Tell Me No Lies (19 page)

"Maybe. Any smokers in the house?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

"Found a butt on the ground off the front steps. Marlboro. Like whoever smoked it stood on the porch, took a last drag, and threw it away, either before entering or just after leaving."

Hank remembered doing a perimeter search for trace evidence right after the incident with the rat. He hadn't seen a cigarette butt

"Think it means anything?" Greenlaw said.

"I don't know. What kind of profile can you get from it?"

"DNA for sure. Don't know how much that will help without someone to match it to on the other end."

Hank thought back. He could have easily missed the butt. Any one of the guests at the Renaissance Oil party could have dropped it. From what he'd seen, lung cancer didn't translate into Russian.

Then again, someone could have dropped it between Friday evening, when he did his search, and Saturday afternoon when Greenlaw found it. Someone who'd come to the house. A repairman? Neighbor? Or someone with more sinister intent

Intent to do what? Scare an old woman to death? If Sonya'd had a heart attack, mere was no crime to investigate. And tests were expensive.

"Hold off on the lab work until we hear cause of death."

"You got it."

"And fax me the list."

"Sure thing."

Hank gave him the number and went in to turn on the machine. A few minutes later, the pages came through.

Greenlaw had done a thorough job, listing the evidence by type and location found. Hank scanned the sheets; nothing popped out except that cigarette butt, and he wasn't sure that meant anything either.

Just as he was finishing up, the phone rang.

"Banner."

"This is dispatch, Detective. Got a woman with information about someone called McTeer. Ring any bells?"

Attention caught, he said, "Yeah. What's she want?"

"I'vve been telling her to call back tomorrow when the division is staffed, but she just isn't listening. Called back six, seven times. Making a real pain out of herself. I threatened to send a patrol over there, arrest her for harassment or something, but thought I'd better check with the on-call first."

He frowned. If someone came forward on McTeer, this whole thing with Alex would go away. And right now, he was highly in favor of that.

"All nght. What's her name and address?" He scribbled the information into the small notebook he always earned. "If she calls back, tell her you're sending someone over."

He showered, found a clean pair of jeans still m his closet and a much-washed, soft blue oxford whose sleeves he rolled up and whose tails he left hanging. People in McTeer's neighborhood weren't exactly the Brooks Brothers type, and besides, he'd have to head out to Apple House after and he might as well be dressed for farm work. There was still a section of winter pruning that needed disposal, and Rose had been after him to start the mowing.

The address was on the north side of town. He couldn't remember if the number was the same as McTeer's, but it was in the same complex. Called St Martin's Square, it was a low-rise collection of fake wood apartments surrounding a mostly dirt courtyard. At one time there'd been swings at the east end. Now the swings stood bereft of seats, chains hanging like arms without hands.

He parked the car and trudged up to the door. A chocolate-skinned woman answered, still young enough to be in high school, pretty despite the suspicious stare she was giving nun. In her arms, she held a swaddled infant

Hank glanced at the paper he'd scrawled the information on. "Shatiqua Williams?'

Velvet brown eyes narrowed. "Who wants to know?"

He reined in his temper. "Sokanan PD. Look, Miss Williams, you asked to see a police officer."

"You don't look like the police."

He lifted his shirttail, showed her the shield on his belt "Detective Bonner."

Distrustful, she eyed him a minute, then made her decision, stepped back, and let him in.

The apartment was tiny and halfway to falling apart. Plaster peeled off the walls, and water stains marked the ceiling. But it was neat and clean, free of clutter. A beat-up brown couch stood behind a scratched coffee table with a GED workbook in one corner. Across from the couch sat a crib with a blanket spread out at its feet like a picnic, a couple of baby toys scattered on top. The place smelled like babies and Sunday dinner, chicken and dumplings and gravy.

"Smells good," Hank said, and watched Shatiqua preen.

"I'm roasting a chicken. Mac, he like my roast chicken."

