C Box - Three Weeks to Say Goodbye

So his source was Aubrey Coates? What was Coates talking about? How was Coates bulletproof?

I looked to Cody for some kind of clarification, but Cody looked as mystified as I was.

Torkleson said, “But I heard the fucking U.S. Attorney won’t go after Coates again. Not after Coates beat the rap the first time…” Torkleson lurched to a stop, realizing what he was saying and who he was saying it to. He looked over at Cody. “Sorry, man.”

Cody glared at him with murderous eyes.

“What?” Sanders said. “What the fuck?”

Morales leaned back on the couch and beheld Cody and Torkleson. “Let’s be cool, men,” he said.

“What?” Sanders said again, completely confused.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Torkleson said to Cody. “My mouth was running away with me.”

Cody said, “It sure fucking was.”

“Be cool, brothers,” Morales, the peacemaker said, standing up so he was between them. “Everything’s cool here. We got women and babies in the house.”

Sanders stomped a foot. “Would somebody please tell me what the fuck is going on here?”

Morales spun on his partner, said, “What’s going on is Thanksgiving dinner is over. Our replacements will be here in twenty minutes, and it’s time to go.”

Melissa-thank God for Melissa-broke the tension by bringing Angelina down the stairs. Our daughter was in her footie pajamas, and despite the fact that she was exhausted, she beamed at the cops, who were on the verge of going after each other.

“Angelina wants to say good night,” Melissa said.

Sanders, Torkleson, and Morales stood up. They thanked Melissa once again and shook Angelina’s chubby little hand. She rewarded them with a squeal each, which made them laugh.

“She’s so tired, she’s goofy,” Melissa said. “So are you guys.”

“What a darling,” Morales said.

I kissed my daughter good night, but she was preoccupied with the men in the room whom she’d charmed to death.

“See you in a few minutes,” I said to Melissa.

As she carried Angelina up the stairs, our daughter squirmed her way up over Melissa’s shoulders so she could wave and laugh at the cops in the family room. Morales was smitten, as were Torkleson and Sanders.

Sanders, aware of why they were assigned to watching our house, said, “It just ain’t right what’s happening.”

Morales shook his head, said, “No it isn’t.”

Torkleson quickly shook hands with me and thanked me for dinner, and was out the door into the snowstorm. Cody bored holes into Torkleson’s back the whole way.

Sanders and Morales followed him. All I could think of was what in the hell Coates had told Harris-and why.

“THAT ASSHOLE,” Cody said, seething, “showing me up like that.”

“He wasn’t thinking,” I said, “he was just talking.”

“Which is the problem with the whole fucking department. They don’t think.”

“Do you want a nightcap?” I asked.

Cody shook his head. “I’m done.”

“The connection between Malcolm Harris and Aubrey Coates,” I said. “There’s something going on here I can’t figure out. Something big and awful.”

“Sometimes,” Cody said, looking over my head, “I wish I had a license to just kill people. I’d kill a lot of them and make the world a better place. I’d start with Aubrey Coates and Malcolm Harris, and move to Garrett and John Moreland. There’s about fifty others on the list I can think of.”

“Cody…”

“Don’t ‘Cody’ me,” he said.

“Brian’s funeral is tomorrow,” I said. “Do you want to go with us?”

“It’s tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus. I still can’t believe he’s gone. It hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“I know what you mean.”

He looked at me. “No, I won’t be there.”

That troubled me.

“It has nothing to do with Brian,” Cody said. He lifted his hand and pinched his thumb and index finger together. “I’m this close to cracking this thing.”

I inadvertently took a step back. “You’re kidding.”

Cody’s eyes blazed. “Nope. I think I’ve got it. I just needed to have the time to go through those call logs and do the police work. I think I’ve just about cracked it.”

“Tell me,” I said.

He smiled. His smile resembled-unfortunately-his Uncle Jeter’s. “I’ll tell you when I’ve got it,” he said. “I can’t put you two through any more false hopes or bad plans.”

Cody grabbed his coat from where it was thrown over the couch. He gestured upstairs. “That Sanders guy is a doofus. But he’s right when he says this ain’t right, and it ain’t.”

He paused at the front door. Snow shot in. “Coates is a dead man walking, he just doesn’t know it yet. But yes, I agree with you that there’s more to it than what we know. This Malcolm Harris thing throws me for a loop, but somehow I think it all connects. I just don’t know how yet.”

“When will I see you?” I asked. “There’s only three more days.”

“Not soon,” he said. “I’m going to New Mexico.”

“Why?”

“Later,” he said, waving me off. “Keep Melissa off the booze,” he said. “I’m worried about her.”

THE FUNERAL FOR BRIAN took place in Capitol Hill at the largest chapel I’d ever been in, and the place was packed with mourners we didn’t know. The décor was airy and sterile, all light pine and clean lines. Oh, and a small stylized cross hanging from a chain in a corner toward the front, as if placed there as an afterthought.

“A church designed by IKEA,” I mumbled to Melissa, trying to make her smile. Didn’t work.

If Brian were in charge of his own funeral-which in some ways he likely was-I thought it would look like this. It was larger-than-life, heavy on the hubris. An alt-rock band played contemporary dirges while a PowerPoint slide show presented shots of Brian skiing, swimming, speaking at a podium, clowning around, dancing, and costumed as both John Elway and Spider-Man at various parties. His remains were in a squarish marble urn on a velvet-covered riser at the front of the church. Brian’s partner, Barry, spoke about Brian’s loyalty, creativity, affection, and “ability to light up a room.” Barry seemed like a calm counterpoint to Brian, and I could see how the two fit as a couple.

Barry was followed by Mayor Halladay, who gave not only a moving speech and tribute to Brian but vowed to those in attendance that he’d make sure the killer was caught and brought to justice. There was a swell of clapping when the mayor said Denver was no place for hate crimes, and that Brian’s death would forever be remembered as the incident that ushered in a “hate-crime-free zone.” The mayor’s assumption that Brian’s murder was the result of his cruising downtown bars revealed where Mayor Halladay’s head was. It also spoke to the lack of progress in the investigation.

I found myself looking around at the mourners as the mayor spoke. Many of the faces I’d seen in the society section of the Denver Post and Rocky Mountain News, and a few on television news. Brian always claimed he knew everybody who was anybody in town, and the outpouring at his funeral proved it. I was proud of him for making such an impact on this city while still remaining our small-town friend.

We sat near the back simply because there were so many people already there when we arrived. Sanders and Morales, of course, were with us but, thankfully, in street clothes. The two of them sat directly behind us at the ser vice. I heard Sanders whisper, “World-class fruits and nuts in this place,” to Morales.