CHAPTER 32
I stood to the side, huddled in the blue and red siren strobes, not daring to get too close to the scene, but fixated nonetheless. I’d wanted to be there. I’d begged to be there. I’d fantasized about this for a couple weeks and now I was like the voyeur getting a fix.
This was the most fun I’d had in a long time, thanks to Grabowski. Within five hours, he’d set up and executed a plan to get inside Hatch’s vehicle. It was a little after midnight and we had Hatch and some buddies pulled over on south Briggs, two blocks down from the Cash & Carry. Hatch had a taillight out, imagine that. Grounds for a traffic stop. The K9 officer just happened to be in the neighborhood at the time. And I’d been invited to the party. Wilco wanted to play, too, but I kept him in the back of my car while the K9 officer worked his dog around Hatch’s vehicle.
Another uniformed cop was positioned at the driver’s window, taking Hatch’s license and registration. “You been drinking tonight, boy?” the officer asked. We already knew he was. Surveillance had picked him up after the high-school basketball game and tracked his every move. A couple stops off at friends’ houses and a trip into the convenience store, emerging with what looked like a case of beer. We weren’t after booze, though, or pot, but little white pills. Pills that would tie him to Addy Barton’s murder and eventually Maura’s death.
Hatch didn’t say a word, but kept his eye on his side mirror, watching the dog as he sniffed the perimeters of the car. Halfway down the driver’s side, the dog hit on something. The K9 officer looked our way. Grabowski nodded.
Hatch was pulled from the car, cuffed, and his joyriding friends, two guys and one girl, relegated to the curb. Not looking too joyful. A search of the vehicle turned up several illegal items, one of them being a small Baggie of white pills. The whole thing was so damn exciting . . .
Until Gina Anderson showed up.
She screeched to a halt in her powder blue Mercedes two-door behind my rust-riddled, busted-window four-door. I swear its shiny propeller logo lifted its nose at having to slum it like that. Gina, too, had her nose lofty and flared as she stomped her way toward us. One of the officers tried to block her way, only to end up in a silly side shuffle like a crossing guard trying to stop a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day float.
Grabowski looked disgusted. “Looks like Mommy’s here.”
Hatch bucked against the cuffs. “Go home. I don’t need you here.”
Gina splayed a manicured hand across her cashmere jacket as she took a step back at his display of rejection, nearing toppling the hapless cop who had instinctively reached out to prevent her from falling. “Don’t say that, baby. I’m here to help you.”
“I don’t need your help. Just tell Dad to send our attorney.”
“He’s already on it. Don’t you say a word, baby. Not a word. We’ll get you out of this.”
Laid out on the hood of the car were nine spent beer cans and a tiny bag of pills. Only enough for a possession charge, he’d finagled out of that before, but the pills were the clincher. We’d gotten what we were looking for. Grabowski leaned in closer to the kid. “If those pills are what I think they are, then there ain’t going to be no one who can help you, boy.”
Hatch looked Grabowski directly in the eye and grinned. Cocky little wuss still thought he was above it all. He was overconfident. Depending on whether or not we could connect all the dots, the bag of pills might be enough to put him away for a lifetime. Grabowski was right. Mommy and Daddy weren’t going to be able to fix this one. I smiled to myself.
My smile faded when Gina appeared in front of my face. “You’ve been out to get my boy from the start. You set this up.”
Her moist lips glistened a glossy pink in the reflected streetlight. “That’s not true. An officer was patrolling the area and noticed your son’s vehicle had a faulty tail—”
“You liar. It’s a setup. The entire thing. This is your way of getting back at my husband for making you go through drug testing, isn’t it?”
The other officers looked my way, a too-eager audience. The curtain had risen, and they were waiting for the show. The dopey sideshow freak called out by the master of ceremonies to perform. I fought not to react, yet shame and anger bubbled up inside me. I moved closer, in her face now. I didn’t give a flying flip who she was; she didn’t intimidate me. “Look, lady, your son is a loser. Nothing more than a drug dealer—”
Grabowski stepped in. “Shut up, Callahan.”
Gina went rigid, but a glare of triumph edged her eyes. “You’re the one with a problem. You’re drugged up half the time, screwing up evidence and losing control of that dog of yours. I can’t believe they even let one of you gypsies wear a uniform.”
Her audience—my uneasy colleagues—fastened their full attention on me and it took everything I had not to call the bitch out. Fact was, there was truth behind some of her words. I swallowed that back, focused on other truths: the reality behind her pointless life and worthless son, with the proof of it that lay spread out for everyone to see. “You can’t put this off on me, Gina.” I pointed to the hood of Hatch’s car. “All that came from your son’s car. He’s going down for this, one way or another. I’m going to—”
“That’s enough.” Grabowski jerked me by the arm. “We’re taking the boy in. You go home. Get a couple hours of sleep. We have an early morning.”