Thirty-Three
THE MAIN AREA of Gravelly Point, on the Potomac River and accessible from the northbound lanes of the GW Parkway, was a popular spot for joggers, boat launchers, rugby players, bicyclists, and plane watchers, as the runway of Reagan National was only a few hundred yards away. On the opposite, less picturesque side of the parkway was a small parking lot, used mainly by limo and car service drivers waiting for airport clients.
Dan Holiday leaned against his Town Car in the smaller lot. He watched as Gus Ramone’s Tahoe pulled alongside his Lincoln. Ramone got out of his SUV and came to where Holiday stood. Holiday took mental note of Ramone’s disheveled appearance.
“Thanks for seeing me,” said Ramone.
“What’d you do, sleep in that suit?”
“I earned my money today.”
Holiday removed a deck of Marlboros from his jacket. He shook a cigarette free and offered it to Ramone.
“No thanks. I quit it.”
Holiday lit one for himself and blew a little smoke in the direction of Ramone. “Still smells good, though, doesn’t it?”
“I need a favor, Doc.”
“Seems to me I called you earlier today and asked for a favor. But you wouldn’t help me out.”
“You know I couldn’t give you the name of that officer.”
“I said wouldn’t.”
“No difference, to me.”
“The straight man,” said Holiday.
“It’s moot now, anyway,” said Ramone. “Asa Johnson was a suicide. His death had no connection to the Palindrome Murders.”
Holiday dragged on his cigarette. “I’m disappointed. But I can’t say that I’m surprised.”
“Cook’s gonna take it hard. I know he thought that this would reopen the case. That this murder would somehow solve the others.”
“It’s gonna crush him.”
“I’ll tell him,” said Ramone.
“I will,” said Holiday.
“Doc?”
“What?”
“That officer’s name is Grady Dunne.”
“You’re too late. We got it already.”
“Look, I’ll find out why he was down there that night. Maybe it will help with the prosecution.”
“Don’t forget the perp in the backseat,” said Holiday.
“Could have been a teenage suspect,” said Ramone. “Or maybe it was just a lady friend.”
“You think?”
“You tell me.”
“Because I got a history of that,” said Holiday. “That’s what you’re sayin?”
Ramone didn’t answer.
“You never did ask me about Lacy,” said Holiday.
“I would have. You turned in your badge instead.”
“It was your screwup,” said Holiday. “You should have grand juried her instead of giving her time to skip.”
“I know it.”
“The day your informant saw me talking to her, before she disappeared? The conversation wasn’t about your dirty vice cops or anything else to do with your IAD case.”
“What was it about?”
“Fuck you, Gus.”
“I’m interested. You been wanting to tell me. So why don’t you go ahead and get rid of it?”
“I gave her some money,” said Holiday. “Five hundred dollars. Bus fare back to whatever Bumfuck, Pennsylvania, address she came from and some extra to get started. I was trying to save her life. ’Cause her pimp, Mister Morgan, would have found a way to cut her to shreds whether he was tied up with the law or not. He was that kind of asshole. But you wouldn’t have known that, working behind your desk. If you had talked to me, man-to-man, you might have understood.”
“You tanked my case. We never did get to prosecute those vice cops. And Morgan killed a dude six months later. All you did was fuck things up.”
“I was helping that girl.”
“That’s not all you were doing with her. She told me all about it in one of our interviews. So don’t get all high and mighty on me, all right?”
“I helped her,” said Holiday. But he said it weakly and he couldn’t look Ramone in the eye.
“I’m sorry, Doc,” said Ramone. “I took no pleasure in what happened to you.”
Ramone watched the sunlight shimmer off the water to the right of the lot, the river runoff that formed a pond. Holiday took a last hit of his cigarette and crushed it under his shoe.
“So what’s the favor?” said Holiday.
“It’s complicated. Asa Johnson’s gun was stolen by a guy named Aldan Tinsley after Asa committed suicide. Aldan sold the gun to a Dominique Lyons, who used it in a homicide the following night. I got a confession out of Tinsley, but I shit the bed in the process. I roughed up Tinsley pretty bad, and I ignored his request for a lawyer three times. When the defense attorneys get ahold of this, and the testimonies mutate, I could have a problem. These are bad guys, and I’d like to see them go away.”
“You need what?”
“I need you to positively identify Aldan Tinsley as the man you saw walking across the garden that night.”
“I told you, all I saw was a Number One Male. I can’t remember anything about him except that he was black.”
“I don’t care what you saw, Doc. I’m telling you, that’s what I need.”
Holiday grinned. “You ain’t so straight.”
“Will you do it?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks. I’ll bring you in for the ID.”
Ramone pivoted, heading for his car.
“Gus?”
“What?”
“I apologize for what I said about your wife. I hear she’s good people. That was the alcohol talking.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m envious, I guess.”
“Okay…”
“A family just isn’t in the cards for me.” Holiday squinted against the sun. “You know, back when I was in uniform I was ordered to go see the department shrink. My lieutenant recommended it because of my drinking and what he called my excessive womanizing. He said my lifestyle was interfering with my job performance.”
“Imagine that.”
“So I’m there at the voodoo office, and I’m talking about my personal history. The shrink says, ‘It occurs to me that you have a fear of separation,’ or some bullshit like that, on account of I was fucked up for so long after my little sister passed. He’s telling me that I tend to run away from lasting relationships because I’m afraid that I might, how did he put it, lose my partner to circumstances beyond my control. And I say to the shrink, ‘That might be true. Or it might just be that I like strange *.’ Do you think that’s what it is, Gus?”
“And here I was,” said Ramone, “thinking you were going to tell me a nice story, with one of those, you know, morals at the end of it.”
“Some other time.” Holiday glanced at his watch. “I gotta get out of here.”
Ramone put out his hand and Holiday took it.
“You were good police, Doc. No bullshit.”
“I know it, Giuseppe. Way better than you.”
Ramone watched as Holiday opened the door to his Lincoln, reached in and got his chauffeur’s hat, and placed it on his head.
“Asshole,” said Ramone under his breath.
But he was smiling.