The Geography of Murder Page 2
19
Geography of Murder
by P. A. Brown
Possession. Couldn't prove intent to sell. Six months in the county lockup, then he got kicked out—read overcrowded jails needed room for more serious offenders. One count of grand theft that had been reduced when he pled out, claiming it had been a mistake, that the guy who owned the car—a notorious local dealer called Trip—had lent it to him and the ADA didn't think they could prove beyond a reasonable doubt. Picked up for soliciting once on the stroll outside the Vault. My ears perked up at that. It would explain the gear. Nothing to suggest violence though. If experience taught me anything he was more of a sub than a Dom. Not the violent type.
Finally I looked across the table at him and studied him openly. I thought how ridiculous he looked. He had on a pair of skin-tight shiny black pants that made the most annoying noise whenever he moved, and nothing else. His bare chest and hands were covered in blood and goose bumps, his golden skin looking gray in the harsh overhead lights. His nipples were brown knots, and I couldn't help it. I stared at the small gold rings attached to the base of each nub. He bore a tattoo on his left pectoral. It was a brilliant russet and yellow thing I could only guess was a bird. In fascination I stared at the colors on the wings and whatever that was over its back, watching them move as he breathed and moved restlessly in the metal chair. He had another tattoo on his neck, one of those incomprehensible Chinese symbols.
Despite the signs of trauma, his skin looked like golden silk poured over a hard mold.
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I tapped my pen on the notepad I'd opened in front of me, annoyed at the dangerous thoughts in my head. "Name," I said.
"W-what?"
"Your name."
"I already told you—"
I didn't speak. Finally he sighed and rubbed his lips. His eyes were almost golden brown. I'd never seen eyes that color before. "Jason." His voice sounded hoarse, tinged with exhaustion. "Jason Aaron Zachary."
"Date of birth?"
He stared at the papers in front of me. He'd been in the system before. He knew what it was. He rattled off a month and year that made him barely twenty-two.
I compared what he said to what I had in his jacket.
Twenty-two. Eight years younger than I was. A kid. A kid who had just slaughtered a seemingly harmless old man. Except I knew there was nothing harmless about George Blunt. He'd been an unrepentant pedophile known to the SBPD but never sentenced to a day. We'd been trying to nail him for years, but he'd always evaded conviction and no one would talk about what they knew. A lot of local lawyers lived well on our efforts. So, had Mr. Zachary done the city of Santa Barbara a favor? Pity his luck at being caught red-handed, so to speak, if he had. When the guy should have been getting a medal he might be getting the needle instead. Tough break.
"So, why'd you do it?" I asked softly. Sometimes you could lull them into giving up more than they meant to if you were gentle with them. They didn't get very much of it outside. "He 21
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mess with you? George was a mean sonofabitch at the best of times."
"He was? I mean no, he didn't mess with me. He didn't even know me."
"So how'd he end up on that boat, in bed with you?" I leaned forward. "Want to explain that? I'll cut you a deal if you're square with me."
He rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had chafed. I watched the play of light on the dark hairs on his bare arms. His chest was hairless, whether by design or biology I couldn't tell. A thin line of dark hair started on his lower belly and snaked down under the waistband of his neoprene pants. If he was mine I'd shave it all off. I like them clean from top to delicious bottom. He was a sexy thing, no doubt about it. But he most definitely was not George's type, who liked them way younger, and female. I was mystified.
"He fuck with someone you knew? Go after your little sister, maybe?"
"I don't have a little sister. And I didn't know the guy."
"You knew who he was though," I said. "I saw you react when you heard his name. You knew George Blunt, didn't you?"
"I knew of him. Who didn't?" He sniffed and wiped his nose, trying to glare at me. Tough guy. I bet he was a pussy in restraints. Funny, I don't remember ever seeing him down at the Vault. I'm sure I wouldn't have missed him.
"Tell me about today."
"Nothing to tell. You woke me up, I was there." He closed his golden eyes. "He was dead."
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"Last night then. What time did you two get to the boat?"
"Us two didn't get anywhere. I never met the guy. You not hearing me?"
"I hear you just fine. You meet him at the Vault?"
"How do you know about the Vault?"
"It's my job to know where the lowlifes hang out in this city. So you did meet him there. What time?" I'd been in the place at ten, and he hadn't been there. Neither had George.
Rafe had been and we hadn't stayed long enough to do more than decide to go back to his place for some Dom fun. "You go right from there to the boat?"
"No," he snapped, but something passed over his face.
Liar. I smiled at him and he flinched when I leaned over table.
"Who were you with?"
"No one—"
"Who was it?" I roared.
He jumped. But this time he whispered, "I don't know who he was. I met him at the Vault."
"Describe him."
I could tell the kid was thinking hard. "Blond. Young. Hot."
"Name?"
"I don't remember."
"How'd you end up on the boat? Where did Blunt come from?"
"I don't remember! I never saw the guy before in my life."
He clenched his hands into fists. I scribbled some notes, watching him. I was getting to him. These punks gave it away when they got pissed. I waited for the explosion. The tell.
