Faye Kellerman: Blindman’s Bluff

“Get some sleep, Pete.”

“Too wound up. Any word from Gil Kaffey or Antoine Resseur?”

“Nope.”

“No idea where they are?”

“Not a clue, but if they’re like most people at this time of night, they’re sleeping.” Marge paused.

“Unless they’re dead. In that case, nothing’s gonna wake them up.”

THE FIRST THING Marge did was check Joe Pine’s fingerprints against José Pinon’s school fingerprint card. When it was confirmed that Joe/José was the same person, Marge and Oliver steadied themselves for a long night. Watching from the video camera, they saw Pine go through a series of nonverbal gesticulations almost as meaningful as speech. There was the pacing, then plopping in the chair with the head in the hands, then laying the head on the table, then pacing again. There was one quick swipe at the eyes, wiping away tears, crying for no one but himself.

Pine had on a lightweight nylon jacket over black jeans and a black T-shirt and the usual B and E ski cap. He was built on the small side, around five seven with wiry arms. His face was long, and his complexion was mocha with cream. His dark brown hair had been snipped a few millimeters shy of a crew cut. His round brown eyes gave him a boyish expression mitigated by a strong, masculine cleft chin.

When Marge and Oliver came into the room, Pine was sitting, his eyes at his feet. He glanced up and then looked back down. The room was around eight-by-six feet with a steel table pushed up against the wall and three chairs. Pine occupied the chair on the right side, the one farthest from the door.

Marge took up the seat closest to him while Oliver sat opposite.

“Detective Scott Oliver.” He placed a cup of water in front of Pine. “How’re you doing?”

Pine shrugged. “Okay.”

Marge introduced herself and placed her clipboard on her lap. “We’re a little confused,” she told Pine. “What was going on back there, Joe?”

“What do you mean?”

“What we mean is we found you hiding in a closet with a gun.” Marge tried to make eye contact, but his focus was elsewhere. “What was that all about?”

“No big deal.”

Oliver nodded. “How’s that?”

“Just what I said…no big deal.”

Oliver said, “To the guy living there, it was a big deal.”

Marge said, “Tell us why you were there.”

“In the closet?”

“In the closet in the condo that didn’t belong to you.”

Pine said, “I heard you banging on the door and I knew you’d take it the wrong way. So I hid.”

“Okay,” Marge said, writing down notes. She stopped and regarded his face. “How would we take it wrong? What way were we supposed to take it?”

“It isn’t like you think. It was just a game, you know?”

“A game?” Oliver repeated.

Marge said, “Explain it to us.”

“You know…a game.” Pine leaned his head against the wall until he couldn’t move any farther.

Beads of moisture were forming on his forehead. “To get in with the right people, you gotta play the game.”

“Which right people?” Oliver said.

“My bros, you know?”

“Which bros?”

“In Bodega 12th.” Pine shrugged. “It’s all a big game.”

Marge said, “I thought you were already a member of Bodega 12th.”

“To move up.”

Marge nodded. “How does that work? Moving up?”

Pine snickered. “Hey, you been in your business for a while, no? You know how it works.”

“So tell me anyway.”

“You gotta prove yourself. If you don’t, there are plenty others who will. So that’s what I was doing.”

“You committed a breaking and entering to get into a higher position in the gang?”

“Exactly.”

Oliver said, “So what were you supposed to do when you got inside the condo?”

“Just like…take something…to prove you were there, you know?”

“Then why the gun?”

“Just in case…”

“In case of what?” Marge said.

“In case things get like…you know…complicated.”

“How would things get complicated?”

“What if he had a gun?” He smiled and sipped water. “A guy’s gotta protect himself.”

“So you knew who lived in the condo you were breaking into,” Marge said.

“Uh…no.” Pine shook his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“You said in case he has a gun.”

“He…she. I’d only use the gun for protection.”

“Joe, you’re confused about something,” Marge said. “If you break into a person’s house and he uses a gun against you, that’s protection. If you use the gun against him, that’s called a home invasion and that’s a felony.”

“I wasn’t gonna use it,” Pine told her. “It was for protection, man.”

“You’re still committing a crime,” Oliver said. The two of them went back and forth on the gun until Marge broke in. “Why did you choose that condo?”

“What?” Pine answered.

“Why did you choose to break into that particular condo?”

“I dunno.” Pine’s eyes went to the floor. “It was on the ground floor. It was easy.”

“So to prove that you deserve a…promotion in the organization, you chose to do an easy B and E?”

Pine narrowed his eyes in anger. “It’s never easy…things can happen.”

Marge said, “And things did happen. You committed a felony, and because you were packing, now you could go away for a long time.”

“No one got hurt.”

“Your security guard days are over,” Oliver told him.

“That’s okay with me.” Pine sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “Who needs that shit?”

“The Kaffeys gave you shit?”

“Not the Kaffeys…that motherfucker Brady…reaming out my ass for being a minute late. I don’t need that shit.”

Marge noticed he hadn’t broached the murders. He spoke as if he had been merely fired. “What else didn’t you like about Neptune Brady?”

Her question unleashed the furies. For the next half hour, she and Oliver heard a litany of complaints about “that motherfucking, half-nigger, asshole Brady.” And while she didn’t feel any warmth for the Neptune, the punishment Brady had given Pine for his infractions fit the crime.

1. Neptune docked his pay whenever he was late.

2. He docked his pay if his uniform wasn’t cleaned and pressed.

3. He docked his pay if he heard inappropriate language.

4. He docked his pay if he’d miss a day without twenty-four-hour notice.

Oliver said, “So why’d you keep working at the job?”

The question momentarily threw him. “I dunno. It was steady money. Just not enough of it, know what I’m saying?”

“What’d you think of the Kaffeys?” Oliver asked him. “I dunno.”

“It’s not a trick question,” Marge told him. “Did you like the Kaffeys?”

“I didn’t know them enough to like them.”

“But you guarded them,” Marge said.

“Yeah, but that don’t mean we were bros. It was just like…yes ma’am, no ma’am. The guy never talked to me. I coulda been a piece of furniture. Once he reamed my ass for talking to the wife.”

“What were you talking to her about?” Marge asked.

“I said I liked her new Vette or something like that. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Don’t talk personal to the lady.’ From then on, it was good morning, ma’am, and nothing else.”

“Sounds like you didn’t like them.”

Pine shrugged. “I was furniture to them, but they were furniture to me.”

Making them that much easier to blow away, Marge thought. “I heard it was Guy Kaffey who brought you onto the staff.”

“News to me.” Pine frowned. “Why you asking me so many questions about Kaffey?”

“That’s kinda obvious, Joe,” Oliver said.