WALKING WITH ACHILLES
Chapter 14
"Mind letting me in on the joke?" Siena asked, her tone more or less equable as she approached the group still gathered around Detective Toler's desk. She'd known this was bound to happen sooner or later. She didn't say anything when Sheila Toler tried to put on an apologetic expression as she said, "Sorry 'bout that, Siena. They swore me to secrecy," merely arching one eyebrow in reply. Siena dismissed that, opting instead to turn to the joke's instigator. Bobby Packard's expression was entirely gleeful and not even in the remotest realm of repentance as she crossed her arms loosely across her chest.
For Bobby Packard the initiation joke that had been served up just for the taking and using when he responded to the receptionist as he'd come in to start his shift was damn near too good to be true. Hearing the name mentioned and glancing through the window into the waiting area and seeing the woman for himself, he couldn't believe his luck. At the doorway of the squad room, before he entered, he'd caught the eye of Sheila Toler and Jim Granville, signaling to them to get Sal and Eric's attention. It took only a few seconds and as soon as everyone put on a straight expression, he had entered and walked over to Siena's desk to set the 'gift' initiation joke into motion. Now, he was enjoying the expression on Siena Jackson's face, though deep down inside it still seriously rankled that he had been passed over to partner with Boo Lanson.
"Can I ask you a question, Detective Jackson?" Bobby asked, thoroughly enjoying the moment.
"And what would that be, Bobby?" Siena asked, wearing a pasted-on smile of endurance.
Bobby's grin increased as he asked, his tone cheeky, clearly reveling in the moment, "Was anybody home?"
Siena's brow furrowed lightly as her gaze narrowed at him. "What?"
Bobby tried –but not too hard– to swallow the chuckle when Eric Perkins and Jim broke into guffaws when he clarified his question. "Mrs. Emerson," he said lightly, his eyes dancing with 'gotcha' glee, "was the porch light on?" Sheila and Sal's intentions broke down upon hearing the familiar phrase spoken as the squad room filled with laughter.
It all added up in the space of a few seconds and Siena's gaze swept over her more experienced and ranking colleagues, coming to rest on Bobby's face at the last. She saw in his eyes he was waiting for her to ask but denied him the satisfaction.
"Considering how badly her husband beat her, I think she represented herself pretty darned well," she responded, allowing a vague coolness to temper it.
Quirking an eyebrow at him when she saw the satisfaction lessen in his hopeful expression, Siena walked back to her desk and sat down. As she began reviewing the few notes she'd made during the now seemingly 'wild goose chase' interview with Thomasina Emerson, the squad room door opened again. Looking up when she heard her partner's name called, she ignored the flash of irritation that tried to start as she watched Bobby follow Boo Lanson as he went to the coffeemaker set up on one side of the room and poured himself a cup of coffee. She watched a moment longer, unable to ignore Bobby's description of the initiation joke that had just taken place. Shaking her head, Siena returned her attention to her notes. She was still pondering them when she heard footsteps and looked up to see Boo coming toward her, his eyes twinkling.
Pausing in front of his partner's desk and taking a sip from his cup of coffee, Boo Lanson sized up the moment. "Look at it this way," he said with a slow grin. "Next time you'll be in on it and watching from the other side."
Siena cocked her head a bit to one side and slid a look up at him, glanced past him to where Bobby and Sheila were still talking and laughing then back to her partner. "Would you mind explaining the joke to me?"
Stepping around the desk, Boo sat down in the chair formerly occupied by Sam. Fixing Siena with a knowing grin he told her, "Mrs. Emerson is something of a regular."
"A regular?" Siena asked, her thoughts on her notes forgotten for the moment. "You mean she comes in here on a regular basis and does this sort of thing?"
Boo chuckled and shook his head. "No, but in the last four or five years, there have been a few responses to her home address."
Siena rolled her eyes and started to shake her head, but then Boo Lanson said something that really clinched it for her.
"Two or three of those times ended up with the responding officers hauling her off to Charity," he said then took another swallow of his chicory-based coffee, so popular in New Orleans, generously laced with cream.
