Rejection: Publishing Murder Mystery (Lou Drake Mysteries) (29 page)

“Truth is,” Smythe continued, “if it wasn’t for Collins you would have never made Detective. Even your patrol record was mediocre.”

“I do my best. Look, I want to apologize about my behavior at the scene, but to see Andrade down and Collins dead, it just shook me real bad.”

Smythe snorted.

“Never seen a murder scene before, is that it?”

“No, I mean, yes but—”

Smythe slammed his hand down on the blotter and Thibido jerked backwards in his seat.

“But the truth is, you have a pretty good idea why two supposed friends and partners would suddenly gun each other down in the middle of the night, now don’t you?”

Thibido was shaking his head even before Smythe finished speaking.

“No sir.”

“Come on Detective, we all know what really happened. Do yourself a favor and own up to your part. It’ll be easier for you in the long run. I know all about the Hennings affair; the witnesses, the evidence, the whole thing. I also know how Andrade and Collins were involved. And ever since that happened you’ve been joined at Collins’ hip. Now I ask you, how is it even possible that you don’t know why these two alleged conspirators shot one another?”

Thibido was all wide-eyed innocence. “I’m sorry sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t buy that for a minute. You can’t expect me to believe that Collins never said anything to you about any conflict between him and Andrade.”

“Collins seemed more agitated lately,” Thibido offered, “like he was pissed off about something. I figured it was about the literary killer case. He talked about that a lot.”

“And what’s your take on the dead literary agents,” Thatcher asked.

Thibido jerked. He had almost forgotten the FBI guy was in the room.

“Me?” Thibido said.

“Yes,” Thatcher said, “you.”

“I, uh, well — I guess I was just following Collins and waiting to see what he came up with.”

“No theory of your own, huh?” Smythe asked.

“No, I’m sorry sir.”

“I’m sorry too,” Smythe said. “Okay, consider yourself on suspension as we look into this further. Now get out of here. And if I hear you step one toe over the state line I’ll have you arrested for obstruction and flight. You understand?”

“Yes sir.”

Thibido left the office with his face set in grim resignation.

Thatcher closed the door behind him.

“That was surprising,” Kellerman said. “I thought that useless shit bag would sing like a choirboy.”

“I bet he would have if Andrade was dead,” Smythe said. “But Andrade is still alive, so Thibido is too afraid to spill the secrets. He might even hope Andrade will make sense of this and save his ass.”

“Pathetic,” Thatcher said.

* * *

As the interviews continued upstairs, Drake checked on Shakespeare and found him asleep in the cell. Drake’s shift was ending but he felt like hanging around the station to gather information on the night before. Nobody had a spare moment and most of the discussions that mattered were behind closed doors. Drake checked out with the desk sergeant. McDonald noted Drake’s departure on the computer.

“Okay, you’re all checked out.”

“Uncle Lou,” Kellerman called out.

Drake turned to see him coming from the direction of Andrade’s office.

“All done?” Drake asked.

“For now. Still feel like breakfast?”

“Sure, how about Molly’s?”

“Works for me.”

Drake grabbed his jacket and they were soon walking on the sidewalk.

“How’s your dad?” Drake asked

“He was bored for a while, but now he’s getting a job as a security guard at the university. He thinks they’re putting in extra security because of the literary agents getting whacked.”

“That’s wild.”

“How about you?” Kellerman asked. “I heard about the store and the car.”

“That feels like ancient history after last night. I’m fine, and Robin’s staying at her sister’s place for a while.”

“Dad told me you’re engaged. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, but things have been crazy so Robin and I haven’t had much time to celebrate. Tell me something, you were in with the Chief, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And all this activity has something to do with Hennings, doesn’t it?”

Kellerman hesitated. “Yeah, well, we had Thibido in for questioning, but basically he had nothing to say.”

“What were you questioning him about?”

“It was Smythe and Thatcher, not me. They wanted to know what’s been going on with Collins lately, see if they can get a handle on why him and Andrade went at each other?”

“And he claimed not to know what was up with Collins?”

“You got it.”

Drake snorted. “Thibido wouldn’t wipe his nose without Collins telling him to do it. He’s got to know something.”

“He claims otherwise.”

Drake shook his head in disbelief. “Lying bastard.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-
S
EVEN

THIBIDO FELT MISERABLE as he walked slowly through the thin snow. Not only had it been eight hours since he had eaten anything, but his career had just taken a huge sideways lurch. All he could think to do at the moment was take care of the hungry part, so he was trudging off to Molly’s Café.

His answers to Smythe’s line of questioning had come easily. All he had to do was follow what Collins had told him to say if he was ever asked about Hennings. After all, he had been following Collin’s lead for the past ten years.

When Thibido was half a block from the café he saw Kellerman and Drake walk out the front door of Molly’s. The two men embraced and then went their separate ways. Drake turned and headed in Thibido’s direction.

Thibido immediately turned and headed back the way he had come. The last person he needed to deal with right now was Drake.

“Hey,” Drake yelled. “Thibido.”

Thibido stopped and turned with an angry look on his face.

“What?”

“You’re just the guy I wanted to talk to.”

“Back off,” Thibido spat. “I don’t have time for you.”

Drake grabbed Thibido’s jacket. “You better make time.”

Thibido tried to run but Drake dragged him to the back of the restaurant and pushed him into the delivery bay where the dumpsters smelled of old chicken fat and spoiled vegetables. As cold as it was, the smell was disgusting. Drake pushed Thibido against the ripe trash containers.

“I just had a talk with Kellerman,” Drake said. “He told me an interesting story about you.”

“Fuck him and fuck you too,” Thibido yelled, but his frightened voice betrayed him.

