Brooklyn's Song (5 page)

Chapter 15

Lieutenant Phillips opened her desk drawer and pulled out a pack of Nicorette. She pushed a piece through the foil and popped it in her mouth. Song stood nervously waiting.

“Detective, what the hell was that little two-step out there?”

Song swallowed hard. “Lieu, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What was the deal with that reporter?” Before he could answer she held up her hand. “Listen, I don’t even want to know. This is my house and I will not allow anyone to come in here and make us look like a bunch of amateurs. Whatever personal shit you have going on, keep it outside. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Song said, nodding his head.

“Go on; Mattice has some interviews lined up; he’s waiting outside.“

Song turned and left the office. Mattice was sitting in the passenger seat of the Taurus when Song slid behind the wheel.

Mattice chuckled. ‘Hell hath no fury like a reporter scorned.’

“Don’t start,” Song said, glaring at Mattice.

“So, what’s going on with you and Hunter?” Mattice asked.

Song looked puzzled. “I’m not sure; I thought we were cool after the break up.”

“Men can never make a clean getaway from a woman like Hunter. I’m willing to bet she rarely gets rejected and when she does, she doesn’t handle it well, Mattice said, patting Song on the back, “Just be careful, she’s on the prowl. Now onto more pressing matters; I saw you with Brooklyn Peirce today.”

“You mean the dime piece,“ Song said, using air quotes.

Mattice laughed. “You’re learning. So, what’s up with that?”

“She came down to the station to work with Spen on his sketch of the shooter; I escorted her out afterwards.”

Song remembered how it felt to touch Brooklyn’s hand for the first time. Her skin was as soft like finely spun silk. The vulnerability Brooklyn displayed made Song feel even more protective of her. He recognized the look in her eyes; it wasn’t just the fear of almost losing her father; he could tell that the scars she carried were sort of like the ones of his own. She had lost someone close to her and hadn’t completely healed.

Mattice gave Song a skeptical look. “Hmmm, seems like it was more than that. Since when do we provide curbside services to…” He mimicked Song by using air quotes and said, “Witnesses?”

Reaching to turn the volume up on the navigation system, Song replied, “You have to be quiet so I can hear the GPS, otherwise we’ll be driving in circles and we won’t make it to the governor’s residence.”

“So it’s like that, huh? I’m not through with this conversation.”

Song cupped his ear. “What was that Mattice?” he said, trying to keep from laughing.

Chapter 16

Song and Mattice were stopped at the gate of the governor’s mansion and asked to show ID. They were cleared and then made their way up the driveway.

Mattice let out a loud whistle as he got out of the car. “Now this is living!” he said, looking around at the lavish estate.

Song rang the bell. Terry, dressed in a navy blue pant suit, opened the door.

“Detectives, you’re late,” she said, looking at her watch.

“We apologize for that, we took a wrong turn,” Song said.

“Of course,” Terry said, in a clipped tone. “The governor is waiting in the parlor; I must inform you that we’re on a tight schedule.”

“We won’t take up much of his time,” Mattice replied.

“Follow me,” Terry said, leading the way.

The house was completely silent except for the sound of Terry’s heels walking across the floor.

Mattice nudged Song as he took in the elaborate surroundings including a portrait of Brooklyn hanging on the wall. She was dressed in equestrian attire standing next to a seal brown horse. She looked as though she was beaming with joy. Terry walked across the plush carpet and took a seat on a red tufted leather sofa next to the governor. The governor stood and shook hands with Song and Mattice as they introduced themselves.

“I’m Governor Peirce. Please, have a seat.”

Song and Mattice sat down across from the governor and Terry.

“Would you like a drink?” the governor asked.

Mattice looked at Song and they both declined.

“Governor, we know you have a busy day ahead, so we’ll get right to it. Did you get a good look at the perpetrator?” Song asked.

“Everything happened so fast. There were cameras flashing all over the place and the lights were blinding; I’m afraid I didn’t get a good look at his face. “

Song pulled out his cell phone, tapped the screen a few times and handed it to the governor. According to descriptions provided by a few witnesses, this is a sketch of the assailant. Do you recognize him?

The Governor studied the image for a few minutes and then passed the phone to Terry. “No, I’ve never seen him before.”

“Neither have I,” Terry stated. She handed the phone back to Song.

Mattice jumped in, “We know that politicians receive all types of correspondence; have you gotten any letters or e-mails that concerned you; blatant threats against you…Your family?”

The governor looked to Terry. “I’m certain I get my share of hateful mail, but I don’t read that stuff. If there is something that is deemed threatening, the letters are handled over to the FBI.”

“I have copies of a few of the e-mails that raised a red flag; I’ll give then to you on your way out.” Terry said.

“Do you know of any reason why someone would target Miss Carmen?” Song asked.

