Chapter 7
Nate Campbell had just arrived at his desk at the beginning of the work day when the phone rang. He answered it. "Eighth squad, Detective Campbell . . . uh, sorry, he doesn't work here anymore . . . this is Detective Campbell, can I help? . . uh, OK."He hung up the phone and went back to work on his report.
"What was that about?" Karen asked him.
"Some guy asking for Dunbar, said his name was Sonny," Campbell replied.
"What?" Karen exclaimed, giving him a disgusted look. "You idiot!"
"Wha – ?" Campbell began.
Marty interrupted him. "Sonny is Dunbar's informant."
"Oh," Campbell said dejectedly. He thought for a minute, then added, "Let's get back in touch with him, then."
"Can't," Tom explained, as kindly as possible. "He's Jim's snitch, only works with him."
"But, but – " Campbell stammered.
"I'll call Jim, see if he can contact Sonny for us," Karen told him. She reached for her phone, muttering "idiot" under her breath.
Jim answered his cell phone. "Dunbar."
"Hey, Jim, it's Karen."
"Hey," he answered, smiling. It was a relief to hear a friendly voice.
"Listen, I know you probably can't talk," Karen began.
"Right."
"So just answer yes or no."
"OK," Jim agreed.
"Sonny called," she explained, "but we got a new guy, and he answered the phone. Sonny wouldn't talk to him, of course. Can you give Sonny a call, find out what he was calling you about?"
"Yeah, sure."
"OK. Call me back when you can. Everything OK there?"
Jim didn't answer her. "I'll call you later, OK?"
"Sure."
Jim ended the call and closed his phone. Adopting a sheepish expression, he shrugged and said, to no one in particular, "My wife."
A half hour later, Jim stood and slapped his thigh to signal Hank. "Taking the dog out," he said unnecessarily. No one answered him.
As soon as he was a block from the station, he pulled out his cell phone to call Sonny. "It's Dunbar," he said when Sonny answered. "You called?"
"Yeah, yeah, I called you at the station, but some guy said you weren't there – "
"I got transferred," Jim said curtly. "You got something for me?"
"Wha – ? Oh, yeah. You know the lady that was found in the dumpster, a few days ago?"
"Yeah. What about her?" Jim asked impatiently.
"A guy I know knew her – you know, really knew her. She used to be a hooker, but she – retired, I guess you'd say – a while back. My buddy said she had a sugar daddy now – some rich white guy who was keeping her."
"You got a name for me?"
"Sorry, no. But my guy said he was an old guy, over 50, gray hair, sharp dresser."
"OK." Jim paused, then added, "You get anything else on this, you call Karen – you know, my partner, you know her, she's cool."
"But, Dunbar – " Sonny protested.
"Call Karen," Jim repeated firmly. "It's not my case anymore." He ended the call, then called Karen and relayed the information he'd gotten from Sonny.
After Jim gave her the description of the DOA's "sugar daddy," Karen fell silent for a moment, then said, "Give that to me again – the description."
Jim repeated the description, then asked, "You looking at someone for the murder?"
"No, not yet," Karen said. After a moment, she asked tentatively, "Listen, Jim, how are things going there – really?"
"Oh, you know," Jim evaded.
"No, I don't," Karen told him firmly.
Jim sighed. "It's about what I expected," he finally said.
"That bad?"
"Yeah."
"Why don't you meet Tom and Marty and me for a drink after work at Hennigan's?" she suggested, naming a bar near the 8th Precinct.
"OK," Jim agreed, "but I don't think we should meet there. How about Caruso's, down the street from my place – say, 6:30?"
"Good idea," Karen said.
"I gotta get back. See you later."
"Yeah. See you later."
Jim closed his phone and reluctantly headed back to the station.
Karen, Marty, and Tom walked into the dimly-lit bar. Karen spotted Jim sitting at a table in the far corner, with Hank at his feet and an empty beer bottle on the table in front of him. "There he is," she said, heading in his direction.
After their drinks arrived, Karen brought Jim up to date on the Matthews investigation, then asked, "So, what's happening at the 4-0?"
Jim shrugged. "Nothing much. Krause has me reviewing cold cases most of the time, he claims it isn't safe for me to go out in the field. And one of the other Ds, Dave Bartkowski, warned me that someone wants me gone – but he doesn't know who."
