Vigilare (6 page)

Gina laughs. “If you don’t have hair on your chest, wait a few minutes,” she jokes. “You’re lucky he actually removed the grounds. Greek coffee is a stout brew.”

“Whew!” he exclaims, continuing to choke the coffee down. “You mean to tell me, a woman gets tied up to her bed, sexually assaulted...the man winds up strangled on her bedroom floor, and she doesn’t recall anything? I say bullshit.”

“Sparkling emerald green light...she remembers that.”

“Yeah. Sparkling emerald green light. What the hell is that? Maybe she needs a drug clearance. Sounds like some psychedelic leprechaun bullshit. Maybe she likes recreational hallucinogens. Sparkling emerald green light, my ass.”

“You ever been tied down against your will, Gronkowski?” Gina asks defensively. “While some pig rubs his dick all over you?” She takes a drink of her coffee, swallowing hard at the bitterness. “His pre-ejaculate DNA was all over the inside of her thighs and on her stomach. Sick bastard. The friggin’ douchebag slumped in the corner with his penis hanging out of his pants.” She pauses momentarily, the thought sickening. “And you mean to tell me you can’t fathom how she wouldn’t remember every detail. Has it escaped your mind that maybe she’s chosen to block it out!” She stops, thrown by the rise in her voice and emotion.

“Sorry. Shit Gina, I’m sorry.” He looks at her as they walk along, she avoids eye contact with him, slightly embarrassed by her outburst.

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. It’s this damn case. The pure ethics of it all.”

“Maybe you have a point. We see it all the time. People experience something horrific, and the details vanish. What’s that part of your brain...that controls that? You know that built-in defense mechanism thing?”

“The amygdala,” she answers.

“Yeah...what you said. Maybe that’s what happened to her. And maybe I want to crack this case so bad I’m willing to dig for anything, making up my own conclusions.” He lightly kicks at a pebble on the sidewalk. “You remember the Rubik’s Cube?”

“Yeah.” She smiles with the childhood memory.

“I remember getting one in my stocking for Christmas. Do you know I sat with that thing for hours? Wouldn’t put it down until I had it conquered. Guess you could say I get a little obsessive about figuring things out.”

“You don’t say,” she chuckles, throwing her near empty coffee cup into a garbage can conveniently taking up space on the sidewalk. Tony hands her his, nearly full. She grins, throwing it in the trash. “But, what do you do with a case like this? I mean, what exactly do you do when you get it figured out?”

They walk in silence, the wheels of their minds spinning restlessly.

“Did we get anything from the scene? Evidence? Something concrete?” she asks, hopeful.

“Maybe some DNA. Skin from the rope. Looks like there’s two different strands. His, and the perp’s.”

“The perp’s,” she says flatly. “He’s the rapist, yet someone else is the perp.” She shakes her head, biting her bottom lip, a smug grin on her face. “Now that right there...that’s concrete evidence. Getting caught with your hand in the cookie jar.” Gina points to the window of a convenience store on the corner.

A young man, wearing a hooded coat, stands nervously behind the counter next to the clerk. The clerk is visibly shaken up, digging through the drawer of the cash register. Gina and Tony wear black fatigues today, no uniforms, unthreatening to the young thief as he quickly glances out the window in their direction.

“I got the front. You go around back,” Tony says.

“I saw him first,” Gina rebukes, as they approach the store. The young man agitatedly hurries the clerk along.

“DeLuca...”

“Fine. Have it your way.” She casually departs down the side alley until she is out of sight, picking up her pace, hoofing it to the back of the convenience store.

Detective Gronkowski continues calmly into the front entrance of the store. The young man grows edgy at the sound of the jingling bell hanging from the doorstop. He moves closer to the cashier, one hand in the pocket of his oversized coat. The cashier looks up, coyly diverting his eyes, an attempt to alert Tony.

Tony lays a hundred dollar bill on the counter “Can you make change for a hundred? I need a pack of Marlboro Lights.” He points to the cigarettes behind the young man’s head.

The young man uses his free hand to pull a pack from the bin. Laying them on the counter, he nudges the cashier, who quickly counts out Tony’s change.

“Thought it might be convenient for you, since you’ve already got the register open. And just exactly why is that when there’s a customer behind the counter?”

“I...I work here,” the young man stammers.

“You don’t want to do this kid,” Tony warns. “Forget about it and walk out the door, right now.”

