Violence (23 page)

“But then I saw our Lord Jesus Christ come to me on a cloud and I was saved!” The slender man yelled out as he broke down and sank to his knees on the altar.

Jeannie, walking briskly outside in the church parking lot, tossed glances back over her shoulder at Anderson who kept pace behind her. She took out her car keys as she moved up to her Impala. Suddenly, she turned abruptly and angrily confronted him.

“Why are you following me?!! What do you want?!!” She hissed venomously at Anderson who stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?!!!”

Anderson took a moment to answer, then pointed to his Mercedes that was pinned-in by her Impala. “I want you to move your car so I can get out.” Anderson had left the church once already, before the services had ended, only to discover Jeannie had conveniently parked her car in the center of his aisle.

In her defense, it was a common practice for late arrivals to create these temporary parking spaces, it’s just that she had not left enough room on his side of the aisle to back his Mercedes out. He had remembered her Impala from the night he mistakenly tried to rescue her from the slapping boyfriend Jack Trax. It was not a difficult car to remember. So he decided to return to the church and wait until she left. Which was now.

Jeannie turned, looked at Anderson’s car and realized her mistake. Her shoulders sagged, and she muttered apologetically under her breath. “Oh shit. Fine, fine, just give me a minute, okay?”

Anderson shrugged and waited.

Jeannie manually adjusted the exterior driver’s side mirror on the Impala and then seemed to count off four paces to the front of the car, before she tapped on the left-front headlight three times.

“Look, I do stuff before I get in my car. It might look weird but it has a purpose.” She explained.

“Take your time.” Anderson told her patiently.

She then retraced her four steps back to the side-view mirror, adjusted the mirror again and put her car key to the lock. She had trouble inserting the key, it caught oddly in the cylinder. She had lost the fob to activate the power door locks long ago. Still, the car door actuator was broken too so it wouldn’t have made any difference. She finally got the key to insert all the way and opened the car door.

It was dark in this area of the parking lot, but the Impala’s interior lights gave enough illumination for Jeannie to quickly ascertain she had been robbed. Wires now hung from a hole in the center of the console where her in-dash car stereo unit used to be mounted.

“Oh Christ!” Jeannie fumed.

“What’s the matter?” Anderson inquired.

“My radio’s gone! That’s just great!” Jeannie stared skyward.

“I hate to say it, but there’s not a lot of security on these old cars.” Anderson commented.

“Thanks, that really helps me. Thanks a lot.” Jeannie muttered as she got behind the wheel and slammed the car door shut. She started the car, letting out a little sigh of relief finding the engine still worked, and drove away fast.

CHAPTER 19

         V
ictor Sanchez, standing high on a ladder, used a cat’s paw nail-puller to pry away the last nail from the masonry before he carefully handed down the sign for “Anderson Construction” to his uncle Roman Ayala. Victor was the young Peruvian worker who Anderson had Al Ward help with his immigration problems. Thankfully, those problems had been ironed out.

Roman leaned the sign up against the exterior office building wall and held the ladder steady as Victor climbed down.

A Crown Victoria sedan pulled up on the apron near the edge of the road. The driver threw the car in park and got out. It was detective Wayne Crotty. He pulled himself into his suit jacket but his badge and handgun were already clearly evident.

Victor was instantly anxious, not only upon seeing the obvious municipal-type sedan but also when he eyed Crotty himself who had that authoritarian air about him – in spades.

Roman shot Victor a look that told him to stay calm.

Crotty soon strolled up, angling around so the sun was at his back as he spoke to them.

“Hi.” Crotty said, unhurried. “I’m looking for Noel Anderson.”

Victor breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Roman relaxed too and said, “I own the business now. What can I do for you?”

“He sold the business?” Crotty asked, greeting the news with some curiosity. “When?”

“A week ago.” Roman answered.

Crotty nodded thoughtfully. “I have to talk to him personally. Do you know where I can find him?”

Anderson was holding a basket of folded laundry and a carry-out bag when he walked up the sidewalk to the entranceway of the Heart O’Mine motel. This had been his permanent home for well over two years now. Some birds flew down in front of Anderson thinking he might discard bits of a bun but he had plans to eat in his room today.

