Geography of Murder (3 page)

"For what? You think I'm just going to submit to some bogus 'exam' just because you asked for it? Fuck that." Then he said the magic words, "I want a lawyer."

I sighed and picked up my paperwork, throwing him a disappointed look. "That's your right, of course. I'll see you get one assigned."

I left him there while I went out to confer with the Lieutenant and Nancy, see where they wanted to go next.

Meanwhile I told a uniform hanging around in the hallway to get
Mr
. Zachary a phone.

Nancy was sitting at her desk, facing mine, her phone cradled between her shoulder and her ear, clearly listening to someone carrying on a solo conversation on the other end.

She caught sight of me and rolled her expressive brown eyes.

She was chewing on a pen.

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I poured myself a coffee and slumped into my chair, staring at the computer monitor in front of me. She hung up and threw her pencil down on her desk. "Asshole."

I cocked my eyebrow at her.

"ADA asshole, I guess. Won't pursue the Ramirez case.

Says we don't have enough to hold him over to trial. Guy kills his goddamn
vato
brother and cousin but we can't pursue. No one will talk."

It was always the same. The public demanded action in cleaning up the area gangs, but no one ever saw anything when the crimes went down. Everyone was too afraid to testify or stand up to the
cholos
. So we were left with slime balls we knew were guilty but couldn't make a case against in the damn liberal courts.

"Being a cop sucks," I said. "Then you go out the next day and do it over again. And it still sucks."

"So how'd you fare with pretty boy?" she asked, inclining her head toward the interrogation room where I'd left Zachary. My lip curled. I lolled in my chair, watching a fly crawl across the wall over a box of day-old donuts. Around me phones rang and voices rose and fell as the business of the day went on.

Suddenly a shadow fell over my desk and I saw Nancy sit up. I snapped to attention, but it was too late. Lieutenant Garcia scowled at me from behind his black-framed glasses.

The guy was ex-Marine and he never let any of us forget it. It was easy to say I was his least favorite D in the squad room, though my partner, Nancy Richards, was pretty far up his list, 26

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too. I think most women were. Faggots just happen to stand lower.

Our Lieutenant gave the word Neanderthal a whole new resonance.

"You already cut the asswipe loose?"

"No sir," I said. "But he invoked, so he's waiting for an attorney."

"How long till a PD gets here?"

I shrugged. "Depends on what kind of load they're facing down there."

"Let him stew for a bit. Then take him a Coke or something. He's a tweaker, he'll be jonesing for a sugar fix before too long."

I didn't bother telling the man our suspect didn't look like a tweaker to me. He wasn't going to crack over some need for sugar or anything else. But the guy was my boss. I nodded. I did tell him about Jason's claim that he was with some blond at a 'known gay hangout.'

"And he's got a record for hustling. Maybe he and this blond pulled a train on our vic." Garcia said.

"No sign of anyone else at the scene."

"You believe his story?" Clearly Garcia didn't.

I shrugged. "I'll check it out."

"Meanwhile, let him stew."

"Good strategy," I said. "I'll give him ten, then hit him for some more."

Garcia nodded sagely and marched back to his office. I caught Nancy rolling her eyes again. "Good strategy ... How brown is your nose, Spider-man."

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"Stop calling me that. You know I hate that name."

"Sure, Alex. You going to go in and rubber hose the guy?

Lieutenant wants this so bad he can taste it. Get rid of two scum in one swoop. The killer and the victim in one nice package."

I thought of golden Jason and his sincere sounding protestations of innocence. "Wouldn't it be a trip if he was telling the truth?"

Nancy had listened in on enough of my interrogation to know who I meant. "Right. Then how'd he explain getting naked with the guy in that get up? That's not exactly street wear either of them had on."

"But we both know Blunt likes kids, mostly little girls from the beefs we heard about. Those guys don't switch their targets. Not that much."

"Yeah, well maybe he wanted to expand his victim pool."

