Benefit of the Doubt: A Novel (26 page)

Ben paused, then asked the obvious question. “Any idea what she was doing in Danville?”

“Seems like they were talking about a local case,” Plate said. “Some hooker who got beat to death with a ball bat. The case file was found at the scene.”

Plate looked at Ben with an air of nervous inquisitiveness. “You know anything about that? Why Suarez would be poking her nose around in Danville?”

Ben thought back to his conversation with Tia and decided to be up front about what he knew.

“Tia came by my house this morning.” Ben looked at his watch and saw it was after one
A.M
. “Technically, yesterday. She wanted to talk about Alex’s case; she was zeroed in on the nine one one call that came into the PD the night Carson was murdered. She wanted to try to ID the caller. I told her to hold off on it. Anyway, even if she didn’t listen to me, why Danville?”

Boyd was shaking his head as Ben went on. “Something must have developed. Something got her down there. The detective she was with—I’m betting he was the one working the local homicide?”

“Yeah.” Boyd seemed reluctant. “Real hot-shot guy. Worked Chicago PD for most of his career. Even worked lead on a couple of big-time mob cases. Made a lot of enemies. Transferred to this sleepy little town to get away from it all. Looks like somebody decided to track him down. From what everyone down there said, he was a hell of a cop.”

“How bad was it?” Ben asked, not really wanting to know the answer but certain that he had to, in order to understand what had happened.

“They got caught flat-footed, that’s for sure. Both their guns were still holstered. Whoever this bastard was, he went at ’em with what looks to be a three-eighty. No brass left behind, so we’re figuring a revolver. Seale, the Danville detective, he took two at close range to the back of his head. I don’t imagine he felt a damn thing.” Plate paused, as if taking a moment to contemplate the idea of such an end. His voice grew louder when he went on. “Suarez, by the looks of it, she put up a hell of fight. The ER doc says she took one to the right side that shattered a rib and then got lodged inside somewhere. A second shot was a through-and-through in her gut. From what he said, her vital organs are okay but her blood loss was crazy. They got her to a hospital in about seven minutes. Somehow she was still alive. Last I checked she was hanging in there.”

After a long pause, Ben said, “Tia got wind of something. Something about our case led her to Danville. Whatever it was, it got her shot and this other detective whacked.”

Plate jumped all over the comment like he had been waiting for it. “Horseshit, Ben. This has nothing to do with the murder of Louis Carson.”

“Come on, Plate. Someone is trying to keep us from making a connection between these two murders. What other explanation is there?”

“Like I said, this Seale fella worked the big time. This was a real hit. Even the shot to the face.” Plate was working to dismiss a conclusion Ben could tell he didn’t want to draw. “Well, not the face but the head. Same damn thing. That’s what these OC types do when they want to show disrespect.” The lack of confidence in his voice betrayed him. Ben figured Plate was repeating what he’d heard from someone familiar with the ins and outs of organized crime.

“Anyway, they’re pulling guys in from his old unit in Chicago to work on it. Maybe even state boys from the attorney general’s office. There’s nothing for us to do but stay out of it and wait to hear about Suarez.” Plate tried to put a finishing touch on the conversation. “I think Tia just picked a bad day for a road trip.”

Ben didn’t hold back. “You’re wrong. Whoever shot Tia is the same guy who killed Louis Carson. I’ll bet my life on it.”

Plate’s large body shot from the chair. “Goddamn it, Sawyer. Don’t go making this into something it ain’t.”

“Plate, Tia was at my house, talking about the Carson case, two hours before she got shot. That means after she left my house, she hightailed it for Danville. You’re going to ignore that?”

“What the hell do you want me to do?” Plate looked across the desk. “Ben, I’m sorry, but your wife’s case is closed. It’s headed for trial, and that’s that. I know it’s hard, but you need to come to grips with it.”

Both men fell silent until Plate waived his hands in the air as if signaling surrender. “Hell, I need to get some sleep. This place is gonna be crazy in the morning. Jorgensen told me to handle the press and the investigation. He’s not sure he’ll even be in tomorrow. Can you believe that shit? A cop from his own PD is shot and that prick gets pissed about a wake-up call. I hate dealing with that asshole.”

