Sticks and Stones Page 15

  Duck grinned. “You guys all think the same. How can I know ’bout somethin’ that was held back from the press, right? Well, that’s just it. Nothin’s ever held back, my friend. Some things are just kept more secret than others.”

  Dan’s eyes narrowed. “Well, since you’re tucked away all nice and neat in here, you can’t be responsible for the murder last week. Got any idea who might be?”

  “Maybe,” Duck said. “One or two. You got a deal you can swing?”

  Dan mulled this over. “Sure. I could put in a good word with the district attorney.” In truth, that was all the power Dan really had. He couldn’t swing any “deals,” and the last time he saw the DA was at a very drunken fund-raiser where Dan ended up going home with the DA’s date. He doubted his “good word” would mean much to Gary Carmichael, Talladega’s district attorney.

  “No, I want more than just a ‘good word’,” Duck said. “I want you to get someone in here who can actually cut a real deal. Maybe get that DA friend of yours to take three years off my sentence or somethin’. Maybe throw in a cell with a better view for the rest of my stay, too.”

  Dan considered his situation. The violence trick wasn’t going to work this time. Duck wasn’t the same as the other squealers. He was smart. He knew information had value. He’d given out just enough to wet Dan’s whistle.

  “Let me see what I can do,” Dan said. “In the meantime, why don’t you start compilin’ a list of names for me? People who might also know ’bout this information we ‘held back.’ People not actively in the can. Someone who might’ve wanted to pick up where Harry Stork left off.”

  “Come on,” Duck said. “You don’t actually believe that?”

  “What?”

  “That Harry Stork was the Stickman.”

  “It’s what the official report says.”

  “Your official report ain’t worth shit.”

  “So you’re telling me this is the original Stickman’s work we’re seeing now?”

  “I ain’t saying shit until you get someone down here to cut me a deal. That’s it. Other than that? I’m through talkin’.”

  * * *

  “So where to now?” Leah asked as they exited the correctional institution and got back in Dan’s car. The rain pummeled Dan’s windshield harder than ever.

  Dan’s car was a green four-door Chevy Nova. It was at least four years old, but looked well taken care of. Like what most detectives drove around in, it was the sort of vehicle nobody noticed. “Now,” he said. “You get to watch me eat some crow.” He pulled out onto Renfroe Road.

  “How so?” Leah asked, doing up her seat belt. When you drove with Dan, you didn’t take any chances.

  “You heard ‘Duck,’ ” Dan said. After he had finished the interview Leah and Dan found out Duck’s real name was Stanley Bishop. “He wants a deal. To do that, we need to get the DA onside.”

  “So?”

  “So, let’s just say me and him have a bit of a ‘history’.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Got drunk at a black tie gala and screwed his date.”

  “At the party?”

  Dan laughed, taking a turn at the light. “No, I took her home first.”

  “Great. This oughta be fun.”

  “What’s Duck or Stanley or whatever the fuck the guy’s called in for, anyway?”

  Leah looked through the papers in the folder on her lap. “Armed bank robbery. Got away with a hundred twenty-nine dollars. Cops nabbed him in the street on his way out. I’m guessin’ a silent alarm.”

  Dan nodded. “Thieves are stupid. Banks have high security, and unless you bust open a safe and take a pile of hostages, you’re going to make off with a few hundred bucks, tops. Liquor stores at Christmastime? Now that’s what they should be hittin’. That’s where the real money is.”

  “I see you’ve put lots of thought into this.”

  “What? That criminals are idiots? You haven’t noticed?”

  “This latest one kind of has me a bit perplexed,” Leah replied.

  Apparently, Dan knew his way around the city. He hung another left at a stop sign. Leah was lost.

  “I think we may have lucked out with Duck,” Dan said. “ ‘Lucky Ducky,’ that’s what I’ll call him.” He laughed and glanced at the file in Leah’s lap she was still going through. “They give us everything we need?”

  “Looks like it,” Leah said. “He asked for three years off his sentence, right?”

  “Yeah, but that came from the ether. I doubt the DA will give him more than one. Maybe a nicer cell. I’m sure there’s wiggle room in this negotiation.” Dan looked at the business tower they were passing. “We’re here.”

