No way out

Chapter Seventeen

“What’s your name, son?” Carter asked.

“Brett Staley.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Meeting my girlfriend, Roni. She’s visiting Frank Crenshaw.”

“So you two have a date, or what?”

“Nah. I was just trying to catch up to her.”

“Lemme see some ID.”

“Why? What’s going on? Where’s Roni?”

Staley thrust his chest out and squared his shoulders, not intimidated by Carter and the cops that had formed a ring around him, blocking the elevator door. His mix of bravado and cool made me suspect that this wasn’t the first time he’d done this dance.

I stepped in front of Carter, keeping my voice low, facing Staley. “She’s fine. The police are trying to sort out something that happened while she was here. You can help her by cooperating with them.”

“And who the hell are you?”

He barked the question, not backing down.

“My name is Jack Davis. I was at LC’s when Roni shot Frank Crenshaw, and right now I’m the only friend she has here that can do her some good and I’m the only one standing between you and a disorderly conduct beef that will cost you a night in jail, plus bail, a fine, and the price of a lawyer, all of which I’m betting will royally piss off Roni. So save the strut for somebody who cares and show the man your ID.”

His eyes darted between Carter and me. His stiff neck eased, and his quick breathing slowed.

“You sure she’s okay?”

“I’m sure. So take your wallet out real slow and hand the man your ID. And if you’re carrying anything that would make these guys nervous, now is the time for show and tell.”

“Shit, dude. I’m not stupid.”

He brokered a broad grin, slipped his hand into his back jean pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed his driver’s license to Carter, who glanced at it before giving it to Officer Fremont and motioning Staley to a bench between the elevator doors.

“Have a seat, Brett. We’ll get back to you in a few minutes.”

“I don’t have a record,” he said, sliding onto the bench, slouching against the wall, fingers tapping a beat on his knees. “Not even a traffic ticket. You’ll see.”

“That’s real reassuring, son,” Carter said. “Your mother must be proud.”

Carter looked at Joy and then at me. “You going to introduce us?”

“Sorry. Joy Davis, say hello to Quincy Carter.”

She smiled and took the hand he offered. “Jack and I used to be married. Now we’re just roommates.”

Carter shook his head. “I don’t know whether that’s a promotion or a demotion, but do me a favor, Joy, and keep Mr. Staley company while your roommate and I have a talk.”

She joined Brett, and I followed Carter around the corner, past the nurse’s station.

“Okay,” he said. “Here’s how it is. You can talk to Roni Chase, but I’m going to be standing right next to you. Take it or leave it.”

The nurse’s station was the hub in a wheel with three spokes, each one a hallway leading to patient rooms. Activity was concentrated at the far end of one hall; cops gathered outside a room, a forensic crew shuffling in and out. An exit sign hung from the ceiling just past the door.

“You put Crenshaw in a room at the end of the hall next to a stairway? Could you have made it any easier for the shooter?”

Carter bristled. “It was the only room available when he came in, and we had no reason to think someone would try to take him out.”

“Is that the excuse the cop on the door gave for not staying put?”

Carter waved his hand at me. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Any excuse is a lousy excuse after the shit flies. Now, like I said, you can talk to Roni but not alone. Deal?”

I ignored his offer again. “Any witnesses see whoever it was went into Frank’s room?”

“No. It’s after visiting hours. The only nurse at the station was hollering at Roni, who was busy stirring up a shit storm.”

“Which let the shooter use the stairs-quick in and out. What about surveillance videos?”

“We’re checking them.”

“Anybody hear a gunshot?”

“No.”

“Are the rooms that soundproof?”

“They’re pretty quiet, and all the doors were closed. The patients in the rooms next to Crenshaw and across the hall were post-op and sleeping off anesthetic. They wouldn’t have heard a bomb go off. The other patients on his wing were sleeping or watching TV. None of them heard anything.”

“Maybe the shooter used a silencer. Or, he could have made it easy and used a pillow.”

“No pillow unless he took it with him,” Carter said.

“A contract hitter would have used a silencer and would be out of town by now.”

“You going to keep pretending you didn’t hear what I said about talking to Roni?”

“Let me finish working this through. You put Crenshaw in a room at the end of a hall next to the stairs. You got a cop on the door that screws up the one thing that should be impossible to screw up. You got a shooter who knows what room Crenshaw is in and times the hit for the exact moment Crenshaw is unprotected and anyone else who might see or hear anything is zoned out. Those are a lot of planets to line up.”

“And I’m no astronomer, but that’s too much for the shooter to count on unless he knew Roni was going to mix it up with the nurse. If he did, odds are Roni knew about the hit.”

“You swept her office this morning. You find anything that would give her reason to do something so stupid as that?”

Carter grinned. “Figure out which side you’re on and I’ll tell you.”

“You don’t have anything, because if you did, she’d be downtown by now. Which means there are at least three other possibilities. The shooter was checking out the setup, making a dry run, and saw his chance and took it. Or, he could have been planning to take the cop out too and got lucky or the cop was in on it. Which one do you like better?”

“I don’t like any of them any better than I like you.”

“I don’t blame you, but you’re stuck with them and me. One last question?”

Carter heaved. “What?”

“You ever work the gang squad?”

“Spent some time.”

“Does Nuestra Familia operate here?”

“They’ve just about got an exclusive on the drug trade in Northeast. It’s Cesar Mendez and a couple dozen of his closest friends and relatives, plus a waiting list of wannabes. Why the interest?”

“What about guns?”

“You know a gang that isn’t armed to the teeth?”

“Any chance they’re branching out from drugs, adding another line of merchandise?”

“Make your point.”

“Frank Crenshaw killed his wife with a gun that was traced to the robbery of that gun dealer last month. Maybe Mendez pulled that job. Maybe he’s arming his boys or maybe he’s filling an order from the folks back home.”

“How’s someone like Frank Crenshaw hook up with Cesar Mendez?”

“It’s the law,” I said.

“What law?”

“The law of supply and demand.”