With his hand on the doorknob, Plate turned to look at Ben. “You gonna be okay? I know having to sit this out is hard. Believe me, I’d love to turn the whole mess over to you.”

Ben stared at the older officer but said nothing. Plate pulled a single sheet of folded paper from his pocket.

“Here,” Plate said. “Danville detectives put it together from witness statements. Something tells me you’re gonna need it more than I will. I can always get another copy.”

Plate tossed the paper onto the desk. Ben saw it was a black-and-white composite sketch. The face was all angles and bone. The eyes were set close, the features handsome but reeking of danger.
WANTED FOR MURDER BY DANVILLE PD
appeared in bold type across the top.

“But I’m telling you, Ben. You get caught poking around in this mess, Jorgensen will fry your ass. In case you don’t already know, he ain’t particularly fond of you.” Plate left, closing the door firmly behind him.

Left alone, Ben stared hard at the face on the paper. The eyes took on a life and the mouth sneered in defiance.

Who are you?

Ben knew Plate was right. Alex’s case was as good as decided, and it wouldn’t be easy to stop a train that was running at full steam. The shooting of Tia Suarez would be dismissed as irrelevant. He needed more. He had to overwhelm the energy of the state’s case, sink it with an indisputable knockout blow. Alex’s words echoed in his mind:
I need you, Benny.

Ben put his hands to his face and tried to rub away his frustration and guilt. His wife needed him. She didn’t want anyone but him. With all that had happened in their lives, she still reached out to him and no one else. Rage forced Ben to his feet. He grabbed the sheet of paper from the desk and stepped into the hallway. Officers, still dazed from the turn of events, stepped aside as their sergeant stared straight ahead, acknowledging no one, and left the building.

In the car, Ben tried to focus. Wild ideas ran through his mind. Everything was a long shot. All of it fraught with risk.

Ben held the composite sketch and stared hard at the face looking back at him before folding the paper and putting it in his pocket. There would be no easy way, but Ben had never asked for that.
Any way. Any chance.
That’s all he needed.

FORTY-TWO

Ben half jogged through the long, stark, harshly lit hallway of Chicago General Hospital. Doctors and nurses floated about as if they were somehow disconnected from the rest of humanity. Groups of family members clustered outside rooms, often huddled in quiet conversation. Some were smiling, their expressions reflecting relief and hope. Others dabbed at their eyes, their faces marked by disbelief and sadness. The oldest people Ben saw were very old indeed and, for the most part, alone. Invisible to everyone were the orderlies and cleaning staff, who were well represented not only by their presence but by the thick scent of Pine-Sol.

He’d left Newberg at daybreak, making the three-hour drive to Chicago in a little more than two. This was the first day Tia was being allowed visitors and Ben had to see her. Not just to see for himself that she was alive and how she was doing, but also to find out just what had happened after she’d left his house two days before.

Ben navigated through people, medical equipment, and food carts. As he searched for Tia’s room number, he saw two uniforms sitting in a doorway not far ahead. It was a pretty good bet, that was where he’d find her. He approached the officers, who stood. One put out a hand to stop Ben and spoke with polite authority.

“Official business only, sir.”

The patch on his arm identified the man not as hospital security but as Chicago PD. Ben was impressed with the department’s commitment of resources.

Looking first at the officer’s name tag, Ben said, “How’re you doing, Officer Woods? I’m her sergeant. Ben Sawyer. Newberg PD.”

“No problem, sir. Could I just see your badge?”

Now, that was a problem. Still suspended, Ben’s badge was back in Newberg, in Jorgensen’s desk. “Uh, yeah … I…”

Suspicious of a man who said he was a cop but was unable to produce proof of it, Woods shifted to block the door. Ben admired the action even as he wondered how he was going to get past these guys. He hadn’t expected Tia to be so protected.

The voice that called from inside the room was weak, but Ben recognized it immediately.

“It’s okay, Albert. That’s my sergeant. You can let him in.”

Ben patted his pockets and turned sheepish. “Must’ve left it in the car.”

The officer’s defenses disappeared. “No sweat, Sarge. You want me to shut the door?”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

Ben walked into the dim room, which was lit only by the midday sun leaking through the thick shades pulled down over the windows. The single bed was surrounded by beeping equipment; hoses and tubes ran everywhere. The enormity of it all—the shooting, the hospital, the near-death experience—seemed to have swallowed her whole.

