Send Out The Clowns (Frank River Series) (2 page)

Lieutenant Sheridan (Sherri to friends, if she had any,
Sumbitch in the squad room) Barker looked up from the file on her desk. She was
the antithesis of the black woman; blond hair drawn back in a bun, yet frizzy,
like an ad about "loose ends," green eyes under narrow, nearly
horizontal brows, a long face with full upturned lips and a slender nose. Gold
studs pierced her ears, and her uniform was tailored and neat in minute detail.
Frank had heard rumors that she was lesbian, so maybe the other woman was her
partner, but then he had heard such rumors at one time or the other about every
female in the detective bureau and had long since dismissed such comments as
defensive reinforcement by men who had had their tail singed by an efficient
Supervisor.

"Detective Rivers," Barker nodded, looking up from
her desk. "Come in." Frank obeyed and stood in front of her,
wondering if he should sit. "I understand you caught a case this
morning." It was a statement, not a question,

"That's right. Early this morning." He did not try
to fill her in on the case. She no doubt knew as much as he did.

She studied the file, as if he were not standing there. Without
looking at him, she asked, "What's your take so far?"

"It's far too early to have much. There was little
evidence at the scene. We haven't identified the body, and as yet have no
motive or murder weapon."

Barker caught his eyes and held them, hers boring through
him like green emeralds. He was intimidated in spite of his resolve not to be.
"You say you don't have 'much.' As I understand it, the vic was dressed
like a clown, complete with make-up and a false nose and had been hung up on a
gaff hook."

Frank became angry. It had not been four hours since he left
the scene and already the lieutenant had all the information. He doubted that
Al Shuman had provided it. Some Uniform or lab tech must have told her.

"The gaff hook is speculation. I haven't heard from the
lab yet. There was a jagged wound in the man's neck."

"It appears to be a ritual killing. Do you agree?"

"I'm not into making quantum leaps this early in an
investigation, but yes, I've considered it might be a serial."

"Are there any similar cases on record?"

Frank suppressed a grin, pleased that he had run the
computer search earlier. "I've gone through the case file. I found no
reference to similar cases either for clowns or Vietnamese."

An expression crossed the lieutenant's face, telling Frank
she was surprised that he had already referenced the files. Barker stood,
straightened her skirt and continued to stare at Frank. "I've been reading
your file, Detective. This isn't the first time, as you know because of our
discussion when I first arrived and you had just beaten up one of your
colleagues."

Frank did not consider Jack Coleman his colleague. He was a
patrol officer who had stopped an old girlfriend of Frank's on a bogus speeding
violation and abused his authority by hitting on her. He decided nothing would
be gained by bringing up any of this now.

"I remember," he answered.

"Your file is very impressive for the most part. You
were a regular superstar around here before I came. You're too old now to be a
boy wonder, but I'll assume you're still a first rate detective."

Frank nodded.

"Your problem is that nobody wants to work with
you."

"It's never popular when you're the one to send your
partner to Huntsville." A ring of impatience and resentment hung in his
voice. He knew all of this and he knew the lieutenant knew. They had discussed
it before. It annoyed him that she was bringing it up now, particularly with a
stranger in the room.

"You'll need help on this one, Detective." She
glanced over his shoulder at the woman in the chair. "I want you to meet-
your new partner, Geraldine Gardner."

The woman he had identified as a cop jumped up from her
chair and extended her hand. "Hi. I am Geraldine. Most people call me
Gerry or G.G. I don't care which, as long as you call me when the donuts get
here." She looked down at her body with a grin. The smile lit up her
entire face.

"Officer Gardner recently transferred from
Kingwood," Barker reported. "She too, has trouble staying with
partners."

Geraldine hung her head in a manner suggesting contrition, but
Frank decided she was posing. What he had seen so far told him that Geraldine
Gardner did not back down from much of anything.

"I guess you're stuck with me," she grinned as she
stuck out her lower lip.

Frank sensed that he was going to like this woman.
"Sounds good to me," he smiled. "We may be stuck with each
other. At least I'll finally have a partner that isn't an ex-Marine."

Geraldine laughed. "Man, this ain't your day. I was a
BAM for four years."

"A what?"

"A BAM. A Broad Ass Marine. You've never heard
that?"

Frank rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Frank," the lieutenant interrupted. It was the
first time she had called him anything other than detective. "I'm pleased
you're accepting this without a quarrel."

Frank shot her a look, but said nothing.

"If there are no questions, you two should get on with
your work."

"Yes, Ma'am," they both nodded and left. Outside,
Geraldine took Frank by the elbow and said in a soft voice. "She doesn't
want you to know it, but she admires you."

"She's damn good at keeping it a secret," Frank
mumbled.

Chapter
2

"In there," Frank tossed his head toward the
lieutenant's office door, "you said you didn't care whether I called you
G.G. or Gerry. Which do you really prefer?"