"So she's a nut job?" Siena came back. Boo was a little more charitable.
"Not so much a nut job, as she had forgotten to take her medication." He studied his partner's face a moment then glanced at the notes on the desk in front of the younger detective. Nodding slightly at the notes he asked, "Why was she in here this time?" He listened without comment as Siena gave him a quick summary of the interview with the person that, to her, looked like Thomasina Emerson. When she finished he made the comment, "Vista-Views is the most exclusive country club in the city."
"How exclusive?"
Boo shrugged. "Exclusive to the point that if you have to wonder if you can afford to belong to it, the bottom line is that you can't."
When Siena looked up at him, asking, "You think maybe Sharon Kramer belonged to Vista-Views?" he paused, his coffee cup almost at his lips.
"Why don't we take a ride out there and find out?" As he took the swallow of his coffee, he saw her expression alter subtly. "What?"
Siena's gaze moved up the list of notes she'd made to one in particular, studied it a moment longer before looking at Boo again. "Maybe there's something to what Mrs. Emerson was saying." She tapped one specific notation with the end of her pen. "She said that her husband works at a country club."
Boo's interest was evident now. "Vista-Views?"
"She wasn't sure," Siena admitted. "She'd been beaten pretty badly…"
"Her husband? Did she press charges?"
"Yes and no," Siena responded. "She admitted that he beat her yesterday morning when he got home, but she didn't press charges."
"So why was she here?"
Siena met and held her partner's gaze. "She said that she thinks her husband might have something to do with a murder." She paused then added, "All she could remember about the country club that her husband works at – he's a golf pro – was that the name of it started with a 'v'."
"She say anything else of interest?" Boo Lanson asked as he and Siena rose simultaneously to their feet and headed toward the squad room door.
Having regaled Boo Lanson with the details of the initiation joke that had been pulled on Siena, Bobby Packard could only watch as the detective he'd have given his eye teeth to be partnered with went over and sat down with Siena Jackson and begun talking shop. As well as the joke had come off, it continued to steadily inflame his resentment toward Boo's new partner…The captain should have put me with Boo! At the moment however, all he could do was to go to his own desk and get started on some paperwork that had to be finished sooner rather than later regarding his and Jim Granville's last successful collar.
His desk was located within six or so feet of Siena Jackson's desk, and Bobby Packard had not the smallest qualm about listening to the conversation going on at that desk. As he listened, he also paused in his legitimate paperwork just long enough to scribble down the name of the business he'd heard Thomasina Emerson give as her place of employment to the woman he envied for her partnering of the parish's best detective. Keeping an eye on the twosome, Bobby found a phone book, quickly looking up the address for Sparkle & Shine, the cleaning service and jotting it on the piece of paper with that business name already on it.
Just then, from the corner of his eye, Bobby caught sight of movement and looked over to see Boo and Siena get up and head for the door. Grabbing the slip of paper and shoving it into his pocket, Bobby got up, forcing himself not to run after the pair. It wasn't acceptable to his male pride to possibly be likened to a left behind puppy chasing after a bigger dog, hoping to be allowed to go along; but that didn't mean he couldn't leave the building at the same time. Boo had reached and opened the door by the waiting area for Siena when Bobby caught up to them.
"Thanks, Boo," he said with a grin when the other man indicated that he should go ahead of him. "I didn't know you cared."
Boo Lanson's own grin broadened as he followed the two detectives a bit younger than himself through the door and then outside. "Don't flatter yourself," he said as he joined his partner as she headed for their assigned unmarked car. "You're not my type."
Detective Bobby Packard just chuckled at the lighthearted reply as he moved casually closer to the driver's side as Boo Lanson got inside and started the engine. Putting a hand on the top of the car, he leaned down slightly then grinned when Boo glanced up at him. "You never know, Boo," he said lightly.
Boo just grinned as he put the car into gear and prepared to back out of the parking space. "You don't mind if I don't put that in my diary, do you?" Not waiting or taking much note of the other man's reaction or expression, he said, "Later," and backed the car out and headed out of the parking area located along side the building.
