Wall of Silence Page 6

  I motioned for her to sit down on the curb with me, which, surprisingly enough, she did. A semi pulled up in front of a warehouse across from us and honked. Huge doors slid up, making a noise like the crashing of thunder. Men spilled from inside the building, yelling to each other over the sound of the semi’s engine. I pretended to watch as they began to unload the truck. The noise they made would have been deafening if we had been any closer. I hoped Riley would wait until it quieted down before we continued to talk. I needed a chance to gather my scattered thoughts.

  “You’ve been drinking a lot lately.” The statement was made with little inflection. She didn’t even bother to raise her voice over the din caused by the semi. She didn’t have to; we were sitting so close that I heard every word.

  I leaned my head forward on my knees, trying to break the tension I felt. “I know I have.”

  “What’s wrong?” Her penetrating blue eyes scoured my face. “What are you trying to forget?”

  I swear I think my heart stopped in that moment. It’s not like I even knew her at all, but she could sense that something wasn’t right with me. I wanted badly to be able to tell her everything. I wanted to tell someone. I hadn’t heard from my dad since I’d phoned him about my problem. It hurt that he hadn’t called to check up on me. Smitty had made it crystal clear that the subject was closed. I was feeling so alone I’d resorted to the numbing relief of alcohol, a choice I’d sworn I would never make.

  “It’s just some stuff I have to get through.”

  For a brief, crazy moment, I thought she might kiss me. She stared deeply into my eyes and her fingertips grazed my cheek. Generally speaking, I don’t like people touching me. Okay, I have hurt people for less. But she was different. I enjoyed how I was feeling right then, and I was amazed to realize that I wouldn’t be opposed to another kiss. “Did you think that was funny back there?” she asked.

  The question should have left me speechless, but it didn’t. I answered truthfully, “I wasn’t thinking.” I was disconcerted at the way she was staring at me, but I continued to look her steadily in the eyes. “I thought you might be pissed, or think I was crazy, but I never thought you would be hurt. Please believe me.”

  She dragged a stick along a crack in the ground, disturbing several ant beds in the process. “I understand. Thank you for apologizing.”

  “Will you come back inside, then?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Next Sunday was going to be my last day anyway. I’ll come in early tomorrow and talk to Stacy. I don’t want to go back.”

  I began to think that feeling subhuman was going to become a permanent thing. I felt the need to disengage from the penetrating blue eyes. I felt like she would see all my faults and find me lacking. “Is it because of what I’ve done?”

  “Partly.”

  “There’s nothing I can do to convince you of how sorry I am?”

  “I believe that you’re sorry. It’s just…” She continued to dig in the ground, the muscle of her bicep flexing rhythmically as she twisted and turned the stick as if she planned to make it fit into the thin crack. “I hate to be laughed at.”

  “I don’t think anyone is going to laugh at you again.” I waited until our eyes met and then I stated firmly, “If they do, I’ll shoot them all.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at her expression. She wasn’t sure if I was kidding. When she grinned suddenly, I caught my breath. I had only seen that carefree delight on her face when she was on the phone to her boyfriend. Boy, Riley, you’re a real heartbreaker, aren’t you?

  Her body shook silently. I’d never really seen anyone laugh without sound; I thought it was wonderful. I stood up and tentatively offered my hand. She took it and we walked back toward the club.

  “Detective Everett?” She was staring again. Obviously she had no idea how disconcerting that was.

  “Call me Foster.” I reminded myself that she was straight and probably thought I was a bitch.

  “I don’t like guns.”

  I looked up at her sharply. A joke? Shit, that was a peace offering in my book. “No worries, I can just arrest everyone, a lot less noise.”

  She did that cute silent laugh of hers and shook her head before opening the door for me. Stacy had turned up the music after we left. The bass was so loud that it forced my heart to adjust to its beat. At least, I hoped the bass was responsible. I couldn’t afford to think a straight woman could move my pulse rate. I had enough problems. I glared at each and every person in the club as we walked in, letting them know that any wisecracks would mean tangling with me.

