Shoot from the Lip

18

DeShay picked me up at nine thirty for our meeting with Billings. As I slid into his T-bird, I patted my jeans pocket. “Got the money.”

“How much are you paying him?” DeShay said.

“Four hundred,” I answered. “I hope what he’s got is worth that much.”

“You’re worried about money? Is that company you inherited in trouble all of a sudden?” DeShay turned onto Kirby and headed for the freeway.

“No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t spend my money wisely.”

“I hear a lot of you rich people are penny-pinchers. Now, tell me everything you know about Billings. Then we need to plan our cover story for why I’m with you. Don’t want Billings to get suspicious of me.”

By the time we reached Billings’s apartment complex on the southeast side of town, DeShay knew everything I did. We decided he’d pretend to be a partner in my detective agency. Seemed simple and believable.

DeShay pulled into the pitch-black parking lot. All the lights had either burned out or apparently been used for target practice. The overflowing Dumpster, the burglar bars on some of the apartment windows and the fact that one section of the complex had obviously burned down at some point and never been rebuilt brought the word slum to mind. Yup, I was glad DeShay was by my side.

As we walked toward building D, I noticed Billings’s battered car parked near the cracked sidewalk. I slid my hand into my pocket and clutched the cash. Holding on to my ticket to the truth with one hand, I slipped my other arm through DeShay’s.

Billings’s apartment was on the second floor-apartment D-2320. When we started to climb the outside iron stairs, a Hispanic man in an apartment on the first floor stood in his window watching us. The man appeared angry, and I wondered if that was how he always looked. I sure wouldn’t be too happy living here.

Billings’s place was the first door we came to and directly above the angry guy’s apartment. DeShay knocked while I stayed in line with the peephole. No answer. DeShay knocked again and I called, “Mr. Billings? It’s Abby Rose.”

Still nothing.

“Maybe he’s not back from his meeting,” DeShay said.

“I saw his car… but maybe he got a ride with a fellow ex-drinker.”

“Or maybe he used that fifty bucks you gave him on a bottle of Scotch and-”

“We need some quiet,” came a voice from below.

DeShay leaned over the railing. “Sorry about that, man. We’re friends of the guy in 2320. You know if he’s home?”

“I seen you two, and you don’t look like no friends of anyone lives in this place,” the guy called back.

DeShay went down the stairs and I followed.

Same guy from the window. He wore a T-shirt advertising Corona beer but hadn’t bothered with shoes. Since I’d already stepped around several broken bottles I didn’t think that was too smart.

“Okay, we’re not friends. We’re business acquaintances,” I said. “You know if he’s up there?”

“What’s it to you, lady?” The guy took a step toward me, frowning.

DeShay put an arm in front of me and pulled his badge from his pocket with his other hand. In a quiet but menacing tone he said, “This is what it is to us, man.”

Mr. Corona lifted his hands in surrender. “Holy Mary, good. I thought you were… I don’t know what I thought. I just know all the noise on the stairs, it keeps waking up my baby.”

“Noise on the stairs?” I said.

“You a lady cop?” the man asked.

DeShay said, “You don’t need to know. What’s your name, man?”

“Rodolfo Aguirre.”

“I’m Sergeant Peters, HPD. Tell me what you heard tonight.”

“I heard two people go up a little while ago. Maybe more than two, even. They pounded those stairs and then I hear them walking around up there. Stupid paper ceiling. The baby starts crying and then I’m in trouble, ’cause I leave for my shift as soon as my wife gets home in the morning-she’s a nurse and works at night-and I gotta get some sleep, you know?”

“What’s a little while ago?” DeShay asked.

“Nine thirty-right in the middle of FOX News. Then I hear someone come down, but by that time the baby, she’s crying real hard and I’m trying to get her back to sleep.”

“One person came down?” I asked.

“Yeah, one. Believe me, I learn the sound of just one-and they was going fast, making plenty of noise.”

“Thank you for the information, Mr. Aguirre,” DeShay said.

“We need more police around here,” Aguirre said. “Could you tell your cop friends?”

DeShay nodded. “I will.”

After he’d gone back in his apartment, DeShay and I climbed the stairs again, trying to be as quiet as possible.

DeShay whispered, “Two or more go up, sounds of activity in the apartment, then one person comes down. Our guy’s home.”

“He could be asleep,” I said.

“Maybe. But trying to get anything out of a passed-out drunk will probably be a waste of time.” DeShay knocked again.

Meanwhile, I put my mouth near the door seam. “Jerry Joe, it’s Abby. I have your money.”

Nothing.

“Okay, that’s it,” DeShay said. “We’ll have to do this another-”

I reached for the knob, unwilling to leave without learning anything. The door opened.

“Abby, are you trying to get my ass fired?” DeShay whispered harshly.

But he was looking at me, not inside the apartment. He didn’t yet see the body on the floor near the kitchen entry.

“Oh, my God.” I started inside.