In the parking area, Bobby Packard glowered after the dark blue Ford sedan as it drove away, his anger bubbling up in the form of coarse swearing under his breath, adding another layer of blame on Siena Jackson for usurping the position that he felt should have come to him. As he stood there a light breeze touched his face but the refreshing soft spring air went unnoticed as his mind sorted and resorted all he'd learned in the past half hour or so. Reaching into his breast pocket to retrieve the haphazardly folded piece of paper, Bobby read the address scribbled on it as he went to get into his own car and take off.
---------
In spite of having left the building that housed the parish detective unit close to fifteen minutes after Thomasina Emerson, as well as having to detour around some road repair work halfway to his destination, time and luck seemed to be on Bobby Packard's side. Spotting a yellow cab with black lettering about a half a block ahead, he pulled in behind it, staying some two-car lengths between the two vehicles. From his vantage point, he watched as Thomasina Emerson emerged from the cab then waited until the vehicle pulled out into the flow of traffic again. Bobby watched the abused woman turn to look at the building. She appeared to hesitate as she read the large sign above the entrance that proclaimed "There's no house or job too big or too small for us to make it Sparkle & Shine". Thomasina had just started toward the front door when Bobby got out of the car, slammed the door lightly, calling out, "Mrs. Emerson?" He noted but dismissed the way the woman appeared startled by the sound of his voice, and strode quickly toward her.
"Mrs. Emerson?" the determined detective queried again, barely keeping a sharp edge out of his voice as he drew even with the watchful abused woman.
If Sam's heart had been a racecar it might have easily been clocked going from zero to ninety in the two seconds between hearing an authoritative male voice call out to him as Thomasina Emerson and his reacting to it. Freezing in his steps, he forced himself to take a quick breath before turning around to see who had called him. He relaxed only minutely when the young man with crew cut good looks and wearing a dark gray suit with a pale yellow button down shirt, hurried up to him. "Yes," he began carefully. "Who are you?"
"I'm sorry if I startled you, Mrs. Emerson," Bobby began smoothly and put on a professional polite expression. "My name is Detective Packard. I work with Detective Siena Jackson…you came to see her a little while ago."
Sam looked the younger man over quickly but didn't see any sign that he was lying. In fact, he remembered this one, remembered having seen him briefly talking to the receptionist before Detective Jackson had come out and took him back to her desk to talk. "What do you want?" He glanced at the slim watch on his left wrist and began, "I'm already five minutes late…"
Bobby kept his cool. "This will only take a moment," he said, pulling his ever-present notepad and pen from his inside jacket pocket. He made a point of looking closely at the woman's battered face, the shadow of bruising not completely hidden by the slightly open collar of her blue pullover shirt before he continued, repeating just enough of what he'd overheard during the interview to make his reason for being there plausible. "Detective Jackson had to go out on another call. As she was leaving, she told me she was concerned for your safety." Bobby paused again then said, "She gave me this address and asked me to come and talk to you." He paused, staring at the ugly bruises a moment before adding, his tone even, "She wanted me to confirm whether or not you intend on pressing abuse charges against your husband."
Sam all but recoiled from the comment, shivering involuntarily and feeling like someone had run a cold finger down his back at just hearing the words. "N..no," he said more forcefully than he'd intended. "No. I'll be fine." He glanced at his watch again and walked quickly toward Sparkle & Shine's front door, freezing in his steps when the detective put a hand on his arm then moved around to face him again.
"Are you sure, Mrs. Emerson?" Bobby asked, his tone a shade firmer. "All you have to do is come down to the station and file a complaint and we'll take it from there." Flipping the notebook open, he took the pen from his pocket and poised it over the paper as he looked into Sam's eyes. "Now, where does your husband work?"
Knowing that with just one word he could ensure that he could return to the Emerson house and have a peaceful…unafraid night's sleep was very tempting for the hurting leaper. But even as he was entertaining that idea, the other side of the argument – that Derek would be released on bail and would, more than likely, come looking for him…Tommie – vanquished the temptation.
