Dead Red (9 page)

“These other friends, they’re on the job? Cops?”

“Don’t say ‘on the job.’” I hate it when non-cops say “on the job.” “Most of them, I guess.”

“Maybe some from the reserves?”

“I guess you’d have to ask them.”

“I plan to.” He made a big deal of flipping through his notepad and looked up after half a minute. “You wouldn’t have any names for me, would you?”

I took a sip of the coffee he’d bought for me. “Nope.”

“I guess I’ll have to talk to his mother then.”

“Of course you will.” The sarcasm was wide awake now. Must have been the free coffee.

He lost the smile. “What’s that mean?”

Allison reached over and put her hand on my arm. “It means nothing, Pete,” she said, and gave my arm a not-so-gentle squeeze. “Ray’s just saying that he understands you have a job to do.”

“No,” I said. “What I’m not saying is why do you have to bother his mother at all? What are you going to ask her, Pete? ‘How’s it feel to have your son, who just returned from serving his country on the other side of the world, shot and killed less than a mile from where he grew up?’” Allison’s squeeze turned into a pinch. I pulled my arm away, realizing too late I shouldn’t have done that, but kept talking anyway. “Because I can answer that for you right now. Save you a trip.” I stood up too quickly, raised my voice too high. “It fucking sucks, that’s how it feels!” I was breathing heavy now, my vision getting blurry and my mouth drying up. It was all I could do to stay on my feet. “Next question?”

The atmosphere on the deck felt absolutely frozen. I was staring at Pete, he was staring at Allison, and I was pretty sure whom Allison was staring at. With the exception of my neighbor’s pigeons returning to their coop and a truck horn blaring from the avenue, we stayed quiet for at least thirty seconds. Allison broke the silence.

“Ray?” she said, taking the risk of touching my hand. “You okay?”

Reporters,
I thought.
Always asking the tough, insightful questions.

I took a deep breath and sat back down. Pete, who was still staring at me, looked as if he’d rather be covering any other story besides this one.

“Sorry,” I said to both of them. “It’s been a … I don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Pete said. “I hate that part of the job myself. But I’m telling a story here, Ray, and the family of the victim is part of that story.” He tapped his notepad against his leg two times. “And, no, I don’t ask them how it feels. I’ve been doing this more than a few years now. What I do is I let them speak.” He leaned back against the ledge. “Speak for themselves and the victim. No offense, but I’ve heard some real good cops say the same thing.”

I had, too. I was brought up to believe that’s what police did. It’s exactly what my Uncle Ray had taught me. Pete was making it hard for me to continue disliking him.

“Yeah,” I said. “Okay.”
Like he needed my permission.
“You have any more questions for me?”

“Not about the vic—Ricky Torres, no.”

“Then…”

“What were you doing at East River Park early this morning, Ray?”

I looked at Allison, who gave me a look that said, “Don’t look at me.”

“Patrolman.” Pete flipped open his notepad. “Said Chief Donne’s nephew arrived at the scene. How and why did you show up there, Ray? Is there a connection between that shooting and the shooting of Ricky Torres?”

Patrolman Roy White should have kept his mouth full of donuts and coffee instead of running it off to a reporter. Didn’t he know enough that he’d be putting himself, his coffee supplier, and me in the shit with that kind of loose talk?

“He told me off the record, of course,” Pete added.

“Of course.” I considered my answer carefully before answering. “I can’t tell you why I was there.” Anticipating the next words out of his mouth, I said, “Not yet. It’s probably nothing, but if it becomes something, I promise you you’ll be the first to know.”

“My source only told me because he originally thought your presence at the scene had something to do with the commanding officers showing up and your uncle being who he is.”

“
Did
my uncle show up at the scene?”

“Not to my knowledge. Any reason he should have?”

I repeated what Officer White had told Jack and me about the brass making a big deal out of the mayor’s gun control battle and correcting how black victims of violent crimes were often underrepresented in the media. It occurred to me Pete had mentioned nothing about Officer White telling him that Jack was there as well.

“Did the mayor get to the hospital, Pete?”

“Oh, yeah. Got some very quotable quotes. You’d have thought he was running for reelection already. I’m sure he’ll be all over the networks tonight. Guy knows how to work the press, I’ll give him that.”

