Burying Ben (40 page)

“No,” I say. “You are already in a ton of trouble.”

“I ca
n
’t
m
ake it any worse.”

“Yes you can.”

“Give
m
e the na
m
e of the
m
otel where Ben died. I’ll call you back.”

He calls
m
e back in an hour. The
m
o
tel owner’s wife called the sheriff’s depart
m
ent to report the body at 8:05 a.m. A deputy took the
license nu
m
ber of Ben’s car off the
m
otel registration and put out an all
-
poi
n
t
s
bull
e
tin
f
or April. A H
i
ghway Patrol unit spotted her car in a shopping center about an hour later and found her in
an internet cafe, drinking coffee and working on her laptop. The CHP officer
noted in his report that April quickly closed the lid to her co
m
puter when
s
he s
a
w him
and see
m
ed re
m
arkably un
m
oved at the news that her husband had just committed sui
c
ide. She refused an escort ho
m
e and said she was fine to drive. The CHP officer had no reason to detain her, so he let her go.

“So what does this
m
ean
?
”

“I asked the motel owner if there was a co
m
puter in Ben’s room. She said no. I asked if Ben ever used a co
m
puter in the office. She said they didn’t have one. My guess is th
a
t Ben
d
i
dn’t w
r
ite the sui
c
ide
n
ote. April did.”

“Can we prove it?”

“If she used the wi-fi network in the café, we can check the café’s log, the co
m
puter logs, or the ISP logs.
W
e’ll know what ti
m
e she wrote it and who she sent it to.”

“Once again, Manny, you have saved
m
y bacon. I just hope I can pull yours out of the fire.”

I call him
back in ten
m
i
nutes. “
W
hat does LMAO
m
ean
?
”

“Doc,” he says. “
W
hat are you looking at
?
”

“April’s Facebook page.”

“Bitchin. You’re getting to be a real co
m
puter nerd.”

“So what does it
m
ean?”

“Laughing my ass off.”

“And IMHO, BT
W
, LOL, OMG, and
W
TF
?
” April and her friends seem
to have a language all their own.

“Hang on,” Manny says
, “I’m
getti
n
g on Facebook now. Did you check out her ti
m
elin
e
?
”

“
W
hat’s a ti
m
eline?”

“Like a history. Everything she ever posted.”

“You
m
ean we can roll back to before
Ben killed hi
m
self and see what she was writin
g
?”

“Sure.”

We start with the
m
onth before Ben’s dea
t
h. Thirty straight days of variations on a the
m
e. April’s profile photo is ANIFOC – a
l
most naked in front of the ca
m
era. She wants to MIRL –
m
eet in real life – with a hot
guy who wants to hook-up with a preggo slut with big boobies. Her husband, soon-to-be
w
asband, is such an e
m
o loser. Never wants to do anything or go anywhere. She
’
s going to buy him a suicide bag for his birthday and hopes he’ll off h
i
m
self
s
o she can
go party. It’s hard being
m
arried and worse being preggers because s
h
e can’t drink or smoke weed.

It’s a tirade of trash talk. I’ve never
r
ead anything like it, yet so
m
ething about it sounds f
a
m
iliar.

“You know what, Doc?
I think this
m
eets 401 P.C.”

“Manny, talk to
m
e in English, please.”

“Sorry. I’m
talking about the penal
c
ode. 401 P.C. says, ‘Every person
w
ho delib
e
rately aids, or ad
vi
ses, or enc
o
urages an
o
t
h
er to com
m
it suici
d
e, is
g
uilty of
a felony.’ It can be difficult to prove, but April could get so
m
e jail ti
m
e for this.”

If I could hug Manny over the phone, I would.

The idea of
April sitting in j
a
il in an
ill-
fi
tting j
u
mpsuit
w
ith no
m
ake-up and no co
m
puter privileges is extre
m
ely satisfying. So is the idea of just
i
ce for poor, tortured Ben. Manny said it was possible
to co
m
pare the ti
m
e on Ben
’
s suicide note with the ti
m
e of his death. There was at least an hour
between the ti
m
e the motel owner found Ben’s body and the Highway Patrol officer found April.
If the ti
m
e
on the note coincided with April’s stop at the int
e
r
n
et ca
f
é, that would
m
ean she wrote the
note. If she wrote the note before the
C
H
P guy talked to her, then s
h
e already knew Ben was dead. There is no way she could have known Ben was dead unless she
was in the room
with him when he shot hi
m
self.

