Played: “Sometimes you never know who is playing who, until the damage is done." (7 page)

Chelsea, an attractive woman even in the early hours, is a thirty-two-year-old bank manager with a good head on her shoulders. Her only fault is that she has a weakness for the jackass now leaving her alone in his cluttered apartment. And knowing the game all too well herself, she does nothing more than curses a short, “Goddammit,” and pull the covers back over her head. It isn’t long before she hears car keys being lifted from a kitchen table and the door slamming shut.

A short time later, Cools enters the station, finding Amberly with Officer Renny and straightaway noticing her look. Her eyes are puffy like she has been crying, and she doesn’t look well; he automatically suspects she’s a party girl. Officer Renny introduces them. “Detective Cools, this is the young lady I was telling you about.”

“Amberly is it?” Cools asks, using a warm, kindhearted tone. Experience has taught him that a caring first impression is the best way to cozy up and earn their trust prior to a progressively tough interrogation.

“Yes, that’s my name. And I asked to speak with you, and you only,” she replies, with a mixed expression of guilt and apology.

“I understand you believe Kimberly Siconolfi is missing?”

“Yes. She is. And I think her husband has done something to her.”

“And you’re a coworker and friend of Kimberly, is that correct?”

“Yes, uh-huh.”

Cools feels confident he is going to tear her apart. Soon he will be shredding through her bullshit, gaining all that she knows. “Okay, Amberly, give me a second, and we’ll be right back. Do you need anything…anything at all…a drink…or cigarette maybe?”

“Well, I could use a cigarette,” she replies with a gentle smile, instantly feeling a little more at ease. She likes the way he looks at her, the way most men do, the way that comforts her.

“Sounds good to me too,” he says. He then moves in closer, whispering, “We have a private office in here that no one is supposed to know about that we can smoke in.” He finishes his statement with a wink, reeling her in. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay, Amberly?”

“Yeah, all right then.”

Cools leads Officer Renny out into the hallway. “What do we got here?”

“Well, not a lot. She claims she works with Kimberly at the Kitty Club, and according to her, they’re good friends. They have a routine they do together.”

Cools pauses a second, adult-visioning, as Renny goes on, “And her story is basically that she hasn’t shown for work in days or answered any of Ms. Carlson’s many attempts to contact her via cell, Facebook, text—nothing. So she doesn’t worry about it too much until a friend tells her last night about the incident last week—Joshua’s radio show. And for some reason, she’s very firm about not knowing about that till last night. My first impression is that she’s an addict.”

“Yeah, I got that too. Is that all?”

“No, there’s something else. She says she didn’t know what she was doing at the time, but that she has done something—something she could be in trouble for—and she’s made it very clear she will only talk to you about it.”

“Okay, can you set her up in the smoking room, Renny?”

“Not a problem.”

“Good, and can I trust you to keep tight-lipped on this one?” he asks, searching his eyes for the truth.

“You got it.”

“Okay, I’m going to find my partner. And thanks again, Renny.” With that he turns and disappears down the hall, assessing the situation. What does she know? Why has she requested to only talk to me? Whatever it is, I need to do whatever necessary to tie it all to Joshua, and this time I’ll make sure it sticks!

.

Chapter Seven

“C
huck Sheumer, please.”

“And who’s calling?”

“Tell him it’s Rainman. He’ll know who it is.”

“Okay, hold.”

Seconds later a voice shouts back over the line, “Fucking Rainman, is that really you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Man, it’s good to hear your voice. How long’s it been?”

“Uh…about three years I guess.”

“So how’s the married life?”

“Oh, you know, it’s good; we’re buying a house, and things are good…yeah.”

“All right then, let’s go for beers tonight, on me…deal?”

“No, that’s not what I was thinking.” He lowers his voice. “Um, I want to talk to you…but not on the phone. Can you meet me at Charlie’s Restaurant on 140th—ASAP?”

“Sounds serious,” Chuck replies curiously.

“Well, I think you are going to like it, but time is a factor.”

“You have some inside scoop?”

Rainman answers with another question. “How soon could you be at Charlie’s?”

“For you, old buddy, I can be there in fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Okay, sit next to me at the bar but pretend to be just another customer.”