The young man simultaneously grabs the money and pulls a 9-millimeter Glock pistol from his coat pocket. Wrapping his arm around the cashier’s neck, he points the gun at his head, backing away from behind the counter, facing Tony.

“Call the police!” the cashier pleads.

“Shut up old man,” the thief rams the gun into the side of his head.

“Where ya going, kid? What’s your name?” Tony gets his attention, taking a few steps toward him.

Gina makes her way stealthily through the back of the store, coming up behind them.

“Stay back!” the thief warns, his eyes darting frantically from the cashier in his grip to Tony.

“Call 9-1-1,” the cashier cries.

“Put the gun down. You don’t want to hurt anyone, kid.”

“I will if I have to.” He continues backing up, dragging the cashier with him.

“Please don’t,” the cashier begs. “I have two children. My wife. Please.”

Gina appears from around the corner, swiftly aiming her side arm at the back of the thief’s head. He stops abruptly as the cool steel makes contact with his skull.

“Vanguard PD. Lower your weapon,” she speaks calmly.

He spins around, away from her, maintaining his grip on the cashier, positioning himself as the point of a triangle between Gina and Tony. He flings his handgun around, first at Gina then at Tony, holding it sideways, gangster style. “Cops don’t shoot kids. You won’t shoot me,” he rehearses as if he is convincing himself.

“You’re right. I don’t want to shoot you. But I can’t just let you walk out of here. Put the gun down,” she coaxes.

A customer walks in the front. The bell on the doorstop sounds, beckoning ears and eyes from the back of the room.

The thief throws his gun down, pushes the cashier away and bum-rushes Gina for the backdoor. She quickly holsters her weapon to avoid shooting him. Using his momentum, she grabs his shoulders when he comes at her and goes to the ground, landing on her back with effortless agility. She sticks her legs into his stomach, catapulting him up and over onto his back while she holds onto him, thrusting herself to roll over with him, coming down on top of him astraddle his waist. He swings, connecting with her left eye. Instinctively, she wants to return his contact, her fists in position. Refraining from doing so as she looks down at him, just a kid. She simply deflects his punches, working with Detective Gronkowski to turn him over, cuffing him.

“Goddammit, Gina. I’m sorry,” Tony sputters, checking out her eye, his knee in the delinquent’s back holding him down on the tile floor.

“Comes with the territory,” she dismisses, standing. She takes hold of the kid’s arm by the elbow, waiting for Tony to do the same with the other side.

“You can add battery to your list of crimes, punk,” he spews through gritted teeth, jerking the kid into standing position.

“Ow! Ah shit, that hurts,” the young man cries at the pressure of the unforgiving handcuffs gripping his wrists.

“Gronkowski,” Gina scolds. She helps steady the young man on his feet.

“You think it’s okay to hit women?” Tony jerks him around.

The kid shakes his head shamefully.

“You wanna be a big man? Hold guns to people’s heads…take their hard-earned money. Get a goddamned job!” Tony advises, briskly walking the kid to the front of the store.

“Central to 223,” Gina’s radio sounds.

“223. DeLuca,” she identifies herself.

“Chief wants you and Gronkowski. 4300-block of MLK. Fast as you can get there.”

“We need a pick up. Got one for booking,” she replies.

“You got it. 301’s in your neighborhood. Dispatching now.”

“Copy.” Gina clips the little black box back onto her belt.

“Make something of yourself. Contribute to society. Buncha punks,” Gronkowski continues. Gina follows behind, smiling, shaking her head, knowing in Tony’s anger is genuine concern for the misguided youth. “Take, take, take...you think you’re entitled? You big? You bad? You’re entitled, alright. Your ass is entitled to remain silent. Anything you say, can and will be used against you...”

MOMENTS LATER, DETECTIVES DeLuca and Gronkowski pull up to the 4300-block of MLK Boulevard. The scene surrounded by patrol cars, police and numerous onlookers. Yellow caution tape blocks the alleyway where a body lies lifeless. They pile out of their squad car, challenging each other with each stride. Even when they arrive together, the mindset still remains, ‘Who’s going to be first in?’

“Took ya long enough,” Chief Burns chirps upon noticing them.

“Tell me about it,” Gina replies. “Gronkowski insisted on driving. My grandma drives faster than him.”