The governor bristled at the question. “Lydia? My goodness; she runs a boutique and makes dresses; she’s not into politics and I don’t understand why anyone would intentionally want to hurt her.”

Terry stood up. “Detectives, as I stated earlier the governor has a busy schedule, so I’ll see you out.”

“Thanks for your time,” Mattice said.

Song reached and shook the governor’s hand. “Thank you.”

‘”Please keep me abreast of any developments in the investigation,” the governor said.

“We certainly will,” Song responded, before following Terry out of the parlor.

Terry handed Mattice a manila envelope before showing him and Song to the door.

“Have a nice day,” Mattice said.

“I sure will, “Terry responded.

They stepped outside the door and Terry hastily closed it behind them. Mattice pulled his sunglasses from his suit pocket. “Damn! She’s colder than an igloo.”

Song laughed. “I got the impression she didn’t like either one of us.”

He was in the process of punching in the GPS coordinates when Brooklyn and her dog Bella jogged up the walkway. Brooklyn wore her hair in a knot on top of her head, black yoga pants and a pink sports bra that showed off her midriff.

“My, oh my, I would like to kiss the person who invented yoga pants and the sports bra,” Mattice whispered.

“Mattice, please act like a professional,” Song said, talking out the side of his mouth.

The German Shepherd began to growl and bark as Brooklyn got closer to the stairs.

“Könnyedén (at ease),”Brooklyn shouted to Bella when they reached the bottom step. The dog followed Brooklyn’s command and sat down.

Mattice tentatively walked down the stairs, keeping his eyes on Bella the whole time. “Hello, Miss Pierce,” he said, acting a little nervous, “Your dog isn’t going to go all Cujo on me, is she?

Brooklyn laughed. “Good evening detective; don’t worry she’ll stay put.”

“Great. I’ll be in the car,” he said, quickly moving toward the vehicle.

Brooklyn walked up the remaining stairs and was now face to face with Song. He watched tiny beads of perspiration roll off her dark brown skin. There was something enticingly erotic about the way she pushed wayward strands of hair out of her face. Song didn’t know where to fix his eyes; there was so much of her to take in…so damn much, he thought. The swell of her breasts rising with each breath; her taut stomach with her abs glistening; her full lips that curved into a smile as she talked to him, was almost too much to endure.

“Detective Kai, we meet again.”

“Yeah, we just interviewed your father and …Sherry,” he said stammering trying to keep his composure.

“Turn right onto Celestial lane,” the voice from the navigation system said.

“Sherry? Detective Kai, I think you mean Terry. Are you trying to program the GPS; give it to me, I’ll do that for you.”

Brooklyn cupped her hand beneath Songs and felt him trembling. She steadied his hand and punched in the coordinates to the police station. Brooklyn’s breasts brushed against Songs arm when she stood by his side. He hoped that he wouldn’t become visibly aroused.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Hold your head down.”

“What?”

“Just do it!” she demanded.

He bent his knees and was now eye level with her. She picked a piece of pollen from his hair, held it in the palm of her hand, closed her eyes and softly blew on it. The wind carried it away.

He smiled, realizing what she just did. “You made a wish?”

“Yes, I did.”

“May I ask what you wished for?”

“If I told you, it won’t come true.” She turned and called to Bella “Jon” (come)

Bella ran up the stairs and Brooklyn opened the door and Bella trotted inside.

“Miss Pierce, thanks for helping me with the GPS.”

“You’re welcome. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re following me. I mean…If you turned up at Lauren’s coffee shop around seven o’clock tomorrow morning, I’ll know for sure.”

Brooklyn smiled. “Have a good evening, detective.” She stepped inside, before he could reply. She peeked out the window and watched as the Taurus drove down the main road.

Chapter 17

After picking up their lunch, Song and Mattice we’re heading back to New York. Mattice wiped his mouth with a napkin and placed his half eaten burger back in the bag.

“Song, are you that dense? Obviously she’s in to you; she practically asked you out. Let’s not forget rubbing up against you with those oh so tight yoga pants and that little sports bra. I mean, she was packing in all the right places,” Mattice said, raising his voice. “If I were you, I would just”-

Song placed his drink in the cup holder and picked up his laptop. “Okay, that’s it. Let’s just stick to the case. Are there any persons; I mean anyone who sent in a threatening letter or e-mail?”

“Okay, Song, just one more thing about Brooklyn: If I were you, I would be at that coffee shop bright and early. I read through a couple of the letters and a few stood out, like the one from a guy name Tanner Lee Reynolds. He’s pissed that Governor Peirce would like to ban assault weapons and raise the fee for a hunting license.“

Song ran Tanner Lee’s name through the database on his laptop while Mattice drove. Tanner’s mug shot popped up on the screen along with his address and lengthy criminal record.