"No, detective," he said again, his tone firmer as he moved away from the man, going to open the front door of the Sparkle & Shine business. "I'll be fine…"
"Mrs. Emerson," Bobby tried again, following her a couple of steps. "Thomasina…"
Sam took a deep breath and turned to look at the determined man. "I said no, Detective Packard," he said bluntly. "Please thank Detective Jackson for her concern. Now please excuse me. I've got to get inside and get to work," and saying that, went inside the building. Once inside, Sam had to field the concern of several of Tommie's co-workers and then convince her employer that he was quite capable of working the shift in spite of his appearance. Involved with memorizing the names of the women and learning where the group Tommie was assigned to work with was heading for, he forgot about the young police detective who had followed him to work.
Derek Emerson, however, had not forgotten about Detective Bobby Packard. In fact, upon arriving at the block where Sparkle & Shine was located, he drove closer, feeling his simmering fury heat up more and more as he witnessed the one he perceived as his wife talking to and, it appeared, listening to another man. Pulling up behind a delivery truck down and across the street, Derek seethed, as he watched the couple. It didn't matter to him that Tommie went inside her place of employment, leaving the man standing on the sidewalk and staring at the door. It didn't matter. He'd warned her only yesterday what would happen if he ever caught her cheating on him. Then his gaze fixed on the man now returning to and getting into his car and exiting the area. Putting the Caprice into gear, Derek Emerson pulled out and fell in behind the dark blue sedan.
----------
Frustrated that he hadn't been able to sweet talk or finagle even a tiny scrap of information out of Thomasina Emerson, Bobby Packard drove around for a half hour in the mid-morning traffic. A couple of times he doubled back to drive past Sparkle & Shine, hoping to catch sight of Thomasina Emerson but by the second pass the four company vans with the perky logo on the sides were gone.
"Dammit!" Bobby swore under his breath, smacking the steering wheel with a fist as he reached the end of Meline Street. Coming to a stop at the Stop sign at the corner, he glanced both ways then started to ease forward. "Might as well get back to the office and finish that report," he muttered, but at the last second, he got an idea. Glancing at his watch he saw that it was close to 10:00 o'clock.
"The report can wait thirty more minutes," he justified as flipped the turn signal for a right turn and headed for The Lunch Box. Less than ten minutes later, he turned his car into the narrow, graveled-parking area in front of The Lunch Box. Getting out, as a matter of habit, he glanced toward the road, noting a couple of trucks and a red car passing on by. Idly he noticed the red car turn into one of the trucking business, then turned and walked across the parking area to the take out window at one end of the small building. He grinned when Ted Deedim looked out the window and hollered jovially, "Sorry, man. Lunch won't be ready for another hour."
The Lunch Box was a little "hole in the wall" diner near a scrap metal yard and a couple of other businesses dealing in construction and freight handling, big trucks constantly rumbling in and out of one or another of the yards. It was flanked on the left by Cool & Sweet, a snowball stand and on the right by another small business that sold ready-made sandwiches and soft drinks. While the simple, day to day food served at The Lunch Box wasn't in danger of winning any prizes for haute cuisine, it was consistently hot, tasty and filling, and the Luzianne iced tea was always icy cold in the summer. It was a tribute to the consistently good food that many of the employees of the nearby businesses, and not a few of the men who drove the big trucks endlessly coming and going out of the yards, kept The Lunch Box busy year round. However, there were two other things that brought Detective Bobby Packard back to The Lunch Box on a fairly regular basis.
One of those things was that it was where one of his most reliable snitches liked to grab a bite to eat, and secondly, it was the coffee. He wasn't sure what brand of coffee Ted Deedim used, but from the time Bobby had downed a cup on his first day of patrolling with his partner after graduating from the New Orleans Police Academy seven years ago, he wouldn't stop anywhere else for coffee.
"In that case, give me a large coffee and I'll come back later," Bobby quipped. By the time he reached the small window, a large coffee with two creams already swirled into the fragrant dark brew was sitting, waiting for him. Pulling a dollar bill and a couple of quarters from his pocket, Bobby put it beside the cup then picked it up and enjoyed a sip of the coffee. "What's the special today?"