  He pulled into the small parking lot, taking the only available spot. Big white letters were stenciled on it that read: RESERVED FOR EMPLOYEES ONLY.

  “You can’t park here,” Leah said.

  “I can do anything I like,” he answered. “I’m a cop. Laws don’t apply to us. If they did, we could never get the bad guys, because they pretend the laws don’t apply to them, either.”

  Leah sighed as she exited the car. “With our luck, it probably belongs to the DA.”

  “That would be great,” Dan said, cocking her a grin.

  The DA’s office was in a ten-story high-rise. Dan checked the board when he came in. “Of course he’s on the tenth floor, the asshole,” Dan said. “Room ten oh three. He’s such a prick, I bet it’s the office with the best view in the entire building.”

  They got into the elevator and Leah pressed ten. When they got out on the top floor, the décor was much nicer than it had been in the foyer. They walked down a hall carpeted in a lush, deep-pile forest green, complementing olive green walls, to a trio of glass doors. Etched into the glass of one were the words:

  GARY CARMICHAEL DISTRICT ATTORNEY

  Beyond the doors was a reception room with a dark-haired woman working behind a large maple desk. “Should we knock?” Leah asked.

  “Screw that.” Dan opened the door and they entered. The receptionist looked up from her typewriter. Her hair was in a bun and she wore way too much mascara. She was chewing gum while she talked on the phone. A gold-colored placard on the desk said her name was TWILA BROWNING.

  “I’ll be right with you,” she whispered while covering the receiver.

  Leah looked out of the glass wall at the back of the room. Dan was right, the view was spectacular. Even the rain didn’t look so bad from up here. All of Talladega spread out around this tower, like some sort of living labyrinth. From the ground she’d have never guessed the city could possibly be this busy as she watched tiny cars make their way through narrow streets like rats going through a maze in pursuit of cheese. “The rent on this place must be a fortune,” she said.

  “Yeah, and you can bet, he don’t give two shits,” Dan said from beside her.

  Leah jumped. “I hadn’t heard you walk up.” She had Duck’s file folder of information in her hand.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to be so stealthy. It’s this thick-pile carpet the bastard probably spent ten thousand dollars of taxpayers’ money on.”

  She turned to him. “You really got something against this DA, don’t you?”

  “Nah, just that he’s the DA and DAs piss me off.”

  Dan took a seat on one of two black leather sofas in the room, both on either side of a short maple bookshelf with a potted urn plant atop it. The plant’s shiny green leaves opened, revealing the pink and violet flowers just beginning to burst from their center. A pile of magazines were heaped on the stand’s two shelves, looking as though someone had just tossed them there. They near on destroyed the rest of the room’s eloquence. If she hadn’t known better, Leah would’ve suspected Dan had gone over and mussed them up out of spite.

  Dan read her thoughts as she sat down on the other sofa. “It’s because his clientele don’t give a shit ’bout how much his rent costs,” he said. He reached over and pulled a copy of Time from th
e top of the mess, opening it to a random page.

  The receptionist, Twila Browning, was still on the phone.

  Leah grabbed herself a recent issue of Scientific American, drawn to the cover subtitle “The Future of Forensics.”

  She found an article talking about the problem with police finding weapons with unreadable serial numbers, usually due to criminals sanding or grinding them off. Federal law required gun manufacturers to stamp or etch unique numbers on every firearm produced. Apparently, maybe even by the turn of the century, scientists might uncover a way to restore the serial numbers.

  Leah didn’t understand most of the science. The piece said all metals were composed of grains packed together like a Jenga game and if you looked inside these grains, you would find a crystalline arrangement of atoms all oriented the same way, but not oriented with the next grain packed beside it. This difference created a natural boundary between grains, forming a natural barrier between them, which acted as a sort of record of how the metal originally looked before it was altered.

  Using something called an “electron microscope,” scientists might someday be able to record how electrons bounced away and scattered from the modified metal, forming a “backscatter diffraction pattern.” This pattern would act as a key to restore the sanded-off serial numbers.

