Some Degree of Murder

Thursday, April 22 nd 1612 hrs, Open Bible Church Parking Lot

TOWER

The days were getting longer. That’s what the woman on the radio said to start out her one-minute plant advice radio spot. The days are getting longer and all of our green leafy friends will be enjoying more sunlight.

I switched off the radio and shifted in my seat. The parking lot at the Oak Avenue Open Bible Church was empty except for a 1970 or 1971 Chevy Nova parked right next to the office entrance. Being it was a four-door, I figured it belonged to the Church Pastor.

Traffic was sparse on Indiana Street just to the north and no one paid any attention to me parked in the far corner of the parking lot under the yawning limbs of an oak tree. I glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard, then back out through the windshield. The silence inside my car was heavy and I lowered the window to let in some of the outside world. The rumbling hum of the car’s engine mixed with the occasional sounds of traffic and the voices of children down the block on Oak Avenue.

I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. Echoes from the last twenty-four hours rang in my ears and images flashed unbidden behind my eyes.

Brittany Gardner’s slack mouth and bloody thighs.

Virgil Kelley’s hard eyes.

The crack of a Glock and the wet splat of Rowdy’s head being torn apart.

Lieutenant Crawford’s cigar smoke and sarcasm.

Ray Browning’s doubt.

Then, this morning, came the long list of questions from Lieutenant Hart in Internal Affairs, who had supplanted Browning as the primary investigator of what was now termed an “incident.” Browning was to re-investigate the Fawn Taylor case and the Serena Gonzalez case, as well as the shooting of Cody Heinz. Lieutenant Hart would review all three for any violations of policy or any improprieties.

I tried to remember the flow of the questioning and wondered if I had made any mistakes. I’d lain awake almost the entire night considering how to play my hand. It wasn’t a consideration I’d ever really had to make before, at least not of this magnitude. I’d danced up to the line before and maybe even reached across the threshold for the right reasons. But I’d finally crossed it.

And now I was an accessory to murder.

Hart was all over me for not using backup, for not making the proper advisements to Crawford and Browning as my case developed and for messing up Browning’s case on Sammy G.

“You’re responsible for Cody Heinz’s death, Tower, and for his killer getting away,” he accused me, his voice outraged.

More than you realize, Lieutenant, I thought.

I tapped my fingers absently on the steering wheel and watched traffic scroll by, trying to stifle my thoughts.

Did I make any mistakes in IA?

Would they be able to find Virgil Kelley? If they did, what would he say?

Were there any witnesses near the office building that saw him go in and then me go in? Will they remember the timing of the shots?

To hell with it. I couldn’t control any of that. It all depended on chance and circumstance and how good of an investigator Hart was and how much Browning chose to investigate.

A small blue pickup truck slowed along Indiana and turned into the parking lot. I watched as the vehicle approached and pulled alongside my driver’s side window. Paul Hiero was alone in the cab and he looked about as ragged as I felt. He gave me a nervous nod.

“What’s up?” he asked.

I reached over to the passenger seat and picked up his gun. I’d wrapped it in a black T-shirt. He watched me as I held it through my open window.

“What’s that?”

“Take it,” I told him.

Hiero reached out and took it from my hand. As soon as he felt the weight of the handgun, his eyes widened slightly. He swallowed hard and put the package on the seat next to him.

“Where, uh, where’d you get it?” He avoided my eyes when he asked.

I stared at the cuts and bruises still evident on his face. “I found it,” I told him. “And as far as anyone else knows, I never had it.”

Hiero nodded and swallowed hard again. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Are you still mixed up with that girl?” I asked him.

Hiero bit his lip briefly, then nodded his head. “Yeah. I suppose I am.”

“That’s trouble. You know that, right?”

He glanced down at the T-shirt on the seat beside him. “Yeah, I know. I just can’t cut loose of her.”

I didn’t reply and instead stared off at the spires of the courthouse six blocks away.

Hiero continued, his voice tightening. “It’s just not that easy for me right now, Tower. My life is completely screwed. She’s about the only good thing I’ve got going. I know it’s messed up, but at least with her, I feel like-“

I raised my hand in front of my face and shook my head briefly. “Don’t,” I told him. “I don’t need to hear it. I don’t need to know your demons and you don’t need to know mine.”

Hiero was quiet for a moment. Then, “I owe you.”

I shook my head. “No. You don’t owe me.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “And I won’t forget. So thanks.”

Hiero put the Ford in gear and backed away, then shifted forward and cruised out of the lot.

I watched his truck turn left and cruise away on Indiana.

There was no reason to sit in the lot any longer, but I let the engine idle and stared absently out the window. The breeze outside my car window picked up slightly and I could hear the rush of air through the oak branches. I closed my eyes and focused on the flitter-flatter of the leaves. I listened to their many soft voices.

I listened for the truth.

I listened for a long while.

And when I thought I’d finally heard it whispered on the air, I accepted it, dropped the car into gear and drove slowly home.