Well, no, I didn’t—couldn’t make out the actual act; couldn’t even make out that it was Aiden. But I’m not going to admit that.
“So I went to his house to ask him about it. And yeah, I looked around his place when he didn’t answer. There are no lights outside, so I used my Maglite. I just walked the perimeter, Isaac.”
He watches me closely. “You were shining a light into his basement?”
“Yeah, and you wanna know what I found?”
“What does Aiden Willis’s basement have to do with him taking a piss on a grave? I mean, assuming he even did that, like you claim. You figured, what, you’d find evidence to support a public urination charge by searching his basement? No. You’re up to something else.”
I pause. But he has me. What possible bullshit story could I conjure up?
And besides, I shouldn’t have to bullshit. I’m a cop, investigating a series of murders. When did that become a wrong thing? When did following up on a hunch, just to see where it led, become a capital offense?
“It was the Dahlquist grave,” I say. “The family that owned the house where Melanie and Zach were—”
“No. No.” He shakes his head presumptively, like he’s had enough.
“Some strange shit is going on in this town,” I say, trying to salvage the conversation. “And there’s something about Aiden—”
“Aiden Willis couldn’t spell his own name if you gave him all the letters,” says Isaac. “And he couldn’t hurt a june bug with a sledgehammer. I’ve known that kid my whole life. That boy is harmless.”
“He pulled a gun on me tonight, Isaac.”
“Yeah, and you know what? He had every goddamn right to. A prowler on his property, sneaking into his basement? Landowner’s got that right.”
“I announced my office.”
“And maybe he didn’t believe you. What’s he supposed to think, Murphy? Lucky for us, Aiden’s a reasonable man. He’s going to let this be water under the bridge.”
“Bullshit,” I say, getting my Irish up, getting to my feet. “He knows me. Even if he didn’t at first. I identified myself. Yeah, okay, maybe at first, I can’t blame him. But he knows me, Isaac. I told him who I was and I posed no threat to him at all. And he was still going to shoot me. You’re gonna let him walk?”
“Hell, yes, I am. A cop of mine, without anything close to probable cause, is looking into a private citizen’s basement window? That’s a lawsuit right there. The department doesn’t need another black eye courtesy of you.”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe this.”
“You’re behaving in an erratic, irrational manner, Detective Murphy.”
My blood goes cold. Magic words, those. The police union’s collective bargaining agreement allows the chief to strip a cop whose behavior is “erratic or irrational.”
A hint of a smile on Isaac’s face. Oh, he’s been waiting for this moment.
“Just hear me out first, Isaac, I’m beg—”
“Detective, turn over your badge.”
“Isaac, no—”
“You’re suspended indefinitely,” he says. “I’m stripping you of your police powers. You’re no longer a cop. You come back tomorrow, I’ll give you thirty minutes to clean out your desk.”
He leans over his desk, his eyes boring into mine, a snarl across his mouth.
“Now get the fuck out of my police station.”
69
THE DIVE BAR’S liquor license cuts off the service of alcohol at two in the morning. That means they have to stop pouring when the little hand hits two, and they can’t let in any new customers.
It doesn’t mean they can’t hand over a bottle to me at 1:55 a.m. and then watch me drink it for an hour, as they close down the place, turn out most of the lights, turn over the chairs and put them on top of the tables, and mop the floors and wipe down the counters.
The good news for me is that I’m a regular, so I get this special treatment from Jerry, the bartender and owner.
The bad news, I suppose, is that I’m a regular.
“I don’t like to speak ill of my fellow man,” Jerry says to me as he sprays the counter. “But I never much liked Isaac. Worst thing that ever happened to him was getting that badge. Give a guy with an inferiority complex some power and watch out.”
I look over at him, my eyes heavy and slow, almost dreamy. Almost as if, an hour ago, I didn’t lose the only thing that mattered to me in this world. Almost like that.
“Fuck Isaac.” My tongue thick, numb. All of me feeling numb.
“Okay, three a.m.,” Jerry says. “I’m gonna turn into a pumpkin.” He lifts the bottle of Jim Beam, three-quarters empty. “I’ll hold on to the rest for you, Murph. Your private stash. Let me give you a ride home.”
I surrender the bottle but shake my head.
“You can’t drive, Murph.”
“Not gonna drive. I’ll walk. Pick up … pick up my car tomorrow.” I step off the barstool gingerly, get my balance. “Not like I’ll have anything else to do.”
“Let me give you a ride, Jenna. C’mon.”