  Leah didn’t even pretend she could follow it. Be nice if she had the ability now, though. She’d love to use it on the gun Harry had aimed at her pa that night. The one with no bullets in it. Someone went to great trouble to make sure those serial numbers couldn’t be traced. Made her wonder why.

  “DNA,” Dan said out of the blue, pulling Leah’s attention away from electrons and microscopes and back to him. “That’s where the world’s headed.” He pointed to an article in his magazine. “They say we’re ’bout five years out from mapping the entire human genome.” His eyes rose to Leah. “Know what happens next?”

  She shrugged. “No clue.”

  “Killer clones. Armies of ’em. And then it’s a small step before we’ve got a tyrannosaurus rex running amok in Wald Park. DNA mapping’s like the gateway drug to big scary dinosaurs.”

  An oval, maple table matching the bookshelf and desk separated them. Leah rolled her eyes. “At least you’re not too dramatic. Where’s Wald Park?”

  “On Montgomery Highway in Vestavia,” he said. “One day I’ll give you a tour of Birmingham.”

  “Is it a nice park?”

  Dan’s eyes went back to the magazine as he turned the page. “Sure, if you like kids. Lots of kids. T. rex would have a feast.”

  Twila Browning finally finished her call. “What can I help you with? Pretty wet out there, eh?” She looked out the glass wall at the rain now falling in sheets.

  Standing, Dan closed up his issue of Time and threw it back on the pile of other magazines. “Dan Truitt and Leah Teal to see Gary Carmichael.” Leah got up and straightened her jacket, which was still wet with rain.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but it’s vital that we see him at once. It’s literally a matter of life and death. Not mine, thank goodness, but somebody’s. Oh, and do me a solid? When you tell him we’re here, don’t use my name. Just say it’s Detective Leah Teal from the Alvin Police Department on urgent business.”

  “Are you Leah?” Ms. Browning asked Leah, nonplussed by Dan’s patter. Leah could empathize. He really was a taste you had to acquire.

  “I am.”

  “And is it really a matter of life and death?”

  Leah nodded. At the moment there really wasn’t anyone’s life hanging in the balance. But technically, she supposed, there could be.

  The receptionist made a call on her phone. “Hi, Gary? There’s a detective here wants to see you. Leah Teal. With the Alvin Police. Yeah, I think so . . . hang on.” She covered the receiver and asked Leah, “That where that Stickman murder happened last week?”

  Leah nodded. “Yep.” She looked at Dan and whispered, “Two weeks ago, she’d have never heard of Alvin.”

  “You’re like a weevil in a cotton farm,” he said.

  “He said he’ll see you, but it’s gotta be quick. He has to leave in ten minutes for a meetin’. Right now he’s just finishin’ up a call. Would you like a coffee while you wait?”

  “Sure he’s on the phone,” Dan said. “If he actually is, I’m guessing it’s got something to do with a motel and a blonde. That’d be the ‘important meeting’ he’s rushin’ off to.” Leah was just about to sit back down when Dan strode right past the receptionist’s big desk and went down the hall to a closed office door. Leah followed behind him, tossing Twila Browning an apologetic look along the way.

  She called out for them to stop, but Dan already had his hand on the doorknob of Gary Carmichael’s office. He pushed it open and Leah entered behind him.

  Leah’s breath caught. The office was even more breathtaking than the reception area. Two glass walls looked out over the city. A third wall was covered in maple shelves and stuffed with law books, reminding Leah of the wall in Ethan’s office, only this one looked well dusted. She also guessed the DA probably read some of his books from time to time. She doubted Ethan ever had.

  Gary Carmichael actually was on the phone, looking quite surprised at seeing Dan and Leah burst in.

  “Uh, Roger?” Carmichael said, his eyes locked on Dan. “Something’s just come up. Let me call you back in ten, okay? Thanks.” He cradled the receiver and glanced to the receptionist, who was now beside Leah.

  “I told them you were on the phone,” she explained.

  “Who’s Roger?” Dan asked the DA. “Your pimp or your drug dealer?”

  “Should I call security, Gary?” the receptionist asked.

  Carmichael thought briefly about her request. “No, Twila,” he said with a resigned sigh. “It’s fine.”

