Day Shift
Page 71
The law enforcement agencies in the town had recently consolidated into one building, a renovated school. The sheriff’s department, the jail, and two courtrooms were in the same building, and the ambulance service was one block away, the fire department a block after that. Manfred had expected a little district that ran on emergencies and crime to be bustling, but not in Davy. There were no fires, nor anyone in need of rescue at the moment. The sheriff’s department seemed just as quiet. The jail had a separate entrance at the other side of the building, so Manfred didn’t even have to share parking space with visitors. He was not at all tempted to find out if there was more bustle over on the jail side. He was nearly phobic about cages; he had not gone to a zoo since his first visit to the Memphis zoo with his school class.
The lobby of the sheriff’s department was spick-and-span, thanks to an inmate who was mopping it with great vigor. Another inmate was dusting the leaves of the large potted plant by the door. They were both wearing traditional orange jumpsuits.
A female officer in uniform was behind the desk. Manfred’s heart sank when he recognized Officer Gomez, who’d been to Midnight before and shown herself unsympathetic in the extreme. She glared at Manfred, her round face hardening with disapproval. They’d never talked, but apparently she recognized him. Or maybe she just hated small men with facial piercings.
“Officer Gomez, what a pleasure to see you. I hope you’re doing well.” Manfred didn’t even try to summon up a smile, but he did manage to sound civil.
Arthur Smith came through an open doorway behind Gomez, just in time to hear her say, “Yeah, asshole, what do you want?”
There was a moment of silence that could only be described as pregnant. Manfred was fighting the sudden temptation to grin, Gomez was sharply aware that someone was behind her, and Arthur was furious. The mopping prisoner sniggered, and the dusting prisoner stifled a smile.
“Officer Gomez,” said Arthur, the care he was taking to make his voice calm and smooth apparent in every syllable.
“Sir,” she said. She didn’t dare to turn around. She kept her eyes fixed down on the telephone at the desk.
“After I talk to Mr. Bernardo—a taxpayer and a citizen of this county who has never been charged with, much less convicted of, any crime—you and I are going to have a conversation. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Manfred could read Gomez’s posture. She did not lift her eyes because she didn’t want to meet Manfred’s. She was afraid he would be triumphant or gleeful.
Not much, he thought. Hardly at all.
“Please come back to my office, Manfred,” Arthur said, sounding close to normal.
“Thanks, good to see you.” Manfred worked to make his own greeting nonchalant.
When they were in Arthur’s very modest office with the door shut, Arthur said, “What was that about? Has she behaved this way before?”
“Short answer is yes. She’s not a fan of Midnight. She answered a call out there when we were worried about motorcycles buzzing the streets, basically told us to go to hell.”
“You didn’t tell me about this.”
“The motorcycles left when they saw the patrol car, so just the fact that she showed up worked. Telling you about her attitude seemed a little like tattling to Daddy, I guess. Besides, Fiji threatened Gomez with her cat.”
Arthur smiled. “I would have liked to see that.”
“We also figured, maybe the next time we called it might be Gomez who responded again. We wanted to stay on her good side, just in case.”
“I apologize. I try to run a good department.”
“I’m sure you do.” Manfred shrugged. “Cops are just people. They have their likes and dislikes. It would be nice if she could be pleasant and respectful. But as long as she does her job, that’s what we need.” Manfred felt noble and surprisingly adult after his little speech.
“It doesn’t sound like she did her job that day.”
“You’ll have to ask her about that.”
“I intend to.” Arthur nodded sharply, as though that topic was closed and they should move on to other things.
“Putting that aside,” Manfred said agreeably, “you were telling me about what killed Rachel. And I have a question.”
“What’s that? I may or may not know the answer.”
“Would it have been fatal even if she hadn’t been sick?”
“Yes, probably. Of course, I haven’t read the autopsy report or talked to the medical examiner. Not my place, not my case. But that’s what the Bonnet Park cops say.”
“So her blood pressure just dropped? Until she couldn’t live anymore?”
“Essentially, yes.” Arthur lifted some papers on the desk in front of him, then dropped them. “The important point as far as you’re concerned is that unless something was radically different about Rachel Goldthorpe’s metabolism, she ingested that medicine before she got to your room. Probably forty-five minutes to an hour before, but it could have been a little later.”
