Brothers Unarmed
Bobby Dunbar strode in the double doors of the 8th Precinct. It looked pretty much like every other cop shop he'd been in; people rushing around, some poor jerk being dragged around in cuffs, a couple of old fagots making long-winded complaints at the front desk. Bobby's eye caught a wagging tail as the elevator closed, police dogs too; must have a canine squad. Bobby spotted the weak-looking, bespectacled desk clerk. He smiled, that was better than a tough sergeant. It should be easy to get info out of him.
Officer Johnson looked at the imposing man in front of him. Tall, at least 6'5", heavily muscled and perhaps fifty years old. In a black crew knit, jeans, and a long black leather coat, the man came across like a successful drug dealer.
He was asking for Detective Dunbar. Johnson wondered briefly if he was one of the detective's informants - this guy carried a heavy an attitude and it stank of trouble.
Robert Dunbar stood tall and looked down at the receptionist-playing-cop who, it seemed, had more backbone than he had originally anticipated. "That's right Dunbar, Officer James Dunbar. I'm told he's been assigned here. My name is Robert Dunbar. Tell him he needs to come down and see his brother."
"Just a moment, Sir, that would be Detective Dunbar, I need to see if he is in."
Detective, Officer, what's the friggin' difference, you're all just cops underneath, Bobby thought, snorting and rolling his eyes as Johnson picked up the phone and turned his back.
Two floors up, Jim arrived at his desk, took off his glasses and removed his coat. Yesterday, after a call from Marty in the field, Jim had run the DOA's name through BCI. The DOA, Mondeo, was connected to a Mario Andretti. They'd been picked up together for small time drug trafficking a couple of years ago. Jim had given Marty the address so they could pick Andretti up on the way back to the squad. They'd not arrived before Jim had headed home.
Now Marty filled him in on the hell they'd been through looking for the guy. No one answered the door and the neighbors pretended not to know they guy. There was a lot of traffic around the apartment block and finally he'd walked straight past them disguised as a woman. By the time Tom noticed his hairy legs Andretti was far enough away to make a dash and they lost him down some alley.
Suppressing a smile, Jim held his hand up to stop Mary's tirade, and answered the ringing phone on his desk. "Dunbar."
"Sir, I'm looking for Detective Dunbar. A Robert Dunbar, is here to see him, says he is his brother." Johnson wanted to give the Detective the chance to avoid this guy if he wanted to.
Bobby smirked; anyone who looked could see the family resemblance. These cops were all blind.
"Johnson?" Jim asked on the other end of the phone.
"Yes, Sir."
"Tell him I'm not here. Tell him…" Jim said the first thing that came to mind, "I'm on a stakeout. If he leaves a number I'll call him."
"Yes, Sir."
Officer Johnson turned back to the man in front of him, drumming his fingers on the desk. "I'm sorry, Sir, Detective Dunbar is on a stakeout, so we don't know when he'll be back, but if you leave a number he'll call you."
Bobby smiled coldly as he shook his head. He could smell a lie a mile off. "No, no number." He turned and walked out.
…
Marty was grinning, the image of Jim on a stakeout, was hilarious. "So, Jim, did you show Hank the photo of the guy you were staking out?" Marty couldn't contain himself and soon erupted into laughter.
Embarrassed to have been caught in such a barefaced lie, and smarting from Marty's laughter, Jim considered his brother and resisted putting his hands in his face. Instead he sent Marty a nasty look. He called Hank over and gave him a rub behind the ears. "You gonna finish the story of how the guy got away from you and Tom?" he finally asked Marty. But there was no answer. Marty must have left without him noticing.
Jim turned his thoughts to his favorite refuge – the current case. All round bad guy and drug dealer, Alfredo Mondeo had been murdered. The hysterical call from his wife prompted a patrol who confirmed a DOA and then locality ensured the case was assigned to the 8th Homicide squad.
When Marty and Tom had arrived at the scene, they found Alfredo spread eagled, head down on the back stairs of his wife's home. Judging by the grey and pink tinged crater at the back of his head, Alfredo had been shot. But there was no blood around him or the crime scene. There was no weapon nor any shell casings, extra bullet holes or GSR anywhere near the body. There was one still hysterical wife, slugging a bottle of OJ that smelled more like perfume.
Mrs. Alison Mondeo had come home at around 12 o'clock from a month in a rehab clinic where she was overcoming an addition to booze and pills. She said everyone she knew hated her husband but that no one she knew would be stupid enough to shoot him as he was too powerful and mean. She offered no other help. She assured them they could search her house, she didn't own a gun that could have done that. Despite the fact that she seemed more upset that he was dead on her doorstep, than he had passed away, neither Marty nor Tom could imagine her killing the man and the hospital confirmed her alibi.
