Tia stood over McKenzie, who was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped on his desk, reading Newberg’s single daily newspaper. From her vantage point, given the position of the paper, Tia could easily scan the headlines. The Sawyer case still dominated the front page.
Holy shit, she thought. What’s left to write about?
The murder of Louis Carson and arrest of Alex Sawyer was the biggest Wisconsin crime story since Jeffrey Dahmer. The case even gained national coverage on the biggest cable news shows and dominated talk radio. For the first days after his wife was arrested, Ben Sawyer had been accosted by cameras and microphones anytime a part of his body broke the plane of his front door. The unwritten media law of “don’t screw with the kids” had been tossed aside, and Jake’s face had become familiar to readers of publications stocked in grocery store checkout lines.
Everyone had an opinion as to why Alex Sawyer went crazy and killed her secret lover. But although motive was a matter of debate, that was where the argument ended. Everyone knew Alex Sawyer was a killer.
Sighing, Tia gave one of McKenzie’s shoes a hard swat with her hand.
“Hey, Doyle, you got a minute?”
McKenzie looked over the top of his paper. As was always the case when McKenzie greeted Tia, he spoke mockingly, in a thick accent that Tia assumed was supposed to be the Frito Bandito or some such shit.
“Hola, señorrrita.”
McKenzie lowered the paper and pulled himself to a sitting position, using one hand to adjust his crotch. Tia picked up the scent of Old Spice and bourbon. She had just come from the gym; her sweats clung to her trim body and she knew her face was flushed. McKenzie’s gaze wandered openly, and he made no effort to conceal his thoughts. Tia, for her part, did her best to hide her disgust. She was hoping to get some cooperation.
He spoke again, this time in his natural Wisconsin twang, which had been coarsened by a forty-cigarette-a-day habit.
“Nice surprise. I’m not sure you’ve ever taken the time to stop by and chat. Grab a seat. Want some coffee?”
Not on your life, pal.
“No thanks,” Tia answered. “I just wanted to check and see how the Carson murder case was coming along.”
McKenzie looked disappointed. “It ain’t ‘coming along,’” he said. “That ship has sailed.”
“What do you mean? You must have a bunch of leads. I wanted to let you know, I can help out. If you’ve got some legwork that needs doing, just let me know.”
McKenzie surveyed the bottom half of her physique. “Legwork? Yeah, I’ll bet you could do some amazing legwork. I just might have to take you up on that.”
“Knock off it,” Tia said. “I’m serious. What’s left to do?”
McKenzie didn’t try to hide his annoyance. If Suarez wasn’t going to play along, then they had nothing to talk about. His feet went back to his desk and the paper went up.
“This is the Detective Squad. Go work your beat. Like I said, that case is a wrap and Alex Sawyer is dead-bang guilty. I hear she’s thinking of pleading out early and getting the best deal she can. The DA might make an offer.”
“Pleading out? Bullshit.” Tia was stunned.
“Damn, girl. You oughta read the papers. This wasn’t no whodunit. Sawyer was screwin’ the coffeehouse guy.” McKenzie looked at Tia over the top of his paper and changed his tone. “People do that, you know. Men. Women. They get together, and crazy shit happens.”
“What about Sergeant Sawyer?” Tia asked. “How’s he doing? I’ve called the house but no answer.”
“You called the house?” McKenzie said sharply enough that Tia knew she had crossed the line. “No one in the department is allowed to have any contact with him. And no one better be talking to him about my murder case. That guy assaulted me. His policing days are done.”
Tia ignored McKenzie’s complaints in her response and tried to turn the conversation away from Ben.
“Look, I know Alex Sawyer. She didn’t kill anybody. That’s crazy talk. I’ve worked a few high-profile investigations myself, McKenzie. How about I just read the case file?” She paused. “Maybe we can compare notes.”
Too late. McKenzie wasn’t biting.
“Interesting as that sounds,” he said, “no split-tail patrol cop is nosing around my murder case. Now, if you ever want to just step out and have a drink or something, you be sure to let me know.”
Plate Boyd’s voice boomed with annoyance from his adjacent office. “McKenzie, get over here. I got Nancy Grace on the line.”
McKenzie jumped to his feet and headed out the door. He brushed against Tia as he passed.
“This case is the big time, Suarez. When it’s over, I’ll tell you all about it. Like I said, you want to step out for a drink, I’ll buy the first four or five rounds and we’ll see where it goes from there.”
A moment later Tia could hear McKenzie on the phone in the next office, ingratiating himself with the celebrity reporter. It took McKenzie less than a minute to comment on the woman’s “sexy mouth.”
Tia glanced out into the hallway and saw it was clear. She studied McKenzie’s desk. His discarded newspaper partially covered several case files. Most documents were marked by coffee ring stains. An overflowing ashtray cast a pall of nicotine dust over all exposed surfaces. Tia gave some thought to riffling through the desk, but that could spell trouble. Last thing she wanted was to be in a position where McKenzie had any leverage over her. Not to mention, the idea of touching anything that belonged to the guy disgusted her.
As she turned to leave, her eye was caught by a disc half buried under several pieces of paper. She glimpsed a large letter S on the disc, but the rest of the label was hidden. Tia made sure no one was watching, then pushed aside the documents to read the full text: “Sawyer 911.” Tia had heard from patrol officers that the whole Carson murder case had started with a 911 call from a pay phone. After a final check of the door, Tia slipped the disc off McKenzie’s desk and tucked it under her shirt.
She hurried down the hallway, passing Sergeant Boyd’s office. She could hear McKenzie telling his new celebrity friend one of his favorite stories, about the time he nabbed a bank robber dressed like a clown. His voice boomed into the phone, marked by indignation.
“No, not me. The crook. He was dressed like a clown.”