“I’ll fuck you up bad if you don’t answer some questions!”

Drake shoved the Detective back against the dumpster. Thibido pushed himself upright with his left elbow, planted his feet and threw a wide roundhouse right. Drake easily ducked the punch and drove his fist into Thibido’s gut. Thibido coughed and doubled over. Drake grabbed his lapels and pushed him back until they struck a stack of empty banana boxes. Thibido tumbled backward in a heap.

“You’re going to answer some questions,” Drake said, his voice filled with venom, “or so help me I’ll beat you to a bloody pulp.”

Thibido flailed with his arms and legs, trying to crawl out of the pile of loose cardboard. Drake put a foot on his back and pushed him down into the cold refuse. He grabbed Thibido by the hair and put his lips an inch from his ear.

“You know what happened with the Hennings case. They brought you in and you said what they told you to say. You helped that pile of shit Hennings go free and you were a big part of the reason I took a dive.”

Drake’s voice was driven by ten years of betrayal.

“No, I—”

Drake shut him up with a hard tug on his hair.

“Kellerman told me what the Chief thinks. He also told me you played dumb. But I know Collins, he loved to talk. You know the truth and if you don’t tell me I’ll do you and make it look like a suicide.”

“I don’t know,” Thibido gasped. “I swear.”

“Bullshit,” Drake growled.

Thibido rolled on to his back, his face smeared with banana mush. His clothes were filthy with wet garbage and his eyes were wide with fear.

“Tell me or so help me—”

“I can’t,” Thibido wailed. “I can’t!”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I CAN’T!”

Drake looked down at the sobbing Thibido and sneered.

“You’re pathetic,” he said.

“I can’t.” Thibido’s voice was close to a whimper.

“This isn’t over asshole.”

Drake walked away.

Thibido shook with shame and terror as he slowly climbed to his feet and stepped out of the garbage. He watched Drake lumber up University Avenue until he disappeared behind some trees.

A feeling of hopelessness washed over Thibido and tears streamed down his dirty face. He couldn’t do this anymore. He wasn’t strong enough to keep the secrets alone.

Thibido started walking slowly toward the station and then broke into a run walk. All he could think of was getting to Captain Smythe as quickly as possible. He needed to surrender the heavy load of guilt that clung to him like the stink of the restaurant garbage bins. Ten years of guilt kept his feet moving, guilt from living a life he hadn’t earned, a life built on lies. Ten years of waking up every morning and pushing the remorse into a dark corner of his soul so it wouldn’t eat at him through the day. Most days it did anyway. Thibido thought of Drake’s threat, and pushed his out-of-shape body even harder.

* * *

Back in his apartment, Drake stood in the shower and tried to wash off the stink from the fight. It wasn’t the garbage so much as the anger he couldn’t seem to shed. He hadn’t felt such rage in a long time. Or maybe the feeling had been building inside for years and just chose today to come out. In any case, Drake let the hot water cascade over him until he could feel the tension starting to let up.

He was toweling himself off when he received a phone call from the station.

“Yeah, Drake, the drunk downstairs is awake and asking for you.”

Drake sighed. He’d been planning on a nap, but that would have to wait.

“I’ll be down in half an hour.”

“Just so you know, the guy’s acting nuts. Keeps saying you’re the only one who knows him. Doesn’t want a lawyer or nothing.”

“Okay, I’ll get there as quick as I can. Any news on Andrade?”

“I heard they operated on him. He lost most of his lower jaw on one side and the round took a chunk out of his neck. They patched him up but it took a few hours. Sounds like he’ll need a lot of corrective work.”

“Jesus,” Drake said.

He was still shaking his head in wonderment as he pulled a fresh uniform from his closet and started getting dressed.

Twenty minutes later he descended the stairs into the tombs. Shakespeare sat on his bunk and looked nervous. His eyes were twitchy and his face was slack.

“Hey Brian. I heard you were asking for me.”

“You still have my book? “ Shakespeare asked. “I was worried when they told me you went home. Is it safe?”

“Yeah, it’s safe. Don’t worry. How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” Brian said.

Drake leaned against the wall.

“Are you ready to contact that lawyer of yours? Why don’t we get you that phone call and arrange to get you out of here.”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Shakespeare stood up and started pacing around the cell, clenching and unclenching his hands while rotating his head. He reminded Drake of an agitated zoo animal.

“That cop wouldn’t listen,” Shakespeare said. “I told him I needed to talk to you.”

“No worries. Hey, relax and sit down. We don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention. Things around here are pretty messed up today.”

“No, no, we don’t want any attention.”

“So,” Drake said, trying to think of a topic that might distract Shakespeare and settle him down. “Why don’t you tell me about your new book?”

Shakespeare’s face lit up with enthusiasm.

“This is the one, the one that’ll get me in the door. It has action, human drama, and ironic twists. It sums up everything that’s wrong with the world.”

“Sounds great,” Drake said

He wondered if maybe Shakespeare was still a little wasted.

“It is,” Shakespeare said. “Desperation and clarity of purpose and the final resolution of everything we strive for. To finally understand that to have what you want you’ve got to go and get it for yourself.”

Drake grinned. “That’s pretty profound stuff.”

“Come on Lou, you should understand what I’m saying better than anyone.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re no cop. I know that. You’re a writer, but what are you writing? You have a new book going, but what is it really about?”

“They say to write about what you know, so I’m writing about being a cop, a Detective chasing a serial killer.”

“You see? A thousand other people have written about that because they think it’ll sell. But today you have to write about what nobody knows, what the people secretly want to see but can’t because they are sheep.”

“I see.”

Sandy had been right about this guy. Shakespeare was certainly full of himself.

“Look at the truth,” Shakespeare said, raising his voice again.