The neighbors heard and saw nothing other than the vacuum cleaner going at 7am. When questioned about this, Mrs. Mondeo waved her cigarette in a wide arc, "I suppose Juanita might have come in. Is it Thursday? I think she comes on a Thursday morning. Or is it Thursday afternoon? Maybe Wednesday is the afternoon and Thursday is the morning?"
Alison was unclear as to the maid's surname and knew only the cell phone and first name of the woman who had been cleaning her house and buying her groceries for two years. Mrs. Mondeo waited around long enough to be interviewed by the detectives from the 8th. She told them how useless her husband was and that she hadn't seen him since their separation two years ago. Some very imaginative curse words were aired while she described his uncaring and thoughtless attack on her mental capacity, showing up dead on her back step. After her high pitched and painfully detailed listings of his faults the detectives were happy to call her a cab. She took herself back to the rehab clinic with a hidden stash of little blue pills and a fresh fifth of gin and OJ.
Tom checked with the neighbor's maid and found Juanita Hernandez was contracted to clean the house for Mrs.Mondeo every second day in the morning.
Marty had called the squad and, as well as giving Marty Andretti's details, Jim organized for a patrol to pick up Miss Hernandez and bring her in.
There was no Andretti to interview as yet, and they were waiting for Miss Hernandez to show.
The TOD was still undetermined. All four detectives were beating the bushes right now, trying to come up with someone who knew something. Jim stroked Hank's head, which rested on his knee, and reached for the phone.
"Jenny, Jim Dunbar. You got me a TOD on Mondeo yet?"
"Hi Detective. Yes, you must be psychic, I was just about to call you. Alfredo Mondeo died between 10pm and 3am on the 24th . And I can also tell you where he was for the couple of days since he died."
"Oh? He wasn't hanging out at his wife's doorstep?"
"No, he was in a swimming pool."
"A swimming pool? But cause of death was gunshot, right?"
"Yes, he was killed and fell, I'd say, into the pool, that's why there was no bruising from a fall to the ground, and the slugs will be in the bottom of a pool somewhere."
"Great, anything else you can tell me?"
"The pool was chlorinated with salt. I can give you the PH levels and things?"
"Fax them over and we'll hang on to them."
"Okay."
"Thanks, Jenny, that was after 10pm on the 24th?" Jim repeated the hard data to set it in his memory.
"You got it."
"Okay, thanks. I'll call if we need to come check him out."
"That'll be fine. See you." Jenny hoped they'd come, any excuse to see her favorite Detective.
As Jim hung up the phone, Karen called down the corridor, "Jim, you ready? Juanita Hernandez is waiting. Tom asked if we could take it, they're trying Andretti again. Interview one."
"Yep," Jim gave Hank a final pat, "Take it easy, pal."
…
Meanwhile, Bobby sauntered away from the cop shop and scoped the front of the building from a distance. Through the wide glass doors he had a clear view of the weak- eyed officer at the desk. When Officer Johnson was occupied, dealing with an irate senior, Bobby looked around for a good cover.
A plain clothed cop was walking up the side walk, his attention glued to his cell phone, where he was having an animate conversation. Bobby stepped up behind him, pulled open his cell phone and made as if they were walking together. As they walked through the precinct doors, Bobby nodded at a uniformed officer who was walking out and continued in with his cop. Together they went straight past Officer Johnson's back and into the elevator. The cop got out at level one, Bobby continued to level two; his little brother would get a visit, whether he wanted it or not.
From the elevator he strode purposefully to a vending machine, chose some candy and slowly fed coins into the slot. When the candy failed to drop, a black man walking by noticed. "Ah, that coil never works properly. Here." He thumped the machine hard and the bar dropped into the pick up tray.
"Thanks. And here I thought I had lost my money." Bobby grinned appreciatively. Now that was a good service. He looked a little closer, suit, tie, gun and gold badge; a detective. Bobby wondered briefly if Detective Dunbar worked with this one.
"Glad to help." The black cop gave him an assessing once over. "You looking for someone?"
Bobby gave him a genuine smile. "I've been told to wait, be available for some detective." He opened his arms in the universal gesture of frustration.
"Alright, well, you should sit there." Tom indicated the bench next to the squad gate.
"Thanks." Bobby took the chocolate bar and dropped it into his pocket, it had already done its job, bought him some time while he waited for Jimmy to arrive, and now it had gotten him an invitation to sit on the bench, well done Baby Ruth. He took the seat vacated by a woman in a cleaner's uniform and sat between a nervous wiry man and a slothful junkie. This would do nicely. He could see everyone going in and out of the elevator, the stairs and the squad room. Jimmy wasn't the only one on stakeout today. Bobby looked around, desks, people, it was pretty normal. That dog he had spotted earlier sat beside a desk. Bobby did a double take. Not a police dog after all - a guide dog. He rolled his eyes and sneered. What was the world coming to? Blacks and women were bad enough, now they had bloody cripples in the police force?
