Small Vices

Chapter 18

Pemberton did not wish to acknowledge crime. The Pemberton Police Station had been moved as far from the center of town as it was possible to move it. It was barely within the town limits, on the edge of Route 128 in an old brick Department of Public Works building they had leased from the state. I parked in the spacious lot out front.

Inside they were still partitioning off some of the rooms, and the carpenters were making a lot of noise. I worked my way past the front desk officer to the detective who’d worked the Henderson case, and sat with him at a desk in a half-finished office, while the sound of power saws and pneumatic nailers competed for attention. He looked about twenty, though he was probably older. You saw a lot of cops like him on suburban forces. High-school football player. Not good enough for a scholarship. Smart kid. No money for college. Did a stint in the Marines, maybe, came home, went on the cops. Probably got term of service credit.

“Name’s Albrano,” he said. “Evidence specialist. I don’t know how much I can help you. We turned things over to the State as soon as we discerned that it was a homicide. We’re not set up to cover a major crime like they are, sir.”

“Miller?” I said.

“Yes, sir.”

“You the one got the letter?”

“Letter?”

“The letter tipped you off that it was Alves.”

“Well, we got it here at the department,” he said. “Didn’t come to me personally.”

“But you read it.”

“Yes, sir, and checked it for prints. Nothing we could use.”

“And you bucked it on to Miller?”

“Yes, sir. He made it pretty clear he was in charge of the case.”

“I’ll bet he did,” I said. “Who notified him?”

“I guess I did, sir.”

“You remember just how you notified him?”

“How?”

“Yeah. Did you show it to him here? Did you bring it over to him? Call him up? How’d you notify him?”

“I believe I mentioned it to him on the phone and then somebody took it in to Boston and gave it to him.”

“When you told him on the phone,” I said, “did he call you or you call him?”

“Hell, I don’t remember. This was what, year and a half ago? What’s the difference?”

“Got me,” I said. “You know how it goes, just keep asking questions till you find something. What did you think of Miller?”

“He has a good arrest and conviction record, sir. I know that.”

“Because he told you?”

Albrano’s expression of professional cooperation didn’t change.

“I believe that is where I heard that, sir.”

I nodded.

“The victim had a boyfriend,” I said. “You happen to come across him?”

“Didn’t know she had one,” Albrano said. “You actually think whatsis name, Alves, is innocent?”

“It’s a working hypothesis,” I said.

“Be a pretty elaborate frame-up,” Albrano said.

“Yeah.”

“But if it was a frame-up,” he said, “it was a smart move picking a loser like this Alves character.”

“Jury’d figure even if he didn’t do it,” I said, “he did something.”

Albrano shrugged.

“I don’t know shit about juries,” he said. “But it makes him a good-looking suspect. Arrest a guy for drunk driving that’s done it three times before, you gotta like your chances.”

I didn’t say anything. The pneumatic nailer was banging away across the half-finished room. A uniformed Pemberton cop stuck his head through the incomplete doorway.

“Making a run, Charlie,” he said. “Want anything?”

“Large black, no sugar, couple of Boston creams.” He looked at me. “You want something?”

I shook my head. The uniform left. We sat thoughtfully for a little longer.

“You know,” Albrano said, “now that you asked and I’m thinking about it, Trooper Miller called me and asked if we’d come up with anything on the murder of the college girl.”

I nodded.

“So I told him about the anonymous letter and he said send it in to me.”

I nodded again.

“I don’t see that it means anything,” Albrano said. “Do you?”

“Might mean he was impatient,” I said.