  “See,” I told Riley. “No one laughed.”

  She smiled. “No, I guess they didn’t.”

  “I need to pick up my gun from Stacy and settle my bill. Want anything?”

  She asked for water and took up her usual post at the door.

  Stacy couldn’t wait to apologize when I made it to the bar. Generously, I said, “I should have known better.”

  “Well shit, Foster, everyone knows something’s going on with you. You’ve been coming in here almost every night and closing the place down.”

  I frowned at that. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of everyone knowing there was something wrong with me. Never mind the fact that Riley knew. I thought that was sort of sweet, but everyone else could just stay out of my business.

  “I shouldn’t have egged you on in the state you were in. I should apologize to Riley, too.”

  “Give her a minute, Stacy. She was really upset. I think she just wants to forget about it and have things get back to normal.” I threw some money down on the bar and told her that Riley’s water was free.

  I picked up the bottle, said good night, and made my escape.

  At the door, I bent down and picked up the magazine she’d dropped earlier. The Incredible Hulk Meets the Fantastic Four. Startled that she had been engrossed by a comic book, I said, “Pretty heavy reading for a college graduate.” Damn. Real smooth, Foster. You’re just batting a thousand today.

  I exchanged an embarrassed smile with her, apologized again, and left her with the water, the comic, and a polite “Good night.”

  As the door to Secrets swung shut, I heard her reply, “Night, Foster.”

  Chapter Five

  Premonition. That’s what they call it, right? Like everyone I know, I’ve had premonitions before, but they were nothing like this. Foreboding pressed down on my chest like a tangible weight, creating a thickness that couldn’t be cleared away with a cough or a swallow. I jumped from deep sleep to complete wakefulness for no apparent reason. I only had time to blink twice before I felt the worst kind of dread imaginable.

  I lay in my bed wide-awake, waiting for something. The braying of my phone almost sent me into cardiac arrest. I glanced at my clock. Four in the morning is rarely a good time to receive a call. I leaned over and felt around on the floor. Almost regretfully, I found the phone under the smoky pants and shirt I’d worn to the club recently.

  I sat straight up in bed, my heart pounding. The voice at the other end was indistinct. All I could hear was whimpering. I checked the caller ID. “Monica, is that you?”

  “It’s Joe. He…” She never finished her sentence.

  “Monica, tell me what’s wrong.” Deep down I already knew. I knew, with a certainty I could never hope to explain, that my partner was gone. “Hang on. I’ll be right there.”

  Dully, I placed the phone on its cradle and got out of bed. Somehow I had always imagined that I would be the one calling her, not the other way around. Tears streamed down my face as I pulled on some clothes. I grabbed my gun and my badge out of habit, and numbly walked out the door.

  Maybe she’s just panicking , I thought. Smitty must have run into an old friend and got to telling his stories. I’ll get there and he’ll be on Monica’s case for calling me in the first place.

  One of the benefits of living downtown was that I didn’t need to wait long for a cab. I sank into the backseat and pressed my right foot to t
he floor, trying to make the idiot driver go faster. I only stopped clenching my fists into the shiny leather seats when my fingers began to ache. My mind had been telling me for days now that something was wrong.

  Smitty was back to his normal, happy-go-lucky self, our troubles relegated to the past. But beneath that cheerful exterior, he seemed to have something on his mind. I didn’t want to get into any more discussion about the hush money or Harrison Canniff. We were on another cold case, following up leads on a child kidnapping. A guy called Michael Stratford, out on parole, was a source of possible info. Both Smitty and I were pretty certain we were dealing with a homicide rather than a kidnapping. Victims usually don’t show up breathing a year after they vanish.

  Stratford hadn’t shown up for a meeting with his parole officer on the last day of his parole. Not a remarkable occurrence, but he had seemed to be doing well. He had a new job, a new girlfriend, and a new baby on the way. Most telling was the fact that his own parole officer seemed surprised at his disappearance. By nature, parole officers were as cynical as they come. The usual possibilities were the only ones I could think of: either he knew he was going to pop positive on his drug test, or he was dead.