Manfred felt overwhelmingly relieved. “How do you know?” he said.
“She died less than fifteen minutes after she’d entered your room. The toxicologist says that makes it almost a hundred percent certain that she ingested it earlier than that.”
“So I’m off the hook for putting pills in her water bottle and causing her death. But I’m still on the hook for the theft of her jewelry.”
The lobby of the sheriff’s department was spick-and-span, thanks to an inmate who was mopping it with great vigor. Another inmate was dusting the leaves of the large potted plant by the door. They were both wearing traditional orange jumpsuits.
A female officer in uniform was behind the desk. Manfred’s heart sank when he recognized Officer Gomez, who’d been to Midnight before and shown herself unsympathetic in the extreme. She glared at Manfred, her round face hardening with disapproval. They’d never talked, but apparently she recognized him. Or maybe she just hated small men with facial piercings.
“Officer Gomez, what a pleasure to see you. I hope you’re doing well.” Manfred didn’t even try to summon up a smile, but he did manage to sound civil.
Arthur Smith came through an open doorway behind Gomez, just in time to hear her say, “Yeah, asshole, what do you want?”
There was a moment of silence that could only be described as pregnant. Manfred was fighting the sudden temptation to grin, Gomez was sharply aware that someone was behind her, and Arthur was furious. The mopping prisoner sniggered, and the dusting prisoner stifled a smile.
“Officer Gomez,” said Arthur, the care he was taking to make his voice calm and smooth apparent in every syllable.
“Sir,” she said. She didn’t dare to turn around. She kept her eyes fixed down on the telephone at the desk.
“After I talk to Mr. Bernardo—a taxpayer and a citizen of this county who has never been charged with, much less convicted of, any crime—you and I are going to have a conversation. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Manfred could read Gomez’s posture. She did not lift her eyes because she didn’t want to meet Manfred’s. She was afraid he would be triumphant or gleeful.
Not much, he thought. Hardly at all.
“Please come back to my office, Manfred,” Arthur said, sounding close to normal.
“Thanks, good to see you.” Manfred worked to make his own greeting nonchalant.
When they were in Arthur’s very modest office with the door shut, Arthur said, “What was that about? Has she behaved this way before?”
“Short answer is yes. She’s not a fan of Midnight. She answered a call out there when we were worried about motorcycles buzzing the streets, basically told us to go to hell.”
“You didn’t tell me about this.”
“The motorcycles left when they saw the patrol car, so just the fact that she showed up worked. Telling you about her attitude seemed a little like tattling to Daddy, I guess. Besides, Fiji threatened Gomez with her cat.”
Arthur smiled. “I would have liked to see that.”
“We also figured, maybe the next time we called it might be Gomez who responded again. We wanted to stay on her good side, just in case.”
“I apologize. I try to run a good department.”
“I’m sure you do.” Manfred shrugged. “Cops are just people. They have their likes and dislikes. It would be nice if she could be pleasant and respectful. But as long as she does her job, that’s what we need.” Manfred felt noble and surprisingly adult after his little speech.
“It doesn’t sound like she did her job that day.”
“You’ll have to ask her about that.”
“I intend to.” Arthur nodded sharply, as though that topic was closed and they should move on to other things.
“Putting that aside,” Manfred said agreeably, “you were telling me about what killed Rachel. And I have a question.”
“What’s that? I may or may not know the answer.”
“Would it have been fatal even if she hadn’t been sick?”
“Yes, probably. Of course, I haven’t read the autopsy report or talked to the medical examiner. Not my place, not my case. But that’s what the Bonnet Park cops say.”
“So her blood pressure just dropped? Until she couldn’t live anymore?”
“Essentially, yes.” Arthur lifted some papers on the desk in front of him, then dropped them. “The important point as far as you’re concerned is that unless something was radically different about Rachel Goldthorpe’s metabolism, she ingested that medicine before she got to your room. Probably forty-five minutes to an hour before, but it could have been a little later.”
Manfred felt overwhelmingly relieved. “How do you know?” he said.
“She died less than fifteen minutes after she’d entered your room. The toxicologist says that makes it almost a hundred percent certain that she ingested it earlier than that.”
“So I’m off the hook for putting pills in her water bottle and causing her death. But I’m still on the hook for the theft of her jewelry.”
