“Yo, you didn’t eat nothing.”
“I need to go.”
“Then why didn’t you say to go.”
I’d had enough of this. I put my badge on the counter. “Yo. Box, please.”
He fetched it quick, transferred the food from my plate.
I held up my unused knife. “And I need to borrow this for a little.”
“Yo,” he said, breaking off uncertainly.
When in doubt, be tall. I stood up, spread my hands on the Formica, loomed. “Yes?”
“Yeah, boss,” he said, “no problem at all.”
The Berkeley PD station was six blocks away. On the walk over I bit into my sandwich. It tasted like buffalo hide. I got through a quarter of it before dumping it in the trash.
Chapter 37
I didn’t go in the building. I didn’t know what the situation was with Schickman — how much static I’d caused him, how lightly he had to tread. From half a block away, on Allston, I texted him. Fifteen minutes later he jogged up.
“Need to be quick,” he said. “What’s going on?”
I showed him the reimbursement form, the receipt, the knife.
“We were wondering how Linstad got Triplett’s fingerprint on the murder weapon,” I said. “That’s how.”
“Could mean the opposite: Triplett took the knife on his own.”
“You don’t think it’s interesting?”
He grinned. “Like I said. Interesting.”
“Check out the date on the receipt,” I said.
He stared. “October thirty-first.”
I nodded. “Day of the murder. Less than twelve hours prior. Wrap the handle in something,” I said, “keep the print nice and fresh. For all we know, the knife you have in evidence isn’t the real murder weapon. If Linstad was smart, he ditched it someplace far away and planted the one with the print.”
Schickman continued to study the receipt. “Why would he put in for reimbursement?”
“Because he’s a cheap bastard who couldn’t help himself,” I said. “He wanted his twenty bucks back.”
“He tipped seventy-five cents on a nineteen-dollar bill.”
“Add it to a growing list of character flaws,” I said.
Schickman laughed.
“So?” I said. “This change your mind any?”
“You are one persistent son of a bitch,” he said.
He took the knife from me. “Let me compare it with the one in evidence.”
“That’s all I ask,” I said.
“Whatever I decide to do — and I’m not deciding anything yet — we need to keep it on the DL, all right? Least till we have more.”
“Understood. I’m back at the Coroner’s starting tomorrow.”
He held the knife up. “I need to return this when I’m done?”
I shrugged. “If the spirit moves you.”
My co-workers greeted me normally, asking how I’d spent my vacation days. I responded in kind, although in truth I felt on edge, my forehead a marquee, my secrets blaring brightly for all to read. Did they know why I’d taken time off in the first place?
I took my seat across from Shupfer, working diligently, aloof as always.
She said, “Welcome home, princess.”
Las Vegas PD had responded to my request for information regarding Freeway John Doe. They might know my guy. It sounded promising.
The next order of business was to review my queue, updating cases to reflect the autopsies that had been completed in my absence.
The old lady who’d died in her bathtub: stroke. Nothing sinister.
I clicked SUBMIT.
Overdose. Car accident.
SUBMIT. SUBMIT.
Way down at the bottom, last name on the list: RENNERT, WALTER J.
Get it out of your system.
My failure to close the case out wasn’t intentional. Subconscious, maybe. I’d left last week in a hurry, pissed off and eager to get out of there before I shot my mouth off.
Down the hall, Vitti’s door was propped, open to anyone who needed him, as per his policy. We were all friends here. He was my superior, sure, but he preferred that we think of him like a father. Or uncle, but not the creepy kind.
He knew I was back today. Probably he was waiting for me to get off my ass and go in there and pay homage, thank him for the R&R, confirm the wisdom of an enforced break.
No, thanks.
Midafternoon he sauntered in to remind everyone to finalize rosters in time for kickoff. It was the final weekend of the regular season. I realized I hadn’t lifted a finger to manage my team in over a month.
Opening the website, I saw that I’d slipped to fifth place. Moffett was out front, followed by Sully. Vitti’s team sat in third.
“How the mighty have fallen.”
A hand on my shoulder. I fought not to squirm.
“Always next year, Coach,” Vitti said. He was leaning down on me pretty hard, bent over to look at my screen. I could smell the aftershave he applied to his scalp.
I said, “I’m still in it.”
“You say so, Chief.”
“I mean I don’t think I’m eliminated, mathematically.”
I waited for him to make a comment about the Rennert case still sitting in my queue. Instead he just chuckled and walked off. “Hope springs eternal.”
Outside in the intake lot, I slotted myself behind a concrete pillar, the closest a man my size can get to hiding. I hadn’t escaped with any other purpose in mind other than to get some air, but I found myself dialing Amy’s number.
Right after pressing SEND, I remembered she was headed back to the East Coast today. I’d left her two voicemails yesterday. A third would push me past “determined” and on into “pathetic.” I started to hang up.
But I heard her voice, far away: “Clay?”
“Hey,” I said. “Where are you? Are you at the airport?”
“I’m in New Haven,” she said. “I left this morning and got in an hour ago.”
“Right. Okay. Well. Glad you’re back in one piece.”
“That’s not morbid at all,” she said, laughing.
I laughed, too.
We spoke at the same time: “Listen—” “I meant to—”
“Me first,” she said.
“Okay.”
“I want to apologize for the way I reacted,” she said.
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“I do. I was caught off guard.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I had no idea what was going on.”
“Can I please explain?”
“I’m sure I’ll want an explanation at some point. Not right now, though.”
“Okay,” I said. “I had a good time with you, regardless.”
“Me too.”
“...but?”
“But nothing,” she said. “Just. I don’t know. I think maybe I packed too much expectation into one night.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“I don’t mean I didn’t enjoy myself, or that I don’t want to do it again, when we can.” She paused. “Seeing you brought back all these memories of how I used to feel.”
I wanted to be able to tell her I felt the same way — that I’d always felt that way about her. But I’d be lying, and she’d know.
I asked when she was next in the Bay Area.
“Not till the semester’s over. The plan is to lock myself in my room and write.”
“Spring break?”
She said, “Let’s see how my work goes. Okay?”
“If that’s the best I can get,” I said, “I’ll take it.”
“Be well, Clay.”
“Thanks. Happy New Year.”
“You too.”
The day was dying. I should’ve gone back upstairs, finished up, done my job. I didn’t move. I thought about the dozen or so boxes at the storage unit that I hadn’t gotten to yet. I’d planned on heading over there after work. Now I didn’t know if I had the energy.