Junior didn’t answer. Vega wove the pen through her fingers and stared at him, thinking he looked like a mouse that had just hit the glue.
“I take your silence to mean, No Chief, I did not think that because I thought I could handle this myself, and I’m too self-satisfied to admit I need help. Here is a fact, Captain: your pride was a useless thing to me before, but now that it has gotten in the way of this investigation it is a fucking abomination. After we find these girls we’re going to sit down and brainstorm about some methods you could utilize to improve your performance. Until then we, and by we I mean you, don’t sleep, take your meals and piss in a cup either in your car on the way to interview witnesses or at your desk with the paperwork so we don’t waste any more time. Got it?”
Junior slumped in his chair and cocked his head to the side, cracking his neck with no sound.
“Yessir.”
Traynor put both hands behind his head, ran them down to his shoulders.
“Now,” he said. “You and Detective Ralz can have the honor of telling Marsh’s mother her only remaining son is dead, and I want you there for however long it takes to get the name of every known associate she can spit out through her grief. Meantime, you can hope Miss Vega and Cap won’t be pressing assault charges.” He waved the two of them off with a stroke in the air, sharp as a salute. “Go.”
Junior and Ralz stood and walked out. Junior nodded at Cap and Vega as he left. Vega didn’t do a thing, didn’t even stare, just let her eyes rest on him like he was scenery.
“Okay, Miss Vega,” Traynor said when they’d left. “You have my attention and cooperation. What do you want to do next?”
—
Cap and Vega stood in the freezer section of the Giant waiting for the manager. They’d talked with Traynor and Cartwright for thirty minutes about next steps, about their preferences and what they’d done so far, agreed to frequent communication. Cap felt high on it, the energy and the planning, and yes, the vindication and approval from the chief, which came only in the form of Traynor looking Cap in the eyes and asking what he thought of this or that. He remembered the feeling from a long time ago, and it made him feel younger. Awake.
The supermarket manager came through two gray swinging doors. He was a kid in short sleeves and a tie, beady eyes and a cluster of pimples on his forehead.
“Hi, Mr. Caplan,” he said, shaking his hand. “Drew Bennett.”
“Mr. Bennett,” said Cap. “This is Alice Vega.”
“Hi, ma’am,” said Bennett, holding his hand up in a motionless wave.
Would have tipped his hat if he had one, thought Cap, but no handshake for a girl. “Come back to my office, please.”
They followed him through the double doors, through the back room filled with boxes, the rear of which opened up into a loading dock, and past that, the parking lot. Bennett led them to a small cluttered room on the side with a yellow-tinted window that looked out onto the boxes. He closed the door and stood in front of the desk.
“So is this about Evan Marsh?” he said to Cap.
“What makes you say that?” Cap answered.
“Ran out an hour before his shift ended and didn’t say anything about it. Not returning my calls either.”
“He do that before?”
“He’s been calling in sick more and more, leaving early, but he always lets me know. Except today. He in some kind of trouble?” Bennett said, crossing his arms. Cap thought he must have seen a lot of actors on TV say that.
“Yeah, he’s dead,” said Vega.
Now Bennett acknowledged Vega. He stared right at her, leaned on the desk.
“No way,” he said.
“Yes, actually,” she said. “He’s dead.”
“How? Was it an overdose?”
“Cause is yet to be determined. Would you not be surprised if it was an overdose?” Vega asked.
Bennett stared at the space between them, eyes glassy, and now Vega stepped directly in front of him so he couldn’t look away from her if he tried. She stacked the questions quick, one right after another, so he didn’t have time to be stunned.
“No, I guess not.”
“Were you aware of him using drugs?” she said.
“Yeah, I mean, not directly.”
“What does that mean—‘not directly’?”
“I didn’t see him use drugs but just figured he was.”
“Why is that?”
Bennett blew air between his lips.
“He lost some weight, started acting spacey, like groggy, you know?”
“How long would you say that behavior had been going on?”
“I don’t know, really….”
“Three months, six months?”
“More like six.”
“Can you remember anything specifically about when the behavior started? Anything he told you or did that might have tipped you off that something was going on in his personal life?”
Bennett thought about it, and his gaze snapped back to Vega.
“I had to fire this guy, maybe eight months ago. He was a first-class loser, and Marsh was buddy-buddy with him.”
Then Bennett paused and regarded them both, unsure now.
“You said you were detectives?” he said, suddenly paranoid.
“Private investigators,” said Vega. “Not police, but we’re working with them and the Brandt family.”
“Can I see some ID?” he said, his voice lower, trying to act tough.
Fucking TV, thought Cap.
Vega pulled her wallet from her jacket pocket and pressed it against his chest.
“Here,” she said. “What’s his name?”
“Who?” said Bennett, genuinely disoriented.
Just then Cap pictured a kid passing the ball down the line to Nell in a soccer game, how it sailed right to her cleat like she had a magnet on it. His turn.
“The first-class loser?” said Cap.
“Charlie. Charlie Bright.”
Vega took a step back from Bennett, made room for Cap.
“Did you have a good reason to fire him?”
Bennett laughed. “He was never here. And when he was here he was too stoned to work half the time. Dropping boxes everywhere. One time a carton of Cokes in the glass bottles? In the summer? Ants and bees all over the dock for a month,” he said, exasperated.
“That’s terrible,” said Cap. “He and Marsh were friends?”
“Yeah, they might have known each other before. I remember one time, they came in late, two hours late, and I laid into them a little.” Bennett pointed to himself. “I’m a pretty reasonable boss, you understand, but I can’t be missing two loaders for two hours—we got all kind of stock backed up. And I was telling them they had to shape up, and they were just laughing. I said, ‘Keep laughing, assholes, next time you’re late you’re gone.’?”
“So what happened?”
“So Bright was late a couple of days, a week later, and I fired him.”
“But not Marsh?”
“No, he was on time mostly, but then, like I told you, he started coming in late more and more the last couple months.”
“Why didn’t you fire him?”
Bennett sighed.
“Because he always called, said he had to take care of his mother. I know she’s sick, and I’m the type of guy who’s sensitive to that. I’m not some heartless boss.”