Liquid Smoke

THIRTY-EIGHT

Detective Ken Kenney held out a stick of gum outside San Quentin.

“No thanks,” I said, trying to brush past him.

He stepped just close enough to slow me down so he could walk with me. He shoved the gum into his mouth. “Been a lot of your father’s old friends checking in on him lately.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s had a lot of visitors in the last day or so,” he said. “How is he?”

I wondered if Kenney slept in the parking lot. “He’s wonderful.” “His time is slowly eroding,” he said. “Certainly that is affecting him.”

“Go ask him yourself.”

He laughed, but it was hollow and jagged. “Next time I see him, it’ll be only to make sure he’s no longer breathing.”

“Good to have something to hold onto,” I said as we reached my rental car.

“Perhaps then I’ll be able to let go.” Kenney cleared his throat. “Heard about Ms. Gill. I’m sorry.” “I’ll bet.”

“Regardless of my wishes for your father, I did not want to see anyone else hurt by their involvement with him.” He pulled the gum out of his mouth and tossed it away. “She told you why I’m hanging around, correct?”

“She did.”

“You ask him? About my nephew?” I looked away and shook my head. “You should. Be interesting to see what he says.”

I felt caught in the middle, but I wasn’t sure why. Simington may have been my father, but it was a title on a piece of paper and nothing else. Yet, when Kenney spoke to me, I felt defensive.

“What happened?” I asked.

He stared at me for a moment, then leaned against the passenger door of the rental, his arms folded across his chest. “Jacob was a screw-up.”

“Your nephew?”

He nodded. “My sister had a helluva time with him. Couldn’t get him pointed down the right road. He was just determined to go the wrong way. But that doesn’t make it any easier, you know?”

I did.

“As clichéd as it sounds, Jacob fell in with the wrong crowd,” Kenney said, his voice not as confident as it had been before. “Kept getting nicked here and there. Some theft, an assault, that sort of stuff. Not big time, but it was building.” He ran a hand across his jaw. “Started doing some work for a guy who runs a backroom operation.”

“Gambling?”

“Yeah. Poker games, horses, sports. The guy’s been doing it forever, and to be honest, so are a lot of others. It’s not a high priority to quash it all.”

I believed that.

“Jacob stole from the guy. Five large,” Kenney said, sounding like he’d bit into something that tasted awful. “Stupid, stupid move.”

The story fell into place. “And the guy hired Simington to punish him,” I said.

Kenney nodded. “Sure. It’s what they do. Let anybody steal from you and your credibility with your bettors goes to shit. He had to take care of Jacob.”

I shivered against the breeze that brushed across the parking lot.

“Simington was a pro. He came in and did what he was paid to do.” He glanced at me. “He did it, Mr. Braddock. There is no doubt. He covered his tracks, and we couldn’t get him. But he killed Jacob.”

We let that hang between us.

“Jacob was not a good kid. But he was my nephew, and I don’t believe anyone deserves to die like that,” he said. “That’s why I am preoccupied with your father.”

It was like another kick to the shins.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what to say.”

Kenney nodded. “Thank you. And I am sorry about Ms. Gill. We were on opposite sides, but I didn’t wish her harm.” He paused. “May I ask you a question?”

“What?”

“Have you hired another attorney?” “He doesn’t want one.”

He nodded, satisfied. Then he looked at me in a strange way.

“What?” I asked.

“I had you all wrong.” “How’s that?”

“Family member appears here, in this situation, they are usually desperate. Desperate to figure out a way to stop the train. But I don’t see that in you.”

I pulled the keys out of my pocket. “What do you see, Detective?”

Kenney stepped away from the car. “I see someone who’s really confused.”

“I always look that way.”

He made a face and shook his head. “Funny, but I don’t believe that.” His eyes hardened. “Be clear on one thing, Mr. Braddock. There’s nothing to be confused about. Russell Simington is as bad as they come.” He waved a hand in the direction of the prison. “And this is where he belongs.”