It was the changing of shifts at the
cab company. Doc’s Jaguar was in its spot. Bob buzzed them in past the dispatch
to Jenny’s desk.
Tongue slathered in ministerial butter,
Doc was out of his chair to greet them, “I’m so pleased to see you, Detective
Ryan, in this time of trouble. Have a seat.”
Ryan looked at the low, deep cushioned,
chairs but didn’t want to sink into one of them.
“As you know, all of us at the company
are grief stricken.” Doc went back behind his desk and waited for the two to
sit. Ryan scrutinized Doc and took note of a near imperceptible nervous tic.
Rogers sank deep into the chair and
flipped through an Art Forum magazine. Doc was still standing, as was Ryan, and
continued as though reciting a prepared speech at a funeral, “Perry was one of
our most beloved drivers… but he had some problems that, well, they just
overwhelmed him.”
Ryan didn’t take his eyes off the
Professor, “You go ahead and sit, Doc. My back is bad and I couldn’t get up if
I sat in one of those.”
Doc hesitated but sat at a
disadvantaged position.
Once Ryan established a dominant
stratagem standing, he asked, “I hope I’m not rude by asking, do you know of
anyone who would want to kill Perry?”
Doc hadn’t planned on having his
sitting strategy reversed as he peered up at Ryan’s sour face, “No. Everyone
loved Perry.”
As if on cue, Jenny opened the door,
“Excuse me, Doctor Spawn, but your appointment is in ten minutes.”
“Thank you Jenny.” He stood from his
chair, “As you might know, Perry was mixed up with some shady characters. We
suspected he had a cocaine habit and had already notified him we needed a urine
test.”
Ryan wondered if Doc was going to give
him the bum steer too. He led with a question just to see, “You think the other
driver, Kraszhinski, might be involved?”
“I don’t know but, unfortunately, we’re
going to have to let him go too. He was busted last night. He’s out on bail but
the city pulled his cab license first thing this morning.”
“Oh, I wonder why I didn’t know that.”
Ryan acted as though puzzled but, of course, he knew. He was surprised Doc already knew
so much... Like the suicide cake had already been baked and frosted. He waited to see if Doc was going to try to put some candles on it and sing Happy Birthday too.
“You think he had something to do with
this?” Doc exaggerated a shrug, “Frankly, I would have thought he’d be the one
to commit suicide. Not Perry.”
“Doc, I’d like to have the dispatch
logs for the last few nights.”
“Sure, they’re in the dispatch office.
Jenny can copy them for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sirs, I can’t miss this
appointment with the bank.” Doc gestured for Ryan to leave first.
“Oh, you didn’t say it was with the
bank, Doc. You’d better get to it.” Ryan showed a mildly sadistic delight at
Doc’s discomfort.
Rogers joined Ryan after picking up the
logs from Jenny. Doc sped off in his Jaguar. Ryan was P.O. ed at himself for
not taking pictures of the tires. He thought of following Doc to see where he
was going but not with Rogers in the car. They stopped before getting in the
Caprice. Ryan asked, “What did you see in Doc’s office.”
“See? What was there to see? A fancy
art magazine… the usual framed documents on the wall… a comfy chair…”
“And Doc? What about Doctor Spawn?”
“He was upset about Perry. He sounded
sincere, why?”
Ryan thought of Rogers as an ambitious
young man but not eager enough to commit himself to detective work. If an
investigation didn’t jump out the box like a Cracker Jacks prize, Rogers would
just as soon let it go cold.
Perry’s suicide/murder was but one
thread in a complex conspiracy Ryan had been drawn into by Anna. He was careful
not to let anyone know exactly what he’d untangled of it so far. That’s why he
kept two corkboards: one large one at the station, and another at home. There
were too many high-power folks involved for any missteps. Now he wasn’t so sure
of Rogers.
“Let’s get back to the Barn and check
in with the Lewey.”
Ryan knew Sergeant Lopez was a good cop
on the streets but was marking time while awaiting retirement and, proving the
Peter Principle, he had been promoted past his level of incompetency in charge
of Homicide, Narcotics, and Vice. Lopez wasn’t up to anything with more
responsibility than keeping his desktop spotless and knowing enough about the
rules of bureaucracy to not cross anyone else’s bailiwick. A picture of a
tropical island beach above the file cabinet adorned the wall behind him. He
was already on that beach sipping a Pina Colada.
“Sit down Ryan. Looks like you stirred
up a shit storm over this Perry suicide case. Doctor Spawn’s lawyer called.
Says you threatened him. And you say?”
Ryan snorted, “Suicide? What the…
threatened? I asked a few questions, Lopez. I didn’t get the memo. Are they the
kinds of questions that don’t get asked around here anymore?”
Lopez passed a file towards Rogers,
“You’re crossing jurisdictions, Ryan. Camino Cielo’s County. You’ve got no
business putting your nose in County Homicide’s business. Besides, I got the
coroner’s report faxed to us a few minutes ago. Not much to it.”
Ryan grabbed the file from Lopez’s hand
before Rogers had a chance. He flipped it open and ran a stubby finger to the
block where cause of death was typed, Suicide. He scanned further down for the
coroner’s signature. It wasn’t signed by Dr. Williams’ but by a County Deputy,
“What gives, Lopez? How can you buy this crap? Where’s the forensic pathologist
report?”
“Dr. Williams must not have been
available. Section 27491 says a deputy can sign it, Ryan. Lay off it.”
It was dated an hour before he’d been
at the Coroners’ Office. “C’mon Lopez. We just left the lab. She hadn’t even
opened him up yet, but it was obvious. She was signing it off as a homicide.”
“Must have found something after you
left. County Investigators signed off on it and, if it’s as fucked up as you
say, it’s all theirs now. You’re off the case.”
“It’s murder, Lopez,” the veins popped
out on the stump of Ryan’s neck, “and you know it.”
Lopez slammed a fist on his desk,
“Don’t go shitting a brick over it Ryan. You’ve gotta lighten up and take some
of your vacation time. You’ve got it comin’ to you. Go fishing. If I had your
boat, that’s where I’d be, instead of in this fucking hole.”
Ryan left Rogers with Lopez at the station
and popped an Enalapril on the way to his car. His mind was racing and he knew,
from how irritable he’d become, that his blood pressure was high. Lopez was
right. Take it easy. Let it go. He’d been diagnosed as having an aortic
aneurism and needed to take care of himself… get out to sea. He could let go of
all this BS if it wasn’t for Anna. Because of Anna he knew too much to drop out
of sight.
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