DeShay saw now and held me back, pulling a gun from his ankle holster. “My cell is in my right pants pocket. Use speed dial number six and you’ll get dispatch. When they answer, hand me the phone.”

I did this, staying behind DeShay while he crept toward the body-definitely Billings, lying facedown. DeShay pulled a latex glove from his pocket, and I told the woman who answered the call to hang on for Sergeant Peters.

DeShay traded the glove for the phone. “Put this on and check for a pulse, Abby.”

While he asked for backup, I snapped on the glove and lifted Billings’s hand, felt his wrist. I found a faint beat beneath my fingertips. “He’s alive.”

DeShay went around to the kitchen, phone to his ear, being careful not to step in the bloody trail that seemed to lead there. I heard him ask for paramedics; then he disappeared down the hall.

I wasn’t sure where all the blood near Billings’s neck was coming from, and felt helpless kneeling next to him, knowing he might be dying and I couldn’t do anything.

DeShay returned to my side and said, “Apartment’s clear.”

Billings hadn’t stirred. I felt for a pulse again. This time I couldn’t find one. “I-I think he’s dead.”

DeShay knelt and rolled Billings over.

I saw the wound, saw where all the blood had come from. His throat was cut.

DeShay bent over Billings, his ear close to the man’s open mouth, checking for any sign of life.

All I could do was gag and turn away.

“CPR won’t do this dude any good. From what I saw he ran out of blood in that kitchen.” DeShay leaned back on his heels. “Maybe God kept him alive to carry him those last steps to this spot.”

The backup police officers and paramedics arrived not long after DeShay led me to a filthy couch and told me not to move or touch anything. By the time Don White arrived, CSU must have already taken a hundred pictures, and bright circles of light blurred my vision. Now the videographer was finishing up.

When White saw me, my skin no doubt the color of a fried egg white, he said, “I should have known you’d be here.”

DeShay was in the kitchen, where apparently Billings had been attacked, and called, “She came with me.”

“That figures.” White turned his attention to the body. Keys, wallet and rolled-up cash that probably once belonged to me had been bagged in plastic by the HCME assistant who’d arrived a few minutes ago.

White knelt by Billings’s body and stared at the neck wound. “That’s a jagged mess. What’d the killer use? A fucking butter knife?”

DeShay came around into the living area. “No weapon found. Probably took it with him. I’ve got a few uniforms searching the shrubs, drains and Dumpsters. Whatever he used didn’t kill Billings right away.”

The ME’s assistant said, “You found no arterial spray, Sergeant Peters?”

“Nope. Just blood in the kitchen where he first fell, then the trail in here. Looks like he crawled to this spot and collapsed.”

The young man nodded. “Killer cut several veins rather than the carotid. The victim probably bled for a good while.”

I said, “Could we have saved him if we’d gotten here sooner?”

White gave me his “why don’t you shut up?” look.

The assistant said, “I can’t answer that.”

“Any footprints other than the victim’s?” White asked, scanning the dark gray carpet.

“No,” DeShay answered. “No sign this was a burglary, either. Like this guy would have anything worth stealing.”

His life was worth stealing, I thought. Probably because he knew something, maybe tried to sell information to a higher bidder than me. But he paid with his life.

White addressed me. “Explain how you and Peters ended up here.”

“Sure, but somewhere else, if that’s okay. You guys may be used to a dead man in the middle of the room, but it’s making me kind of sick.” My mouth felt wiped dry inside, but I didn’t want even one sip of water from this horrible, dirty apartment.

“Somewhere else,” White said with a smirk. “Sure, princess. Wouldn’t want you to have an upset tummy.”

I had no idea why he’d taken such a dislike to me, but it had all started when Emma asked for me to be with her during his first interview with her.

White left DeShay to interview the neighbors who had gathered on the second-level cement walkway bordering the apartments. Maybe someone besides Rodolfo Aguirre heard or saw something tonight. Meanwhile, White and I went down to his unmarked car.

The moment I sat in the front passenger seat, my phone rang. I checked the caller ID and showed the display to White. “It’s Jeff.”

“By all means tell him what you’ve been doing tonight.”

I opened the phone and put it to my ear. “Hey.”

“You getting ready for bed?” he asked.

“Not exactly. I’m sitting in Sergeant White’s car at a crime scene. Hang on.” I looked at White. “Can we go to speakerphone, Sergeant?”

“Why?”

“I think Jeff would like to talk to you.” God knows I needed his help.

“Sure, princess. I’ll talk to a real cop.”

“What happened?” Jeff said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Speaker okay?”

“Yes,” Jeff answered.

I pressed the speaker option. “I’m about to tell you and Sergeant White why I’m here at a murder scene.”

And I did, talking too fast at times-Jeff had to ask me to slow down more than once-and finishing with, “I hope it’s not my fault this man is dead.”

“Your fault? I don’t think you wielded that knife tonight, Abby,” Jeff said. “Don, you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“I heard about Bennie. I’m sorry, man. How’s his wife doing?”