“I can do that.”

“See you there,” Rainman says, ending the call. He sets the receiver back onto the base and stares at it; his heart is beating fast, his palms are sweating, and he questions if he’s making a quick and easy buck or the worst decision of his life.

“I’m going to get something to eat. Anybody need anything?” Officer Lonnell shouts over his cubicle. After a few of the other officers decline, he snatches his coat and marches directly out of the Seattle police station. His stride is awkward with trepidation and excitement as he begins an eight-block jaunt to the restaurant. What he is about to do is not only highly unethical, he could lose his job.

Seventeen minutes later Chuck Sheumer steps keenly into the bar. He promptly scans the room for his friend. His attention is caught by a skinny boy of a man sitting at the far end, facing the entrance—Rainman, dressed in blue.

He could never get used to the uniform, thought it made him look somehow hypocritical due to all their youthful mischief. They’d met in grade school, where Rainman earned his name due to the fact his mother would never let him play in the rain. They remained best friends through high school then lived together for a while in a kind of a bachelor, after-hours-party pad. All the crazy things they’d done were monumental, and somehow, the fact that they never got into any real trouble made them seem even more so. And no one would have ever suspected Pete Lonnell would have ended up becoming a cop.

Chuck walks over and sits in the stool next to him and orders a beer. They both stare forward. Under his breath Chuck says, “You look good, man. Well… except for the uniform.”

“Yeah, and it looks like you’ve put on a few pounds, huh?”

They both share a short laugh. Then Chuck asks, “So what brings about this sudden and unexpected meeting?”

“Well, I don’t want to come off like a greedy bastard, but I do remember you telling me your newspaper pays for information, and I’m having some financial problems with the new house and all.”

“Yeah, well, we do. It works just like anything else: big info equals big money; small info, not so much. What do you got for me, old buddy?”

Rainman leans in, lowering his voice, and says, “Joshua Siconolfi.” Chucks eyes widen. “His wife, Kimberly, is being reported as a missing person by a close friend, a coworker.”

“No shit!” Chuck spits out, attracting the attention of other patrons in the lounge. He coughs and drops his volume, stating, “We’ve been running his story all week.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rainman replies with a smirk.

“What else can you tell me?” Chuck asks, while digging a pen and paper out of his shirt pocket.

“That’s all I have for now, but there is more to come. The girl said she has something very important but would only talk to Detective Cools—you know, the one who shot the hole in Siconolfi’s driveway. And I get the feeling, whatever it is…it’s big.”

“And do you think you can get this information?” Chuck asks, hungry for more.

“I think so. I mean, yes…yes, I can.”

“This is going to make my week. I should have no problem getting a front page spot.”

.

Chapter Eight

“I
’m here, Brad. I’m just pulling in, trying to find a place to park,” Michelle says, before snapping her phone shut. Only thirty minutes earlier, she was getting ready to have a major discussion with her fifteen-year-old daughter, Lindsey, regarding the empty baggy that still had an odor of pot she’d found in the laundry. She’d had it all planned out: what she was going to say, the questions Lindsey might ask, arguments that might arise. Not to mention all the rebuttals she’d rehearsed in the morning mirror. All of it cut short over some coked-up pole dancer trying to enter the limelight of a fast-fading story. Michelle pictures her sitting in the interrogation room, stroking her partner’s cock, pouting, “You believe me, don’t you, baby?”

A few minutes later, she visits the interrogation window to spy on the lusty girl smoking alone in the bare room—looking like today’s stripper and tomorrow’s crack whore. Michelle adjusts her focus, catching her reflection in the glass to admire her thick, brown hair with new blond highlights that cost ninety-five dollars. Once satisfied it was money well spent, she moves farther down the hall in search of her partner. She takes a quick peek inside the video room. There she finds him all alone watching Amberly on one of the monitors, trying to learn all he can before he starts asking questions.

“Oh, I’m sorry; do you need to be alone?” she asks with a cheeky grin.

“Why would I do it this way? I have fifty dollars,” Cools replies without a seconds hesitation.

While definitely amused, Michelle isn’t laughing. “That’s clever, partner. So what exactly do we have here?”