I get
m
y briefcase. The copy of Ben’s sui
c
ide note is sitting on top of so
m
e other papers, neatly folded. I haven’t looked at i
t
, coul
d
n’t bear to,
s
ince he
d
ied.
F
a
m
iliar words ju
m
p off the page.
‘Eddie Ri
m
bauer is an emo loser.’
I go back to April’s Facebook postings. There are four separate instances when she refers to Ben as an ‘emo loser’. I telephone Manny again.

“
W
hat do you call it when so
m
eone impersonates another person?”

“Misde
m
eanor fraud. That’s section 528.5 of
the penal code, punishable by a fine of $1000 and
m
aybe a year in the county jail.”

“
W
hat about libel and def
a
m
ation of chara
c
ter? April wrote the suicide note, and I think I can prove it. She was
setting Eddie and
m
e up for a lawsuit. She wants
m
on
e
y. Fat chance she’d have collecting any
after she ruined
m
y reputation.”

“That’s civil code. I can
look it up if you want.”

“I want, but not right now. I’ve something else to do. I’ll see you later tonight.”

Chapter Thirty Nine

Tonight is the
m
onthly meeting of the h
u
m
an relations com
m
i
s
sion. I figure it
’
s the perfect venue for a confrontation with Bax
t
er. No way
a
m
I going to risk being alone with him
again.

The c
o
mmission attracts a
n
ti-
po
lice
p
rotesters and hec
k
lers. There are always two on-duty officers present in case of
trouble plus a slew of others com
m
anded to attend if they have any hopes of being pro
m
oted. I slip in about
an hour after the
m
eeting has started, dressed for suc
c
ess in
m
y tailored gray suit.

The seats in the council cha
m
bers are arranged in rows, like pews in a church. Baxter is sitting in t
h
e back where the c
o
m
m
ission
m
e
m
bers can
’
t
see him
r
eading t
h
e newspaper. I recognize
f
our off-duty off
i
cers to his im
m
ediate right, including Manny. He’s ju
m
ping through hoops to get out of t
h
e chief’s penalty box. The higher he ju
m
ps, the
m
ore hoops I put in
f
ront of hi
m
. I owe hi
m
, big ti
m
e.

I scoot in from
the left, blocking Baxte
r’
s access
to the aisle. He turns to
s
ee who
’
s sitting
next to
h
im
and when he sees it
’
s
m
e, the a
r
ti
f
i
c
ial s
m
ile on his
f
ace turns to a scowl. Before he can speak, I hand him
an
envelope containing a copy of the receipt he gave Belle
P
atcher. He opens it, unfolds the sheet of paper and reads. Except for the tiniest twitch at the o
u
t
s
ide of his le
f
t eye, he doesn
’
t react. I wait. He puts his hand
o
ver his
m
outh. I think he
’
s going to be sick to h
i
s sto
m
ach. Wh
e
n he turns to
m
e, I see he
’
s stifling a laugh.

“
W
hat do you think this is, Sherlock? A bribe?
It
’
s a donation. Belle Patcher gave it to
m
e in honor of her son-in-law. For t
h
e police associations’
widows and children’s fund.”

“Check the date. Odd that she gave it to you before he died.”

“I
’
ll repeat myself. It was in
honor of h
i
m
, not in
m
e
m
ory.”

“So when I ask the associa
t
ion, they
’
ll have a record of it
?
”
H
i
s neck
m
uscles tighten just slightly.

“I haven
’
t gotten around to giving it to them
yet. Too busy chasing ghosts and defending myself from
wacko psychologists.”

“This is a b
r
ibe. Belle P
a
tcher will
sw
ear to it.”

“Belle Patcher is a bona fide
m
e
ntally disordered person.”

“That
m
ay be so, but do you really want
to start a war with her husband?
You took
m
oney from
his wife without his knowl
e
dge. I
m
agine how that will go over with hi
m
.”

A wo
m
an in the row in front of us
turns and gives us a dirty look, her finger pressed against her lips.

“Sorry” Baxter says and stands up. I prop
m
y
feet against the
b
ack of the seat in front of
m
e, blocking his exit. He motions
m
e out of his way.

