Geography of Murder (4 page)

Spider nodded. "Yes, that's how it went down.".

"Where did this call originate from?"

"A pay phone outside city hall," the Lieutenant said

"How would someone at city hall know about a body on a boat in the marina? Didn't that seem suspicious to you, Detective?"

"Everything is suspicious to me, counselor," Spider said.

"I'll want a copy of that 911 tape," Endbury said, then asked,. "At what time did the patrol officer call for the detective?"

"Six-oh-five." the Lieutenant replied.

"And the detective arrived on the scene...?"

"At seven-fifteen."

"How far is the police station from the marina?"

"The detective on the graveyard shift was already engaged." The Lieutenant sounded like he was explaining it to a small, not very bright child. "So Detective Spider and his partner Nancy Richards were called at their respective homes."

"I live in Goleta," Spider offered. "Traffic on the freeway is always a bitch that time of day."

"So my client was, according to your report, alone on that boat, lying beside a cooling corpse while you assembled an army outside."

"A few cops is hardly an army," Spider said. "And at that time we had no idea what to expect, so it was necessary to wait for sufficient backup.".

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"As I understand it, my client was sound asleep, possibly drugged, unaware of anything around him until he was awoken by you. Is that correct, Detective Spider?"

"You allege he was drugged, counselor?"

"And since then he has never strayed from his story that he had nothing to do with any of the alleged crimes. Is this also true?"

"Sure, that's what the bad guys do. That's why we call them bad guys."

"Maybe we should be calling him an innocent man, Detective."

Spider's gaze swept over me. He still wore that small, unnerving smile. "Oh I doubt that, counselor."

"We found blood on the scene," the Lieutenant said.

"Have any blood tests been performed on my client? I want a copy of those results as soon as they are available.

What about drug toxicity screens?"

I perked up. "They took blood. They swabbed my hands and stuff, too. That'll prove I didn't do it, right?"

"I want a rush put on those forensics," Endbury said.

"Yeah, you and everybody else," Spider muttered.

"Has my client been formally charged? I want to see the papers on him. Has he been examined by a doctor? A nurse?

A paramedic? Has anybody seen to the interests of this man?"

"He brought me a Coke," I said. Spider glared at me, no longer grinning. "I said thank you."

Endbury picked up the bright red and white can and held it like it contained poison. "Really, detective. Do they still teach you this in the Academy? Detective 101?" Seeing my 36

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puzzlement Endbury explained, "He hoped to get DNA from you, to compare with what they had at the scene."

"We already have his blood. We don't need to trick him,"

the Lieutenant said. "He has been charged."

"Then show me the arrest warrant and get your court orders. In the meantime I expect my client to be clothed and examined by a medical person."

"We've got your alleged perpetrator dead to rights, counselor," the Lieutenant said.

"I don't think so, Lieutenant. You have some bizarre circumstantial evidence from a crime scene at a place my client freely admits to frequent, for legitimate reasons. You have not demonstrated that any action on Mr. Zachary's part put him in the company of Mr. Blunt at any time before they were discovered together this morning at seven-fifteen. Has a weapon been recovered? Has a time or cause of death been established?"

"You know the autopsy won't be done for several days at the earliest. Tox screens take even longer," the Lieutenant said.

"Hey," I said, drawing every eye in the room. I pointed at Spider. "He told me they already had the autopsy results. He showed me the papers." My eyes narrowed. "You lied. Can he do that?"

Endbury nodded. "The courts give the police quite a bit of leeway to stretch the truth in interrogations. Trust me, Mr.

Zachary. There has been no autopsy, there is no recovered blood. There is nothing to tie you to the murder of Mr. George Blunt."

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"Except he was found practically fucking that same Mr.

Blunt," the Lieutenant snapped. "And he still hasn't offered word one about why he was there."

"Nor will he." Endbury gave me a stern look when I opened my mouth to snap a retort. "Do not speak to any member of this department again without me at your side. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"Then get him some clothes and get him to a doctor. I expect a full report of those events by end of day." Endbury snapped his wrist up to look at his watch. It probably cost more than my piece of shit car and the dump I lived in combined. Who was this guy? Endbury slid the cuff of his pricey suit back over the gold wristband. "That's five hours from now."

When they made me stand up I was woozy and swayed on my feet. Endbury looked grim. "Has this man had anything more than that sugar drink since he was brought here? While he's being examined by a doctor I expect him to be fed. Do not cause him more distress."

So they took me by ambulance to a white-walled room where a quiet man in white looked me over and pronounced me fit. While I waited and submitted to various blood, urine and saliva tests someone brought a store-bought sandwich to me along with a carton of milk. I'd rather have had a beer but since that wasn't being offered, I guzzled the milk and inhaled everything but the wrapper crumbs.

For the last trip I sat beside Spider who looked more and more pissed as we crawled through traffic to the county jail.

"Who is that guy?" I finally ventured.

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"Your lawyer? He told you who he is."

"Yeah, but
who is he
? You guys were falling over yourselves trying to get me to confess to something I didn't do, until he shows up, then your bending over backwards being good cops. So, who is he?"

"Big guns." Spider's response was sour. "He normally handles the high-priced mucky-mucks who kill their wives. He told you what he was doing on your case." He peered more closely at my face. "You sure you're not some family scion and they want to protect your ass?"

"You should write for Hollywood. I'm just who I look like.

No money, no infamy—"

"Wrong. You're famous now. This case is going to break nationwide. Blunt was a big nasty canker on this city for years. Someone kills him, that's big news. Maybe that's what this is about. Endbury could make a hell of a name for himself if he wins. Then the other scum will crawl out of the woodwork and pay him anything to get them off, too."

"So I'm a self-serving charity case."