“You know what she said? She said all these years neither one of us got shot in the line and then he goes down on the job anyway. Fucking bad luck, you ask me.”

“You’re there for them both, though. And that’s good luck. Bet you can’t think about much else,” Jeff said.

“That’s the God’s truth. I guess no one can call your girl off this case, Kline? Not even you?”

“She’s working for a client and has a license to do it. You know that, right?”

White sighed heavily. “I know, but she’s probably the same age as my daughter. She’s gonna get hurt. Then I got these TV assholes to deal with. And your partner? You can have him back the minute you show up. Wants to tell me how to do-”

“Don? If you trust DeShay and if you let Abby do her thing, I promise you they’ll work as hard as any of us. You can spend more time with Bennie that way.”

“I’m still on the job,” White said defensively. “I’m still-”

“Listen to me. Abby and DeShay are the good guys. They’re smart. They can help you.”

White bowed his head. “I never thought anything would be more important than the job. Never. Not until Bennie went down.”

I think I’d been holding my breath through the entire conversation, but I felt like I could relax a little now.

Jeff said, “Abby? You there?”

“Yeah,” I said quietly.

“Work with Don, not against him, okay?”

“Sure. Of course. I’ll call you later.”

I disconnected and looked at White. “I’ve told you all I know. I’m worried about the tail, the one Larry Murray picked up on. Someone could have been following me all day, and that’s how they got to Billings.”

“See, that’s the kind of stuff that worries me, Abby.” At least, thanks to Jeff, all his anger and sarcasm seemed to have dissipated.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You’re saying a murderer probably followed you around,” he said. “Doesn’t that scare you?”

My turn to be defensive. “Sure it does, but that’s part of my job.”

He smiled. “Tough girl, huh? Who besides the TV company would want to tail you?”

“An investigative reporter from a TV or radio station was sniffing around my house this afternoon. Mary Parsons. She seemed to know I’m working for Emma.”

“I know her. She’s nothing to worry about. Anyone else?”

“I was seen all day with Emma on Monday-the day the house was leveled. Our pictures were even in the Chronicle. Then, after her accident, I made plenty of trips to her hotel. I’ve also had a little publicity of my own in the last few years. Guess it wouldn’t be that hard to figure out who I was and what I do if someone decided to check me out.”

He said, “Who you are, yes, but maybe not what you’re doing for Emma Lopez. The TV crew knew, though. One of them could have been approached by or spoken to the wrong person when everyone was standing around watching after the baby bones were found.”

“I never thought about that. Did the HPD videographer catch any crowd footage?” I asked.

White raised his bushy gray eyebrows. “You want to see if you recognize someone you’ve never seen from crowd footage?”

Guess all the sarcasm wasn’t gone.

He went on, saying, “All we know is that someone was real interested in what you’ve been up to. I’m glad you were smart enough to ask Peters to come with you tonight.”

“Hey, I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. And so you know, I have a thirty-eight in my glove compartment and I know how to use it.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me, Annie Oakley.” He closed his eyes, shook his head. “Figuring out how all these cases are connected will be tough. Billings died because he knew something. Either that or he got too honest at that meeting he went to and pissed somebody off. Christ, we’ll have to find out where he was and who he talked to. And the anonymous don’t much like talking to us. Maybe because we put so many of them in jail before they decide to get sober.”

“You actually believe it was a coincidence that he was murdered on the day I talked to him? Or that one of hisAA-”

“No, I don’t believe he was murdered by one of his AA pals. But I always try to think about all the possibilities.”

“Billings knew Christine O’Meara and mentioned her baby to get me to offer him more cash. Someone had to shut him up before he talked.”

“Duh, yeah,” White said.

“You think Christine’s murderer and Billings’s killer are the same person?” I asked.

“We can’t jump to that conclusion yet,” White said. “One thing I do know: Someone’s out there with a major secret, and they’ve been covering their trail for years-piling on layers while all we’ve got are dried-up leads.”

“Then a TV show comes to town,” I said. “And shines a big, bright light on a buried child.”

“Yeah.” White nodded. “That’s what drew this turd out of the shadows. The publicity.”

“The Chronicle ran a piece before Emma’s house went down. I didn’t see the article, but Chelsea Burch was pretty upset that the paper printed a story about the reality show in advance. If the demolition hadn’t been moved up, all the local TV stations would have been there Tuesday morning.”

He laughed. “Ain’t that too bad they missed out.”

“But that doesn’t mean the killer wasn’t there later on,” I said. “He or she could have arrived on the scene once the story about the baby bones was bulletined across every television screen.”

We were both silent for several seconds. White finally said, “We can guess all we want, but we need evidence. I gotta go help Peters with that. Your car around here?”

“DeShay drove.”

“Then I guess you’re stuck until I can find you a ride home.”

I could have called Kate, but decided I’d rather hang around a little while, maybe learn something more. But I hoped that didn’t mean I had to sit with the corpse.