"I think of myself as Gerry. My grandmother insisted on
naming me Geraldine so she could call me Gigi. She loved the movie. Gigi sounds
like a damn poodle or a stripper, and I hate the Geraldine moniker."

Frank nodded. "Gerry it is. You can call me
Frank."

Gerry stopped and stood back. Frank turned toward her, a
quizzical look on his face.

"Not Francisco or Riojas?"

"Where did you hear about that?"

"Hey, Frank. When I get orders to team up with someone,
I do my homework. Sumbitch ain't the only one that's read your file."

Frank smiled. He liked the fact that she cared enough to do
a background check. It showed she had the mind of a detective. "My dad
thought I'd have a better chance in the world as Frank Rivers." He started
walking again. Gerry caught up. "You can call me Francisco it you want."
She did not reply. "If you've read all about me, you have a definite
advantage. Tell me about Geraldine."

"I won't say another word until I have a hot cup of
coffee in my hand."

They had reached the squad room. Frank opened the door and
stood back, making a sweeping gesture with his left arm to allow her to enter
ahead of him. "We can take care of that right now. There's always a pot
going in here, but it isn't always good."

"Coffee's like sex, Frank. Some's better than others,
but it's all good. How's that go? The worst I ever had was wonderful."

Frank smiled and went to the coffee bar. He poured Gerry a
cup and handed it to her before pouring his own. "You ought to bring a
personal cup in and label it so everyone doesn't slobber in it. I keep a spare
in the desk drawer."

"Who's is this?" Gerry asked, looking at the cup
in her hand.

"Mine. I'm using my former partner's."

"That would be Skip," Gerry guessed in a quiet
tone. Frank nodded. He indicated a white cardboard box beside the Bunn.
"They're stale as hell, but they're donuts."

Gerry turned and walked away. "No way, Jose. I've
convinced myself that sugar doesn't exist. I have a hard enough time keeping my
figure without cramming donuts into me."

"You said you liked them."

"I consider them soul food, but 1 don't eat them."

"Then why did you make that comment in the lieutenant's
office?"

"That was play acting for Sumbitch. You know, the
stereotype? Cops eatin' donuts and black folk eatin' watermelon and fried
chicken. Typecasting. Talk about stale and mean-spirited, if you ask me, but
it's what a lot of people like to think."

Frank grinned again and walked to his desk. I love donuts,
he thought, but I'll never eat another one without thinking about watermelon.
He invited Gerry to sit in the side chair. "I asked you to tell me about
yourself, but I get the feeling that if I have patience and listen, I'll find
out everything I need to know."

"There isn't much to tell, Frank. I was born in the
fourth ward and raised by my mother and grandmother. Grandmother's name was
Laverne, and she named Momma, Lilly. That would be short for Lillian-Lillian
Gish. Laverne had a penchant for the silver screen."

"What about your father?"

"Beats me. I know I had to have one, but I never knew
him. The fact that Laverne's last name and Momma's last name were both Gardner
presents a clue."

"Were?"

"What?"

"Were? You said your grandmother and mother's name were
the same, rather than are. Are they both dead?"

"Yeah. Momma died of cancer during my last year in high
school. Laverne passed on about a year later. Complications during surgery for
a routine gall bladder operation." Gerry studied her coffee cup. Frank
remained silent until she had time to relive her misfortune. She caught herself,
blinked and took a sip of the coffee. "Good Lord! That's bad coffee.
Anyway, Laverne always wanted me to go on stage, and Momma argued I needed to
go to college. 'That girl need a education so she don't have to live in no slum
like us,' she'd say. I never figured we could afford either, but I always said
I'd go to college and study to be an actress."

Gerry's gaze locked on her cup again. "Hey," Frank
smiled. "'We don't need to do this. Let me bring you up to date on the
clown case."

"We've got plenty of time for that," she answered
without looking at him. "I want to give you an outline of Me." She
turned her head and looked him directly in the eye. "If we're going to be
working together, we need to understand what makes each other tick."

"Okay. I can agree with that."

"So there I was, not quite 19 years old and alone.
That's when I joined the Marine Corps. I did four years, then used the
Montgomery GI bill to go to college at U of H. The training I got in the Corps
helped me decide to get into law enforcement. Once I had my degree, I
petitioned the department and went to the academy. After graduation, they
assigned me to the unit in Kingwood where I spent the last three years chasing
peddlers and pushers, and now I'm here." She flashed a fleeting smile.

"Joining the armed services was a good idea, but why
the Marine Corps?"

"Growing up in the ghetto sets a mark. I always wanted
to prove I could do anything anyone else could. The Corps seemed like the most
challenging gig. It was sort of like, if I went to the Olympics, I wouldn't
shoot for the bronze, I'd shoot for the gold.”

