Part 9 (2/2)
Reggie leaned on her desk, his weight sending paperwork tumbling, which he didn't attempt to pick up. ”Would we be on his shop twenty-four seven if we had him? Metro has guys on all his known a.s.sociates.”
She maintained eye contact. The papers on the floor could wait. ”Maybe the guys you're trying to put away got wind of things. Took JJ out. Makes sense.”
”Except for one thing. DEA has one of their own on the inside, and he says it didn't happen.”
”Don't know what to tell you, Reg.”
”I got the idea that maybe I should have a look at that tape again.”
”Tape?” Fear coursed down her spine sending up the hairs on the back of her neck.
”You remember. The La.s.siter broad. Your taped interview. You know. The tell-all.”
A man with a purpose, this Reggie Navarro. A woman and her kid dead. But they had been expendable in Reggie's big picture. She sat there, silent, looking him straight in the eye, hoping her fear didn't show. Maybe keeping the tape had been a bad idea.
”Commander Marsh said to lose everything.”
Reggie cuffed himself in the head with the base of his large paw. ”Geez. The tape, too? Do you have to be so efficient?”
She tried not to blink. ”He said 'everything'.”
”I got the idea maybe I missed something. Something that would gimme some ideas. Maybe the broad paid JJ off and somehow he got out of the country. But she's dead and that don't make no sense.”
”You're right. It doesn't.”
”All's I know is that without JJ, our case is toast.”
”You can't win 'em all, Reg.”
”Wanna bet?” He heaved his bulk out of the chair, hoisted his sagging pants, and lumbered toward the door. ”See ya around, kid.”
She exhaled slowly as the door closed behind him.
The tape was fast becoming an albatross around her neck. It was supposed to save her a.s.s, in case IAB came poking around. What to do? Nothing to do.
Then she jumped as Reggie's voice spun her around in the swivel chair. She'd heard his departing steps outside her cubicle, his mumbled greetings to other staff members. But his return had been silent as a ghost's.
”Hey, Wehr, I almost forgot to ask. Who else seen that tape?”
”Uh, n.o.body, I guess. n.o.body was interested. Crack wh.o.r.e. Who cares?”
”Do I detect a modic.u.m of sarcasm, Sergeant?”
”Modic.u.m?” She raised an eyebrow and tried to keep a smirk from stealing her expression. A modic.u.m of intellect? Swallow those words, fast.
”Soundin' pretty frisky, Emily.” Reggie laughed, as if he'd read her mind and shared her humor at his expense. ”What about Commander Marsh?”
”What about him?” The thought that she'd never discussed the tape with her commander gnawed at her. It was customary to tape interviews of this type. Especially the offer of help extended to the victim. And in Deidre La.s.siter's case, the record of her declining help was important.
Make it disappear he said of the police report. Would her commander have said this if he'd seen the tape? Initially she'd thought yes. What if she'd been wrong? She'd a.s.sumed the suppression of the La.s.siter file had been a group effort, including Commander Marsh. Apparently not entirely. Something was askew.
”Did Marsh view the tape?”
”I a.s.sume so. Ask him.”
”I will.” He was gone again.
What a thought. If she and Reg were the only ones, maybe Commander Marsh didn't even know about the tape. Maybe she, Emily Wehr, was also expendable.
At the conclusion of her s.h.i.+ft, Wehr changed into her civilian clothes and hung up her holstered gun in the locker beside her uniform. This had been her routine for as long as she could remember. Since she wasn't required to pack off duty, why take her weapon home? It wasn't an appendage to her ego, like with some of the guys.
As she exited the locker room, she observed Reggie and Commander Marsh at the end of the hall, heads together in conversation. She watched the men's body language underscore the tension in their conversation. Then the two of them looked up and caught her eyeing them.
Although there was no overt malice in either man's expression, she suddenly felt naked without the little friend in her shoulder holster, that was in her locker, not doing her a d.a.m.n bit of good.
”I really appreciate your letting me tag along,” Rae said.
”I have an ulterior motive,” replied Veronica Sanchez from behind the wheel of an unmarked Lakewood Police vehicle. ”I want to pick your brain. Just bear with me while I make a quick stop.” She pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall on Simms Avenue.
”What's this about?”
”Tracking Kevin's activity on the day he died. He supposedly made a prescription run for his aunt just before picking up a check at Bayfield Enterprises.”
Veronica pulled the black Ford sedan into a parking s.p.a.ce in front of a Rite Way drug center. ”Mr. Farris seems a little fuzzy about the details of Kevin's extortion bit.”
”I thought the threat was made to Mrs. Farris,” said Rae.
”That's the problem,” replied Veronica. ”We can't interview Mrs. Farris until her doctor clears it. Her migraines have become a royal pain in the a.s.s for us.”
”What about the niece...Beth?”
”The family attorney has requested that we not stress her out right now.”
”That would be Stan Eisley?”
”You know him?”
”Not really. I've met one of his a.s.sociates.” Rae had an unpleasant flashback of her brief meeting with Gil Doucette. ”Do you know yet what killed the boy?”
”We're waiting for the tox screen results.”
”You must have some idea,” Rae said, her curiosity unappeased.
The women exited the car and approached the Rite Way. ”It's an open homicide, Rae. I can't discuss the details.”
Veronica paused in the doorway, her eyes searching out the prescription counter. ”I want you to go with me when I revisit Sam Garvin. He claims Kevin picked up the check he cut for him about noon, then split. Nathan Farris confirms that his wife was home in bed, sedated, on the afternoon of that day. Farris claims he heard a phone conversation between his wife and Garvin at around mid-day.”
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