Joel Goldman - No way out

“What do you think?” Kate asked me.

Braylon Jennings was working a simple robbery, but he had enough juice to kick a murder suspect to the curb. That the thieves had made off with a cache of guns didn’t change the standard criminal justice calculus. Murder trumps theft every time unless they are tied together. Frank Crenshaw had been murdered while lying in a hospital bed waiting to be charged with killing his wife, and nothing reorders a desperate wounded man’s priorities like a death sentence. If Crenshaw had something to offer the cops besides a guilty plea, killing him was the only way to make certain he kept quiet.

Then everything came together. Jennings suspected that Brett was involved with the robbery of the gun dealer, that he’d sold one of the guns to Frank Crenshaw and killed him so that Frank couldn’t give Brett up in a deal to avoid a death sentence. And, when Roni’s gun proved to be the murder weapon, Jennings and Carter figured that Roni was covering for Brett.

If they were right, Brett would assume that they cut Roni loose because she made a deal, forcing him to try to shut her up just as he had Crenshaw. Jennings had tossed Roni out like chum for the sharks and told me to look the other way while Brett measured her for her funeral dress. The only thing I could do to make things worse for Roni was to open my mouth. She’d be charged again and be just as vulnerable whether she made bail or sat in a cell waiting for someone to do someone a favor.

“I think we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“And I’m not going to,” Roni said. “Yeech, look at me. I need a shower and clean clothes. Can somebody give me a ride home?”

Bonner raised his hand. “I’m in the lot across the street.”

“Hang on a minute. Roni, we need to talk,” I said, taking her by the elbow until we were out of earshot.

“What is it?”

“This isn’t over.”

Her face clouded. “Of course it is. They dropped the charges.”

“For now. Quincy Carter isn’t Santa Claus. He can arrest you again.”

“Why? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then tell me what happened to your gun. Did you loan it to someone? How did Crenshaw’s killer end up with it?”

She folded her arms across her chest, her lips tight. “It’s over, Jack. You don’t have to save me anymore.”

“Why do you think Frank Crenshaw was killed?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ve got a good idea. The gun Crenshaw used to kill Marie was one of a bunch of guns stolen from a gun dealer. Crenshaw probably didn’t know that when he bought the gun, but his killer couldn’t take the chance that Crenshaw would give up whoever sold him the gun.”

“I don’t know anything about the robbery.”

“I’m not the one you have to convince.”

“The police don’t think I’m involved or else they wouldn’t have let me go. So, who do I have to convince?”

“Frank Crenshaw’s killer. If he thinks you made a deal with the cops, he’ll come after you.”

She took a step back. “You’re just trying to scare me.”

“That I am. Where’s Brett Staley?”

“Brett? What’s he got to do with this?”

Her voice jumped an octave, her brows arching and eyes widening. I glanced over my shoulder. Kate had moved to the steps and was watching us. She had a clear angle on Roni’s face. I’d wanted to keep our conversation private but welcomed Kate’s read.

“An innocent person would have told your lawyer or me or the cops what happened to your gun. A half-smart but guilty person would at least come up with a plausible lie. But you’re stonewalling-acting like you didn’t even hear the question, which is a piss-poor way of covering up for someone. So tell me, what happened to your gun?”

She looked at the ground, turned away, and then looked at me straight on, teeth clenched.

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Did you give your gun to Brett?”

Her eyes were on fire. “No.”

“Did he steal it?”

Her shoulders sagged for an instant. She took a breath, straightening her spine, holding her head up.

“How should I know? I didn’t know it was missing until Detective Carter told me someone used it to kill Frank.”

“Is that why you freaked when Carter asked you to show him the gun? I thought you were going to crawl inside the sofa pillow and hide.”

“Carter scared me, that’s all.”

“Did Brett know Frank Crenshaw?”

“What difference does that make? If that makes him guilty, they’ll have to arrest the whole neighborhood because everybody knows everybody.”

“Have you seen him since we were at the hospital Sunday night?”

“No, but he called me yesterday morning to see if I was okay.”

“Does he know you were arrested?”

“Grandma Lilly told him. I called him as soon they let me go.”

“Did he say anything about your gun?”

“He didn’t answer. I left him a message.”

“I want you to go home, stay home, and stay away from Brett until this is over.”

She raised her hands to her shoulders, ready to push me away. “Look! I’m going home to clean up and see my mom and grandma. Then I’m going to my office to see if I have any clients left who can pay my fees, and if I want to see my boyfriend, I’ll see him.”

“So now he is your boyfriend? Listen to me, Roni.”

“No, you listen to me, Jack. I’ve known you for two days. I appreciate how you helped me out, but back off. Go find someone else to rescue.”

She strode past me, arms at her sides, fists clenched. I waited until she and Bonner were at the curb.

“Hey, Roni!”

She stopped, turned, and glared at me. “What now?”

“The moon is pink.”

Jennings called my cell before they were out of sight, his way of letting me know I was on a short leash.

“What?”

“What did she tell you?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Jack.”

“You’re not my type.”

I snapped the phone shut. Jennings had made a huge investment in this case-cutting deals with the FBI and KCPD, conscripting me, and risking Roni’s life. The question was why he would lay so much on the line for a case that was a blip in the news cycle. Not that gun-dealer robberies and hospital-bed murders weren’t cases that had to be solved. They were. It’s just that they weren’t bet-your-career cases. If Jennings’s gamble didn’t pay off, his would go south with the case, meaning he’d stay on me or make certain someone else did.

Kate waited until they reached Bonner’s car. “So are you going to tell me what that was all about?”

“I pissed her off.”

“I had no idea except that you transformed her from bubbly to boiling. What did you say to her?”

“I told her this wasn’t over, and she didn’t believe me, kept saying she didn’t do anything wrong. I asked her what happened to her gun, and she wouldn’t tell me. The only straight answer I got was when I asked her if she gave the gun to Brett and she told me flat-out no. When I asked her if he could have taken it, she bobbed and weaved, said how should she know.”

“She avoided eye contact and touched her mouth and eyes a lot which are classic deception gestures. There was one time she did look you in the eye. Was that when she told she didn’t give the gun to Brett?”

“Yeah. Said it like she meant it.”

Kate shrugged. “Could be she’s telling the truth.”

“Could be? I thought you were the deception expert.”

“It’s not like on television. One glance and aha, she’s lying or she’s telling the truth. It’s more nuanced than that. I have to have a baseline from talking to her or observing her or watching her on video before I can be more certain. Some people are better liars than others, and some people come across as lying because they’re afraid they won’t be believed.”