The Devil_s Garden

FORTY-ONE

The police officer was nervous. He was young, no more than twenty-two or so. His partner was a little older. Maybe his FTO, Michael thought, his field-training officer. Once the older cop had assessed that there was no imminent danger in the parking lot of the Squires Inn, he had told the other two patrol cars they could move on.

The young officer had worked it by the book, first asking for identification, then patting Michael down.

Michael had explained who he was, and that he was here investigating a case. He hoped that, being from a smaller town, the kid did not know that, as a rule, ADAs did not really do any fieldwork. He did not.

The officer had looked at Michael’s outfit, perhaps wondering why a Queens County prosecutor was wearing maroon golf slacks and a raincoat that were both clearly two sizes too big for him. If he was wondering, he said nothing about it. But Michael knew the mindset, even for a young cop. Something was off. And when something was off, it did not right itself.

“And why don’t you have any ID, sir?”

“It’s in my golf bag,” Michael said. “I got this call about a witness going squirrelly on us and I just jumped in the car.”

The officer looked at the blue Ford, then back. He glanced at his partner, who just shrugged.

According to the officer, a call had come in on 911 of two men fighting in the parking lot of the Squires Inn Motel. Michael said he knew nothing about it.

Michael snuck a glance at his watch. He had missed the call from Kolya.

“Could you wait right here for me?” the officer asked. He pointed to the rear of the Ford. Michael moved to the back of the car.

“Sure.”

As Michael approached he noticed a thin trickle of blood coming from the lid of the trunk. He moved from the left rear fender to the trunk, leaned against it.

As the young officer communicated on the radio, he looked from the laptop in his cruiser, to Michael, back. It seemed to take forever. Michael glanced again at his watch. He was now a full five minutes past the deadline.

The officer got out of the car.

“Sorry about this, Mr Roman. You know how it is. You get the call you have to check it out.”

“I understand.”

The kid looked at him for a few more seconds, then around the parking lot, at the motel itself, still not really comprehending the situation. Michael knew he would have crazier days than this.

“Have a good day, sir.”

Michael wondered how the uniformed officers had gotten the call. Had Kolya’s cousin seen the altercation from the office? Had she seen what happened and called Kolya, and now something had happened to Abby, Charlotte and Emily?

He glanced at his watch a third time. There was no point going back inside.

He slipped into the Ford, turned over the engine. Under the seat was Omar’s pistol and cellphone. He was glad the incident with the police had not progressed to a search of the vehicle. A few moments later he pulled out of the parking lot, and merged into traffic.

He headed home.