  “Don’t worry, Twila,” Dan said, still looking at Carmichael. “Gary and I go back a long way.”

  Twila looked a bit shaken when she left the office and returned to her desk.

  Gary Carmichael had black beady eyes, short black hair, and a widow’s peak, reminding Leah of an extra playing a role on The Munsters. Impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit, he wore a white shirt beneath with a red-and-blue-striped tie. His composure came back quickly as he did his best not to appear intimidated by Dan’s impromptu visit. He shot his cuffs and set his elbows on his desk.

  “Detective Teal,” Carmichael said, looking at Leah where she still stood at the threshold. “Come in. As for you, Detective Dan Truitt, didn’t I tell you never to step foot within four hundred yards of my office again? Do you want me to get a goddamn restraining order?”

  “Rein in the wild horses, Gary. I wouldn’t come if it wasn’t somethin’ important.” Dan took the manila folder from Leah.

  “And you used this poor young woman as your cover. Nice.”

  “She’s not that young, Gary,” Dan said. “And I know, you know young. Anyway, we need you to cut a deal.” He passed the folder to Carmichael, who accepted it with trepidation, almost like it was a live grenade.

  “What’s this?” he asked, placing it in front of him and gently opening it up.

  “We believe that man has crucial information involving the recent Stickman murder,” Leah said.

  Carmichael flipped through the pages inside the folder, quickly scanning their contents.

  He looked back up at Dan. “You expect me to do this as a favor?” he asked. “I owe you nothin’. You owe me—”

  “No,” Leah interrupted. “I’m hoping you’ll do it as a favor to me. And also on account of you shouldn’t like people being murdered in a town that’s practically in your backyard.”

  “I wouldn’t say you’re in my backyard.”

  “Your backyard’s probably a pretty scary place, eh, Gary?” Dan asked. “Got the odd body buried out there? Or is it just a bunch of skeletons that live in your closet?”

  Carmichael looked back to Leah. “He isn’t helping you
r case.”

  Leah gave Dan a reproachful frown.

  “Okay.” Dan sighed. “I’ll try to be civil.”

  “Thank you,” Leah said quietly.

  “Tell me about this”—Carmichael flipped back to the front of the documents—“Stanley Bishop. What’s he in for?”

  “Robbin’ a bank with a firearm,” Leah said. “Sentenced ten years in Talladega. He told us he’d talk if you reduced it to seven. We reckon he’ll probably accept one. He’d also like a nicer cell.”

  “And what does he know that’s so damn important?”

  “Information about the original Stickman killin’s that was never given to the press.”

  “I thought the holdback was leaked?”

  Leah glanced quickly to Dan before continuing. “Some was, some wasn’t. He told us enough to verify that he knows the stuff he shouldn’t. He also told us he can provide names of other people who know. One of these people could very well be responsible for Abilene Williams’s death a week ago last Tuesday.”

  Gary Carmichael’s eyes went to Dan. His words became clipped. “What’s he got to do with this?”

  Leah answered. “He’s helping me out. And we’re ... um ... sort of dating.” She blushed and wondered what in hell’s name had pulled that out of her mouth.

  Carmichael laughed. “That so? Word of advice: Don’t take him to any parties. You never know who he’ll go home with.”

  Leah braced herself for Dan’s counterattack, but it never came. “I’ll ... um ... keep that under advisement,” she said, trying desperately not to smile. “Anyway, I reckon that file you got has everything you need to know about Stanley Bishop, or ‘Duck’ as he likes to be called.”

  “Duck?” Carmichael asked. “He in cahoots with someone named Cover?” He laughed, and when Leah didn’t laugh back, he even looked expectantly at Dan. “You know,” he explained, “ ‘duck and cover’?” Dan nodded with a pitiful grin. Carmichael’s attention went back to the files in front of him. “You guys got no sense of humor,” he mumbled.

  “This ain’t nothin’ to laugh at, Mr. Carmichael,” Leah said. “We got one dead woman already, and I reckon it’s just a matter of time ’fore another body shows up. Time is of the essence. Right now, we have depressingly few leads.” She tried to sound serious but found it hard with Dan quietly snickering beside her.