“
W
e
’
re disturbing people,” he says. “Let
’
s go to
m
y office.”

I shake
m
y head. He turns to his right
a
nd pushes past the officers sitting next to hi
m
. They all
m
ove aside except for Manny who is leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. Baxter bu
m
ps M
a
nny
’
s leg with his knee, then pushes on his shoulder.
Manny doesn
’
t budge. Baxter bends over and whispers so
m
ething in his ear. Manny holds his position.
P
e
ople in the surrounding rows are turning around, looking at the disturbance. Whoever is speaking at the
m
i
crophone stops. Bax
t
er returns to his seat.
T
he edges of his ears are fla
m
ing scarlet. He’s cornered.

I lean in, close enough to feel t
h
e heat of his body.”There are four reporters in the front r
o
w. I have enough copies of the receipt and the letter di
s
qualifying
B
en Go
m
ez for each of
t
h
e
m
, all the
m
e
mbers of the HRC, the
m
ayor and the city
m
anager. Plus, I sent
c
opies to two of
m
y friends.”

The
wo
m
an
in front of us turns again, glaring.

“Sorry lady,” I say. “This is
police business. Find yourself another seat.”

She
m
akes
a show of disgust
and bangs her way down to the front of the roo
m
. Baxter eyes t
h
e vacant place she has c
r
eated. He looks hinky, as c
o
ps like to say, ready to jump into the next row
a
nd run. I put
m
y
hand on his ar
m
.

“
W
e’re going to work this out, here
a
nd now.”

S
m
all rivulets of perspiration trickle down in front of his ears and acr
o
ss his cheeks. I can see blood pumping at his te
m
ples. He turns to
m
e, his broad shoulders obscuring
m
y view of Manny and the other off
i
cers.

“I never took a di
m
e in my life. Not even
a free cup of coffee. She gave it to
m
e. She knows we have a li
m
ited budget. Told
m
e to do so
m
ething good with it. Add it to the fund for the new public safety building.”

“Hoping they
’
ll na
m
e the building after yo
u
?”

That would be the kind of thing a narcissist would risk
everything
for.

“
W
ha
t
’
s wrong with that? I gave
m
y whole life to this goddamn department. As soon as I walk out the door, I’m
j
u
st a P.O.
W.
, a p
i
cture on the wall.”

“Are you planning to
w
alk out the door
a
nyti
m
e soon?”

This is an option I hadn’t considered.

“Don’t get
a
ny ideas.
I’
m
not leavi
n
g until I
m
a
x out
m
y pensio
n
.
”

Who knows how intuition works?
How patterns e
m
erge out of so
m
e chaotic nowhere of crashing ideas. I ca
m
e here tod
a
y to expose hi
m
, with no hope of anything beyond the immediate satisfaction of seeing him
p
illoried in the press. And now, I see a way to use his vulnerabilities to form an
exit strategy that will be, in the cheery vernacular of pop psychology, a win-win solution for the two of us. I can hardly keep from
s
m
iling.

“I’m
going to give you a choice, just
like the one you gave Ben Go
m
ez. Resign now or be t
e
r
m
inated, because t
h
at
’
s what will h
a
ppen when this gets o
u
t. There will
b
e an investigation and not just into Ben’s
case. Re
m
e
m
ber those officers who are out on leave?
W
hat are the investigators going to find when they lo
o
k into t
h
eir
c
ase
s
?
Negli
g
ent hiring? More donations?” I pat
m
y purse
w
ith one hand and hold the shoulder strap again
s
t
m
y
c
hest with the other. “T
h
i
n
k
a
bout it. How will your pension be affected if you
’
re fired? Your
m
edical benefits
?
”

Drops of perspiration drip off his chin, leaving shiny streaks on his jacket.

“I have no reason to resign.”

“Just say you want to spend
m
ore ti
m
e with your f
a
m
ily.”

“I have no
f
a
m
ily. The depart
m
ent is
m
y f
a
m
ily.”

“Personal reasons, then.”

“Such as
?
”

“You don
’
t have to say.
T
hat
’
s why they call them
personal. I
’
m giving you a one-ti
m
e only opportunity to craft your exit. Cooperate with
m
e and you
’
ll get to leave the legacy you want.”