"Why did Lieutenant Barker indicate you had a hard time
keeping a partner?"

"Come on, Frank. You're a better detective than that.
How many reasons do you need? I'm an unmarried black woman who doesn't know her
place in a male dominated profession where men automatically assume all female
cops are dykes. Nobody wants to be saddled with that every day."

Frank let that sit a while before he responded, "Well,
you may have left the gulf coast for four years, but neither one of us can be
mistaken for jet-setters."

"Hey, Frank. You know, once you've had a taste of Blue
Bell ice cream, you just can't pull yourself away."

"More soul food?"

"You got that right."

Frank took the time to show Geraldine the routine of the
squad room: how they kept files, who used which desks, including a brief
rundown of each detective, and which computers did what. When they reached a
desk near his and covered with dust, he stopped. "You'll move in here.
This was Skip's desk. He won't need it right away."

She ran her hand over the glass veneer that covered the gray
metal top. "You gonna have trouble with me sitting here?"

"No. I've made peace with that whole affair. It'll be
better seeing you there than looking at it empty. Skip and I worked well
together, but I can't say we were really friends." He kept his eyes on the
desk while he talked, staring at it much as Gerry had stared at her coffee cup
earlier. There was no way to tell how long they might have remained silent. The
telephone interrupted.

Frank grabbed the receiver and barked, "Rivers."
Gerry folded her arms and watched him react to the caller. "Hey, Al, don't
you ever go home?" He pulled out his notebook and pen and scrawled
something. "That's great, Al, thanks. Yeah. See you tomorrow." He
hung up.

"We caught a break, Gerry. Shuman got an ID on the
clown. He ran the fingerprints on a whim, and it turned out the guy worked for
the Post Office. His prints were on file. His name is..." he paused,
checking his notes. "Hon Cu Loa."

"I doubt that's his real name," Gerry answered.

Frank looked up. "Oh?"

"Hon Cu Loa translates as Monkey's Island."

Frank could not hide his astonishment. "You speak
Vietnamese?"

"Some. I'm far from fluent, but I know some words and
particularly locations. Hon Cu Loa is well known in Nam."

"Well, crap," Frank grunted in disgust.
"Those prints won't help much if we don't know his real name."

"Xin loi," Gerry smiled.

"And that means?"

Gerry shrugged. "Xin loi means, 'Sorry, Charlie.' Sort
of."

Frank made several notations in his pad. When he finished he
asked, "Listen Gerry, do you mind working Saturday?"

"Hell no. I don't have anything planned. I'd rather
work than sit around trying to find something on television I want to
watch."

"Al Shuman's going to run the autopsy in the morning.
One or both of us should be there." He noticed Gerry's expression turn
sour. "You've never witnessed an autopsy before?"

Gerry shook her head. "I'm not squeamish. At least I
don't think I am. This has to happen sooner or later if I'm staying in
homicide, but it's not something I'm looking forward to."

"I don't think you ever get used to it. Even Al
blanches on occasion, and he's been at it for years."

Gerry straightened and took a deep breath. "What do you
want me to do?"

"Are you still living in Kingwood?"

Gerry nodded. "Pine Grove actually."

"Okay. Drive me home and you take the squad car. Pick
me up at 0730. We'll go watch the autopsy before we eat, and then see if we can
run down any information on the clown AKA Monkey's Island."

"You got it, Boss man." She held up her hand for a
high five, a grin spreading ear to ear. Frank decided that maybe she should
have gone on stage. She could definitely portray emotions.

As they drove west on 1-10, Frank purposely did not give
directions. He won a bet with himself. Gerry turned into the apartment complex
where Frank lived and into a parking slot close to his apartment. They both sat
quietly, neither one obviously ready to put an end to their first acquaintance.

Sports teams talk often about chemistry among the players,
Frank thought. Whatever chemistry is, it's important to fellow detectives. This
seems so right. I hope it's still there tomorrow. He glanced at Gerry. She was
looking at him.

"You got a girl, Frank?"

"What? You mean they left it out of my dossier?"

"Yeah. Just the facts, man."

"Her name is Paulette. I call her Pauley. We've been an
item for years."

"Wedding bells coming soon?"

Frank shook his head. "Never, probably. She doesn't
want to be married to a cop. Scared, not judgmental."

"I can identify with that," Gerry said. "I
try to keep my social life as free of uniforms and stress as I can, but who
else is there to hang around with? Life's too short to try and balance this
career with a fawning civilian."

Frank opened the door and stepped out. He leaned in before
he closed it and winked. "See you at 7:30, partner." Gerry grinned
and put the car in gear. Frank pushed the door closed and watched as she backed
out of the space and left the parking lot before he turned toward his
apartment. He was whistling when he let himself in. The morose mood from the
morning was gone. He was probably just tired. He got grumpy when he was tired.