Wayne Crotty stepped out of the motel office as Anderson strolled into the driveway that led to the interior courtyard of the motel. The courtyard was where the room access and all the parking spaces were located. It had been originally designed as one of those enclosures which provided a sanctuary for guests from the hubbub of the city streets but now it was noisy anyway and just seedy from neglect.

“Mr. Anderson? Lieutenant Wayne Crotty.” Crotty announced as he flashed his badge and credentials. “I was the supervising detective at-”

“I remember you.” Anderson responded, stopping.

It had been nearly three months since Anderson saw Crotty at the criminal courts building after the verdict but Crotty wasn’t the type to assume anyone ever remembered him.

“Do you have a minute?” Crotty asked, but it wasn’t really a request.

“Sure.” Anderson replied casually, leading the way.

They walked in silence all the way to Anderson’s room.

For Crotty that was standard procedure. Don’t engage in small talk right off, let the other person sweat and fill the dead spaces. They might say something interesting.

Anderson opened the door and set the basket of laundry down on his bed in his second-story motel room. It was the same room he always kept. He thought about moving to one of the other rooms but this one gave him direct access to the staircase to the parking lot and that way he could hear foot traffic. While it was noisier he sensed it would be just too damn lonely staying in one of the out of the way rooms.

Crotty stepped in behind him and scanned the space while trying to not be too obvious taking a good look around.

Anderson, though a bit nervous at Crotty’s presence, covered up the fact nicely. He extracted a coffee and a breakfast sandwich from the carry-out bag.

“If I knew you were coming I would have ordered two.” Anderson sort of broke the ice as he held out the coffee to Crotty. “You’re welcome to it.”

“No. Thanks.” Crotty declined.

Anderson had not added any personal touches to the space. The few things he had remained boxed for the most part, ready to move at a moment’s notice. This was not lost on Crotty.

“Nice little setup you have here. Not a lot of attachments.” Crotty remarked as he not so casually gazed about and wheeled on Anderson. “I guess it takes awhile.”

Anderson nodded, met his stare.

There was a long pause that Crotty again was in no hurry to fill. He obviously wanted to create some tension.

“Thinking of getting a regular place?” Crotty finally asked.

“Some time.” Anderson nodded.

“I went by your business.” Crotty started looking around again. “They told me where to find you.”

“Right. I sold it.” Anderson offered, figuring Crotty already knew.

Crotty nodded, then said, “Tough time to sell, business climate and everything. Get a good price?”

“It was fair.” Anderson curtly informed him.

“So, how are you getting by…” Crotty turned and looked at him. “…moneywise?”

“I’ve got some other savings.” Anderson answered as he bit into his sandwich.

“But now you’re…“ Crotty asked, fixing him with a pointed gaze. “…unemployed?”

“Is it against the law to be out of work?” Anderson asked a bit edgily. “Because if it is you must be really busy locking people up.”

Crotty smiled and picked up an Anderson family photograph from the cardboard box on the dresser. It was a picture Karen asked someone to take when she, Tristan and Noel were all attending a first day back to school for Tristan. Probably the sixth grade.

“I’m really sorry about your wife and daughter.” Crotty solemnly sympathized as he stared at the photo. “Beautiful family.”

Anderson smiled tightly, acknowledging his compliment, and took another bite of his sandwich.

“Yeah, it’s tough…” Crotty continued. “…you build a nice life, then something always seems to happen to knock it all down.”

“You a cynic, Lieutenant?” Anderson asked.

“Guess so.” Crotty snorted. “Comes with the territory. I deal with violence every day. People trying to run a game on me… lies. And everybody thinks you don’t care. There’s this nightmare I have all the time, cop’s dream… some juiced-up junkie is shooting at me and I feel like I’m being hit all over… then I realize it’s just blanks.” Crotty sighed then explained, “You’re around death long enough it just stays with you. Sometimes I have to soak a handkerchief in aftershave, hold it up to my nose for days at a time, just to get rid of the smell.”

“As you say, it comes with the territory.” Anderson commiserated with some consideration, then added sharply because Crotty sure wasn’t getting to the point of his visit, and this obviously wasn’t a well-being check, “So, what can I do for you?”

“Oh yeah.” Crotty said this as if he just remembered. “I thought it would be proper to inform you that one of the men present at your, uh, wife’s murder, was found dead recently.”

Crotty finished his sentence simply but was clearly searching Anderson’s reaction as he spoke.