Jim entered the interview room behind Karen and pulled out the chair for the maid. "Please take a seat, Miss Hernandez," he asked politely.
She took the seat he offered and sat clutching her purse, opening and closing the metal clasp. The scent of cheap perfume did little to cover the smell of strong cleaning agents.
Jim sat and listened while Karen started the questioning, "We'd like to ask you about how the body could have gotten to those back stairs."
Smiling gently, Jim pulled his glasses from his face and placed them on the table. Juanita Hernandez looked from Jim's face to Karen who stood behind him at the window.
"I already tole the officer everything I know. I never saw Mr. Mondeo's body and I don't know anything." She raised her voice near the end, as she looked back over to Jim.
Jim tilted his head, frowned slightly as if confused, and asked gently, "But Miss Hernandez, how did you know Mr. Mondeo was the dead man?"
"But…but…" Juanita spluttered. Karen watched the maid's face fall, her mouth opened and closed and tears sprung to her eyes. She hung her head and cried.
Karen grinned behind Jim's back. It was a good shot in the dark, and done so gently. Like a shark delicately biting off a hand.
Jim reached out and touched Miss Hernandez's hand gently. "It's okay, Miss Hernandez. Often the upset of seeing a dead body, someone you know, makes your memory do funny things. Did you see Mr. Mondeo on the front steps as soon as you arrived?"
Juanita looked up at Karen in alarm, had no one told him the body was on the back steps? Karen gave her a warm and encouraging smile. The maid turned back to Detective Dunbar and spoke loudly, correcting him. "No, Sir, he was on the back step, not the front."
Karen turned away so the woman would not see her smile. She loved the way her partner could open up a reluctant witness; disarming them with a gentle voice and a slightly confused manner. The women got all soft and helpful.
"Okay, good. And what time was that?"
"About 7am I think." Still the raised voice and no sign from Jim that it annoyed him, although Karen had heard him tell people he wasn't deaf often enough to hear the words in his voice in her head right now. He'd never put up with it from a fellow cop, or anyone he wasn't playing for information.
"And what time did you arrive at the house?"
"At 6am."
"Did you come in the front or the back?"
"From the back. Mrs.Mondeo is very strict about that."
"Did you see the body when you came in?"
"No."
"So it must have been put there after you started?"
Jim waited. The woman fiddled with her purse, clicking the clasp open and closed. Her feet moved under the table and she turned back to Karen, as if trying to avoid Jim. Karen directed her straight back. "Answer the Detective's question please, Miss Hernandez."
Juanita shot a fearful glance at Jim. Then she looked back down at the table. "I guess."
"But you heard nothing?"
Juanita's lip trembled. She kept her gaze on her hands and shook her head.
"Miss Hernandez?" Jim asked in his oh-so-gentle voice with an oh-so-gentle smile and a little confused frown. Karen's lips twitched and she cleared her throat.
"No." The woman whispered, finally looking up into Jim's face with tears in her own eyes.
Karen sat down next to her, "Juanita, we need to find out who killed Mr.Mondeo. Now you didn't do it did you?'
Juanita looked very scared, "Me, no. I didn't do it. I don't know who did it." She looked to Jim as if he would save her from the accusation.
He shook his head sadly; moving smoothly from good-cop to sincere-but-hard-nosed cop. "Juanita, we'd like to believe you, but so far you arrived at the house when there was no dead Mr. Mondeo. And then you were at the house after there was one dead Mr. Mondeo, so you must think very hard about who else was there." Jim gave her a patient and kindly smile.
"What can I tell you?" she pleaded with him. "I didn't see anyone bring him there?"
"What was unusual? Was there anything else different in her yard?" Jim spread his hands on the table as he spoke, "Maybe just describe everything and we'll see what you know."
"It was wet. There was a trail of wet on the path from the side gate."
"Where does the side gate lead?"
"To the alley way."
"And what cars were parked in the alley way?"
"The usual; the neighbors, the gardening van from Jim's Mowing and the pool guy. Just the usual."
"Tell us about the pool guy."
"Well, I've never seen him. His van is always there on a Thursday morning. He does the neighbor's pool I think."
"Can you describe the van please?'
Karen opened her note book and picked up her pen.
"White with a picture of a seal on the side and Bocelli Pool Cleaning in big blue letters."
Jim and Karen persisted for another twenty minutes or so. There wasn't anything else that looked promising. They let Juanita Hernandez leave, in tears and agreeing to remain available if they found more questions. It was amazing how much people knew, they just didn't realize they knew it until you pulled it out of them piece by piece.
TBC