair...”

            Kate shook her head as she headed for the living room. That was her Edie, the little diplomat. She’d probably end up Ambassador to China someday.

            She and Skip settled on the sofa. They gave each other a synopsis of what they’d found out that day. Then Skip said, “Next step, after I meet with Jamieson tomorrow, is to have a chat with this Frederico guy.” He was watching her face, his own expression neutral. He lifted his eyebrows, the unspoken message,
It’s up to you.

            Confronting a pimp and drug dealer in downtown Baltimore–this was what she’d been afraid of. But surprisingly her reaction wasn’t as intense as she’d expected it to be. Worry gnawed at her stomach and made her heart beat faster, but it was not much worse than the worry she carried around every day until Skip was safely home each evening. Would the day ever come when she’d be able to stop worrying?

            She let out a small sigh.
Yeah, when he’s retired.

            “I’ll take plenty of back-up,” Skip said. “This guy’s not going to mess with us. He’s got too much to lose. If he goes to jail for an assault beef, somebody’ll move in on his turf while he’s gone.”

            Kate snorted. “Those guys are shooting and knifing each other all the time. Don’t you listen to the news? They might as well rename Baltimore
Murder City
.”

            “Going after another pimp or drug dealer is one thing. Messing with a bunch of middle-class white boys from the suburbs is something else. I’ll make it clear from the get-go that the police know we’re there and why.”

            She let out another sigh, then nodded. “We’ll call Rob and fill him in after dinner.”

~~~~~~~~

            Skip spent the first part of the morning tying up loose ends for a couple other cases. Then he headed for the Towson jail, faxed letter from Rob in hand. At a little before eleven, he and Peter Jamieson were facing each other across a metal table. He had not asked the guards to remove the hand shackles.

            The guy didn’t look so hot. Skip was still debating between the I’m-your-buddy or the hard-ass, ex-cop approach, when Jamieson said in a flat voice, “I know you’ve got no reason to believe me, except Kate’s and Rob’s say-so that I’m a good guy.”

            Okay, he’d let Jamieson set the tone. He kept his own voice neutral. “Actually those two people’s opinions weigh pretty heavily with me. Tell me what happened Monday.”

            Pete told him the story of going to visit his friend, and the argument on the street corner when his frustration had gotten the better of him.

            When he’d finished, Skip asked, “How’d you get downtown?”

            “Bus. Car got repossessed last month. Couldn’t keep up the payments on disability.”

            “The body was found outside your building. Was Matthews coming to see you?”

            Pete shrugged. “He must’ve been, but I wasn’t expecting him.”

            “Cops tell you he had a bag of cocaine in his pocket?”

            Jamieson’s face registered mild surprise. “No, but that would explain why they kept implying that I’d panicked and run away. And by the way, I never used cocaine, just weed and pills. Mostly pills.”

            “When and where’d they pick you up?”

            “Walking on York Road around two-thirty in the morning, a couple miles from my place.”

            “What were you doing there?”

            “It’s what I do, when I can’t sleep. Can’t drink, can’t take pills, so I walk until I’m exhausted.”

            Skip took a small notepad out of his shirt pocket and jotted down a few things. “What time frame did they say, when they asked about an alibi?”

            Pete looked at the ceiling for a moment. “I think it was four or four-thirty, until ten.”

            “Did you have an alibi for any of that time?”

            Pete shook his head. “Home alone.”

            “What time did you go for your walk?”

            “Two. I wait until the bars are closed.”

            “Are you an alcoholic?”

            Pete hesitated. “Some hard-core NA people would say I was, but I only used alcohol when I couldn’t get my hands on anything else. Booze takes too long.”

            “Too long for what?”

            “To reach a state of oblivion.”

~~~~~~~~

            As Skip headed for the offices of Canfield and Hernandez to pick up Dolph and Mac, he mentally rehashed the interview with Jamieson. He was inclined to agree with Kate. This guy seemed to be on the up and up.

            Once they were headed downtown in his Expedition, he handed Dolph a list of questions. “Call Judith, would ya? See if she’s still in a generous mood.”

