Two Graves (A Kesle City Homicide Novel) (4 page)

Mann sighed and rolled over, sensing the weight in the bed beside him. Last night slowly came back to him. He had trouble remembering from one night to another if she was going to be there but you’d think he’d remember the next morning. She’d arrived late and brought Chinese. Fifteen minutes to devour the food and then they both fell into an exhausted sleep. Some romance.

A single apartment would help solve the problem. Four years of deciding whose place they use that night. His emergency clothes stashed in half a drawer at her place; half a closet of her clothes here.

Maybe they could get a house with a deck in the back yard. A place with a big BBQ that could handle a half dozen real steaks rather than that piece of tin crap on his balcony. Maybe even a pool. He could imagine her stepping out of the water, her bikini clinging to her body.

He shifted his weight as gently as possible and turned to face her. She was lying on her side and facing away from him, still asleep, her breathing regular. He reached out and stroked the soft hair that fell across the pillow. He could still smell her perfume, dark and warm after a night’s sleep. He felt a stirring between his legs. He slipped his hand under the sheet and snaked his arm around her waist. He let the hand slide up and gently cupped her naked breast in his hand.

“Take it somewhere else, Mann.”

Her voice startled him and he pulled his hand back. Then, he moved closer, spooning his body along hers. He parted her hair and kissed the nape of her neck. He whispered as he kissed. “Baby, don’t you love me?”

Suddenly, she threw the sheets off both of them and stood up. She was only wearing a tiny thong. Her full breasts firm, her nipples puckered in the chill air. She had the type of figure that Mann had fantasized about of all his teenage life. Even the shock of cold could not dampen his obvious desire.

“Forget it. I’m still pissed about yesterday. Just tell your
little
friend we aren’t playing. Dumping that dickweed Tetrault on me while you bounce off with Detective Tits. You can just suffer for a while.” Danett turned and walked to the bathroom and shut the door.

*

Giving up on more sleep, Mann turned up the radio and wandered into the kitchen. He looked into the refrigerator for a Pepsi but there were none. He briefly considered a glass of water or juice. Instead, he just threw another case into the fridge. Taking a can out of the case, he popped the top and took a drink of the warm Pepsi as he headed back to the bedroom.

Dani’s camera was sitting in its usual spot on the chair pointed toward the bed. Briefly, he wondered if the camera was ever on while they were making love.

Just the thought of his body on camera made him straighten and suck in his gut. His stomach was starting to run to the heavy side. Not much in the way of a six-pack left – probably because of the 12 pack of Pepsi he drank every day. Not exactly fat yet but he definitely headed that way. He should talk to Blaak and have him set up on some kind of program. Whatever program he used worked for the young detective. Course, Blaak was a good fifteen or so years younger. “Damn.”

“Same to you.” Dani appeared in the doorway wearing a robe. “Coffee?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, holding up the Pepsi.

“I meant, did you make any?” Dani made a noise of disgust and left the room. “Why do I even bother?”

Mann forced himself to sit on the floor and started doing sit-ups. After three, he decided to wait for Blaak’s program before getting too involved. He went into the bathroom to shave and shower instead. By the time he was done and sitting on the bed, Dani returned with a takeout coffee. His trench coat had replaced the robe. “You were out of coffee, as usual. I had to go to the store.”

“Sorry.”

“Are you still suffering?”

“I’ll survive.”

“Think so, do you? Maybe I should really punish you.”

Dani dropped the trench coat. She was naked, very naked. With an animal cry, she pounced on him.

Later, they had another shower, together.

Ed Buma, the Desk Sergeant at Southfield Division motioned to Mann as he came through the doors. He held up one finger and continued his telephone conversation. While he talked, he searched through a pile of papers on the desk. As he put the phone down, he said, “Buchanan called. Says he’s free for an early lunch if you are. He’s got a run down on the Gabel post.”

It took Mann a minute to place the name of the kid from the gas station. “Thanks, Ed. Anything else?”

“Not here,” he said, jerking his thumb upwards. “Lots upstairs.”