“He gives good TV,” I agreed.

Pete looked at his notes for a few seconds and then flipped the pad closed. “I appreciate your letting me come over, Ray. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, and I know it’s not easy to talk about.”

“Thanks.” I offered my hand. “Sorry about the yelling before.” I gave Allison a quick glance. “I’m going to blame it on the PTSD.”

“Agreed,” he said, shaking my hand. He turned to Allison. “You’ll e-mail me that research?”

“Soon as you leave,” she said.

“Thanks. You guys hang in here,” he said. “I’ll see myself out.”

Neither Allison nor I argued as he did just that. When we heard the front door shut, Allison turned to me. “Remember earlier? When I said
don’t
be a dick?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for listening. You scared the shit out of Pete.”

“He’s a big boy. He can handle himself.”

“You scared me, too, Ray. That was some outburst. I’ve never seen that side of you before.”

“I’ve never been in this kind of situation before, Allison.” I rubbed my eyes. “Jesus. It’s finally hitting me. I could’ve been killed last night. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react, but I bet anger’s right up there on the top of the list.”

She put her arm around me. “I’m sure it is, but you’re only going to get away with this dickish behavior for so long, Ray.”

“I’m not even sure that’s a word, Ally.”

“I’m a writer. If there’s not a word to fit what I’m trying to say, I have the license to make one up.”

“I’m done arguing for the day.”

“Me, too.”

I put my arm around her and pulled her into a hug. It was just what I needed at the moment. Then my cell went off.

“You want to get that?” Allison asked.

“Not really.” I reached over anyway and picked up my phone, which was next to my coffee. I looked at the caller ID.
Shit.
He’d probably just heard the news. “I better get it. It’s Edgar.”

Chapter 8

IT TURNED OUT EDGAR WAS RIGHT downstairs. Maybe he’d run into Reporter Pete on his way out. As soon as he hung up, I stepped into my bathroom to pop a few more ibuprofens. Edgar buzzed and was at my apartment door in less than thirty seconds.

“Jiminy Cricket, Ray,” he said after giving me a breathless, one-armed hug. I don’t think Edgar did full hugs or ran up four flights of stairs much. “Why didn’t you call me? I’da been right over.”

“You were the first person I
thought
to call, and then my sister showed up at the hospital, Allison came over, then my uncle…”

Edgar looked over at Allison. “Hey,” he said, nodding with his chin.

Allison smiled. “Hello, Edgar.”

“Before I knew it,” I said, “a whole lot of time had passed. I was gonna call you tonight.” I noticed his eyes starting to moisten. I reached out and touched his elbow. “I’m okay, Edgar. Really.”

He shook his head, looked at the floor, and closed his eyes. “Okay.” He looked at Allison again. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything or whatever. I was on my way back from a convention upstate, heard the news, and came right over.”

“It’s fine, Edgar,” Allison said. “What was the convention?”

Edgar’s face broke out into a huge smile, as it always did when someone showed any interest in what he was doing. And a pretty woman? Forget about it.

“It was up in Albany. The annual Spy Show. Companies from all over the country and a dozen foreign countries were there. All with the newest, top-of-the-line surveillance equipment. Most of it not even on the market yet. At least not in the U.S.” A lightbulb went off over his head. “Want me to run down to the car? I got the catalog and a couple of DVDs. It is the absolute coolest stuff, really.”

“That’s okay,” I said, noticing how quickly he’d gotten over my situation. “Some other time, Edgar.”

The smile faded. “I knew it. I
am
interrupting something. Sorry.”

“No. It’s just that I’m real tired. I’d love to look at that stuff. Maybe this week at The LineUp, huh?”

He thought about that. “Yeah, maybe. I just don’t want the other guys to start ribbing me about it, Ray. They already think I’m some sort of nerd.”

“The
best
kind of nerd.” He didn’t seem to find that humorous or flattering. “Don’t worry about what they think, Edgar.
I’m
interested. I love that shit.”

The smile returned. “Cool beans. Hey, what about that other cabbie shooting? The cops connect it to what happened to you and Ricky?” Edgar acted like he already knew about it, probably from his police scanner.

