The Snow Angel (20 page)

“That's not fair!
Mosely
should take the heat on this one.”

“Mosely's over at the City Council, giving them the department's ‘input' on snow removal,” Slaughter said. “He dumped this in my lap.”

“The gutless wimp. What's a guy from Dallas know about snow removal?”

Easterly's eyes surveyed the plaques on Slaughter's wall. She had seen them all, many times. Slaughter was a graduate of Airborne OCS. He had earned a Bronze Star in the Mekong Delta. He was valedictorian of his police academy class, had attended an FBI command school and a DEA drug interdiction school, and had been honored by the International Association of Chiefs of Police. The Chamber of Commerce once named him Citizen of the Year and his church had given him their Lifetime Contributors Award.

But now he looked defeated.

“What's the matter, boss?” Easterly asked. “Really?”

Slaughter sighed deeply. “I always told myself I'd give it up, pull the plug, when the weight of this work got too much. That time has arrived.”

“What are you saying?” she asked, stunned. “Bobbie, this one really got to me.”

”It got to all of us.”

“Do you know what I found myself doing last night? Weeping. Me! The last time that happened was when my mother died, sixteen years ago. I do
not
weep!”

“Skipper, you're not the first cop to shed tears over the death of a child.” She forced a smile. “Not even a male cop.”

He looked back out the window. “Do you know what depression is like?”

“This isn't a cheerful line of work.”

“I don't mean that. I mean the total inability to see anything good in the world.”

Easterly sighed. “I can see how that could happen.”

“You're lucky. You have love in your life. It's the only thing that balances things out, for people like us.”

Slaughter sat down on his couch, put his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling. “When Marian died, part of me went with her. I've never gotten over it. She was the one who…”His voice trailed off.

“I know. Marian was a wonderful woman.”

“I used to tell her the details of my job, did you know that? Most cops don't want their spouses to know the details, how ugly it can be. But she
wanted
me to talk about it. She thought it would lighten the load. And she was right.” He shook his head. “I didn't tell her everything, of course…”

“Of course,” she said gently, thinking of David.

“This depression's with me all the time now. It's like being in a black tunnel, not even a train in sight.”

“Sir…?”

“I'm retiring, Bobbie. It's time to go fishing.”

Easterly lowered her head and took a deep breath. This had turned into an utterly rotten week. “That might be a good idea,” she said at last.

Slaughter beckoned for her to come closer. He spoke to her confidentially, even though no one else was in the room. “And I'm going to recommend that
you
succeed me.”

Easterly could only stand there, dumbstruck. The surprises were coming too fast.

“I have influence with this Police Commission, a number of markers,” he continued.

“Boss, what are you saying here?”

”What I'm saying,
Inspector Easterly,
is that I'm pulling the plug while I still have enough clout to make
you
Chief of Detectives.”

“Me?”

“You, Bobbie.”

Easterly started to argue. Slaughter held up his hand to silence her. “This isn't some favor to a friend,” he said. “It's selfish.”

“Selfish? What do you mean, selfish?”

“I'm a citizen of this community,” Slaughter said.. “I want to know its police department is still in the hands of some real cops.”

D
riving back to headquarters, Kane seethed over Klemmer's comment about his drinking.
Who's that dirtbag to be judging
me
?
Still, he was excited by the prospect of turning over a few rocks inside Bryson Prison. Bryson was one of the places where Billy had done time, prior to being sent to Statesville.

His cell phone rang. It was Vito Vitale. “Ralph?” the old mobster snapped.

“What's up, Vito?” He pulled to the curb.

“I wake up this a.m., I see the little colored kid on the front page. Terrible thing, just terrible. I just want you to know we're on the case, like you asked.”

“Good. That's good.”

“Were you at the crime scene?”

“Yeah.” Kane closed his eyes, seeing it again. “Yeah, I was there.” The craving for a drink welled up, full force.

