Jeff Shelby - Killer Swell

Detective John Wellton was standing outside the cell. He wore an olive-green dress shirt, tan slacks, and a silver tie.

“Having a good time?” he asked.

“The best.” I managed to push myself to an upright position, but my back was arguing that it wasn’t a great idea. “Where’s Liz?”

“Trying to explain to the lieutenant why she’s got a private dick locked up down here with no charges filed,” he said, frowning.

“Am I out of here then?” I asked.

“In a minute,” he said, leaning back against the bars of the cell behind him. “Listen to me for a second, okay?”

“No thanks.”

“I don’t know what’s between you and Liz,” he said anyway. “And I could give a shit. But she’s covering your ass left and right and seems to care that you don’t die. Me, I think it would be easier if you were dead.”

I stood up and walked awkwardly over to the front of the cell.

“And you know what she gets for all her hard work? Nothing. A fucking headache, maybe, but not much else,” Wellton said. “You run around, pretending to be a tough guy and all, and she ends up picking up behind you. She wants the same thing you do.”

“And what’s that?”

He stepped toward my cell door. “To find out who killed your friend, you dumbass. You think she doesn’t feel guilty about what happened to her? You think it’s not keeping her up at night? Jesus. Everyone keeps telling me you’re a pain in the ass but a smart guy. Well, I see the first part, but I have yet to see the second.”

His words hung between us, as heavy as the iron bars I was holding on to.

“Why do you care?” I asked, not having anything else to say that seemed worthwhile. “I mean, about her.”

“Because she’s my friend,” he said. “And she’s my partner. You think it’s easy being partnered with a black guy the size of a sixth grader? She’s never said shit about it and never taken any shit from anyone about it. I mean, they tried to give her shit, but she wouldn’t have any of it.” He paused, staring at me. “I’d go to the wall for her because I know she’d go at least that far for me.”

I slowly began to feel like that guy in the cartoon where his head morphs into that of a jackass. I could feel the buck teeth and long ears sprouting.

“Get her,” I said. “I’ll tell her what I know.”

Wellton pointed at me. “Goddamn right you will. And then you’ll stay the hell out of her way. And mine. Because if you don’t, I’m going to make it so that the only thing I care about is seeing you go down.”

He stalked away, his angry footsteps echoing down the hall.

A guard came to the cell and escorted me to a conference room down the hall from the cells. I sat there for about fifteen minutes, staring at my hands, before Liz came in.

“Before we start, I want to get something straight,” she said, sitting down in the chair on the other side of the table. “If you want to play around, I don’t-”

I held my hand up, interrupting her. “I’m done messing around. I promise.”

She studied me for a moment. “You just said you promised.”

I nodded. “I did. And I mean it.”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning back in the chair. “I know you do.”

When it comes to women, I’m admittedly not too hot in the communication department. I don’t especially like to talk about serious things or philosophical situations. They make me uncomfortable. When Liz and I were together and we did talk about those things, Liz sometimes doubted whether I was being honest with her. When she wanted the truth out of me, she made me say, “I promise.” I had never once compromised that understanding between us and didn’t intend to do that now.

“Costilla knows you’re watching him,” I said.

She frowned. “No way.”

“He said that he did. Does.”

“Why’d he tell you that?”

“Because I asked him if he killed Kate,” I said. “He said he didn’t, that he was using her to feed information to you guys.”

Liz squinted at me. “Maybe he said that because he didn’t want to admit to her murder.”

I laughed. “I was patted down twice. They knew I wasn’t wired and had no weapon. He could’ve killed me if he wanted to. He wasn’t lying to me, Liz. No reason to.”

“Guy like that doesn’t need a reason to lie. It’s what he does.”

“Okay. Did anything that you heard via Kate pan out? Meetings, deals, locations?”

Her eyes fluttered, and she looked away. I knew she was running the possibilities through her head.

“He told me the truth,” I said. “I’d bet everything I have on it.”

She leaned her elbows on the table. “Maybe. What else?”

I told her about how I was picked up in TJ and tried to describe where we’d met, and about Costilla’s missing money.

She tapped her index finger on the table. “She took that money, he killed her.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Costilla planned on killing her. But someone else got to her first. Which leaves us with two questions. Why did she take the money, and who killed her?”

“Another deal on the side that went bad,” Liz suggested.

“Could be,” I said. “I feel like I’m chasing a person I never met.”

She smiled briefly. “In a way, you hadn’t met her. She wasn’t the Kate we knew in high school.”

“Not even close, apparently. Can I ask a question?”

“Might not answer it.”

“Why was she inside, Liz?” I asked, looking for what seemed like one of the biggest missing pieces. “I’m just not seeing it.”

She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. I knew she was trying to decide whether she could trust me. I stayed quiet and hoped that what I’d told her so far had counted for something.

“She fit,” she said finally. “She was a big-time user, Noah. She may not have looked like it, but she was. She knew the lingo, she knew what to look for, and she knew how to get close to the big guns. And she came to us.”

“Isn’t that unusual, though? Put a civilian in a spot like that, even with her history?”

She folded her hands on the table. “Maybe. But the DA knew about our operation, knew that she needed a deal, and knew that if it worked, he’d get some credit for brokering it.”

“So it wasn’t just for her to get off with probation, then?” I said. “It was political, too.”

She spread her hands out in front of her. “Isn’t everything?”

I shook my head, angry. “I guess.”

“Noah, still. She put herself in the situation,” Liz said, leaning across the table. “You carry that much heroin, you’re asking for trouble. She wasn’t innocent.”

I considered telling her about my conversation with Ken Crier, then thought better of it. I knew the cop in Liz would be skeptical that Kate would’ve taken the blame for her husband.

“She didn’t deserve to die, though,” I said.

“No,” Liz agreed. “She didn’t.” She reached into the breast pocket of her blouse, produced a small strip of paper, and slid it across the table to me.

“What’s this?” The strip was wrinkled and torn at the corners. I unfolded it. CHARLOTTE T. was written on it.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Thought maybe you could figure it out. It was in the car with Kate’s body, wadded up in the backseat. Scratch paper, most likely. Thought it was just trash at first.” She paused. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.”

I stared at it and tried to decide if it was Kate’s handwriting. I had no way of knowing.

Liz leaned across the table again. “The only way her murder is going to be solved is if you keep poking around. Everyone here and at DEA wants it quiet. They’re content to blame it on Costilla.”