Strange Robby (5 page)

They had spent the better part of the day pretending to follow up leads in the case. It wasn't very hard to make sure that everything they found lead to yet another dead end. This guy didn't leave many tracks, and no fingerprints or DNA. Whoever he was, he knew what he was doing.

Now they were heading towards the courthouse to testify against Justin Kent, and Spider was acting weird. Weird even for Spider. Tommy was glad he was driving. Spider's color looked bad, almost pasty-white, and she was jerking at the collar of her shirt and mumbling something under her breath that was inaudible.

"You OK, Spider?" Tommy asked.

"Trying to remember all the details, except the ones I want to leave out, of course. Trying to sort those from the others. Trying to think of every screwy question those fuck lawyers are going to throw at us so I don't trip up." She looked at him and sighed. "The usual shit. I'm a little more spent than usual because, like I said, I haven't really slept in days. I don't want to trip up."

Tommy nodded, and said nothing. Now
he
was nervous. If she fucked up, heads would roll—theirs. "You can do this. We did the right thing even if we did it the wrong way . . . "

"I'm not having an episode of guilty conscience here, Tommy. I have no problem with anything I've done. I just know that the fucking attorney would rather burn me at the stake than see his client convicted."

He knew that wasn't all of it. There was something else. Something she wasn't going to tell him. But if not him, then who? Who did Spider talk to? Because Laura was right, Spider didn't talk to him. At least not about anything that mattered. There was just too much he didn't know about her, and to say that about someone you'd known for fifteen years was to admit defeat as a friend.

What he did know, was certain of, was that if you didn't talk to someone, eventually you exploded. Maybe that was what was happening to Spider right now. Problem was he'd never been very good at getting people to open up. Truth was that he wasn't sure he wanted to hear Spider's problems, even if he could get her to talk.

They couldn't go in the courtroom of course, so they had to sit in the hallway waiting to be called. It reminded Tommy of school. He'd spent a lot of time in the hall. Being smaller than the other kids, and the only Asian in a small Southern town, he'd caught a lot of hell. Since he came from a long line of martial artists who'd been eager to pass on the tradition to the next generation, he'd given their hell right back to them.

Being his father's only son, and in fact the only son born to the first American generation of Chans, he'd been showered with attention from all sides. He was the pride and joy of his family, and they never scolded him for getting in fights at school. At the time he had wondered why, but now he realized that they wanted him to be tough. He started competition at six, and by twenty he had won Grand Nationals. He successfully defended his title two years running. Then one day he'd been shopping with his first wife when two gunmen tried to rob the store they were in. The gunmen made them all lie on the floor. When the old man behind the counter reached for something, one guy spooked and shot him. About that time the cops showed up with sirens blaring. The guys were squirreling out, and Tommy didn't hesitate. He jumped off the floor in a single fluid movement, ran and landed a kick to the nearest gunman's head. As his gun rattled to the floor Tommy swung, kicked, and the second one went down.

Tommy was in all the papers; he was a hero. It was on that day that he decided to become a cop, thereby disappointing his family for the first time.

Now, years later, he was still spending time in the hall for breaking the rules.

Spider looked cool now. Almost aloof. Seeing this, Tommy relaxed. He handed her his coke, she took a drink and handed it back.

A stiff in a coat walked out of the courtroom. "Detective Spider Webb!" he called.

Spider stood up, looked down at Tommy and smiled. "Won't be long now, Tommy boy."

He watched her walk in, thinking how he hated this part of the job worse than anything. Worse than going to the victim's house and telling his family. Worse than having to look at—and smell—half-decayed bodies, or dealing with the IAD. It was the worst of everything all rolled together. You had the perp, and the victim's family, and all the suits, and pictures of the crime scene. Then to make it even better you had to get up on stage and answer a bunch of stupid questions that had purposely been rigged to trip you up. All the time you knew that chances were when it was all said and done the fucker would walk right out, scott-free, to kill or maim or abuse another day. It made him understand why Spider had just killed that guy in the park. No chance
that
guy was going to walk. The real bonus was—no day in court, 'cause court days sucked.

When Tommy walked in the courtroom he saw Laura hovering around the DA's desk, and he smiled. Spider sat behind the DA's desk looking shaken but not stirred, and he relaxed.

Most of the questions were routine, but then out of the clear blue the defendant's attorney said, "Detective Chan, did you hear the scream your partner Detective Webb claims to have heard?"

He played back the video and audio taken at the time of the bust. Comlink videos were always grainy, half pictures, random, and—more times than not—of your shirt. But computer technology he didn't understand allowed them to clean them up and have a more or less complete picture of a bust or crime scene. It was amazing technology, and Tommy for one hated it.

Tommy didn't flinch. "I heard the second scream, but not the first. My partner has very good hearing." The attorney played the tape again.

"It may be just me, but this looks like a part Detective Webb is playing out—and not very well I might add."

Tommy couldn't agree more, and he made a mental note to scream at Spider the next chance he got.

"Spider has very good instincts—uncanny really. When she gets the feeling that something's going on, she becomes very nearly inanimate. She's watching, listening, and her speech patterns often become almost mechanical."

The attorney laughed. "So, what you're saying is that Detective Webb has not set our client up at all, but is just incredibly intuitive."

"Yes, Sir," Tommy answered unblinkingly.

"So you claim that you and your partner were not trying to get around the fact that you were not issued a search warrant for the properties in which you arrested my client and ten other men."