"Mac. That's Big Mac McTeer?"

She nodded "My baby's daddy."

From the way she said McTeer's name and the way she smiled down at the infant, Hank was rapidly recalculating the type of information she had.

"Ain't he pretty?" She pulled the blanket away from the infant's face, showing him off. Hank peeked; the baby was sleeping. Didn't all babies look pretty when they slept?

"He's fine-looking."

"We call him little Mac. Mac, that's big Mac, he don't like me calling him Adulous. Says that's too big a mouthful for such a little bean."

Hank nodded. He was having trouble imagining McTeer calling anything a little bean. "Miss Williams, you said you had some information about McTeer."

She looked up from the baby, caution in her face again. "He's a good man, Mac is. A good daddy."

Hank shrugged, trying to remain impassive. But any hope this woman was going to pin Luka Kole's murder on McTeer was rapidly fading. "If he's such a good guy, where is he?"

"Working."

Hank's brows rose in surprise. "On Sunday?" Hell, he didn't expect McTeer to be working any day.

"He's painting for Mr. Mundy. Gets overtime for weekends. I asked him not to work on the weekends, but little Mac, he needs stuff." She put the baby in the crib, and he gave a tiny squall of protest, then was silent.

Shatiqua turned from the baby to Hank. "He didn't do nothing to that old man. He's got a temper, I tell you what, but that don't mean shit. We need every cent. So when Mr. Kole over to the Gas-Up shortchanged him, Mac, he got mad. But he didn't hurt no one."

Hank sighed. "Look, I appreciate the character reference, but "

"He was working. Like today, for Mr. Mundy." She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a crumpled-up receipt "He waits at the parking lot at the CVS on Main, and Mr. Mundy, he picks him up. Mac, he has to be there real early. Like maybe six. Gets up at five, walks to Main. There's a shitload of men waiting for jobs, but Mr. Mundy, he picks Mac most every time."

Hank stared at the receipt. It was a crude pay stub written on brown paper tike someone had torn it from a lunch bag. Date, amount Hank knew about the black market day labor workforce. Knew about the various pickup points, throughout the city. Everyone did. Employers had a steady supply of the unemployed, and they didn't have to pay social security, payroll taxes, or health care. Workers got paid in cash, so there was no official trail for city, state, or federal income tax. They all turned a blind eye. Times tike these, with so many out of work, the police department didn't make it a priority.

He looked up from the makeshift pay stub to the young woman in front of him. She was watching him, hope and distrust warring in her face.

"Why didn't Mac tell me this himself?"

"Says he'd get Mr. Mundy in trouble and lose his job. He be real mad at me for telling, too, I tell you what, but he ain't done nothing. We got cops asking questions and bringing him in and shit so he can't work, and it ain't fair. Mac, he's doing everything he can for me and little Mac, and he still has to put up with this shit He needs a break. I can't do much, but I can do this."

Hank nodded, touched.

"He don't do drugs. He don't drink much. He coulda asked me to get rid of little Mac, but he didn't." Her mouth trembled, but she controlled herself. "He didn't do nothing. Leave him alone."

Hank pursed his tips, trying not to think too hard about what this meant for the rest of his case. "I'll have to take this with me." He held up the receipt between two fingers.

She shrugged. "I made me a copy over to the library yesterday."

"Okay." He took a last look around the apartment, at the crib with the sleeping baby and the young woman struggling hard to hold on to this fragile sliver of life she had with McTeer. "Enjoy your dinner," he said, and left.

Outside, the air felt sharper, as though the encounter inside had honed his instincts. Made him more aware of... what?

Loyalty and trust

A far cry from what had happened at Alex's that morning. He recalled her words, her rejection of his help, her accusation of deceit and betrayal.

Looked like he could learn a thing or two from Big Mac McTeer and Shatiqua Williams.

