Reasonable doubt, p.42
Reasonable Doubt, page 42
part #5 of Hazard and Somerset Series
“Work it out amongst the three of you,” Cravens said, gesturing to Somers, Moraes, and Carmichael. “Three eight-hour shifts.”
“What about me?” Hazard said.
“You’re with me,” Somers said.
“Yeah, but I don’t get a say?”
Cravens ignored him. “I want Detectives Hazard and Somerset on the third shift. The rest of it, you can be flexible.”
“You said we can work it out,” Hazard said.
“She said we could work it,” Somers corrected, pointing again to himself, Moraes, and Carmichael. “You don’t get a vote.”
“What the hell does a vote matter if we get third shift every time?”
“This is why you’re don’t get to help decide,” Moraes said with a lazy grin.
“Chief,” Hazard said.
“No. I don’t want to hear it.”
“Every third shift? We’re going to work nights until we round up Kjar or until Kjar finally manages to—”
Somers’s elbow caught Hazard in the ribs, and he grunted and dropped the rest of it, but Cravens’s eyes had gone chilly. “Detective, you may not know this, but most schizophrenics suffer their most severe episodes at night. Mr. Kjar’s behavior is in keeping with this; all but one of his confrontations with the mayor happened after dark. Based on that data, I believe that you and Detective Somerset should cover the time when Kjar is most likely to attack.”
“If he’s going to attack at all,” Hazard said. “If he’s even schizophrenic, which we don’t have any proof of, and if—”
“That’s enough, Detective. This is an order. If you don’t like it, you can sweep Truant Park for six months and I’ll see if Officer Moraes wants to try his hand at a detective’s job.”
“This is—” Hazard began, but Somers elbowed him again.
“Drop it,” Somers said. “Or I might see if Moraes wants to take me to dinner, too.”
“You’re not my type,” Moraes put in, his tone casually informative. “Too pretty.”
Miranda Carmichael just shook her head and looked like she wished she’d gone into any other job but this.
“Moraes and Carmichael,” Somers said, “why don’t you trade off?”
“Fine with me,” Moraes said. “You want to finish the first shift today?”
“Yeah, sure. You don’t mind catching him at three?”
Moraes shook his head.
“Give me a call a quarter hour out,” Carmichael said, “and I’ll tell you where to meet us.”
Moraes gave a miniature salute, and Carmichael nodded to the mayor. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Mayor.”
“Thank you, Officer. And thank you, too, Chief. And Officer Moraes, you as well. Detectives.” Newton nodded, and then he turned towards the front lobby.
Cravens gave the detectives—particularly Hazard—a disgusted look and followed the mayor to the front. Somers slumped against a desk in the bullpen. Moraes, rocking on his feet, gave each of the men a considering look and said, “You’ll pick up at eleven, then?”
“Yeah,” Somers said. “Same routine. We’ll call fifteen minutes before.”
Moraes gave Hazard, of all people, another look, and then whistled. “Good luck.”
As soon as Moraes had left, Hazard started towards the front lobby.
“What are you doing?” Somers said, tagging after him.
“I want to keep my eye on that son of a bitch.”
“That’s what we’re going to be doing, Ree. Every night. Forever. Or until we catch Ted Kjar.”
“No, I mean, I want to keep an eye on him now.”
“Jesus Christ. Ree, we should go home. Sleep. We’re going to be up all night, and—”
Hazard quickened his pace.
“God damn it,” Somers said as he hustled to keep up. “I really might see if Moraes wants to take me to dinner.”
“You heard him: you’re not his type.”
Somers swore under his breath.
At the front lobby, though, Hazard slowed. Newton stood at the front doors, bent to talk to Cravens, while Carmichael stood at a respectful distance. Again Hazard wondered exactly how deep Martha Cravens was in Newton’s pocket, and he wondered, too, what Newton was trying to pull. Fake his own death and frame the detectives? Escape with embezzled money, assume a new life, and, just to fuck Emery Hazard over one last time, leave Hazard on the hook for his apparent death? Hazard didn’t know, but he didn’t believe any of the bullshit about Ted Kjar, and he wasn’t going to let Newton put the noose around his neck that easily.
“Excuse me.” The voice came from the front desk, where Jim Murray still sat, peering now over his paper at the mayor and Chief Cravens. “Excuse me, you’re blocking the door.”
“You’ve got to wonder what’s going on inside his head,” Somers said.