"You know they don't do that."

"Then maybe the kid wanted something from him, and he wouldn't deliver. Wouldn't be the first trick who killed a john."

I wasn't buying it, but I could hardly tell her that. She didn't know the life like I did. Hell, she didn't have a clue what her partner liked to do in his off hours with toys and eager subs, and I had no intention of ever enlightening her.

After ten minutes I grabbed a Coke and took it and my notebook back in to take another stab at Zachary.

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Geography of Murder

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I looked up when the door opened. It was Detective Spider again. I felt like I was a trapped fly about to become a snack to this overbearing man. He slid a can of Coke across the table. I grabbed it and sucked back cool soda.

He watched me with a hawk-like intensity that unnerved me. He thought I was guilty, but there was something else going on here.

"Do I get a lawyer or not?"

"One's on its way."

"Who?"

"No idea. PDs come out of a pool. They rotate between assignments. You'll get whoever's next on the roster. You sure you can't afford a lawyer?"

I snorted. "I work part time at the marina."

"What about your, ah, extracurricular activities," he asked, guileless, like he really thought I was a total idiot. "You must make better money doing that."

"What do you think I am? A hustler? A dope dealer?"

He shrugged, never taking his eyes off my face. "You were picked up for soliciting eight months ago. Outside the Vault.

You tried to proposition an undercover officer."

"Guy picked me up. He solicited me. Had the hard-on to prove it. Funny how he didn't show his badge until after I gave him a blowjob. He only busted me when I wanted to get paid for services rendered. Very nice dick as I remember. You 29

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want me to describe it? Maybe you'd like to know how you stack up ... No? Suit yourself."

"Soliciting sexual favors for money is a misdemeanor.

Maybe you think it's a joke." He was clearly disgusted. I offered him a small smile until he added, "I assure you it's not."

"That cop didn't think it was such a bad thing. He was really getting into it."

"So you say. How much do you pay for your coke? What else do you use? Oxy? Maybe smoke a little meth? Drop some E at the clubs—"

I schooled myself to stay calm. He was only trying to rattle me. Maybe if I blew up on him he'd have an excuse to use those cuffs again. Throw in some extra charges to sweeten the pot, though how they could find something worse than murder was beyond me. That thought brought me full circle.

How the hell had I ended up on the
Cutting Edge
beside a very dead old man I'd never met before?

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him over the table. "You ever think for one second that maybe I'm telling the truth?

Maybe I didn't do it. Maybe I'm being set up."

He gave a short bark of laughter. "Lock-down is full of guys who got 'set up.' You'll meet them soon enough. You can compare notes."

The interrogation room door flew open. A man in a pinstriped Brooks Brothers suit entered, followed by a harried-looking older Latino man with stripes on his jacket.

Spider stood. "Lieutenant—"

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"This is Mr. Endbury," the Lieutenant said. "He's going to be representing Mr. Zachary."

I looked from the Lieutenant to Endbury to Spider. They looked at each other, right over my head. The hostility ramped up and the room reeked of testosterone. Something was going on and I was being left out. I didn't like that one bit. This was my fucking life and these clowns were having a pissing contest. I stood up, alarming the two cops in the room. They reached for their cuffs.

"Whoa, soldier." Endbury laid his hand on the Lieutenant's arm. "Let me deal with him."

"Nobody's going to deal with me," I snarled. Now that I had their attention, I wasn't too sure it was an improvement.

"Someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on here?"

Spider was clearly the only one amused. A grin slipped through his mask, and he stepped in front of me, as though to shield me from the other two men.

"This," he looked over his shoulder at Endbury, "is the man who's going to represent you."

I looked into the guy's face. "You're my public defender?"

"Actually I'm with Bergot, Sylmar, and Tyler, attorneys at law."

The name of the firm seemed to give Spider's Lieutenant indigestion and pleased Spider no end. I frowned. "Okay, I'll bite. Who are Bergot, Sylmar and Tyler? And what are you going to do for me?"

