Authors: ADAM L PENENBERG
After drinking almost a liter of water and eating a Power Bar she felt better. They sat on the edge of the wall, their feet hanging over, Tai still in his safety harness.
“You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” he said.
“Not as sore as I’ll be if you don’t have a good explanation for Ignacio.”
“I’ll tell you why I did what I did. After you hear me out, if you still feel you should fire me, I’ll save you the trouble and quit.”
“I’m listening.”
“I found out the D.A. was onto Ignacio. She made the mistake of yakking in prison and one of her cell stooges passed it on. I went to the jail and what do I discover? You visited her. Big mistake, Summer. If I found out you talked to her, then the D.A. could too. Right then, I knew I had to get her out: You know bad things can happen inside. I arranged for her file to disappear, got her out of there, and went to see her.”
“And all that time I thought you were in Birch Creek.”
“Yeah, well,” Tai said, “I didn’t want you getting mixed up in this. You’ve got enough to worry about. You know, if you put Ignacio on your witness list, Raines is gonna bring the law down hard on her. At best, get her to recant on the stand. At worst, make her change her story, totally fuck up your case. He’s playing hardball and will do anything to win. Don’t you get it? The dudes who control Haze County can’t afford for the D.A. to blow another one. Marsalis was bad enough, but a murder with incomplete police work, maybe incompetence, will make the whole criminal justice system look like it’s out of control. I had to put the fear of God in Ignacio, keep her from blowing it, ruining your case; hell, maybe getting you in trouble. If Raines could get her to testify that you tried to spring her illegally, you’d be up to your crystal blue eyes in shit.”
Summer couldn’t believe how close she had come to losing everything. Hot and flushed, less from the climb up the wall now than humiliation, she swished water around her mouth and swallowed.
Steady
, she told herself. “Why go to all this trouble?”
“To protect you,” he said simply. “Because we’re really not that different. We’ve both been fucked over by the system. Me, I lost the one job I loved. And you, you’re dangerously close to blowing this case, letting an innocent women die for someone else’s deeds. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Summer rubbed her eyes. “I can’t believe I did this. I just want to win so badly...
have
to win this case, that I lost control.” She was afraid to ask, but… “You said the murderer was right under my nose.”
He leveled his gaze at her. “Under your nose and right next door. You’ve worked with her for four, five years.”
“Rosie? You’re telling me that Rosie murdered Gundy? No way.”
Tai played with the straps of his harness. “She had motive, opportunity, and no alibi, plus she fits Ignacio’s description. She’s tight with Miguel de Libertad, the gang’s
queso grande
. He took over for Juan Ponce, who’s doing 25 to life. And who put him there? Gundy. These gangbangers aren’t stupid. They know if they axed Gundy in traditional gangland style, the cops would go to war. So why not kill him a different way, make sure the trail doesn’t lead to them? And who better than a woman? With his twisted sexual needs? Damn right. And you know how much Rosie hated Gundy.”
“She wasn’t the only one,” Summer said opaquely.
“True, but Rosie would be smart enough to recognize an opportunity when she saw it. She’s a lawyer. She knows how a police investigation is conducted. She took advantage of the fact that pictures of SK’s murdered husband would make ironclad evidence.”
“But she couldn’t be sure that SK didn’t have an alibi.”
“Which is why she also threw in the lipstick symbol, another red herring. Anything to keep the scent off her—and the Latin Brothers.”
“If Rosie had anything to do with Gundy’s death, why would she help me track down the only one who could identify her?”
“What makes you think Ignacio was telling the truth? She’s no Mother Theresa. Even if she was telling the truth, it was dark and she probably didn’t get a good look.”
“Still, if what you say is true, then Ignacio, since she can ID the murderer, is in grave danger.”
“Probably not. I’d bet the gang leadership wants Ignacio alive. Great insurance policy. Keep Rosie in line for years to come.” Tai coughed. “You going to cover for her?”
“She didn’t do it.”
“But if she did?”
Summer worked her neck around to get rid of the kinks. “I don’t know.”
“I never expected you to follow me up this wall,” Tai said. “You’re full of surprises.”
“So are you.”
“You want to grab a bite to eat?”
Summer thought it over. “OK. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“Where are you going?” He was still sitting.
“I’m not going anywhere. You are.”
From behind she shoved him with her foot. He balanced precariously for a moment, then slid off. He screamed her name as he plummeted. When the rope pulled taut, he was yanked upward, then plunged downward again, until he was hanging 15 feet off the ground, rumbling with laughter.
Chapter 25
They didn’t go
to dinner. Yet.
Tai had jogged to his workout, so Summer drove him home where he could shower and change.
He lived in a shy A-frame with a porch and side garden. Incandescent flowers in white, orange, and red with black hearts bloomed around cacti and basil and tomatoes and squash. Tai opened the screen door.
Summer asked, “What kind of flowers are those? They’re beautiful.”
“Poppies.” Tai removed his shoes and left them by the door.
Summer flicked hers off, too. “As in opium poppies?”
“All poppies have some opium in them. It’s only illegal if you slit the heads open and try to manufacture narcotics. Then the DEA could come calling and that would suck. All the DEA has to do to confiscate your home and all your assets is merely accuse you of a drug crime.” He ushered her inside. “If you want, I could brew some opium tea—now that’s illegal, but who’s going to find out?”
“No thanks. I thought that opium poppies only grew in the Golden Triangle, like Thailand and Burma. Where did you get them? ”
“I grew them from seeds, which you can buy anywhere, even at Woolworth’s. The DEA has been waging a campaign of misinformation for decades, propagating the myth that these poppies can’t grow in American soil. The Northeast has the best climate for them. Imagine if everyone knew. They’d be harvesting opium by the ton in New Jersey.”