Vitale must have sensed his pain, because he waited a few seconds before continuing. “Is it true the bullet went through his hand?”

“Aw, Christ, was
that
in the paper?”

“No. I have friends downtown. Tell me it's not true.”

“It
is
true, Vito. It was like he was trying to stop the bullet—or not see what was happening.”

“What a
fucked
thing to do to a child!”

“That it is. How about the street telegraph? You hearing anything yet?”

”No,” Vitale said. “But my orders are on the wire. Anybody knows something, we find out they don't tell us, they get the same treatment the kid got. That's the word.”

“We're hearing rumors about a couple of shitheads just out of Bryson.”

“Give me more.”

“Not yet,” Kane said. “I'm going to the prison to nose around. I'll let you know what I find out.”

“Give me everything you get, Ralph. Consider my people part of the police force.”

“Thanks,” Kane said. He hung up, then sat there reflecting on the conversation.
‘Consider my people part of the police force.' Well, well. Merry Christmas to one and all.

The phone rang again. This time it was Tiny Lawless, of the West End Outlaws. “Hey, man, I just want you to know we're with you guys on this, all the way,” Lawless announced. “Fucking bastards oughta be forced to eat their own nuts.”

“You won't get an argument out of me. You hearing anything?”

“Not yet. But everybody in town's working with me—the Satans, Hell Riders, Road Killers. Man, we even got the Pagans out looking.”

“ The
Pagans?”

“You believe that shit? How long them and us been fucking each other over?”

“Since about the time Christ was born.”

“Don't mean we're gonna marry the scumbags. But those pricks got kids, too.”

The Outlaws and the Pagans, riding together. Who says there are no miracles?
“We may have a lead on the suspects,” Kane said. “I'll let you know if it pans out.”

“Hey, man, thanks for letting us in on this. It helps—you know, with the self-esteem.”

Kane again signed off.
‘Self-esteem?'
;
‘Thank for letting us in on this'? What's that asshole been smoking, this early in the morning?

Kane actually heard himself laugh, right out loud. He switched on the AM radio, but snapped it back off again as soon as he heard “The Little Drummer Boy.” His smile disappeared.

B
ell stopped in the gym to report to Inspector Easterly. But she was tied up on the phone. So he returned to the GIU office to check his messages.

Sure enough, Willis Henry had called. He actually left his number. This was the first time Bell knew how to reach him by telephone. Bell returned the call from his desk.

A sleepy woman answered. It took Bell nearly a minute to persuade her to get Willis.

As Bell waited, his cell phone rang. He recognized Garland McQueen's number.
All my flock..
He let the voicemail take the call.

Big Gun finally came on the line. “Yo, Bell-man. So who capped the little nigger?”

“Who you calling a nigger?”

Henry was taken aback; he was not used to being challenged. But Isaiah Bell was not one of his homies. “Man, it's just an
expression'”

“Well, save the
expression
for someone else. A child is dead. A
black
child. Maybe you've seen too many drive-bys.”

“Hey, brother, I didn't mean nothin' by it.”

“I ain't your brother. Some white motherfucker with robes on his head calls us niggers, we want to kill him.”

“Man, chill out! I said I didn't mean nothin' by it. I'm as pissed off as you are.”

Bell caught himself. He
didn't
mean anything by it. It's just the way they talk.
He softened his tone. “Okay, Willis, why did you call me?”

“You ain't gonna believe this, Bell-man. But I got the Seven Nine Treys working with us.”

‘Bhods?”

“Ain't that a bitch? We had us a summit conference after you came to see me.”

Bell shut his eyes.
He's right.. I can't believe this.
“That's a good thing,” he said.

“So what do you po-lice have? You got anything for us to be workin' on?”

“Nothing yet. But we may have something soon.”

“Well, we up all night, every night. Leave messages here.”

”Where's ‘here'?”

“That was my mama answered the phone. I'm stayin' with her now.”