"Correct, Sir."

"You weren't trying to bend the law, even a little bit?"

"No, and I resent your implication."
I said that rather eloquently
, he thought.

"What if I told you that Ms. Tourlliony told us that you and your partner paid her to be there and to scream?"

"Objection! He's leading the witness." The new assistant DA had a nice voice, and she was as Laura had described her—stunning.

"I'd call her a liar," Tommy said, just as the judge yelled sustained.

"No further questions."

The assistant DA stood up. "I'd like to ask this witness a couple of questions in re-direct."

The judge nodded, and the assistant DA approached him. Tommy smiled in spite of himself. He'd seen her around before, but he'd never really looked at her, which he figured proved his incredible fidelity. She had a sexy walk, and nice legs, too. She was just slightly shorter then he was, with auburn shoulder length hair and dark green eyes, incredibly sensual lips, and the delicate features and build of a model. Tommy was thinking that she just didn't look like a dyke, so he missed her question.

"Excuse me?"

She smiled indulgently, no doubt used to men stammering like idiots around her. "Did you see Detective Webb in contact with the witness, Ms. Tourlliony?"

"Not until after the bust."

"How many years have you served with Detective Webb?"

"Fifteen," he said, wondering where this questioning was going. He didn't have to wait long.

The assistant DA turned to the jurors. "In fact, Detective Webb's service record is un-marred. Twice decorated for bravery, once as a police officer, and once in service to this country as a paratrooper in Desert Storm III. I agree with Detective Chan. For Mr. Levits to accuse either she or her partner of misconduct is an insult. No further questions. The evidence in this case, however obtained, speaks for itself."

The judge dismissed him, and he went to sit beside Spider.

"Wow! He was really after your ass!" he whispered in her ear.

She nodded and whispered in his, "He asked me the same questions about you. He was trying to get one of us to implicate the other."

"What a dick!" Tommy said too loud. Everyone at the DA's table turned and gave him a dirty look. He shrugged and muttered an apology.

Spider chuckled and he elbowed her.

A few minutes later the judge recessed the case till the next day. They were half way out of the building when Laura ran to catch up with them. She slung an arm around each of their shoulders.

"Where you booger heads off to?" she asked.

"You're sure that's a term of endearment?" Spider asked, giving Tommy a skeptical look.

Tommy laughed, shrugged, and then answered his wife's question. "Gonna go clock out for the day, and then we were going to go by Kelly's and have a couple of beers. Why?"

"I've got a couple of things to finish up, and then I'll meet you there."

"Great! Then maybe we can go to dinner." Tommy looked from his wife to his partner.

"Spider?" Laura asked.

"Can't go to dinner. I've . . . I've got plans."

Laura let go of them and moved into Spider's path she looked up at her. "What sort of plans?"

Spider looked at the floor. "Ah . . . I've got laundry and . . . stuff . . . you know . . . Stuff."

"Yeah, I know," Laura laughed. "I know that 'laundry and stuff' can wait. Come on."

Spider looked at Tommy, who just smiled and said, "Don't look at me. I know you don't have a fucking life. Come on, we'll eat at . . . " He looked at his wife.

"Bartelo's," she answered, knowing it was Spider's favorite Italian restaurant.

Laura looked at Spider expectantly, and Spider nodded, feeling as if she were trapped. She really didn't feel like going out, but if she didn't she was just going to go by the hospital and talk to Henry. Then she'd go home, stare at the ceiling, and think about the suckiness of her life till she finally fell into a fitful sleep and had the fucking dream again.

Still, she hated being the fifth wheel, and no matter how good your friends were, when you went out with a man and his wife, you were really on your own.

"Good! Then it's settled. I'll meet you at Kelly's." Laura ran off before Spider could talk herself—and them—out of going.

Spider and Tommy slid into the corner booth.

"It was close there for a minute, but they're gonna cage him."

"No thanks to your stellar performance," Tommy whispered. The waiter walked over and set the beers in front of them. They were regulars, and he rarely bothered to ask them what they wanted anymore. He just brought them a couple of cheap drafts.

"Anything else?"

"When Laura gets here bring her a raspberry wine cooler, and bring us each another beer."

"Put it on my tab," Spider said.

Tommy looked at her with raised eyebrows; they usually went Dutch.

"My way of saying I'm sorry, and no I'm not picking up the tab for dinner."

"You're getting off awful cheap." Tommy laughed and took a drink of his beer. "All right, but don't do it again. You put our asses on the line for a laugh."

Spider nodded, and then she did something Spider rarely did, she was silent. He kept waiting for her to talk, but she didn't. This put Tommy on the spot, because usually Spider started the conversation and then they were . . . well . . . talking.

"Ah, you catch the game last night?" he asked.

"Ah . . . what game? You know I don't watch sports. What planet are you from?"

That was it. She still wasn't talking. Just staring at her beer, looking like someone crushed her puppy. God! She was pathetic!

"Your life doesn't suck, Spider," he tried.

Spider laughed loudly and ran a hand down her face. She looked at him and shook her head. "My life sucks, Tommy. Take my word for it. You can count the number of times I've been laid since I got out of the army on the fingers of . . . " She thought about it for a minute. "Well, you'd have fingers left over. Last time was about two years ago. I'm living from hand to mouth; I barely have enough money left over to exist."

"Spider, you make decent money! Where the hell does it go? Left over from what?"

She just glared at him. He'd asked this question many times, and she never answered it. No reason she should now.