Her head was turned toward the door. She raised an opened hand a few inches off the bed, and Ben swooped in and took it in both of his own.

“Tia, what the hell did you do? I told you to stay out of it.”

“Yeah … it’s good to see you too.”

Ben laughed. “Damn, girl. You’re looking rough. How’re you feeling?”

“Honestly, not bad. Between growing up in a migrant camp, going off to war, now being a cop, it’s almost like I’ve been waiting half my life to get shot full of lead. I finally got it over with.”

Ben couldn’t hide his relief that Tia was alive and talking. He squeezed her hand. “I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

Tia’s voice turned lyrical as she switched to Spanish.

“Papa, Mama. Este es mi jefe y mi amigo.”
Tia smiled as she gave the Spanish version of his name.
“Ben-ha-meen Sawyer.”
Ben had followed along with the basic introductions but was glad when Tia continued in English, “Sarge, I’d like to introduce you to my parents. Enrique and Consuelo Solis-Suarez.”

For the first time Ben noticed the man and woman sitting quietly behind him and turned to greet them. Tia’s father stood up. He was dressed in pressed jeans, a pearl-button shirt, and a bolo. Most men would have looked comical in such an outfit, but on this solid, compact man with a dark, weatherworn complexion, it worked. Enrique Suarez’s leather boots were clean, but by the wear of them Ben bet more often than not they weren’t. On the table next to his chair sat an aged Western hat that screamed with authenticity.

“Ah, Señor Sawyer. Mucho gusto.”
The man’s voice was reverent and he extended his hand. He continued, in accented English, “My daughter speaks of you often. And always with very great respect. My pleasure is to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Suarez.
Mucho gusto.
Your daughter…” Ben shook hands with Mr. Suarez, and was surprised by the wave of emotion that swept over him. “Your daughter is very special to me, to all of us at the police department. We were … we were sad to hear about what happened. But she’s going to be okay.”

Still seated, the woman bowed her head slightly and gave a polite smile. Ben returned the smile and added a nod of acknowledgment.

Enrique struggled for words. “My daughter. She tells me of your troubles.
Tu esposa
.
Yo lo siento.
My wife and I, we pray for…”

He looked to his daughter for help,
“Mija, como se dice interceder?”

Tia looked warmly on her father; clearly the center of her world. “Intercede, Papa. You say intercede.”

“We pray for God to intercede,” Mr. Suarez said.

Ben, not big on prayer, was grateful anyway. “Thank you, sir. I think God must’ve sent your daughter to do just that, but he needs to keep up his end of the bargain and keep a closer eye on her.”

Mr. Suarez translated for his wife. Mrs. Suarez covered her mouth in shock and crossed herself fervently. Tia spoke to her parents lovingly in Spanish. Ben couldn’t follow a word of it, but Mrs. Suarez rose as her husband said, in a voice full of pride, “My daughter wishes to speak to you in private, sir. We will … uh, we will stretch out our legs,
sí
?”

Ben shook hands again with Tia’s father and stepped away from the bed, letting her mother get closer. The women exchanged a few quiet words; Tia laughed softly.

Once both her parents had left the room, Tia took a deep breath. A look of intense pain flooded her face and Ben clenched his jaw at the sight. After a moment, the pain eased and Tia looked at her boss with the slightest glimmer of a twinkle in her eye.

“My mom said I forgot to mention my boss was an infidel.”

“Oops. Sorry,” Ben said. “Did I offend?”

“My mom prays before she crosses the street. That’s her world. Don’t worry about it.” Tia’s weak voice grew serious in tone. “How’s Alex? How’re you holding up?”

“Pretty damn good, thanks to you and Darnell Reynolds. Alex and I had a great visit last week, spent about three hours together. I was able to see her again yesterday afternoon, and I got her up to speed. She was devastated at first, but I told her that you had pulled through and I was headed down here today for a visit. She sends her best.”

“Darnell’s good people. We go way back to Afghanistan. He saved my ass a few times.” Tia frowned, changing the subject. “Ben, listen to me. You’ve got to get down to Danville. There’s a case there…” She stopped and held her breath, wincing in pain.

“Take it easy,” Ben said. “We don’t have to talk about it right now.”