August 31, 2018
Oh, he’s fucked, now. Hard. No lube, either. Ralphie Loren, this is your lucky day. Bend over and grab your ankles, take a deep breath. This one’s gonna hurt.
“It never occurred to you this might be something you’d want to share?” Chief Black demanded. “I sure as hell could’ve used a warning before getting a visit from that detective.”
“I didn’t think it would get this far.”
“It wouldn’t have gotten this far at all if you’d clued me in.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right, I should’ve told you about this.”
Black paused. In surprise, maybe, but Loren wasn’t sure. The chief had been working on his poker face for years and the damn thing was nearly perfect. It was most likely surprise, though, because when had anyone ever heard Ralph Loren apologize for anything? And admitting he was wrong was even more of a shock. You could say the sky was blue and Loren would harass and threaten and tease and bully until you admitted it was green—and not because he actually thought the sky was green, but because he liked to know he could force you to agree with him.
Loren was spooked, Black thought. He’d worked with Loren for years and he’d never seen him like this. It was as if the man had seen a ghost. And that’s exactly what it was. The ghosts of the past had been chasing Loren for a long time, and they’d finally found his home address and come calling.
“Okay, then why don’t you tell me now?” Black said, sitting back and folding his hands on top of his considerable gut.
Loren hesitated.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would open all sorts of other questions I can’t answer.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both, I guess.”
“I wish I knew what you’re talking about.”
“I wish I could explain better.”
“Then goddammit, Loren, try!” Black shouted. He slammed a fist on the desk. The cup of pencils wobbled and then stilled without tipping. Barely. “I get an unannounced visit from a detective based in your hometown, claiming you murdered your partner thirty years ago and they just found his body in an unmarked grave, and that’s not something you can explain?”
“No, boss.”
“It’s a simple question, Loren. Did you murder this guy? Lucas Gallo, that was his name, right?”
Loren started to say something, then thought better of it and sat back silently.
“You’re not even going to defend yourself? This detective seems pretty certain you’re the one behind this. Your partner went missing, and you transferred out six weeks later. Sounds like he’s got one helluva good case against you.”
“I don’t have anything to say.”
Black wearily rubbed his hand down his face. Every conversation with Loren tended to be frustrating, but this was worse than usual. He’d never seen Loren clam up, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it.
“This detective—” Black glanced down at a paper on his desk. “—Pete Ortiz, you know him?”
“Yeah.”
“He said when your partner went missing, his wife and kid vanished, too. They’re thinking they’ll find them next, buried a little farther on. Is that what’s going to happen, Loren?”
Again, silence.
“You know what this Ortiz asked me to do? He wants me to put you on an unpaid suspension while he’s investigating.”
“Is that what you’re gonna do?”
“Hell, no. I asked if you were officially a suspect in the case, and he said no. He doesn’t have anything on you except some gossip from thirty years ago. So I let him know I don’t have the backup manpower available to just cut one of my guys loose. He wasn’t too pleased with my response, but it isn’t his decision. So I need to know, Loren. Are they going to be able to connect you to this body?”
Loren let out a deep breath, setting his lips flapping.
“I don’t think so, boss.”
“You sure you don’t want to tell me what happened?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“I do want to know, but it sounds like I’m not gonna get the story out of you.”
Loren shrugged. Black seemed ready to blow up again, then thought better of it and sat back with a disgusted sigh.
“All right. You need to keep yourself busy, then. What’s going on with the Simmons case?”
Dana Simmons and her three kids had been reported missing by her husband two weeks before. Two days later her car was found on the top level of a parking garage downtown, and she was dead behind the wheel. Her kids were in the back, also deceased.
“Coroner’s report came through yesterday. Murder-suicide,” Loren said. “She overdosed the kids on sleeping pills and then put a gun in her mouth.”
“What else you working?”
“I’m waiting on ballistics for the shooting out in Curtis Park, and the DNA results for the Adoba case.” Loren shrugged. “Treading water at this point, can’t do anything else until the other departments get off their asses and actually do their jobs.”
“Go back through the files, then. Talk to some witnesses. Tag along as help on another case,” Black said impatiently. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you do as long as Ortiz doesn’t show up here again and find you asleep behind your desk. Try to look like a man doing his job. Act normal for once in your goddamn life. Keep yourself occupied until all this blows over.”
Black’s eyes narrowed as he watched Loren stand up. If Loren left without a smart-ass remark, it would be a first. The door began to snick shut, but then opened again. Loren poked his head around.
“Forgot to tell you what a nice shirt that is, boss,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“The way it clings to those man titties of yours is sure to get some of the boys to at least half mast, if you know what I mean. You might not want to sashay around the bullpen looking like that.”
It was a typical Loren remark, but without the usual zest in the delivery. Even when he was sick as a dog Loren enjoyed giving everyone shit, but this was a pale imitation.
Spooked, Black thought as he watched Loren walk away through his wall of windows. And for the first time in Loren’s twenty years with the DPD, he had the slow walk and shoulder slump of an old man.