11

Morning came early. On the last Monday of his last week as a cop, Hank rolled out of his childhood bed at four-thirty, tugged on a pair of jeans and work boots, and finished chopping the debris he'd pruned the month before. Yesterday he'd gotten a head start on the mowing, but it would take another four or five days working full-time, maybe a week, to finish it all. Last night, he and Ben had talked Rose into hiring someone to do it.

The kids were getting up as he trudged inside. He heard the rush of water through pipes and the sound of pounding footsteps over his head as they washed and dressed. His mother, bless her heart, was already up and working on breakfast. He smelled coffee and bacon as he came in through the back door.

She eyed him as he entered the kitchen. "You're up early."

"Finished chopping." He poured himself a cup of coffee and let the hot liquid go down smooth.

His mother tsked and turned to him, but he forestalled her arguments.

"It had to be done. I did it Let's not argue about it."

But Rose never did take a hint well. "I appreciate it, Henry, you know I do. But not if it's going to kill you."

"You looking at a ghost?"

"You know what I mean. You've been a police officer for a long time. You worked hard, moved up. You've done a lot of good, protected a lot of people."

He stiffened. "Not my own."

"You did the best you could," she said quietly. "You always have."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Maybe you need to."

He stonewalled. "I did my share with the department shrink."

"Henry "

"Gotta go. I'm late." He poured himself another cup of coffee and escaped with it into the bathroom, drinking while he shaved. One more week of mis madness and he'd be free. One job, one life. No recriminations.

He ran the water, waiting for it to heat up, and looked at himself in the mirror. Boy, his dad must be loving this. He was probably hooting and hollering in heaven knowing Hank would finally be what he'd wanted him to be all along. Joe Bonner never did like to lose an argument.

Hank lathered up, wincing at the picture of himself on a tractor day in and day out. Oh, he loved the place, no doubt about it, it was home. But would he ever get used to the routine of it?

He fended off the answer and hit the shower, the hot water obliterating all thought Half an hour later he was ready to drive Trey and Mandy to school.

The kids slung their backpacks into the trunk, then traipsed in, Trey closed-mouthed as usual, Mandy with a book to bury herself in. But she didn't open it. Instead, she sat in the back, unnaturally quiet They hadn't gone far when she piped up.

"Did you see Alex yesterday?"

He flicked a glance in the rearview mirror. Her forehead was furrowed with worry. "Yesterday morning."

"Is she sad?"

He remembered the weight of tears, the way Alex had broken apart Then he remembered the way they'd parted, and a flicker of shame ran through him. "Yeah, Mandy girl, she's sad."

Mandy thought about it a while, then leaned forward. "Maybe we could visit her this afternoon."

"Geez, Mandy, you're such a dork." Trey didn't even look at her, but stared out the side window.

"I am not. Sometimes visits can cheer people up."

"Yeah? Did a visit ever cheer you up? "

Mandy was silent, and Hank's chest constricted at the truth in Trey's words. Grief didn't disappear, and nothing helped but getting through it He just wished he knew mere would be an end Someday. "I don't think she's ready far company yet, Mandy. But it was a good idea. And very thoughtful."

He dropped the kids off and headed on to the station. The minute he walked into the detectives' area everyone turned and looked at him. Klimet smirked.

"Loo wants to see you."

Loo meant lieutenant Parnell. Klimet always talked liked he was on
NYPD Blue.
"What about?"

Klimet shrugged, but Hank could tell he was enjoying this. "I don't know, but I don't think it's going to be fun."

Great. If Parnell wanted to see him first thing Monday morning, something was definitely up. Three guesses what it was.

He stepped into Parnell's office.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Close the door, Hank." The command jacked up Hank's dread quotient Closed-door meetings were usually personal.

Hank shut the door and turned to face Parnell. He was a fair man, solid and thorough, with almost thirty years' experience behind him. He'd been the hands-down favorite to lead the department, and Hank didn't like letting rum down. But that didn't mean he liked taking lumps from him any better.