Part 4 (2/2)
”I suppose so,” Connie said.
”Name?” he barked. He had an egg-shaped head, a high and tight doing nothing to disguise the horseshoe-shaped bald spot on the top of his head.
”Conrad Darget.”
”Who you riding with, Darget?”
After riding with different guys for the first few months after becoming a RIP, Connie had settled on Mark Greene and Jack Ahearn. They were the hardest working detectives in the district, destined to make Homicide. ”I ride with Greene and Ahearn, sir.”
”Fine. You carrying?”
He had to give an answer. ”Sir, I ...”
”Never mind,” the sergeant interrupted him. ”I don't want to know. You signed a liability waiver form?”
”Yes, sir. On file with the captain.”
”I don't want to catch any s.h.i.+t if you get hurt out there. And if you are carrying a piece, don't use it. Detective Greene, make sure he has a vest. I don't want a DA getting killed on my watch.” He turned back to face the officers standing before him. ”Everyone. Careful out there tonight. Things have been heating up. And like I said, anyone with information on Wheeler, reach out to Sergeant Figgs.” The familiar hiss and bang announced the patrol supervisor's departure.
Roll call was over.
Connie waded through the officers and found Greene and Ahearn. ”What's on the agenda tonight?”
”Shawn Tinsley. The shooter Tracy Ward ID'd today,” Greene said. ”I pulled everything I could find on him. Checked his BOP. Not much of a record. Weed charges, a domestic. Everything dismissed. I pulled his FIOs to see if any of the guys have stopped him, see who he's hanging with. No real bad guys in the bunch, at least not according to their BOPs. I checked with the BRIC. Not on their radar either.”
”That could be a problem. They are the Boston Regional Regional Intel Center. If they start asking who the kid is, next thing you know, the whole world knows Shawn Tinsley.” Intel Center. If they start asking who the kid is, next thing you know, the whole world knows Shawn Tinsley.”
”I didn't tell them why I was asking about him. Otherwise they'd tell the Strike Force and half the Gang Unit would be up Tinsley's a.s.s in ten minutes.”
”Not the most subtle bunch,” Ahearn laughed.
”That's their job,” Greene continued. ”Jackie and I used to do the same thing. Won't help us on this case. Tinsley'd know something was up and he'd lay low.”
”Let's hope we get lucky and find him tonight,” Connie said.
Greene said, ”I think Tracy Ward's full of s.h.i.+t. He gave us Shawn Tinsley's name just to get us off his back.”
”And to get a smoke,” Ahearn added.
”His story sounded too good,” Connie said. ”He gave us a lot of detail about Tinsley's crew. How they've been dealing crack. How Tinsley thought Ward was moving in on his turf.”
”None of that has checked out. That's why we're going up there tonight. See if there's any truth to what he gave us.” Mark Greene patted his chest. ”You want to borrow a vest, Connie?”
”Never wear one,” Jackie Ahearn said. ”I hate those things. Can't move around. I'm not afraid of bullets.” Ahearn smiled. ”Connie, use mine. Get it out of my locker on the way out. You know the combination. But hurry up. It's almost four-thirty and we haven't made any arrests yet.”
”I'll put it on in the car,” Connie said. ”What about the two witnesses Ward gave us? He said they hang on Magnolia. If we find them, we can hit them with subpoenas for the grand jury. Maybe they can corroborate Ward's story.”
”Or blow it out of the water.” Greene said.
CHAPTER 18.
Sleep entered Momma's bedroom and drew the shades. It would be getting dark soon and he couldn't risk anyone seeing the splendor of what he had done with the old place. They wouldn't understand. But Momma appreciated it, he knew she did. Now she could relive those days, the happy times. getting dark soon and he couldn't risk anyone seeing the splendor of what he had done with the old place. They wouldn't understand. But Momma appreciated it, he knew she did. Now she could relive those days, the happy times.
He opened the yellowed wedding alb.u.m, flipped the gorgeous slip of parchment inscribed with his parents' names and the names of their attendants. Sleep loved most the photograph of his mother alone, standing before a lush fall of velvet drapery. There was a corona of light behind her, perfect as the Virgin Mary's halo, her skirts fanned out around her invisible feet. She is holding a bouquet of pale roses-probably yellow, her favorite. A cap of white artificial flowers interspersed with tiny bows of netting is perched jauntily on her head. Her hair is the deep auburn of his childhood, s.h.i.+ning, curled and brushed away from her heart-shaped face, revealing her widow's peak. She is smiling shyly at the camera.
The photo, of course, had been taken before all the disappointment in her life, before the old man stopped loving her. Before he started blaming her for giving him a freak for a son.
This room, the house itself, was a special gift Sleep had given her. He sauntered across the darkened room and flipped the switch on the wall. The room had a warm glow, the pink walls reflecting beautifully. His Little Things loved it. The perfect atmosphere for them.
It was also the perfect backdrop for the handsome couple as they began their lives together. Sleep walked around the room, admiring the photos he had taken of them as they sat in this room only yesterday. They looked so happy, sipping champagne, eating finger sandwiches, laughing. Then off to the park, their little Garden of Eden, away from the rest of the world. She must have been a little drunk at that point, willing to give in to him. And that was where he had to stop them. They would be frozen in time, just at that moment before she gave in to temptation, the moment before she made the decision that would lead both of them to misery. Now they could both feel the antic.i.p.ation, the longing, the magic of true love. For all eternity.
He wished he could have spent more time with them at the park. It would have been wonderful to stay the night, but he could never do that. Stay too long and you leave too much of yourself. He had stood on that hill long enough to inhale the cool early autumn evening. To see stars, even with the distant city lights. Study his young lovers. Till he heard the voices of the children. Screeching. Their feet drumming the earth. Like little furies.
At least he had the pictures.
Sleep made his way around the room, stopping to admire each of the photos he had taken. Each told a different fragment of the story of these young lovers. They were a beautiful pair. He was happy for them. They had been given the gift of eternal happiness. He lay down on Momma's bed, closed his eyes and imagined himself back on the hill with them, breathing in the smell of the woods, sharing in their unbridled love.
Momma would be so proud of him, of all he'd accomplished, of who he had become.
CHAPTER 19.
I love you, honey.” Alves was using the phone in the conference room love you, honey.” Alves was using the phone in the conference room to get the privacy that he couldn't get at his work cubicle. ”Tell Iris and Angel I love them.” to get the privacy that he couldn't get at his work cubicle. ”Tell Iris and Angel I love them.”
”What time will you be home?” she asked. She didn't sound angry, more disappointed, frustrated.
”Late. We just came up from the press conference. The plan was to put the public on alert. And to avoid giving specifics. But the reporters went crazy with speculation. Tonight Mooney and I have to go through boxes of evidence, see if there's a connection to old cases.” Alves looked at the six boxes of reports and photos stacked in the corner.
”The reporters are saying the Prom Night Killer is back.”
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