“Something devious,” Hazard said, his eyes still fixed on the mayor. The old man was focused on his conference with Cravens. “Something that will get someone killed and make him richer, I bet.”
“No, I mean Murray.”
“Excuse me,” Murray said again in that querulous voice. “People have to use that door.”
“Do you think he’s blind?” Somers said. “Do you think he can’t see that it’s the mayor and his chief? For what it matters, Murray only has two bosses, and he’s yelling at them right now.” Somers pulled his lower lip between his teeth. “Do you think he’s back in, I don’t know, 1958?”
With a nod, the mayor finished his conversation with the chief. He pushed on the station’s door, and it swung open. Heat poured in from the outside: muggy, swampy, Missouri heat, pasting the air to Hazard’s skin. Through the door, the brick facade of storefronts on the other side of the street watched the station. The afternoon sun blazed where it touched anything reflective: the plate glass, the chrome trim, the antenna above the malingering Family Video.
Newton seemed to remember something. He hesitated, hand propping open the door, and turned back to Cravens.
“Excuse me,” Murray said, and now the old man was climbing down from his seat, nose hairs trembling as he shuffled towards the door. “Excuse me, this is a public building, and you can’t block the door of a public building. Excuse me. Yes. Yes, I’m talking to you. You can’t hold the door open like that, you just can’t.”
Aside from a quick, irritated glance at Murray, Mayor Newton seemed to disregard him. He bent low, speaking urgently to Cravens again.
“Fuck this,” Hazard said. “I want to know what all this cloak-and-dagger bullshit is really about.”
Somers caught him by the arm. “This is exactly what we just talked about. Hold on, you big lug. Hold on. If you go rushing in now, you’re doing exactly what Newton wants.”
“And what’s that?”
“I don’t know, Ree, but you’re dead set on giving it to him.”
Murray, with faltering steps, worked his way between Newton and the door. The old cop prized Newton’s hand from the door with a bemused smile. Behind Murray, like an angel winking on his shoulder, the antenna across the street caught another blaze of light. Murray hesitated, staring at the mayor as though finally recognizing him, and then let the door swing shut. “Sherman? Oh God, I didn’t realize it was you.” He patted the mayor on the arm. “But you really can’t leave that open. Otherwise this place is hotter than a bitch in rut when the afternoon sun comes in. You just—”
The station’s glass door shattered. Murray’s whole body jerked, and he took a fumbling step forward. The sound of the first gunshot popped in the distance. Murray jerked again, slumping against Mayor Newton as his legs went out from beneath him. Through the teeth of glass still in the doorframe, something winked across the street atop the Family Video.
Not an antenna, Hazard thought, as he sprang into motion. Glass crunched and slid under his wingtips as he sprinted past the mayor, who was stumbling backwards, trying to catch Jim Murray’s weight while also trying to scuttle into retreat. Cravens had dropped into a shooting stance, her old revolver pointed at the door as she shouted orders. Somers called after Hazard, swearing.
Hazard leaped through the open maw of glass, and as he did, he caught a glimpse of the mayor’s face. Even through the haze of adrenaline, Hazard felt a flicker of shock and then doubt. Because Mayor Sherman Newton looked surprised and terrified just about out of his goddamn mind.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My deepest thanks go out to the following people:
Monique Ferrell, for advising me about many things, and particularly in this case about wills and probate in California. Any mistakes in the book are mine; anything I got right is due to her diligent research and gentle corrections. Above and beyond legal expertise, I’m grateful for Monique’s support and encouragement (especially when Evie got that copy of James Joyce!).
Austin Gwin, for his willingness to talk me through his view of the complicated issues of faith in this book. For many people, and especially among the LGBT community, matters of faith are extremely charged. Austin provided insight into how Hazard might realistically come to terms with Somers’s faith.
Sloan Jordan, for always being willing to help, for her kind emails and Facebook posts, for taking the time to read this manuscript and point out errors, and for helping me understand why the issues of faith in this book (so pressing for me and many others) don’t always have to be as important as I think. That was a huge gift!
Jon Michaelsen for catching so many errors that I missed and for getting them to me so quickly!
And Tray Stephenson, for editorial insight on the characters and their relationships, especially in this book, for catching a number of errors that escaped everyone else (!), for entertaining updates about everything on the crazy farm, and for all his positivity and support!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Learn more about Gregory Ashe and forthcoming works at www.gregoryashe.com.
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Gregory Ashe, Reasonable Doubt