            Ten minutes later, Dolph disconnected. “Matthews was last seen alive at four-thirty, by one of his girls. 911 call was at ten-thirty-six. Guy said he’d seen a dead body lying beside a building. Judith went from the scene to track down Matthews’ girls. The same one who last saw Matthews alive was one of the witnesses to the argument with Jamieson. BOLO went out around one. Vigilant boys in blue spotted him at two-thirty-two.”

            “Did she know that Jamieson claims he never used cocaine?”

            “Yep. She’d asked him what he used. He said he
used to
use pills and weed. Her buddy in City Vice is Tyrell Cooper. She’s calling him to see if he’s available to meet with us.”

            Skip let out a low whistle. “No wonder Judith’s not happy about this case. They’re enough holes in it to drive a fleet of trucks through.”

            Mac grunted in agreement from the back seat just as Dolph’s phone rang. He listened for a few seconds, then said, “Thanks, sweetheart,” and disconnected.

            Skip grinned. “You get away with calling Judith
sweetheart
?”

            Dolph chuckled. “Only when I’m not in the same room with her. We’re in luck. Cooper’s waiting for us at his precinct.”

            “What’s the deal on Fitzsimmons? How long’s he been in the State Attorney’s office?” Skip asked.

            Dolph pursed his lips, calculating. “For about three years before I retired, so eight years total. He’s got a lot more ambition than brains. His goal is to rack up as many wins as he can in a year, but he always falls short. Mainly ’cause he jumps on cases like this one, thinking they’re a slam dunk, when they’re not.”

            “Lemme guess,” Mac’s gruff voice came out of the backseat. “Always somebody else’s fault when he loses a case.”

            Dolph nodded, his expression grim.

            Mac opted to stay with the truck when they arrived at the precinct downtown. “In this neighborhood, won’t be much left if there ain’t nobody guardin’ it.”

            As they entered the detectives’ bullpen, Skip noticed a tall, skinny guy sitting in one of the desk chairs. Café-au-lait skin, scraggly beard, dreadlocks, old T-shirt, baggy jeans. He was lounging back, hands clasped behind his neck, ragged sneakers up on the corner of the desk.
That guy’s gonna get his ass kicked when the detective who owns that desk comes back.

            As they wandered among the mostly empty desks, looking at name tags, the guy stood up and approached. “You looking for me?”

            Skip wasn’t able to completely hide his surprise. The guy smiled. “One of the few perks of working Vice. It’s always casual Friday. I’m Tyrell Cooper.” He shook first Dolph’s and then Skip’s hand, then waved toward metal chairs in front of his desk.

            Dolph grinned as he sat down. “How’d Judith describe him?” He cocked his head toward Skip.

            “Small mountain with a pretty-boy head.”

            Dolph laughed out loud. Skip gave him a mock scowl. “You undercover?” he asked Cooper. Undercover cops didn’t usually hang out at the precinct, in case some no-good from the street was brought in and saw them there.

            “No, but it helps to blend in,” Cooper said.

            “Did Judith fill you in?”

            “Not really. Just said you were private. Headed to meet Frederico and wanted some background on him.”

            Skip and Dolph exchanged a glance. She apparently hadn’t told Cooper she was trying to undermine her own case.

            “What’s your interest in Frederico?” the detective asked.

            “Paternity suit,” Skip said.

            Cooper snorted. “Good luck with that.”

            “What are we going to find when we get to Frederico’s place?” Dolph said quickly, before the detective could ask more questions.

            “If you get past the front door, there’ll be a half dozen home boys hanging around him, all Hispanic. Frederico’s half black, but don’t mention that fact if you like living. He’ll come across as not all that bright but don’t let him fool you. He’s got ten times the street smarts of the rest of these bastards, which is why he’s king of the hill. Either of you know Spanish?”

            “I do,” Skip said.

            “Don’t let on that his accent sucks, and whatever you do, don’t speak Spanish back to him.”

            Skip nodded. “How risky is it, going into this guy’s crib?”

            “Don’t go to his apartment. He won’t be there this time of day. He’ll be at Santiago’s. It’s a hole-in-the-wall Latino café. But to answer your question, he’s a lot of bark and not much bite if you’re the heat, even private. It’s his own people that have reason to fear him. He rules with an iron fist. Just you two?”