"Get you out of this place to start with."

"Who told you about me?" I demanded.

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His cool gaze swept over my half-naked form. "I have contacts in the legal system. They told me of George Blunt's untimely passing. I wanted to see the man they allege did it."

"So what? I'm a circus freak?"

"Not at all. You're a case I can win."

"Which means he makes a big name for himself and all the other bad asses will pay him big bucks to represent them,"

Spider said dryly. "You're better than a thousand-dollar billboard."

My glare moved between Spider and Endbury, not sure who I hated more at that moment. But Endbury might be my ticket out of here. Spider was clearly all too determined to make my life a living hell for something I didn't do.

"Fine," I said. "I accept."

Endbury became all business. "I want my client to have some decent clothes." Those cold eyes turned on the Lieutenant. "Why was this man not allowed to bring his own clothes?"

"He was in the middle of a crime scene," Spider said. "He had to be removed before he could compromise it."

"Then you admit his presence compromised the scene?

Therefore, any evidence you recover from that scene can be considered compromised. How can you charge my client when you admit your crime scene was contaminated?"

"I never said it was contaminated."

Before Spider and the Lieutenant could do more than sputter, Endbury swung around to face me. "It's my understanding you worked for a Mr. Phillip Collins, the owner 32

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of the boat where Mr. Blunt and yourself were found. Is that true?"

"Yes—"

"Were you ever on the boat the
Cutting Edge
before this morning?"

"Yes, all the time."

"And what were you doing on the boat all those times?"

"I took tours around the islands." I knew where he was going with this. I jumped in eagerly. "I work on Phil's boats a lot. I do the tours, some minor repairs. I'm a papered ABS—

Able Bodied Seaman. That entitles me to do those kinds of things."

"What tours have you done lately?" Endbury kept glancing at the Lieutenant, as if to gauge his feelings. The Lieutenant did not look happy. Maybe Endbury's questions were working.

"Did you ever go to the boat at other times?"

"Like when?" I asked.

"Did you ever take a friend there to show off?"

I thought hard and fast. Could this help or hurt me? I decided Endbury knew where he was going with these questions. "Yeah, I'd take a guy out there occasionally. Phil didn't care..." A lie, but how would they know that?

"Who were you with last night?" Spider slammed me with the question. Before Endbury could stop me, I blurted out,

"Some guy called Roger. Talk to him. He'll tell you. He said he was from Bakersfield—"

"Give us a full name. We'll track him down."

"I don't know his full name."

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I could tell no one believed me. Tough. It was the unvarnished truth this time.

"Mr. Zachary is a known felon," the Lieutenant said. "With a history of drug use."

"I hardly call a single conviction for possession a history,"

Endbury said. "What are you suggesting my client was doing?

Drug smuggling? Pandering sexual favors with this Roger character?"

The Lieutenant scowled. "He's unable to account for either his actions last night or this morning. The victim's blood was recovered from his person and his clothes."

"Were his missing clothes recovered as well?" Again Endbury's eyes roved over my near naked form. "I doubt very much if he arrived at the boat last night wearing just that."

"You never know with these freaks..." the Lieutenant stumbled into silence under Endbury's frosty stare.

"Did you find the rest of his clothes?" Endbury asked.

"No, we couldn't locate any other clothes on the boat."

"Hard to believe he masterminded this murder. What do you think he did? Hid his own clothes somewhere off the boat and climbed into bed with a corpse so you could find him this morning? By the way, how did you find him? I'm sure the police don't have a standing policy of walking onto random yachts in the marina. Or do they? That would be disturbing news indeed."

"The switchboard received a 911 call at five-forty that there was a problem on a boat in the marina. We dispatched a patrol car. Once they spotted signs of a crime they called dispatch and a team of detectives was sent to check it out."

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"Whereupon they discovered the body and my client. Is that correct?"