  I didn’t think Smitty was losing any sleep over our missing witness, and I didn’t ask what was on his mind. I wished I had. I just figured he and Monica were having marital problems. As close as Smitty and I were, we weren’t that close. He didn’t tell me about his marriage, and I didn’t tell him about the countless women, or lack thereof, I had bedded. Our unspoken rule about personal boundaries worked just fine for me.

  I didn’t bother knocking when I reached Smitty and Monica’s house. I turned the knob slowly, fighting down an irrational urge to grab my gun. Apprehension burned a path down my esophagus like molten lava, but I forced myself into the brightly lit room.

  Monica held a crumpled tissue up to her nose as she stared fixedly at a mug sitting on the coffee table. Chief of Police Herbert James paced back and forth with a cell phone to his ear. The skin on his face looked blotchy, as if someone had attempted to drain all the color from him but hadn’t done a thorough job. His lips were tight, though his voice was actually so low that I could only hear the tail end of his conversation.

  “I don’t give a damn what you have to do. Keep this out of the paper, do you understand? This is my career we’re talking about!” He snapped the cell phone closed and tossed it to one of three plainclothes officers standing around looking like they would rather be anywhere other than Detective Joseph Smith’s living room.

  Monica buried her face in the chief’s shirt. “Daddy, what are we going to do? You don’t think he—”

  “Shh, sweetheart, we can’t guess that right now.”

  Until I’d arrived in Smitty’s home, I had held on to the hope that he was fine and there was some misunderstanding or reasonable explanation for his absence. Maybe he’d followed a hot lead or was doing something under the radar.

  I flashed my badge to anyone who cared to look, and Monica immediately let go of her father and jumped into my arms. I avoided Chief James’s stony gaze. Now was not the time to start an argument with the man, but how could he be so worried about his career when his daughter was obviously in so much pain?

  “Oh, my God, I can’t believe this is happening,” Monica sobbed.

  She felt unsteady on her feet so I led her to a couch. As soon as she was settled comfortably, I stalked over to the chief and demanded, “What’s going on?”

  Chief James, looking every bit of his fifty-five years, rubbed roughly at his eyes. “Joseph drove his car off a cliff. I don’t know why he did it. He left a note. Monica found it on the kitchen table.”

  “Smitty had no reason to kill himself, none whatsoever.” My partner would have told me if things were that bad. Wouldn’t he? “Where’s the note?”

  The chief handed over a slip of paper sealed in a plastic bag. Smitty had written fewer than ten words: “I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Were there any other cars in the vicinity?” I asked desperately. “Any witnesses?”

  “Not that we know of, Detective.”

  One of the uniforms wasn’t looking too happy about my questioning the chief, but at that moment I didn’t give a shit who or what he was, I just wanted answers. I was about to ask another question when Monica called my name, so I stifled the urge to grill everyone in the place and focused on her.

  I didn’t leave the house until noon the following day. In that time I hadn’t learned any more information than I’d walked in the door with. All I knew for certain was that my partner was dead, an apparent suicide.

  As I trudged up to my apartment, I felt inexplicably angry. How could he just take his life like that? Leave the woman he loved. Leave me, his partner, his friends. What had gotten so bad in his life that he decided to check out? I had to wonder if I’d had something to do with it. Had he regretted the decision to help me? Did he still fear that I was going to turn myself in and bring us all down? Even if he did, was that a reason to kill himself?

  I took a hot shower, dressed slowly, and dragged myself into the office. It was the second-hardest thing I’d ever had to do.

  *

  “It’s necessary to put you on a desk job for a few weeks, Everett.”

  I looked into the captain’s cold blue eyes, searching for sorrow. I saw nothing, not even pity. I had seen eyes the same shade of blue before, though I couldn’t remember where. But those eyes were different. Warm, somehow inviting. Either this woman was great at hiding her feelings, or she was one cold-hearted bitch.