Then I'd swoop in and nail him. I was getting excited. I told 23
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myself it was the thrill of closing in on a collar. It wasn't because of this golden boy in front of me.
He took a deep breath and sat back on the chair I knew was uncomfortable. He grimaced when his bare back met the cold metal. But his eyes were clear of rage and guile. The guy played innocent very well. I knew better than to fall for it.
Nancy came in again. More papers. These were bogus. I wanted to sweat the guy, make him think the evidence was mounting up against him. "Autopsy report," she said. I glanced at it. It was indeed, it just wasn't George's. But these days everybody watched CSI and they thought autopsies were done the minute the body went back to the morgue, not days or weeks later like real life. Sometimes junk TV played well for us.
"I don't—"
"Know him. So you keep saying. But you can't explain how you ended up in bed with him or how he got dead. Doesn't make sense. Doesn't look good, does it?"
"I don't care how it looks. I didn't do anything." He was growing agitated again. I decided to sweat him some more.
He brightened. "If you got my DNA, you must have the other guy's too."
"Sorry," I glanced down at George's 'autopsy.' "We got your blood at the scene, semen and your prints everywhere.
No third party. If you can explain that to me I'll get you out of here." I spread my hands. "Otherwise I gotta process you and send you over to county for arraignment. You talk to me now, maybe we can get you home in time for dinner. If this other guy did it, I can spend my time looking for him." Another lie.
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We didn't have any sign anyone but Jason and Blunt were on that boat. Either way this mutt wasn't going anywhere. But he didn't need to know that just yet.
"I didn't fucking do anything."
"Fine." I pretended to give
up and leaned back in my chair.
I scribbled another note on the legal pad in front of me.
Casually I said, "You willing to take a polygraph? Clear you up in no time."
"Poly—You mean a lie detector?" He looked suspicious.
"Those things are rigged."
"Not true." They weren't admissible in court, but I found them very useful for ferreting out the truth. I made to stand up. "You ready?"
"For what? You think I'm just going to submit to some bogus 'exam' just because you asked for it? Fuck that." Then he said the magic words, "I want a lawyer."
I sighed and picked up my paperwork, throwing him a disappointed look. "That's your right, of course. I'll see you get one assigned."
I left him there while I went out to confer with the Lieutenant and Nancy, see where they wanted to go next.
Meanwhile I told a uniform hanging around in the hallway to get Mr. Zachary a phone.
Nancy was sitting at her desk, facing mine, her phone cradled between her shoulder and her ear, clearly listening to someone carrying on a solo conversation on the other end.
She caught sight of me and rolled her expressive brown eyes.
She was chewing on a pen.
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I poured myself a coffee and slumped into my chair, staring at the computer monitor in front of me. She hung up and threw her pencil down on her desk. "Asshole."
I cocked my eyebrow at her.
"ADA asshole, I guess. Won't pursue the Ramirez case.
Says we don't have enough to hold him over to trial. Guy kills his goddamn vato brother and cousin but we can't pursue. No one will talk."
It was always the same. The public demanded action in cleaning up the area gangs, but no one ever saw anything when the crimes went down. Everyone was too afraid to testify or stand up to the cholos. So we were left with slime balls we knew were guilty but couldn't make a case against in the damn liberal courts.
"Being a cop sucks," I said. "Then you go out the next day and do it over again. And it still sucks."
"So how'd you fare with pretty boy?" she asked, inclining her head toward the interrogation room where I'd left Zachary. My lip curled. I lolled in my chair, watching a fly crawl across the wall over a box of day-old donuts. Around me phones rang and voices rose and fell as the business of the day went on.
Suddenly a shadow fell over my desk and I saw Nancy sit up. I snapped to attention, but it was too late. Lieutenant Garcia scowled at me from behind his black-framed glasses.
The guy was ex-Marine and he never let any of us forget it. It was easy to say I was his least favorite D in the squad room, though my partner, Nancy Richards, was pretty far up his list, 26
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too. I think most women were. Faggots just happen to stand lower.
Our Lieutenant gave the word Neanderthal a whole new resonance.
"You already cut the asswipe loose?"
"No sir," I said. "But he invoked, so he's waiting for an attorney."
"How long till a PD gets here?"
I shrugged. "Depends on what kind of load they're facing down there."
"Let him stew for a bit. Then take him a Coke or something. He's a tweaker, he'll be jonesing for a sugar fix before too long."
I didn't bother telling the man our suspect didn't look like a tweaker to me. He wasn't going to crack over some need for sugar or anything else. But the guy was my boss. I nodded. I did tell him about Jason's claim that he was with some blond at a 'known gay hangout.'
"And he's got a record for hustling. Maybe he and this blond pulled a train on our vic." Garcia said.
"No sign of anyone else at the scene."
"You believe his story?" Clearly Garcia didn't.
I shrugged. "I'll check it out."
"Meanwhile, let him stew."
"Good strategy," I said. "I'll give him ten, then hit him for some more."