Anderson displayed no emotion. A pensive stare maybe. Nothing more.

Crotty held his gaze.

Anderson leaned over and tapped the power button on the remote control that was affixed to a nightstand next to the bed. He wanted the TV on to fill the gaps in Crotty’s silences. A talk show came on dealing with mothers who abandon their babies.

“What?” Crotty asked as Anderson picked up his coffee and pulled the lid off.

“Huh?” Anderson responded.

“I thought you were going to say something?” Crotty presumed.

“No, nothing.” Anderson shook his head. “It’s just… how did it happen?”

“Aren’t you going to ask who it was?” Crotty suspected a misstep.

“It had to be the only one who was out…” Anderson surmised. “…the one who was released.”

“Yeah, Roney. Ruben Roney.” Crotty confirmed, staring right at Anderson. “It looks like he killed himself. Carbon monoxide. They also found Clonazepam in his system and it was crushed up in his whiskey bottle.”

“Clonazepam?” Anderson deliberated for a moment then inquired with a good deal of seriousness. “Wasn’t that one of the drugs they had on them when they were arrested?”

Crotty was taken aback. Anderson had asked this last question somewhat impudently and Crotty was wondering if Anderson was seriously trying to go toe-to-toe with him.

“Yeah, it’s a cheap roofie.” Crotty continued. “It’s used in date rapes sometimes. Some take it for its sedative effect.” Crotty expounded but he was only playing along hoping Anderson would reveal a clear sign of guilt.

“Lot of dealers use their own product, don’t they?” Anderson asked.

“Was he a dealer?” Crotty responded with a challenging air, hoping for a breakthrough or breakdown by Anderson.

“I don’t know.” Anderson ventured a guess. “I would think a lot of people who have drugs on them tend to get into dealing. It would just seem to follow.”

“Yeah, happens.” Crotty shrugged. “I was not surprised that he was found dead in an alley. That’s exactly how I would expect to find someone like him…” Crotty paused a moment before adding, “…I was surprised it was a suicide.”

“Maybe if the State had given him more counseling.” Anderson suggested.

“I don’t get you.” Crotty responded, truly perplexed now.

“People need counseling, help to get through these things.” Anderson said evenly as he stared right at Crotty. “I mean, he was in jail for 2 years for something he didn’t do.”

“Yeah…” Crotty returned his stare. “…well, we lock ‘em up, and what they do after that we have no control.”

“I know, you’re one of the good guys.” Anderson stated flatly.

Now Crotty was really confused. He sure didn’t know how to take this last comment. Was it a compliment? Didn’t sound like one. Crotty took a moment, but couldn’t get a read on Anderson, and finally said, “Anyway, good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Anderson took a long slug of coffee as Crotty straightened his tie in the mirror above the dresser.

Crotty eyed the stacks of court transcripts next to the cardboard box and the self-help books with the Eisenhower Public Library labels. He also spotted Al Ward’s name and telephone number on a notepad.

“Al Ward.” Crotty picked up the notepad, and read Ward’s name aloud with some interest. “He helped you at the trial.”

“Yes.” Anderson nodded. “He explained some things after the verdicts. It’s complex, the legal system. He sorted out the process for me. I met him through my business.”

“Do you ever see him anymore?” Crotty asked.

“No. I sold the business. And the trial’s over. I have no reason to hire him for anything.” Anderson replied, turning away to put a creamer in his coffee.

“Right.” Crotty grunted, clearing his throat as he lifted a single photograph of Anderson from the cardboard box on the dresser and tucked it into his pocket while Anderson’s back was to him.

Anderson sensed something amiss and glanced back over his shoulder warily at Crotty.

“He’s really a resourceful guy.” Crotty continued. “He used to be a cop, then-” Crotty abruptly stopped himself from revealing anything more about Ward, only adding, “Well, talk about a guy hauling around extra baggage.”

“How do you mean?” Anderson wanted to know.

“I’m just talking…” Crotty replied dismissively. “…anyway, I better be going. Gotta catch some bad guys.” Crotty made this last statement while bouncing his eyebrows up and down, trying to add some lightheartedness to their strained encounter but levity was not one of his strong points. He started for the door but then stopped, acting as though he were remembering something he had wanted to say. “Oh, you know your house burned down.”