They met the owner of the Raving Dragon at the bar. Wilson and Roosevelt were already there. A floor fan sat in the open door blasting air from inside out. Upon entering, they saw a back door wide open. Rotating at full speed was another fan two feet from this far opening. The crosswind they created seemed to annoy the air rather than dispel the humidity. All the lights inside were on, but it was the outdoor light that made the difference and allowed the greatest clarity.
Lester Ballard was the thin and gangly bartender from the night before. He wore cut-off jeans and a white muscle T-shirt. In this light Turner could make out many of Ballard’s tattoos. A lot of them seemed to be complex figures of medieval European and ancient Chinese dragons.
Wilson and Roosevelt greeted them. The five of them squeezed into the same booth Turner and Fenwick had been in the night before.
Ballard said, “I didn’t know you guys knew Judy. I’m sorry. I might have been more helpful last night. I didn’t know you were good guys.”
“When did Callaghan get here this morning?”
Ballard turned to Wilson. “You’re sure it’s okay to tell them all this?”
“Absolutely,” Wilson said. “I’d recommend it.”
“He showed up a few minutes before you did.”
Fenwick said, “He lied to us.”
Turner asked, “Did he tell you where he’d been?”
“No. He came in with two other guys. One was the one who came up to the table, Claude Vereski. The other was the one who caused the problem in the washroom, Bert Lensky. They were drunk when they came in, laughing and carrying on. Like they were happy and partying. Of course, they were like that half the time.”
Ballard didn’t know the name of the cop who’d been in the washroom when the fight started nor did he know the one who had tried to give Turner friendly information.
“What happened the night of the original fight?”
“I wasn’t here so I’m not sure. I live above the bar. First I knew about it was when cop cars started showing up.”
“How did that video surface?”
“When the beat-down happened, nobody said anything about any video. The few not-cop patrons cleared out when the rest of the police started showing up. The cops didn’t want any witnesses. They wanted it covered up. I saw the guy who made the video on television. I don’t remember seeing him in here before.”
“Did Boyle show up that night?”
“Sure. Half the damn department did. It was a mess. They were desperate to find out who called the paramedics. They figured it was one of the patrons, but it was way too late by then.”
“Do you know the reporter who broke the story?”
“I saw him on the news. I never saw him in here.”
“Had Belger and Callaghan fought before?”
“Jesus, they were always at each other. Mostly verbally.”
“About what?” Fenwick asked.
“Stupid, stupid stuff. They’d agree that bosses were assholes and then they go off on some weird tangent, and they’d argue and get into it.”
“Nobody caught those on video?”
“It wasn’t the first time they got into it. The night my bartender got hurt was the first time somebody got knocked unconscious. I saw that video on the news. Callaghan really went after her. It was sick. The big difference was this time some idiot called it in. That was against one of the rules. Whatever happened here, stayed here. We had our own rules.”
“You ever hear about them abusing suspects, other cops, their wives?”
“Hell, they all brag about how tough they are. I’d listen to their stories sometimes. If I was picking one, I’d say of the two, Callaghan was the bigger asshole. He hated every minority. He claimed he tasered a few people. I didn’t believe that. Tasering suspects? You’d think somebody would complain. Or get it on their cell phone camera. I never heard about it. I kind of dismissed it. I mean, he bragged about what a stud he was with the ladies. The man was not pretty. What woman would go with him? He never left with one from here.” Ballard scratched his left arm where a tattoo of a rose crossed that of a medieval battle ax.
“Stephanie Preston said she dated each of them a few times.”
“She told me they were just buddies and that these guys were good tippers, and she wanted to stay on their good side. And, face it, Stephanie is no prize. She’s not real pretty, and she’s got a weight problem.”
“Was Stephanie Preston a good employee?”
“Sure. She didn’t short the till. If she gave out free drinks, she paid for them out of her tip money. She was honest. Can’t say much more than that for a bartender. The place usually ran pretty smoothly when she was in charge. And that night, hell, it was a weeknight. Who expects trouble on a weeknight?”
“Did any of the officials from the District or downtown say anything about a cover-up?”
“Not to me. They all huddled together. I think they thought it would just go away. Then that video got onto the news and all hell broke loose.”
Turner asked, “Did Callaghan and Belger still come here after the incident?”
“Belger, not as much. Callaghan strutted and bragged even more. He practically moved in. He was kind of a celebrity. He’d bring buddies, and they’d tie one on almost every night. They used to come in and drink pretty regular, but after that night, it was like a ritual.”
“You didn’t throw him out?” Fenwick asked.
“He actually brought customers in. And this is a cop bar. We don’t get many patrons from the public. I’ve got to keep the clientele happy. The clientele who came in thought Callaghan was an okay guy. There may be a lot of cops who think he’s an asshole. Hell, I think he’s an asshole. I like Stephanie. I feel bad for her. But I don’t pick the clientele. This tavern’s been in my family for fifty years, and it’s been catering to cops all that time. Not much I can do. My livelihood is invested in this place. I don’t want trouble. You sure I’m not going to get in trouble for talking to you?”
Wilson said, “No one will know what you said to us. You’re safe.”
They began to get up to leave. Ballard said, “I think you guys should be careful. The talk after you left here this morning was pretty ugly. The guys were pretty pissed about what you were doing.”
“We’re trying to find a killer,” Fenwick said.
“That’s not how they see it.”
Fenwick said, “But the way we see it is the one that counts.”
Ballard said, “For your sakes, I hope that’s true.”
Outside, Fenwick asked Wilson, “What kind of hold do you have over him?”
She said, “I kept his son from having three felony convictions. He got two misdemeanors and a reduced sentence.”
“For what?”
“For being an asshole. That’s what they all are. Assholes.”
They thanked Roosevelt and Wilson for their help. Wilson said, “Everybody’s doing what they can to keep you guys safe, but I’d watch my back, if I were you.”
Fenwick said, “Thanks for the tip.”
It was time for them to meet Ian, who, if he had come through as promised, would have the person who did the taping and the reporter who broke the story.
In the car, Turner jotted down notes, as he always did. Fenwick drove as he always did. Turner yawned. Fenwick caught it. Fenwick’s yawning noises sounded like a siren for a brass fire engine rushing to an inferno.
Turner said, “I want to go home.”
“Me too,” Fenwick said.