Torkleson swiveled his head, gave me the dead-eye. “What about you, McGuane?”
I knew I looked guilty. My face was burning up.
“What?” I asked. I tried not to look at Cody.
“You heard me.”
I sighed. “The information was supposed to be photos,” I said. “Photos with Judge Moreland in them. Something bad enough Moreland would back off.”
“Ahhh,” Torkleson said, nodding. “You two have been playing a little blackmail game on the side, eh?”
“No blackmail,” Cody said. “You can’t blackmail anyone if you don’t have the photos to blackmail with.”
“I see,” Torkleson said. “I also think right now I don’t want to hear much more. Later, though, I want the whole story.”
“Thank you, brother,” Cody said, then quickly changed the subject back to the call list. “I’ll bet we’ve got incoming calls from Garrett on here. We’ve got to check all his numbers-his house, his cell, the Appaloosa Club, his fellow gangbanger’s numbers against these.”
“That’s what I mean,” Torkleson said. “We haven’t had time to match up any of the incoming or outgoing numbers yet. My shop needs to spend some time on them, figure out who was talking to who.”
I realized we were through the gathering storm. I let my breath out slowly.
Cody looked frustrated. “What if Garrett was using a burner?” he asked. “One of those damned Tracfones anyone can buy at Wal-Mart? Then the number doesn’t mean anything at all because we can’t link the owner to the phone.”
Torkleson shrugged. “Unless we can prove Garrett bought it, with a credit-card receipt or something. You know how this works.”
My heart dropped. I had thought for a few minutes it would be a matter of hours. Now I wasn’t sure they had anything at all.
“You need to send that car,” Cody insisted. “Send it now, and haul in Garrett’s ass for questioning. We know he was there.”
Torkleson was puzzled. “How do we know that?”
“Jack heard his voice in the background when they called,” Cody said. “Didn’t you, Jack?”
“I thought I did.”
Torkleson took a moment to study me. “Are you sure?”
“I can’t be absolutely positive,” I said, “but I thought I heard his voice in the background.”
“And you’d testify to that?”
I swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“I’m confused,” Torkleson said, turning to Cody. “You said you were with some woman named Melissa when you got the call. Now you’re telling me this gentleman was there with you and actually took the call?”
Cody waggled his eyebrows, Groucho Marx style. “The three of us were together, if you know what I mean.”
Torkleson looked dubious.
“Cody’s kidding,” I said quickly. “Melissa is my wife. The three of us were together, and Melissa’s phone rang. Because it was Brian’s phone calling but a voice she didn’t recognize, she handed the phone to me. I swear to God.”
“Look,” Cody said, “if you haul Garrett downtown and start hammering him before he can manufacture a story, you might be able to get him to tell us some lies we can unravel.”
“We?” Torkleson said. “Are you suggesting you be involved in the interrogation?”
“I can watch him from outside,” Cody said, “feed you questions.”
“And blow the whole case,” Torkleson said. “A suspended cop actively involved in the interrogation. That’ll play real well.”
“Okay,” Cody said, “I’ll stay completely away. But I’m keeping these call logs. You can download another copy easy enough.”
Torkleson wiped his forehead. He was sweating. He jabbed me in the breast. “The only reason I have to send a car to the Morelands’ to request an interview with that kid is your statement. If it turns out he was in bed the whole evening or playing cards with his good judge daddy, my ass is grass. And so is yours.”
“I understand.”
He studied me a few more seconds, then looked to Cody.
“Do it,” Cody said.
Torkleson stepped away from both of us to use his cell phone. I could have kissed him at that moment. I overheard enough to hear him caution the uniforms to be polite and respectful and to explain clearly that Garrett was being asked to come and talk because of my direct assertion, not because there was any physical evidence. As I heard him, the reason for them going to the Moreland house sounded flimsy even to me.
“You never know what he might say,” Cody whispered to me, “once we get him in the box with a tape recorder running. He may give us five things we can disprove later. And if you heard his voice, you heard his voice.
“Good job back there, by the way. You gave him just enough. It sounded plausible. He bought it. Maybe you’d be a good cop.”
“No,” I said, “I don’t think so.”
WE SAT in the waiting area for the next hour not reading magazines. All three of us looked up every time a nurse or doctor walked by. Melissa called three times. Each time I had to tell her we hadn’t heard anything yet regarding Brian’s condition.
Torkleson was dozing when his cell burred. He sat up and patted all of his pockets in an unintentional imitation of Cody before he found his phone in his jacket pocket. He said his name and no more. As he listened, his face got red. The murderous glance he shot at Cody told me things had not gone well.
“Okay, sir,” he said, biting his words off, “I’ll be down there as soon as I know about our victim. Yes, I’ll personally apologize.”
He snapped his phone closed with such force I wondered if it would ever work again.
“You burned me,” he said to both of us. “I’m in so much fucking trouble.”
“What happened?” Cody asked, not affected by Torkleson’s vehemence.
“My guys showed up at Judge Moreland’s house. The judge was furious. He called the mayor, who called the chief, who just called me. The judge says Garrett was home all night with him, and he refused to send his son to answer questions. He said Mr. McGuane here is harassing him because of a legal matter and that Cody Hoyt is a rogue cop who is completely out of control. The chief asked me why I was even associating with you, Cody.”
Cody shrugged.
“Fuck you two,” Torkleson said, standing up. “I’ve got a wife and a little girl and a lot of years ahead of me. I can’t let you screw that up.”
“I’ve got a wife and a little girl, too,” I said. “This is about trying to keep us together.”
He wanted to launch into me, but Cody stood up and put his hand on Torkleson’s shoulder.
“Look what this tells us,” Cody said. “It tells us a lot. It means the judge is aware of what Garrett is up to. We’ve been wondering about that-are they working together or apart? Now we know. At last we have some clarity, even though this is about as bad a turn as we could get.”
Torkleson shook Cody’s arm off, his face still red. I felt sorry for him even as I contemplated what Cody had just said.
“Gentlemen, are you here for Brian Eastman?”
None of us had heard or seen the surgeon approach from the double doors down the hall. He was short and thin, wearing blood-soaked green scrubs.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not looking any of us in the eye. “Mr. Eastman has passed.”
“He’s dead?” Torkleson asked.
“It was probably for the best, in a way,” the doctor said. “With that kind of brain damage, he could have never functioned again.”
I sat back in the chair and covered my face with my hands.
We’d lost our friend.
We’d lost our advocate.
We’d lost our friend.
Cody’s eyes streamed tears. “Man,” he said, “I wish I hadn’t have been so hard on the guy earlier. He didn’t deserve it.”
Tuesday, November 20