Wild Card

Chapter 31

Sears had delivered their new furniture that afternoon, and Lois was the happiest person on her street. It didn’t replace the memories, but it was all new, and it gave the house a feel that it hadn’t possessed since they’d first moved in.

That night, while Gerry sat in the living room watching Mork & Mindy on their new TV, Valentine helped his wife do the dishes. While he dried, he made a point of sucking on his swollen knuckle, and she took his hand and examined his injury.

“Were you in a fight?”

“I punched a suspect in the face,” he said.

Lois eyed him cooly. “I hope he was doing something really awful.”

“Just sitting in a chair.”

The indignation rose in her face. “Tony, that’s barbaric. You should be ashamed of yourself. I’m ashamed of you.”

“It was Izzie Hirsch.”

“Oh. Why did you punch him?”

“He told me he took your bra off in a sand trap on a golf course.”

Lois dropped the plate she was holding into the sink. “That little bastard ripped my bra off, and my blouse. He practically raped me. I hope you knocked every tooth down his throat.”

Valentine tried to reply, only he was choking on his own laughter. Lois backed him into a corner, and began to playfully pummel his arms with her fists. “Tony Valentine, how dare you set me up like that!”

At a few minutes past nine, the front doorbell rang. Lois was upstairs reading a book. Valentine was still in the kitchen, and heard Gerry answer the door. When his son came into the kitchen a few moments later, his face was white as a sheet.

“There’s a man outside to see you. Says he’s with the FBI.”

Valentine couldn’t let the opportunity pass, and said, “What did you do now?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything.”

“Glad to hear it.” Valentine hung up his apron and went to the front of the house, opened the door, and stepped outside without his coat. Special Agent Romero was on the stoop, and wasn’t wearing a coat either. They shook hands, and Valentine glanced at the Chevy parked in the driveway. Fuller was nowhere to be seen.

“Let me guess,” Valentine said. “You caught the bastard.”

“I wish. Fuller and I are leaving Atlantic City tonight.”

“What? Why?”

Romero lowered his voice. “This conversation goes no further, understood?”

It had started to snow, with flakes the size of half dollars coming down. Valentine sensed that Romero was walking a tightrope, and simply nodded.

“Fuller came to me this afternoon, and said that he’d gone to an apartment where one of the suspects on our list lived,” Romero said. “The suspect had moved, and Fuller got the landlord to let him look at a box of things the suspect had left behind. In the box Fuller found bell bottoms, flower dresses and love beads. The landlord told Fuller the suspect had gone to New York. Fuller called our boss at the bureau. Our boss told Fuller to follow the suspect, which is why we’re leaving.”

“What’s the suspect’s name?”

“It doesn’t matter. Fuller’s lying.”

The snow had intensified along with Valentine’s sense of unease. “Why do you say that?”

“I asked him if I could see the clothes, and he gave me the box. When I looked through them, I found a sales tag. It was dated today. Fuller bought the clothes at a consignment shop.”

“Did you confront him?”

Romero shook his head. “No,” he added for emphasis.

“Why are you letting him get away with this?”

“It’s like this, Tony. Fuller is on probation for slapping around his ex-wife, and if I expose him, he’ll lose his job. We’ve been partners for five years. He took a bullet for me once. I can’t betray him.”

Valentine felt bile rising in his throat. He had always held the FBI to a higher standard than other law enforcement agencies, and he supposed it had something to do with their history of never having an agent in the field go bad. Romero knew better than to go along with this; saving Fuller wasn’t worth sacrificing his integrity.

“What about the four dead girls?” Valentine said. “Do you just kiss them goodbye? Or is leaving made easier by the fact that they were hookers?”

Just off the porch, everything had turned a magnificent white. Romero made a conciliatory gesture with his hands, then looked away. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper. “Do you know why I became an FBI agent?” he asked.

“You like long hours and crummy pay,” Valentine said sarcastically.

“I got a girl pregnant in high school. I played football and she was a cheerleader. I took her to a back alley abortionist, and he botched it and killed her.” Romero turned his head and gave Valentine a hard stare. “I became an FBI agent because I wanted to save a life. I wanted to save a life in redemption for the one I lost.”

“How does leaving town accomplish that?”

“I didn’t say I was giving up on the case.”

“I’m not reading you.”

“Your name is on the flyer with the killer’s composite. If a hooker spots the Dresser, you’re going to get a call. If you do, call me, and I’ll tell my boss the Dresser is in Atlantic City. Fuller and I will be back the same day.”

Romero was trying to protect his partner, and keep his integrity. He wasn’t a bad guy, just misguided, and Valentine said, “You shouldn’t be helping Fuller do this.”

“What’s the alternative? Ratting him out?”

“Try following your conscience. It’s always worked for me.”

“Would you rat out your partner? Tell me the truth.”

“My partner isn’t dirty.”

“But what if you found out he was? Would you rat him out and destroy his career?”

It was Valentine’s turn to look away. He and Doyle went back a long way. It was wrong for him to assume that Fuller and Romero’s bond didn’t run as deep. Put in Romero’s shoes, he’d probably do the same thing.

“No, I wouldn’t rat him out,” Valentine said.

The snow had stopped as quickly as it had started, and it suddenly didn’t feel as cold. Romero removed a pen from his pocket and scribbled a telephone number on a pack of matches, then handed the matches to Valentine. “That’s the number of the hotel where we’re staying in New York. Call me if you hear anything.”

“You leaving tonight?”

“Yes. I need to pick up Fuller, and then we’re gone.”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

Romero trudged down the path and climbed into the Chevy. As he backed down the drive, his eyes found Valentine’s face. He looked upset with himself, and Valentine sensed that his conscience was eating a hole in him. Life was filled with choices, and Romero had made a choice that he would forever regret.

Going inside, Valentine found his son lurking behind the door.

“Am I in trouble?” Gerry asked.

He tousled his son’s hair. “You will be if you don’t go upstairs, and start doing your homework.”