Mann considered for a moment. Kydd and Tetrault had already requested four uniforms to continue the canvass of the neighborhood around the gas station. Now that he had lost the marina investigation, all other current investigations were covered. “Nothing yet. How’s the wife?”

“Fine thanks. Doctor says she is going to be home by the end of the week.”

“You give her my best. You still don’t want any time? I can talk to Walsh for you.”

“Thanks anyways. The wife’s mother is coming in from Seattle. Me and her and a loaded gun? If I’m gonna see you guys at a crime scene anyway, I might as well work.”

Mann smiled and waved his hand as the telephone rang again. Buma picked it up and Mann turned toward the elevator. That was the way with the true lifers, Mann thought. For some it was a job, others a career – a stepping-stone to something political or private. But for the real cops it was a life. Buma loved his wife but it would kill him to stay away from the station. Buma was a lifer. His wife knew it and accepted it. If she didn’t, they would already be divorced like so many others.

Mann knew the symptoms. The job had cost him his marriage and his two boys.

His mood instantly soured at the thought of his two sons. It was seven years, no almost eight, since he had seen them and not so much as a letter. But some day, he would see them again. Somehow, he would redeem himself in their eyes. He couldn’t believe he could fall from hero to hated so fast, so completely. And all it took was the quiet whispers of their mother and a very biased judge.

Mann stepped through the opening elevator doors and was immediately distracted from his depression by the wall of walking banker’s boxes.

“Hey Gregg,” came a deep voice from behind the stack of three boxes. Mann didn’t have to see behind the boxes to recognize the voice. Only Sergeant Brant Davis had the strength and arm length to carry three of the heavy file boxes at once. Davis was second in command of Mann’s homicide squad and Mann’s best friend. At six foot five and all muscle, Davis could easily handle the boxes but Mann had to get the dig in.

“You know, we have these carts that you can use to move those things.”

“Ya but one of the Robbery guys was using it and I didn’t want to wait. It’s only three boxes anyway. I’ll tell you though, the way the boys worked me last night on the court, I maybe should have waited for the cart.”

“Giving the old man some grief, are they?” Mann asked.

“Making me feel my age, that’s for sure. I’m on the cusp of having my kids beat me for real…no more throwing the game to make them feel good.”

The door slid open and Mann put his hand against the edge to hold it.

“It’s okay; I’m going up to the conference room to put this out for the Deputy DA. He wants to prepare for the trial next week and make sure nothing is missing.”

“All right. I’ll catch up with you later to go over the Marina thing,” Mann said, stepping out and walking through the door of the squad room.

Kesle PD Homicide Two was stenciled on the smoked glass. Kesle had 14 Divisions and Five Homicide squads divided between them. Mann was the Lieutenant in charge of the second busiest Homicide squad in the city. How he got there was still a mystery but somewhere he had an angel. That gave some balance to the devil that haunted him.

The squad room was almost empty when he walked in. He looked around at the empty desks. The unassigned board was blank. He needed to get some more bodies back in before they had another hit on the board. At the end of the room was a large urn of coffee. Likely an hour old, it already smelled strong and acidic. Thank God he never learned to like the stuff. Passing the coffee, he walked over to fridge and grabbed a Pepsi from his stash. Thinking about the warm Pepsi from this morning, he put another 12-pack in the fridge. Then, he remembered Blaak.

“Blaak, my office.”

“Sure, thing, L T.”

Mann smiled. Blaak was the only one on his squad who didn’t call him Lou. Lou was the standard short form in the department. L T was more common in the military. Blaak had come to him via Military Intelligence. A good cop but he was Marine through and through. He still kept up the physical fitness regime of the Marines and was one of the best-conditioned detectives in the department. Not necessarily an incredible accomplishment considering the competition but he looked damn good.

Another mystery Mann had never solved – why Blaak had decided to get out of the military. If anyone was destined for the military it was Blaak. However, the military was not a subject you discussed with Blaak. He became a wall as soon as the subject came up.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Blaak, you work out a fair bit, right?”

“Yes, sir. A bit, sir.”