"Hey, don't knock it. It could work."

"You still think I did it?"

He studied me for several seconds. "I've met some cool-as-cucumber killers in my day, but you take the cake. I usually get some kind of reading from a suspect. A tell, something. Off you, nothing. But if you didn't do it, then who did? And why did they go to so much trouble to make it look like you did it?"

I wish I knew.

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39

Geography of Murder

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I booked the kid into county and headed back to the
station to finish my paperwork for the day. Two hours
and several Tylenol later, I climbed behind the wheel of
my Toyota truck and headed west, back to Goleta.

Before I left town, I swung off my usual freeway route
to park in front of a square cinder block building some
enterprising soul had painted black. There was no sign
over the heavy metal door. I checked myself in the rear
view before leaving the truck. At the station I had
showered and changed into jeans and a black leather
jacket. I smoothed my hand over my buzz cut, checked
for spinach in my teeth, and then made sure my badge
hung straight on its gold chain and my sidearm was
secure in its shoulder holster and climbed out of the
cab.. I flashed my membership ID at the bouncer and
he let me pass. The Vault lived up—or down—to its
name. It was a dark, cavernous place where my boot
heels echoed on the slick tile floor, and the stench of
long forgotten cigarettes and other smokables hung in
the air. The bar was nearly empty except for a Dom at a
table being waited on by his sub. He stared at me from
under his peaked leather cap, nodded, and went back
to talking in a low voice to the blond cutie who knelt at
his feet.

I pulled a bar stool over and sat. The bartender, a slick young banger wannabe sidled over. He had a dog collar and a 40

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row of tats on either arm that left almost no skin uncolored.

Some were prison ink; others were gang tats. He was ex-con.

Forbidden fruit. Just the kind I liked. He wore nothing but a black vest and a pair of hip hugging chaps with a jock to keep himself legal. His chest was hairless and sculpted from daily workouts. I pegged him at being just barely legal.

"Getcha?" His voice was low and husky. I could imagine his voice sliding over my oiled body. My jeans got tight.

"
Cerveza
," I said. "To start. Then you can tell me what a punk-ass sleaze bag like you is doing in a dump like this.

Keep it simple, I don't feel like thinking tonight."

He gave me a small, secretive smile and got my Mexicali.

When I reached for the bottle his hand brushed mine. Our eyes met. He lowered his and stared at a spot below my left ear. "I'm off at six."

It was ten to. I upended the bottle and drained half. It tasted so good I did it again. But while I studied the sexy little thing in front of me another image intruded. A golden boy in skintight parade pants, bootless, shirtless, hair shaggy from neglect, who proclaimed his innocence in the face of evidence to the contrary. It took a set of balls to deny the obvious. Most people didn't have them. Or they lost them when the pressure was applied.

The bartender served me another beer. That would have to be it if I expected to drive home. Then I saw him staring at my exposed Beretta and thought that might not be an issue. I casually flipped my leather jacket open and reached down to squeeze my crotch. His eyes followed.

"You live alone, boy?"

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He shook his dark head with regret. "But my roommate's out." He licked his lips and kept his eyes averted like a good sub should. "He won't be back 'til late."

"How late?"

"Late enough."

"You got wheels?"

"
Si
."

"Then you're driving. Get me another beer."

"You a real cop?"

"Commit a felony and find out." Finishing my list of rules broken I flipped my cuffs out of my back pocket and jangled them in front of him. He got a glazed look on his face. "We can play cops and bangers later on. You'll do what you're told, or else."

He couldn't stop staring at the cuffs. "Or else what?"

"I think you know the drill."

It turned out he did. Back at his place, a low rent walk-up on the east side, it didn't take five minutes before he was on his knees with my dick stuffed down his throat and his hands in my cuffs behind his back. I had stripped my jacket and shirt off, but wore the shoulder holster and my department issued gun. The kid was good. Enthusiastic and talented.

Turned out his missing roommate was another sub, and they had a closet full of toys that kept us entertained well into the evening. He even had one of those old-fashioned saps we no longer use on the force. I damn near wore my wrist out giving him that lesson in discipline he'd been begging for since I'd selected him at the bar. Behind the leather hood, he groaned and cried out at each blow. By the time I rolled him onto his 42

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stomach and rammed my dick up his ass he was howling.

Good thing his roomie was out. I half expected the neighbors to come banging on his door. But maybe they were used to it.

That thought enraged me and added fire to my assault on his ass.

And like any good sub, he loved every minute of it.

I woke at dawn and lay on my back in the strange bed, realizing where I was and who I was with. Glancing over I saw the sleeping bartender and realize how damn young he was. Maybe twenty-one, playing at being tough but not having a clue. The world was going to eat him alive. I wasn't going to be first in line at the smörgåsbord. I squeezed his shoulder and he rolled over, displaying a stiff dick I had no time for.

"Come on, you have to take me back to my truck. Maybe I'll be back tonight," I lied.

He knew better than to argue. All he said was, "Please."

He dropped me off at the Vault. Before I jumped out of his truck I touched his arm. "You should be careful who you go home with, you know. You can get into serious shit that way."

"I can take care of myself."

I shrugged and peeled out of the lot. Fifteen minutes later, I sauntered through the station doors.

I reached my desk five minutes before Nancy strolled in.

She nodded grumpily and glared at the monitor in front of her. My partner was not a morning person. I waved the muffin and coffee I'd picked up, and she took it with thanks, chewing noisily. I didn't sleep a lot the night before but a good night of fucking and sucking always left me pumped. I 43

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got down to the business of policing no one ever shows you on TV, writing reports.

"ME said the autopsy on Blunt should go down today. You going to attend?" She finished her muffin and brushed crumbs off her desk. She looked human again.