  “Wait, I must have missed something, because I thought I heard you say you were putting me on a desk?”

  “It’s standard procedure.”

  “Captain, I’m a detective. You’re demoting me?”

  “No, I’m putting you on a desk until we can find you a suitable new partner. And so that you can grieve for Smitty. I can only repeat how very sorry I am. We all are. His loss is a huge blow to us all.” The words flowed from her mouth as if she rehearsed the speech daily, but I saw nothing in her eyes that made them ring true.

  Anger threatened to send me over the edge, but I clenched my jaw and was able to contain myself. “What do you mean a suitable new partner? You mean one of those stiff-assed college grads you’ve got walking around here? The ones that throw out the red carpet every time you sashay through the door? No, thank you, I’ll work alone.”

  “I wasn’t asking you if you wanted a partner, Everett. I’m telling you. You can’t work alone. Look how much trouble you get into even with a responsible partner.”

  That statement hit hard. She’s right. If Smitty hadn’t helped me when he did, I would be in jail right now. And maybe Smitty would be alive. My gut clenched. I felt the overwhelming urge to cry. I got to my feet instead.

  “I know how you feel, Everett.”

  I looked down at the cold woman in front of me. “How could you know, Captain? Have you ever lost a partner? Have you ever even had one?”

  The thinning of her lips told me I had gone too far. What was she going to do? Fire me? Shit, did I even want this job anymore?

  “Report to Records. They’re expecting you,” she said grimly.

  I walked out of her office without another word. I suppressed the urge to slam the door, closing it quietly behind me instead. My hand still on the doorknob, I gazed in shock at Smitty’s desk. Two young suits were going through his stuff. Both wore suits that had to be new and way too expensive for a cop’s salary. One, a chunky blond, had his flabby ass propped against my desk. His forehead was too large, a misfortune underscored by a severe haircut, and his skin could only be described as an even pink color. Normally I would have felt some kinship, as I suffer from fair skin myself, but I wanted to beat the guy around the head already. His partner wore his brown hair in a slicked-back ponytail that looked like it would start to fry if you added heat. I sneered as I noticed the glint of clear polish on his nails.


  “I wonder how these people even made it to these positions. Look at this shit, man. Did this guy ever clean up?”

  Flabby Ass poked a pile of papers on my desk. “This one isn’t much better. A dyke, from what I heard. So she probably made detective by screwing anyone that asked. At least her loser partner went for the big fish and married the chief’s daughter.”

  I don’t know if I yelled, screamed, or what, but I was on Ponytail in seconds. I landed at least six blows before his colleague finally dragged me off. I elbowed Flabby Ass in the stomach, and as he doubled over I kicked him in the shin and emptied the contents of the nearest trash can on him. Even winded, he howled in pain or outrage. I’ve always been one to keep doing what works, so I kicked him hard in the shin again. I don’t believe in fighting fair, never have. I do what I need to do to win.

  “Everett.”

  I froze as the captain’s angry voice screamed out my name.

  “Get your ass in here right now.”

  I gave my two punching bags a glower. “I promise I’m not finished with either of you. Stay—away—from Smitty’s shit!”

  I watched them both pale, and then the chronically pink one seemed to get some balls from somewhere. “I’m going to press charges against your crazy ass. We’ve got a whole division that saw you attack me without provocation.”

  The look on his face was so triumphant that I wanted—no, needed to fuck with this guy. “Hmm, is that right?” I poked my head into the captain’s office and smiled beatifically. “Be right there, Captain. Just need to tell someone something.” I closed the door against her enraged yell before turning back to the two suits.

  “Anybody in here see me attack this guy without provocation?” I asked.

  When the puzzled shrugs and denials got tedious, the two jerks got flustered and mumbled something about the captain.

  I said, “Yeah, by all means, feel free to press those charges and ask her to help you file them. I just hope you never need backup.”