“Well, like I told you earlier, all we know is she says she works with Kimberly, that they’re good friends, and no one has seen or heard from her in days. And that’s not all. She told Officer Renny she’s involved somehow, but will only talk to me.”

“Why you? And involved in what exactly?”

“Well, that’s what we’re going to find out. I’m thinking maybe Joshua did the radio call to set up a sort of alibi in advance; so then if he kills his wife, he can say, ‘Why would I pretend to kill my wife and then just days later actually do it?’”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Okay, I’m ready,” Cools says. “I’m going in. Let’s see what I can get out of her.”

“Most likely herpes,” Michelle retorts.

“Ha-ha. Okay, then, unless you have something else cute to say, I’m going in to get us some answers.”

“All right, Brad, I’ll settle down,” she replies, bowing her head, feeling immature. He comforts her by patting her on the shoulder as he slips out into the hallway. From the monitor she watches him step into the interrogation room. In black and white, she can clearly see Amberly’s reaction to him as he enters. Her expression is frail and genuine. Upon further examination Michelle comes to consider that maybe she’s just a scared little girl. No longer does she see a dirty whore; rather she is a witness to a vulnerable and frightened human being squirming in her chair. How did she get mixed up with Joshua? What does she know?

Amberly peers up at Cools, attempting to say something, but before she can speak a word, he holds up his finger, shushing her. He sits down opposite her at the cold, steel table and stares into her eyes, saying nothing. He learned long ago that silence is a much more effective strategy than yelling and screaming. He patiently examines her, waiting for her to begin, but when she opens her mouth, he quickly shushes her, as if he’s watching an important part of a movie and doesn’t want to miss anything. And he is not only gazing into her soul, he is also taking in any and all facial tics and body movements. Silently she tells him much. He looks her up and down, taking her in, judging her skimpy outfit and her pasty, drugged-out skin. It all makes her so nervous; she forgets his rules and again tries to speak, only to be swiftly shushed once more. Then after he knows he’s inside her head, he diverts his sight to the corner of the ceiling. Amberly’s eyes follow his until she sees the camera pointing directly at her, warning her that all is being recorded, that anything she says can and will be used against her.

“And now…,” Michelle says, pointing to the screen the very moment he begins his spiel.

“Listen carefully, Amberly. I’m a very serious man, and I want you to think long and hard about what you might say or not say here today.” He then reaches an empty hand into his pocket and pulls out a pack of Marlboros and, without taking his eyes off her, lights up one for himself and offers her a fresh one. She accepts with a stuttered thank you and leans forward to the extended flame. Her trembling doesn’t go unnoticed, which Cools utilizes to his advantage. “You seem uneasy to me. Are you nervous?” he asks in an insinuating tone.

“No…I mean, yes…I don’t know…Do I seem nervous to you?”

Cools squints his eyes, nonchalantly nodding his head yes. And now that she’s fully rattled he initiates his assault. “Okay, let’s make one thing crystal clear, Amberly Carlson. If you plan to tell me anything but the absolute truth, you will find yourself in big, big trouble, young lady. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but—”

“Do not play with me. I can throw your young, sweet ass inside our jail, and I’m sure there are some hungry dikes that would
love
to see you. Are you absolutely sure that you understand what I am telling you?”

“Yes…I do, I mean…I mean, I will.”

“Why did you ask for me?”

“Because, you know, because I talked to you the other day…and you seemed to be good person, so I thought…I mean, I think I should trust you.”

Cools searches his memory and flashes an odd glance to Michelle behind the camera. “I’ve never spoken with you, Amberly, not until today.”

“Yes, you did…a week ago…you know, when you called the club.”

“No, I spoke with Candy.”

“Yes, that’s my club name…I’m Candy.”

“Okay…” This comes as a shock to him, a connection he hadn’t put together. After assimilating the information, he continues, “Officer Renny says you have something important to tell me.”

“Yes…I do…but I don’t want to be in any trouble. I’m a good girl, Detective…I never wanted anyone to get hurt.”

Cools blows out his smoke, speculating for a second on the kind of tawdry comment Michelle is making to herself over the “I’m a good girl” comment. Then he begins the big push and asks, “Amberly, did you drive here from Everett this morning?”