While Tai threw himself in the shower, Summer puttered around. She would have never imagined his house to look this way. Throw rugs from Mexico and Kashmir blended into one another and partially covered the oak floor. A few pieces of abstract art hung on the walls, and a faint scent of sandalwood and cedar mingled in the air.
A few minutes later she heard him rustle in the bedroom.
“Your home is very elegant,” she called.
He emerged wearing black drawstring pants and a collarless button down shirt, his hair freshly tousled. “Unlike me,” he said. “You want something to drink?”
“OJ?”
“In the kitchen.”
Tai had a cast-iron stove, gleaming appliances, a built-in butcher block, and a hand-crafted table. Summer sat down while Tai grabbed a couple handfuls of oranges and began slicing them. “This was my parents’ house, but my father left to open a jazz club in Tokyo. My mom really wanted to go home.”
“You’re half-Japanese,” Summer said.
Tai tossed a bad orange in the trash. “On my mom’s side. My old man is a mix of everything—all the scum of Eastern Europe washed up in one body.”
“Stalin, right?”
“Right. And you?”
Summer measured her words. “I’m not sure. A mix, too.”
He juiced the oranges a half at a time, poured the liquid into tall glasses and joined Summer at the table. “
Kampai
,” he said. “That means ‘cheers.’ ”
She drank. “Mmmm. And I was expecting plain old store-bought.”
“Your dad was a cop,” Tai said. “Wib Neuwirth, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“He was set to retire when I graduated from the academy. He was lionized by everyone.”
“He was a good man.” Summer took another sip. She was beginning to feel stiff, especially her shoulders and neck.
“I think you should move in here,” Tai said casually.
Summer dropped the glass on the table. As it rolled toward the edge, she tried to grab it, but accidently flicked it off the table instead. It shattered, showering the floor with juice.
“I got it.” Tai ripped off a few sheets of paper towel. He picked up the shards and cleaned up the juice. Then got out his dust-buster to suck up any stray splinters. “I’m not asking you to move here because I can’t live without you—at least not yet. It’s for your own safety.”
“That’s a novel approach.”
“It’s not an approach. Take a look at this.” He stepped to a shelf and brought over a 1954 Birch Creek High School yearbook. “Page 96, check out graduating senior Elaine Stockton.”
Summer flipped it open and located Stockton’s picture. She looked at it, then up at Tai, then down at the picture again. Stockton was blonde, with an athletic build and a very familiar face.
“It’s uncanny,” Summer said.
“Like looking into a mirror, right? I was pretty blown away when I came across it.”
“I don’t get why this is a threat to my safety… unless… does it have anything to do with Marsalis?”
“You might say that,” Tai said. “It’s his mother.”
Summer pushed her chair away from the table. She stood. Even though she’d thought she was beyond surprise, this knocked her back. “Where is she now?”
“No one knows. She disappeared some time in the late sixties, when Marsalis was a teenager. I talked to some of his childhood acquaintances—he didn’t have any friends. No one knows what happened to her.”
Summer felt like she had when she’d looked down from the wall. She thought about the circumstances around Sonia’s disappearance and subsequent death. But she had disappeared months before Marsalis came into her life.
Tai continued. “Marsalis is a perv, and you know how weird pervs get about their relationships with mommy. I’m sure it isn’t lost on him that you are the spitting image of his dearly departed mother. I’m afraid he’s going to come after you.”
“He already has.”
Tai nodded. “So that’s why you stopped using your cell phone. I wondered why you always called from your office landline or various blocked cell numbers.”
“How did you know the blocked cell numbers came from different phones?”
“How do ya think?”
Summer silently answered her own question:
an ex-cop with contacts inside the phone company
. She told Tai how Marsalis had been stalking her, and the facts surrounding Sonia’s disappearance and subsequent death. But she left out some key points; she wasn’t ready to tell Tai everything. She didn’t mention her own rape, cruelly reconstructed by Marsalis on the World Wide Web, or the fact that she’d already questioned whether Sonia and Wib were her biological parents. “It’s too much of a coincidence that I would be assigned Marsalis.”
“Tell me how P.D.s get their cases.”
“It’s random, unless Jon decides to appoint someone.”
“Did Levi appoint you to Marsalis?”
“No, it came down the usual way,” Summer said. “Every time I conclude a trial, I tell the paralegal in charge of assignments, and he adds a new client to my case load.”
“Who keeps track?”
“Jon, I guess.”
“How?”
“He checks the computer files and—Oh, God. Marsalis could have been following me for months,” Summer said distantly. “I wonder how he found me.”
“He might have spotted you at a café. Or saw you on the beach. He could have come across you any which way. It doesn’t matter. You weren’t assigned Marsalis. He chose you.”
“He said fate brought us together.”
“In his twisted mind, he probably meant it was fate that he found you.”
Or did Marsalis mean something else entirely?
Summer wondered. She studied the picture. “I was hoping you’d discover that Marsalis and Strickland were the same person, or at least find Strickland alive so I could get a jury to buy the idea that he murdered Gundy.”
“Strickland is alive.”
Before falling, Summer leaned her hands on the back of the chair and slipped her leg around the side. She sat. When Tai made a made to help, she waved him off. “I’m OK.”
Tai continued. “Strickland’s alive, but no way he murdered Gundy. He has full-blown AIDS, been living in an AIDS hospice. He’s bedridden, about to kick the bucket. I saw him.”
Summer buried her head into the crook of her arm, muffling her voice. “Then whose body did they find in the car?”
“It belonged to a hitchhiker. Apparently Strickland murdered more people than we thought. The only ones he left calling cards with were in law enforcement, though. A neat little game for him.”