"Smothered pork chops, macaroni and cheese, green beans and corn bread," Ted Deedim answered as he rang up the sale of the coffee. Glancing at the detective who had been a familiar, friendly regular for the last seven years, he offered, "Want me to have Rosie save you a plate?"
"Nah, that's okay," Bobby politely declined the offer. Forgetting momentarily about things he had to do as well as those certain things aggravating him, for a few minutes he lingered, chatting idly with Ted at the window where, in a little over an hour, hardworking, hungry men would line up to order and pick up their lunches. But a cup of coffee takes only so long to drink and soon Bobby drained the last drops from his cup. Walking over to toss the empty cup into the trash barrel placed at the corner of the small building he heard a phone ring and glanced back toward the window when he heard Ted answer it, then turned to go to his car. He only gone a few steps when he heard a rattling and swiveled around in time to see Ted slamming the service window shut and the "Closed" sign slapped down in front of it. Frowning, he stood there, listening to the other man moving around inside. He didn't move when the side door that opened into the space between The Lunch Box and the sandwich place slammed open and Ted Deedim rushed out, pausing only long enough to lock the door before hurrying past Bobby, heading for the dusty green Dodge truck parked at the end of the strip of the three small buildings.
"Ted, what's matter?" Bobby called, reaching the truck as the other man jumped in and started the engine and put it gear. Only the detective putting his hands on the frame of the open window prevented the diner's owner from roaring off. "What's wrong?"
Ted Deedim's face was clearly anxious and concerned as he said tersely, "My mama's had a heart attack. She's at West Jeff. I gotta go, man."
Bobby immediately stepped back from the truck, nodding his understanding. "Go!" he called to the other man, but by the time the word was said the tires on Ted's truck were spitting back spurts of the loose gravel as he peeled out and sped off down the street.
For a minute the detective just stood in the soft April morning sunshine and looked around, listening to the noises indigenous to the businesses all around him. Then, checking his watch and noting the time, Bobby sighed, turning toward his car yet again. It was at that moment that he heard what sounded like trashcans being knocked over. Turning around, he moved over to peer down the alleyway between the two buildings, scanning the area with a keen eye. There was silence for a moment and then the sound came again.
"Who's back there?" he called out, his voice and tone strong and authoritative. Remaining alert, Bobby strode down the alleyway, noting that by the renewed sound of a trash can lid rattling that it was likely a stray cat looking for something to eat. Reaching the end, he glanced to one side then grinned, relaxing when he did indeed see a skinny, orange-striped tabby cat poised atop a large metal trash can placed near a dark blue dumpster.
"Go on," he called loudly, clapping his hands a couple of times as he went. "Scat!" Seeing the way the cat paused to turn and stare, wide-eyed at him, Bobby continued toward the animal. "Go on…scat!" He laughed when the cat suddenly leapt from the trashcan and disappeared around the dumpster, but because he was focused on the cat, Bobby didn't hear the light step behind him. The only thing he had time to realize or recognize was the sudden and unexpected feel of a gun muzzle pressed against the back of his head. Then the gun 'coughed' softly and Detective Bobby Packard dropped to the ground.
Derek Emerson stood over the dead body on the ground and glared at it, feeling his rage lessen a bit. "That's one of you," he spat the words coldly as he shoved the pistol into the back of his jeans. He wasted no time in searching Bobby Packard's pockets and getting his keys. Then Derek made short work of opening the dumpster and then hefting the body into it and carefully raking some of the bags of stinking garbage over it. Closing the dumpster lid again, he scuffed the area where the body had been, even grabbing some handfuls of nearby gravel and putting it over the bloodstained spot where the detective had fallen face down.
When he was satisfied that the area would pass glancing muster, Derek walked out of the alleyway and casually went to the dark blue unmarked police car, got in and drove away. A mile up the road near a bend near the levee, he parked it alongside the road then used his knife to put a hole between the treads on one of the tires. Moving casually, he climbed the levee and walked carefully down to the water's edge. Looking around and not seeing anybody, Derek pulled the pistol out and pitched it as hard as he could out into the fast moving water then disappeared back over the levee and headed back to the business a few hundred yards from The Lunch Box to get his car.