David Hosp - Among Thieves

“Sally, this is Tom Kozlowski,” Finn said.

She sat up a little straighter but didn’t respond, trying to dispel any impression that she was intimidated. Lissa could tell it was an act, though. Kozlowski said nothing.

“Right,” Finn said. “We have to drop you off at school, and then Mr. Kozlowski and I have some business we have to deal with together. My car’s a little small for the three of us, so I figure we can take Koz’s car.”

Lissa could see the girl go a shade paler at the thought of riding with Kozlowski. She stood. “You two have a lot to deal with today. I have a doctor’s appointment later, but other than that I’m not that busy, so why don’t I take Sally to school?” She wasn’t sure who looked more relieved, the men or the girl.

“Really?” Finn said. “That’d be great. I want to get over to the Body Shop as early as possible.”

“No problem,” Lissa said. “You ready?” she asked Sally.

The girl got up and picked up her bag. She walked over to the door and looked back at Lissa. Lissa started toward the door, then turned and walked back to Kozlowski, lifting herself up on her toes and giving him a kiss that lasted longer than necessary. Kozlowski was taken by surprise, but she didn’t care. She turned and walked past Sally, whose mouth was open wide enough to count teeth. “C’mon,” she said. “Let’s go.” With that, Lissa opened the door and walked out, a broad, amused smile breaking over her face as Sally followed her out to the car.

Detective Stone crouched near the spot where Vinny Murphy’s body had been found. He stared down at the rough outline traced around what had been left of the man before they poured it into a body bag, rolled it on a stretcher, loaded it into a van, and drove it to the morgue to be deposited in a refrigerated drawer. The autopsy had revealed little that wasn’t apparent from a visual inspection. The injuries that preceded the fatal shot to the head had been inflicted carefully, to maximize pain while keeping Murphy alive and conscious.

It was still an hour before Stone’s shift started at nine o’clock, and he’d already been at the Body Shop for half an hour, considering the entire scene in the glint of the morning. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was there. It was unlikely that the teams of forensic specialists that had been there the day before had missed anything. And yet there he was, squatting by the dark stain that was the last impression Murphy would leave on the world.

It was because he wanted to gain Sanchez’s approval, he recognized. There was no getting around it. He hoped to gain some additional insight he might share with Sanchez at the start of their shift to earn her respect. It was foolish, probably. He was a damned good cop, and if she couldn’t see that already, she would likely not be convinced. They had gone back to the station house the previous day and she had gotten on her computer and tapped away at the keyboard for more than an hour. He’d asked twice what she was researching, but she hadn’t responded. He could see why she lost partners.

He stood up, taking one last look around the garage before walking back out to the parking lot. As he approached his car, a tiny, battered convertible pulled into the driveway, rolling over the line of yellow police tape Stone had left on the ground.

Stone waved his arms and yelled, “You can’t come in here! This is a police investigation scene!” Ultimately it mattered little-the forensics team had swept the entire property for anything that might be helpful to them. They had taken plaster molds of tire tracks and sifted through the dirt of the driveway for anything they could find, like archeologists on a dig, bagging and tagging every cigarette butt and every piece of trash. Nevertheless, Stone had no intention of letting civilians into the crime scene area while the investigation was continued. It would open the door for a defense lawyer to argue that the evidence was tainted if they ever caught the bastards. He waved his arms again as he pulled out his badge and held it up for the driver to see.

The car pulled to a stop, but didn’t turn around. Instead, both doors opened and two men got out. Stone squared his shoulders, drawing on the authority of indignation. He slowed, though, as the bigger of the two men pulled himself from the low-slung passenger seat and looked at him. Stone recognized the man instantly.

“Jesus,” Stone said. “Kozlowski. You’ll get yourself shot, pulling into a crime scene like that, y’know? You’re not a cop anymore, in case you’d forgotten.”

“Maybe if they’d put a real cop in charge here it wouldn’t be such a problem,” Kozlowski replied. “Maybe someone who wasn’t a rookie, and who’d know to put the tape back up in front of the driveway.”

“Been a while since I was a rookie. Been a while since I saw you.”

“No shit? I’m old; time moves faster for me,” Kozlowski said. He looked Stone up and down. “I’d heard they put you in civies full time,” he acknowledged. “Vice?”

Stone shook his head. “Homicide.”

“No shit, again. A real job? I guess they’ll take anyone these days, then, huh?”

“They have to. We used to have a bunch of old guys who fucked things up pretty bad.”

“I never fucked up a case in my life,” Kozlowski growled.

“No, you never did,” Stone admitted. “You just pissed off the wrong people in the department.” He moved forward and put out his hand. “How you been?”

Kozlowski shook the hand. “Getting by.”

“Good to hear.”

“You remember Scott Finn, right?”

Stone regarded the second man. “From the Caldwell case, right? Hard to forget.” Neither of them offered his hand. “I heard Koz was working with you now. Hard to believe. If I remember right, he had you pegged as a murderer a few years ago.”

“I was wrong,” Kozlowski said.

“He also had you pegged as an asshole,” Stone said.

“So, he was partially wrong,” Finn replied.

Stone turned back to Kozlowski. “What are you doing out here?”

“We need to talk to Vinny Murphy,” Kozlowski replied. “I take it he’s not around?”

“That’s an understatement.”

Kozlowski exchanged a look with Finn. “How so?” he asked.

“I mean he’s gone. Really gone.”

“Arrested?” Finn asked.

Stone shook his head. “That’d be an upgrade. He was murdered. You read the papers?”

Finn shook his head. “I had a busy morning. I haven’t had the chance.” He looked at Kozlowski, who just shrugged. “What happened?” he asked Stone.

“Pretty nasty. We’re not sure exactly yet.”

“When?”

“Saturday night. Maybe early Sunday morning.”

“Any leads?” Kozlowski asked. He still sounded like a cop.

“Not that I can talk about,” Stone said.

“Anything you can tell us?” Finn asked.

Stone hesitated. Kozlowski had been one of the best detectives in the department; his insight might be useful. Stone wasn’t going to give up any information without getting something in return, though. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here first.”

The two men looked at each other. “We can’t,” Finn replied.

“No?”

Finn shook his head.

“Well then, it looks like we’re not going to be able to help each other.”

Finn sighed. “We’re here for a client. For information. That’s all I can say.”

“I could ask you to come down to the station to talk,” Stone said. “This is a murder investigation.”

“Wouldn’t do you any good,” Finn replied.

“No, probably not. But without more, this conversation isn’t gonna go anyplace.”

Finn put his hands in his pockets, but Kozlowski spoke up. “Devon Malley was picked up Sunday night for a robbery.” Finn’s head spun toward the private detective, but Kozlowski waved him off. “Rumor had it that Murphy might know something about the crime. We were just out looking to see what we could find out.”