"Can't he help?"
"No. Krause has a snitch in the squad. Dave was taking a big risk just talking to me. Most of the time, he and the other Ds are too busy watching their own backs to think about watching mine. Hell, for all I know, Dave is the snitch and he was trying to set me up." Jim found his beer and drank, then added, "Honestly, I don't think I can trust anyone there."
"That is fucked up, man," Marty declared. He set his beer bottle down and scooped a handful of peanuts out of the bowl at the center of the table.
"Yeah, tell me about it."
Karen gave Jim a worried look, then asked him, "So what d'you think the plan is?"
Jim frowned. "I'm not sure. Could be they'll just try to wear me down until I quit – "
"Yeah, good luck with that," Marty quipped.
" – or they could be setting me up so they can claim I can't pull my weight, because I'm not clearing cases."
"Kinda hard to clear cases when they're not letting you work any," Karen pointed out.
"I'm telling you, Jim, the whole thing smells," Marty asserted.
Jim nodded wearily. "Yeah, I know." He finished his beer and set the bottle down. Distractedly, he ran his hand across the table top until he found the paper coaster the bottle had been sitting on. He fiddled with the coaster, folding and unfolding it until it split into two pieces.
"Who d'you think's behind it?" Tom asked. "The Chief?"
Jim shook his head. "I don't think so. If he wanted me gone, he wouldn't have waited this long to do it. Besides, the boss told me he backed off after I stopped carrying a gun."
Karen emptied her wineglass, then asked, "What about this Captain Greene?"
"I dunno – I never met the guy before. Why would he have it in for me?"
"That's what we need to find out," Marty declared. He signaled the cocktail waitress to bring them another round.
"You sure it's not Krause?" Karen asked. "You said you have a bad history with him, so . . . ."
"That's true," Jim agreed, "but I don't think he has the clout to engineer something like this. Someone higher up has to be behind it."
"We've been looking into Greene and Krause a little," Marty began.
Jim turned toward him, surprised. "Oh, yeah?"
Marty ignored him. "The word is Greene's the chief's 'enforcer' – you know, the guy who does the stuff the chief can't touch, he gives the chief deniability. And Krause – well, you already know about him. But we haven't found any connection between them, so far."
Karen spoke up. "But we're gonna keep digging. There's no way you ended up in Krause's squad just by chance."
"You sure this doesn't go back to something that happened when you worked with Krause at the 3-2?" Tom asked.
"I don't know," Jim said, "that's a long time to wait for payback. But with Krause – " He paused, thinking. "Yeah, it's possible, I guess." He shrugged, then added, "Listen, guys, I appreciate you looking into this, but you need to be careful. You don't want to get on the wrong side of these guys." He broke off when he heard the waitress arrive with their next round of drinks.
"You know, Jim," Tom suggested after the waitress left, "you should go to the union about this, file a grievance."
Jim shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Why not?"
"The union didn't back me when I was trying to get reinstated. You didn't know that?"
Tom gave Jim a surprised look, then said, "No, I wasn't the delegate back then."
"The leadership did a deal with the brass, got some kind of concession – I don't remember what – in exchange for them not supporting me. The department even got them to try and pressure me to give up the idea of going back on the job."
"Damn," Tom said, shaking his head, "I never knew that. What'd they do?"
"They told me if I went back on the job and couldn't cut it, they'd make sure I wouldn't be able to get disability. I'd have to wait until retirement age to get anything."
"Oh, man," Tom said, "that sucks. They not only want you out, they want to cut you off."
"Looks like it," Jim agreed. He checked his watch, then drained his bottle of beer. "I gotta go."
"OK," Marty said, "we'll keep digging."
"Thanks," Jim told him. He stood up, then grinned suddenly. "You know, I should be thanking you for something else, Marty."
"Oh, yeah? What's that?"
"Who d'you think taught me how to deal with an asshole like Krause?"
"You're welcome," Marty replied. "My mom told me to always help the handicapped."
Karen rolled her eyes and groaned.
"Just keep your head down and watch your back, OK?" Marty cautioned.
"You got it," Jim replied, slapping his thigh to signal Hank. The three other detectives watched in silence as he made his way out of the bar.