Joel Goldman - Chasing The Dead

“Yeah.”

“You’re like a dog with a bone.”

“And I’m about to finish gnawing on it.”

Rossi pulled into the driveway at Alex and Bonnie’s house, sitting in his car for a moment wondering what Bonnie had in mind. Instead of telling him what he wanted to know, she might have some crazy idea of putting him in a room with Alex, demanding that they make peace, like a parent mediating between warring kids. Or maybe Bonnie had convinced Alex to confess and Bonnie was going to be there for moral support. Or maybe they were going to offer him a glass of elderberry wine laced with poison like the spinster aunts in Arsenic and Old Lace , a movie he’d fallen asleep watching the night before after downing a bottle of wine. He got out of the car, chuckling and jazzed at the prospect of proving he was right about Alex all along.

Bonnie greeted him at the door, apologizing for her dog, which kept rising on his hind legs, planting his front paws on Rossi.

“Quincy! Down! I’m sorry. He’s trained to stop jumping up on people as soon as he’s too tired.”

Rossi ruffled the dog’s fur. “I don’t mind.”

They stood in the entry hall, Bonnie in taupe slacks and a navy blouse, alternately clasping her hands and letting her arms dangle at her sides, Rossi waiting for his cue.

“Well,” Bonnie said. “You’re here, aren’t you? Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for asking, but I’m still not clear on why you did.”

She cleared her throat and wiped her palms on her thighs. “This isn’t easy for me.”

He smiled. “Then take your time. Maybe we should sit down somewhere.”

“Of course. The kitchen. We can sit in the kitchen.”

He followed her through the house, admiring a photographed portrait of Bonnie, Alex, and their dog, struck by the joy in their faces. He glanced at the den, noting the matching easy chairs with crocheted throws on the ottomans and the stack of books and magazines on a table between the chairs.

Though the kitchen blinds were drawn, the room was still bright and cheery, with artsy knickknacks adorning shelves, painted plates mounted on the walls, wineglasses hung from a rack above an island, and a red-framed sign handwritten in shades of red and blue on one wall that read:

WELCOME

If your shoes are real dirty-

Please remove them.

If your socks are real dirty-

Please take them off.

If your feet are real dirty-

Please leave.

Rossi sat at the table, pointing to the sign. “I like that.”

“So do we.”

Bonnie sat across from him, forearms on the table, rubbing her hands together. Quincy trotted to Rossi, sniffed, turned around, and lay down at Bonnie’s feet. Rossi waited for Bonnie to take the lead, but she didn’t.

“Why am I here, Dr. Long?”

Bonnie took a deep breath, letting it out. “I want you to leave us alone.”

Rossi cocked his head to one side. “I’m sorry?”

Bonnie straightened, shoulders back. “I want you to leave us alone. I want you to quit coming to the hospital to ask me about Alex. I want you to quit harassing Alex, trying to make her out to be some kind of criminal when all she was doing was protecting herself and me.” She paused, drew another breath. “I want you out of our lives forever.”

Rossi sat back in his chair. Bonnie had set him up, only not in the way he had imagined, taking advantage of his cockiness, letting him think this was going to be his big breakthrough. But she had to know he wasn’t going to go away, which meant he still had a play to make.

“You know I can’t do that.”

Bonnie smacked her hand on the table. “Why not? Alex told me she can’t be retried even if she were guilty.”

“Then what do either of you have to be afraid of? Why not just tell me the truth?”

Bonnie paused, nodding. “What if we told you that you were right? What then? What would you do?”

It was a question Rossi had asked himself many times. The answer varied. Sometimes it was that he’d take it to the U.S. attorney’s office and the Missouri Bar Ethics Commission and let them sort it out. Other times, he wasn’t so certain, thinking just knowing he’d been right would be enough. That was before he suspected that something was going on between Alex and Judge West, raising the possibility that Alex could go to jail for obstruction of justice if nothing else.

“That depends on how much both of you tell me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what Alex has told you, but she may have done more than kill Dwayne Reed. She may have also obstructed justice in order to get acquitted. And, if she did, she can go to jail for that even if she can’t go to jail for murder.”

“You would destroy our lives for that?”

“It’s not me who would destroy your lives. It’s Alex and you, if you helped her in any way.”

Bonnie rose, went to the small desk in the kitchen, and took a sheet of paper from a drawer, reading from it.

“Marcus Ramsey. Julio Estevez. Rolando Chism. Frankie Meadows. I assume you recognize those names, Detective, since you killed each of them. Shot them to death, from what I understand.”

Rossi blanched. He knew those names by heart and couldn’t forget them if he tried. The better question was how Bonnie knew them.

“What’s your point? Each of those shootings was in the line of duty. And where did you get those names?”

“From a lawsuit.”

Rossi planted his hands on the table, leaning in at her. “What lawsuit?”

“The lawsuit that the families of those men are going to file against you and the police department and the city.”

“That’s not happening. Those incidents go back fifteen years. The statute of limitations ran a long time ago.”

“Except for Frankie Meadows. You gunned him down less than two years ago. His wife consulted a lawyer I recommended to her who thinks she’s got a pretty good case. Now, I don’t understand the law, but it has something to do with you and the department engaging in a persistent pattern of denying the civil rights of minorities through the use of excessive force and intimidation. All the men you killed were either black or Hispanic, but you knew that.”

“Every one of those shootings was investigated by Internal Affairs and the county prosecutor and each one was found to be justified.”

Bonnie pursed her lips. “Well, you know how some people are, Detective. They’re just never satisfied until things turn out the way they want them to. Especially when they suspect that you planted incriminating evidence to cover up what really happened.”

Rossi sat back. “So that’s what this is about. You’re trying to blackmail me with the threat of a bullshit lawsuit so I’ll lay off Alex.”

“Every night for the last year, Alex wakes up, sweating and shaking. The nightmares are always the same. Dwayne Reed coming after us. Raping us. Murdering us. And even when Alex kills him again and again in her dreams, it’s just as terrifying. I hold her and tell her everything is going to be all right, that she did the right thing, but it doesn’t do any good. Tell me, Detective, is it like that for you? Do you see those men in your nightmares? Is that why you spend so much time in bars at night drinking alone?”

Rossi stiffened, trying to keep a lid on his anger, knowing if he blew up, he’d only make things worse.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think I do. You see, I hired a private detective, a woman named Lucy Trent. She’s very good at what she does. She found out a lot about you and she found the families of the men you killed.”

“If you think you can scare me off, you don’t have any idea who you’re dealing with.”