“Let’s pay Mr. Reynolds a visit; it looks like he’s been nabbed a few times for firearms violations along with assault with a deadly weapon. His ex-wife has a restraining order against him,” Song said.

Tanner lived in a trailer park located in Riverhead, New York. The car kicked up dust and bits of gravel as it drove up the road that led to Tanner’s trailer. An old sofa with shredded cushions, car tires and other debris decorated the front yard. A frail dog lying beneath a tree raised his head and let out a weak bark when Song and Mattice exited the car. Song knocked on the trailer door.

An angry voice came from inside the trailer. “Who’s there?”

“Mr. Reynolds, it’s the NYPD; open up,” Song responded

They heard footsteps walking towards the door.

“Hold your badges up to the glass.”

Song and Mattice complied.

The door swung open. A stocky man with sandy blonde hair and a long beard stood in the doorway; his protruding belly peeking through his frayed bathrobe.

“What the fuck is this about?” he said with a scowl.

“May we come in?” Song asked.

Tanner paused for a second and then nodded his head and stepped aside so that Mattice and Song could enter the trailer. There was just as much clutter inside the trailer as there was outside. Stacks of newspapers, magazines and cartons of cigarettes were scattered

everywhere. The foul odor from an overflowing cat litter box saturated the air. Song felt his stomach lurch and wasn’t sure if his lunch would stay down. Mattice looked as though he was going to be sick.

Tanner slumped down in a rickety recliner, picked up a can of beer from the makeshift coffee table, took a sip, belched and said, “So what do you want?”

‘We would like to discuss the letter that you sent to Governor Peirce?” Song said.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“You were really upset about his support of his proposed assault weapons ban and the hike in the hunting license fee,” Mattice said.

“I didn’t vote for the guy and no, not because he’s a colored fellow,” he said, grinning at Mattice. “I don’t like the way he’s trying to take away my freedoms, so I wrote him a letter telling him how I felt. The feds already talked to me a few months ago about those damn letters. I told them ‘It’s a free country and, as a taxpayer, I have a right to say my opinion.”

“Mr. Reynolds, we were just concerned about some of the threatening words you used to express yourself,” Song said.

He sneered. “None of my threats were direct! Listen, I pay my taxes and you Chinese think you can buy up the whole damn country! I can say whatever I want. It’s called freedom of speech! Now get the fuck out of my house!”

Song took his sunglasses off and wanted to teach Tanner a little lesson, but knew it was a lost cause.

“Sir, we are not here to debate your constitutional rights, we need to know your whereabouts this past Wednesday at 8:00 PM,” Mattice said.

Tanner stared at Mattice for a second and then reached over a messy end table, grabbed a pink sheet of paper and handed it to him.

“Here! I was in the hospital for the last two weeks. I was just released early this morning. I had pneumonia.”

Mattice read over the paper and handed it back to him. “Pneumonia is a bitch! My grandmamma said, ‘Rest and hot chicken soup with raw garlic is the best cure.’ “

Tanner’s tone softened. “I never heard of putting garlic in soup before.”

“Trust me, it works every time. We’ll be on our way. Stay well.”

Mattice put a hand on Song’s shoulder and nudged him towards the door.

As soon as Song and Mattice were outside, they simultaneously took in a deep breath of fresh air. They got in the car and sped off. A couple of teenagers were sitting on the side of the road eating chips and drinking soda. Mattice pulled up in the Taurus, rolled his window down and called them over to the car.

“Yo, you know Mr. Reynolds?”

The two boys looked at each other as if they weren’t sure what to say.

“Relax; we’re just coming from his trailer.” Mattice showed them his badge. “He’s not in any trouble and neither are you. I need you to run to the market, pick him up a couple of cans of chicken soup and some garlic.”

Mattice pulled a ten dollar bill out of his wallet and handed it to the taller of the two kids and said, “He’s expecting this soup, so if you’re not back within the next hour, I’ll be back out here.” You can keep the change for your troubles. Be sure and tell him the African American detective said to use the whole bulb of garlic.”

“Okay sir, we’ll go right now.”

Mattice waved and then drove off.

“Why buy him soup? The guy was a complete asshole!” Song said.

“Song, the dude is living in squalor, besides, my grandmamma says; ‘be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle you know nothing about.’”

Song thought about it for a moment, “Your grandma is one wise woman.”

“For sure…For sure. Who is the next person of interest?” Mattice asked.

“George Wizardo; he was recently arrested outside of the executive mansion and has written the governor over twenty times; where he’s made vague threats,” Song said, reading from his laptop. Song gave Mattice the address and he did a u-turn amidst blaring car horns.

“We’re off to see the wizard,” Mattice said, in a singsong voice.