I told him about both cabs being owned by the same corporation. “What it all means? I have no idea.”

“
Yet,
” he said, trying to sound coy. Edgar did not do coy very well.

“Don’t start, Edgar. This is a high-priority case. Ricky was an ex-cop vet who was planning on returning to the PD. If they connect last night’s shooting vic to Ricky, it’s gonna get real hot. The last thing anyone’s gonna want is another ex-cop sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.” I could see where he was about to go with that. “No matter
who
his uncle is.”

I could almost hear the gears turning inside Edgar’s head. Once again, I was close to a case, and to Edgar, that meant
he
was close to a case.

“Ray,” Allison said. “What’s this about last night’s shooting? You’re making it sound like there’s more of a connection than you led me to believe.”

My first thought was to bluff my way out of it. Claim that I had misspoken and that it was obviously a symptom of stress and lack of sleep. I looked at both their faces. Neither was going to buy it, so I decided to go with the truth and told them about “KT/7” being written on the victim’s hand and about the shell casings in my shooting possibly matching the gun found—or left—next to this morning’s victim.

Edgar and Allison both shook their heads, contemplating what I’d just said and looking at me as if I’d lied to them. It wasn’t a lie. Not really. I just left—No, it was a lie. Exactly what I’d tell one of my students.
A lie of omission.

“Why didn’t you mention that to Pete when he was here?” Allison asked. She turned to Edgar. “A reporter I work with.” Back to me. “Who Ray was
supposed
to give a full and accurate account of everything he knew.”

“That’s not completely true,” I said. “He was here to interview me about the shooting
I
was involved with. He was at the scene, Allison. If he didn’t come up with the same info I did, too bad for him. And before you give me another lecture on freedom of the press, the cops haven’t made an official connection yet. That’ll come after they match the victim’s gun with the bullets in Ricky’s cab. I’m not gonna give some reporter info that may turn out to be nothing.”

Allison took a deep breath before speaking. “By ‘some reporter,’ I’m assuming you mean Pete?”

“Who else would I mean?”

She forced a smile. “And you don’t think your girlfriend would want to know?”

Edgar took a few steps back. I wished I could have stepped back with him.

“Allison. You gotta cut me a little slack here. I’m still learning how to walk this line with you. Most of the time you’re my girlfriend, and I love … that. But when I came home after the river…”—
Tread lightly,
I told myself—“You have to admit: you had your reporter jones on. So much so that, when Pete called, you couldn’t wait to get him half a block away from my apartment before I woke up.”

As Allison considered that, I took the opportunity to glance over at Edgar, who at the moment seemed to have located something completely fascinating under one of his fingernails. I wondered how glad he was now to have stopped by on his way home from the Spy Show.

“You’re right,” Allison said.

I am?

“It is hard for me to turn it off and keep work separate from us. But let’s be honest, Ray. You don’t make it easy. In less than three years, this is the third newsworthy story you’ve gotten yourself involved in. You ever think about that?”

I did now
. I searched my brain for the right words and finally settled on a quote I heard years ago. I think it was Hitchcock.

“Interesting people,” I paraphrased, “lead interesting lives.”

I could tell by the look on Edgar’s face that he liked that. Allison’s face told another story.

“Interesting people also come to interesting ends.” She grimaced as soon as those words left her mouth and immediately grabbed my hands and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Ray. That sounded real clever in my head and then real shitty when it came out. I’m trying to wrap my head around what you’ve been through. It’s hard. And it scared me. The reporter thing is a way I can put some distance between the shooting and me.” She ran her hands up my arm. “Not between
you
and me.”

I pulled her into a hug and kissed her on the cheek. “I get it, Allison. We’re good. It’s been a helluva weekend.”

“The Master of Understatement,” she said, breaking the hug and addressing Edgar. “You want a beer? Ray’s got the good stuff in the fridge.”

“Ray’s always got the good stuff,” he said, and then smiled, realizing that could be taken more ways than one. He was silent for a few seconds and made a big deal out of checking his watch. “Thanks, but I gotta go.” He looked a bit embarrassed. “I kinda want to hit the Web sites and reach out to some of the folks I met this weekend.”