“Sure thing, Willis. Next time, call my cell. You'll get me faster.”

“I lost the number.”

Bell gave him the number again and signed off. Then he laughed out loud. His
mama.
The city's number-one gangbanger, shotcaller for the Eastside Rolling Crips, a first-class street terrorist—and he stays with his mama!
He loses my number and he still lives with his mama!

Then he remembered what Henry had revealed about his mother, that she, too, was trying to overcome a drinking problem. He found himself saying a little prayer for her to succeed, and that surprised him.

He returned Garland McQueen's call. “You're up kind of early, Queenie.”

“Didn't sleep worth a damn last night,” said the old racketeer. “I kept seeing the face of that sweet little boy.” There was a catch in his voice. “Just tell me what you want, Isaiah. My people stand ready to help in any way possible.”

“I may have something for you by tomorrow.”

“Just ring me up, my man.”

“Thanks, Queenie. Merry Christmas.”

“Sure thing. Merry Christmas, Deacon.”

Bell sat there for a long moment, reflecting on the two calls.
Now what do I make of that?
Then he walked downstairs, anxious to get on his way to Bryson.

He stopped short when he entered the gym. Easterly was standing in a corner with Ralph Kane. She spotted Bell and beckoned him over. He approached hesitantly. Stan Jablonski sat nearby, pretending not to hear.

“Detective Kane has developed some promising information out of Bryson Prison,” Easterly said. “Something about two convicts who hung around together in there, a black and a white. The black guy's mother knew the Childress family.”

Bell felt as if he had been slugged. “I'm hearing the same thing,” he said quietly. “About the prison.”

“Great!” Easterly said. “Then you need to go there.” She looked back and forth between them. “You both need to go there.”

“Yes, ma'm,” Bell said, glancing over at Kane, who stared back hatefully.

Easterly just stood there, studying the aging enemies. “Okay,” she said. “I'll phone the prison and tell them you're coming.”

Now Kane and Bell were avoiding eye contact, afraid of what she was about to say. “We have a little logistical problem—a car shortage. Ike, I'm appropriating your vehicle for the task force. I believe it's a Ford.”

“Inspector, you can't do that!” Bell exclaimed.

“I just did. I have two officers going to the same place at the same time. You can take the same car.”

Kane looked at Bell in disgust. Easterly raised her hands. “I can't tie up a department vehicle unnecessarily. Work this thing of yours out, gentlemen. I don't care how you do it, just do it. Now go saddle up!”

She started to walk away, then stopped. “You're authorized code three to the state line.” Then she continued on her way.

Kane and Bell stood there glaring at each other. Jablonski lowered his head, pretending not to be listening, trying to hide the amused expression on his face.

T
he sky had turned blue, surrounding a bright sun. Out here in the countryside, the snow was almost pretty. But neither Kane nor Bell even noticed.

The pavement had dried, so Kane raced along the Interstate, pushing eighty. He kept his eyes riveted on the road, not wanting to look at Bell. The rise and fall of the siren was the only sound inside the Pontiac. Kane was pleased that traffic was light, and he was grateful for the code-three authorization. The less time this fucking trip took the better.

He badly wanted a drink. But he had to keep a clear head and clean breath. He wasn't going to give this self-righteous prick Bell any ammunition to discredit him.

He also was grateful for the joint in his pocket. Taken alone, marijuana didn't screw up his thinking; that way he could catch a buzz without drinking.

Bell was sprawled in the right seat, pretending to doze. He had the seat pulled all the way back to accommodate his size. He hated being here, riding in the same car with this little asshole. But he was surprised
that he didn't crave a cigarette.

They rolled like that all the way to the state line, fifty miles from town. Once they had crossed it, Kane shut down the siren and turned off the Kojak. But he did not slow down. Any state trooper could see the blue light on the roof. Even if they were pulled over, there wasn't a cop in the tri-state area who didn't know about the Childress case. If anything, they would get an escort.