Mann looked at the broad shoulders straining against the detective’s shirt and smiled. “Think you could get me on a program?”

Blaak warmed immediately. “Absolutely. If you come down to the gym with me some time, I would love to set something up for you. You just name the time.”

Mann was pleased. This was the first time Blaak had ever said anything to him without ending his sentence with “sir”. Respect was one thing but enough was enough. “See, you can do it.”

“Sir?”

“You got through three sentences without saying sir.”

“Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again, sir,” Blaak replied, but he was smiling. He liked and respected Mann but some habits were hard to break. Besides, he did respect Mann and that was his way of showing it.

“By the way, are you still posing for the calendar?”

“Yes, sir, if you think that it’s all right.”

“Why not? It's good charity and not bad public relations – especially if we can beat the sales of the FD.”

The department was putting together a beefcake calendar to try to better public relations and compete with the Fire Department. Blaak had been an obvious choice. Mann had immediately approved the request but was more interested in what Blaak’s mystery woman thought. Rumor was, the detective was seeing an older woman, although nobody had ever seen her.

“What does your lady friend think about it?”

“She’s quite proud of me, sir. As long as I keep some clothes on. I guess she figures it doesn’t pay to advertise too much.”

“Ya, right,” Mann said. Pulling out the day sheet, he moved back to business. “What’s doing?”

“I’m on that Visions stakeout. As a matter of fact, I should be leaving if that is all, sir.”

“Sure, go ahead. I’ll arrange some time in the gym with you in the next week or so.”

“Don’t leave it too long, sir,” Blaak warned as he left.

Alone again, Mann sat behind his desk trying to decide what to do first. He poked at a stack of paperwork, almost hoping it would topple off his desk into the garbage can. God save him from paperwork and get him back on the street. The warm spring weather was making him restless. Maybe that was what had got into Dani this morning. He grinned at the pleasing memory. The smile quickly faded as he opened the first file.

Mann slid into the booth and reached across the table to shake hands with Buchanan. “Thanks for taking time for me, Alf.”

Buchanan shrugged. “I had to eat. I figured that you might have some questions that the report didn’t cover – no offense to Kydd. She carried herself well and her voice is incredible.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Bullshit. How’s that redhead terror doing? She still putting up with you or was it just temporary insanity?”

“She’s just fine, thanks. How’s...”

The waitress interrupted Mann and they both ordered. As usual, Buchanan’s order was full of calories, grease, and cholesterol. Mann tried for a salad and a Pepsi. He ignored Buchanan’s questioning look and continued after the waitress left.

“How’s Gretchen?”

“Gretchen? Oh, Gretchen. I haven’t seen her in two weeks or more. I’m seeing a secretary from The Hill. We are going to go sailing in the summer.”

“If it lasts that long.” The old man amazed Mann. A widower who had desperately loved his wife, he had not wasted any time becoming active again. However, he didn’t, as he put it, waste his time with young women. He much preferred mature women. According to him, they were more appreciative. He didn’t bother with a woman unless she remembered that there had been another Bush in the White House.

“I heard they pulled the marina shooting. SOCU grab it? Got you pissed off?”

“I haven’t shot anyone yet. What the hell, as long as somebody puts that Italian bastard away.”

An older lady at the next table looked over and said something to the woman she was with. They both looked over again. Mann just stared back until the waitress came between them. When she left, the women had returned to their meal.

Mann pushed his salad around the plate. After sampling some of the cottage cheese, he reached across and speared one of Buchanan’s fries. “What did you find when you opened the boy up?”

Mann’s voice was just loud enough to carry to the next table. Buchanan glanced sideways and spoke at the same volume.

“First, what we didn’t find. No major amount of drugs in his system, just trace amounts marijuana and cocaine. He wasn’t high when he died. From the amounts, I would say he was in complete control of his faculties. As much as he probably ever was, anyway.”

“Was there any evidence of homosexual activity?”

“None that I could see. No recent sexual activity as far as the boy is concerned. Rectum was normal, no signs of prolonged homosexual activity. I would say that the kid was either not active or straight and he tested negative for AIDS.”