Chief walks to her, positions his hands on the sides of her face, tipping his head down to focus his eyes over his bifocals, inspecting her left eye. “And just exactly how do you propose to drive with a bruised-up eye?”

“Exactly,” Tony says.

“Marks,” Chief Burns calls. “What are you drinking there?” He refers to Gina’s previous partner, Officer Sam Marks’ tall plastic cup with the words
Big Gulp
slathered all over it.

“Coke, Chief. Hey DeLuca!” He greets Gina with pleasant surprise.

“Pour that out. Save the ice. Grab one of those latex gloves out of the console of my cruiser,” Chief orders.

“Yes sir.” Marks makes quick work of his task.

Tony rolls his eyes at the two officers huffing and puffing, tending to Gina’s eye.

“It’s alright, Chief. Just a little bump.” Gina gently persuades his hands away. “What’s going on here?”

Officer Marks returns with the ice inside the latex glove. “See...you were much safer working with me.” He smiles at his conclusion, before turning to Tony. “Not even a little scratch.” He winks, walking away.

“Yeah, must be some kind of danger...handing out parking tickets. You’re one step away from security guard, Marks. Come talk to me when your name tag says detective.” Tony flips him the bird.

“As soon as these two divas are done flexing their egos, I’d be happy to tell you,” Chief answers Gina, shaking his head, watching the interplay between Gronkowski and Marks. He puts the iced glove in Gina’s hand, gently suggesting she hold it to her eye.

She winces with the contact of the cold compress.

“Might be related to your case. Found a body in the alleyway this morning. Pulled the rap sheet on him, and he’s got three priors...one sexual assault...two rapes.”

Chief’s voice is overshadowed by a rising commotion around the alleyway.

“Thomas Knightly,” he continues talking louder, as they all three make their way toward the crowd. “Liked to hold his victims at knifepoint. What do you know, he ends up in an alleyway, his neck slit ear to ear, with his own knife.”

“She makes a statement with every murder, huh,” Tony concludes. “Always some irony in it.”

“She?” Chief Burns asks.

“Hey lady, get out of here. This is a crime scene. What do you think you’re doing?” A cop challenges a young woman who has pushed through the crowd, breaking through the caution tape.

She stands over the corpse, physically shaken. “You weren’t supposed to die. Bastard!” She kicks the lifeless body.

“Lady, come on.” The cop approaches her, grabbing hold of her arm.

A hand encases the cop’s, swiftly removing it from the woman’s arm. “Keep your hands off my daughter. Give her some closure,” her father, standing six-foot-four-inches, with shoulders and a chest out to there, eyes the cop, backing him up. “Back off!”

The cop reaches for his billy club. Other officers come to his defense, swarming around the man.

“You use that thing, it’ll be your badge, Rookie,” Chief Burns warns, approaching the scene. “Back up. All of you.”

“Death is too easy for you,” the young woman laments, looking down at the deceased. “You should be in some dirty jail cell, rotting away one day at a time.” Tears surface in her eyes. She looks to her father, helpless. His eyes reflect her pain. “I want you to suffer like I do, every day.”

She begins pacing around the corpse, slowly. Gina and Tony look to each other, then to Chief Burns, who holds them at bay with his expression.

Sirens wail, people move to and fro, but the young woman hears only her heart throbbing in her chest, as time stands still. “My father brings me here every morning. To this spot. Where you held a knife to my throat and...raped me,” she says, whispering the last part as if it still hurts to say so. “He’s trying to help me.” She glances at her father, a faint smile for his efforts. “He thinks if I come here every day, the pain will eventually fade, and I will find peace.”

She squats beside his body, wishing his eyes open. They remain closed, as he lays perfectly still, restful, peaceful. “Peace? You took that from me three years ago.” She closes her eyes. “I close my eyes and I still feel your hands on me.” Her body shakes. “Disgusting waste of human life. Piece of shit, fucker!” her scream rings through the alleyway. Her legs give out and she falls to her knees. “I hope you rot in hell,” she seethes through clenched teeth, tears streaming down her face. She grabs two hands full of her own hair, pulling sharply until the physical pain numbs the emotional.

Gina pushes past Chief Burns, kneeling in front of the young woman as she pulls her into an embrace, shielding her from the gathering crowd. The young woman sobs uncontrollably as Gina rocks her in her arms.

“Get these people out of here,” Chief Burns orders to the officers witnessing the scene.