Garcia nodded sagely and marched back to his office. I caught Nancy rolling her eyes again. "Good strategy ... How brown is your nose, Spider-man."
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"Stop calling me that. You know I hate that name."
"Sure, Alex. You going to go in and rubber hose the guy?
Lieutenant wants this so bad he can taste it. Get rid of two scum in one swoop. The killer and the victim in one nice package."
I thought of golden Jason and his sincere sounding protestations of innocence. "Wouldn't it be a trip if he was telling the truth?"
Nancy had listened in on enough of my interrogation to know who I meant. "Right. Then how'd he explain getting naked with the guy in that get up? That's not exactly street wear either of them had on."
"But we both know Blunt likes kids, mostly little girls from the beefs we heard about. Those guys don't switch their targets. Not that much."
"Yeah, well maybe he wanted to expand his victim pool."
"You know they don't do that."
"Then maybe the kid wanted something from him, and he wouldn't deliver. Wouldn't be the first trick who killed a john."
I wasn't buying it, but I could hardly tell her that. She didn't know the life like I did. Hell, she didn't have a clue what her partner liked to do in his off hours with toys and eager subs, and I had no intention of ever enlightening her.
After ten minutes I grabbed a Coke and took it and my notebook back in to take another stab at Zachary.
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28
Geography of Murder
by P. A. Brown
Jason
I looked up when the door opened. It was Detective Spider again. I felt like I was a trapped fly about to become a snack to this overbearing man. He slid a can of Coke across the table. I grabbed it and sucked back cool soda.
He watched me with a hawk-like intensity that unnerved me. He thought I was guilty, but there was something else going on here.
"Do I get a lawyer or not?"
"One's on its way."
"Who?"
"No idea. PDs come out of a pool. They rotate between assignments. You'll get whoever's next on the roster. You sure you can't afford a lawyer?"
I snorted. "I work part time at the marina."
"What about your, ah, extracurricular activities," he asked, guileless, like he really thought I was a total idiot. "You must make better money doing that."
"What do you think I am? A hustler? A dope dealer?"
He shrugged, never taking his eyes off my face. "You were picked up for soliciting eight months ago. Outside the Vault.
You tried to proposition an undercover officer."
"Guy picked me up. He solicited me. Had the hard-on to prove it. Funny how he didn't show his badge until after I gave him a blowjob. He only busted me when I wanted to get paid for services rendered. Very nice dick as I remember. You 29
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want me to describe it? Maybe you'd like to know how you stack up ... No? Suit yourself."
"Soliciting sexual favors for money is a misdemeanor.
Maybe you think it's a joke." He was clearly disgusted. I offered him a small smile until he added, "I assure you it's not."
"That cop didn't think it was such a bad thing. He was really getting into it."
"So you say. How much do you pay for your coke? What else do you use? Oxy? Maybe smoke a little meth? Drop some E at the clubs—"
I schooled myself to stay calm. He was only trying to rattle me. Maybe if I blew up on him he'd have an excuse to use those cuffs again. Throw in some extra charges to sweeten the pot, though how they could find something worse than murder was beyond me. That thought brought me full circle.
How the hell had I ended up on the Cutting Edge beside a very dead old man I'd never met before?
I narrowed my eyes and glared at him over the table. "You eve
r think for one second that maybe I'm telling the truth?
Maybe I didn't do it. Maybe I'm being set up."
He gave a short bark of laughter. "Lock-down is full of guys who got 'set up.' You'll meet them soon enough. You can compare notes."
The interrogation room door flew open. A man in a pinstriped Brooks Brothers suit entered, followed by a harried-looking older Latino man with stripes on his jacket.
Spider stood. "Lieutenant—"
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"This is Mr. Endbury," the Lieutenant said. "He's going to be representing Mr. Zachary."
I looked from the Lieutenant to Endbury to Spider. They looked at each other, right over my head. The hostility ramped up and the room reeked of testosterone. Something was going on and I was being left out. I didn't like that one bit. This was my fucking life and these clowns were having a pissing contest. I stood up, alarming the two cops in the room. They reached for their cuffs.
"Whoa, soldier." Endbury laid his hand on the Lieutenant's arm. "Let me deal with him."
"Nobody's going to deal with me," I snarled. Now that I had their attention, I wasn't too sure it was an improvement.
"Someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on here?"
Spider was clearly the only one amused. A grin slipped through his mask, and he stepped in front of me, as though to shield me from the other two men.
"This," he looked over his shoulder at Endbury, "is the man who's going to represent you."
I looked into the guy's face. "You're my public defender?"
"Actually I'm with Bergot, Sylmar, and Tyler, attorneys at law."
The name of the firm seemed to give Spider's Lieutenant indigestion and pleased Spider no end. I frowned. "Okay, I'll bite. Who are Bergot, Sylmar and Tyler? And what are you going to do for me?"
"Get you out of this place to start with."
"Who told you about me?" I demanded.
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His cool gaze swept over my half-naked form. "I have contacts in the legal system. They told me of George Blunt's untimely passing. I wanted to see the man they allege did it."