George Pelecanos - The Night Gardener

'What was he wearing?' said Ramone, hearing the catch in his voice.

'He had on a North Face coat,' said Tinsley. 'I could make out the symbol they got in the moonlight. That's all I can recall.'

'Anything else you remember about him?'

'Well, there was the gun.'

'What gun?' said Ramone.

'The thirty-eight revolver that was in the boy's hand.'

Ramone made a sound. It was a short, low thing that was close to a moan. Rhonda said nothing. They all listened to the air coming from an overhead vent into the room.

'Did you touch it?' said Ramone.

'I took it,' said Tinsley.

'Why?'

'I saw money lyin there,' said Tinsley.

'Didn't you realize that you would be destroying evidence at a crime scene?'

'Three hundred dollars was all I could see.'

'So you stole it.'

'Wasn't like that little nigga was gonna use it again.'

Ramone stood out of his chair, his right fist balled.

'Gus,' said Rhonda.

Ramone quickly exited the box. Rhonda got up and glanced at her watch.

'Can I get a soda, somethin?' said Tinsley.

Rhonda did not answer. Instead she looked into the camera. 'Two forty-three p.m.'

She left Tinsley there with his dread and walked into the offices. She found Ramone sitting and talking quietly with Bill Wilkins by Wilkins's desk. Rhonda put a hand on Ramone's shoulder.

'I'm sorry,' she said.

'Why didn't I see it?' said Ramone.

'None of us did,' said Rhonda. 'No gun on the scene. Any of y'all ever work a gunshot suicide where no weapon was found?'

'Left-handed mitt,' said Ramone. 'Left-handed, shot in the left temple… powder on the fingers of his left hand. He wasn't wearing that North Face because he was showing it off. He was carrying a gun in its pocket. My son saw him and said he was sweating. But he was crying. I shoulda fuckin seen it.'

'You gotta admit,' said Wilkins, 'it's unusual, him killin himself.'

'That's not true. Bill,' said Rhonda.

'I'm sayin, black kids don't do themselves, generally.'

'See, that's wrong,' said Rhonda. 'Black teenagers do commit suicide. Matter of fact, the suicide rate of black teenagers is on the upswing. One of the benefits of being admitted to the middle and upper class. You know, the cost of money. Not to mention easy access to guns. And a lot of black gay kids just know they're never gonna be accepted. Part of it's that unspoken thing in our culture. Some of my people gonna forgive you for just about anything, except that one thing, you know what I'm saying?'

'Think of how it was for Asa,' said Ramone, 'living with guilt in that kind of hyper-macho environment.'

'He couldn't live with it,' said Rhonda.

'Anyway,' said Ramone, standing.

'Where you goin?' said Rhonda.

'Still a couple of things I need to sort out. Bill, I'll call you with an update later on.'

'What about all the processing and paperwork?'

'Your case. Sorry, big guy. I'll talk to the father, if it's any consolation.'

'Charges on Tinsley?' said Rhonda.

'Charge that motherfucker with everything,' said Ramone. 'I'll find a way to make it stick.'

'We did some good work here today,' said Rhonda.

'We did,' said Ramone, looking at her with admiration. 'I'll talk to you all later, hear?'

Out in the parking lot, Ramone phoned Holiday's cell. Holiday answered and said that he was out by National Airport, dropping off a client.

'Can you meet me?' said Ramone. 'I gotta talk to you in private.'

'There's someplace I need to be,' said Holiday.

'I'll come to you right now. Gravelly Point, by the airport. The small lot on the southbound lane.'

'Hurry up,' said Holiday. 'I don't have all fuckin day.'

The main area of Gravelly Point, on the Potomac River and accessible from the northbound lanes of the GW Parkway, was a popular spot for joggers, boat launchers, rugby players, bicyclists, and plane watchers, as the runway of Reagan National was only a few hundred yards away. On the opposite, less picturesque side of the parkway was a small parking lot, used mainly by limo and car service drivers waiting for airport clients.

Dan Holiday leaned against his Town Car in the smaller lot. He watched as Gus Ramone's Tahoe pulled alongside his Lincoln. Ramone got out of his SUV and came to where Holiday stood. Holiday took mental note of Ramone's disheveled appearance.

'Thanks for seeing me,' said Ramone.

'What'd you do, sleep in that suit?'

'I earned my money today.'

Holiday removed a deck of Marlboros from his jacket. He shook a cigarette free and offered it to Ramone.

'No thanks. I quit it.'

Holiday lit one for himself and blew a little smoke in the direction of Ramone. 'Still smells good, though, doesn't it?'

'I need a favor, Doc.'

'Seems to me I called you earlier today and asked for a favor. But you wouldn't help me out.'

'You know I couldn't give you the name of that officer.'

'I said wouldn't .'

'No difference, to me.'

'The straight man,' said Holiday.

'It's moot now, anyway,' said Ramone. 'Asa Johnson was a suicide. His death had no connection to the Palindrome Murders.'

Holiday dragged on his cigarette. 'I'm disappointed. But I can't say that I'm surprised.'

'Cook's gonna take it hard. I know he thought that this would reopen the case. That this murder would somehow solve the others.'

'It's gonna crush him.'

'I'll tell him,' said Ramone.

' I will,' said Holiday.

'Doc?'

'What?'

'That officer's name is Grady Dunne.'

'You're too late. We got it already.'

'Look, I'll find out why he was down there that night. Maybe it will help with the prosecution.'

'Don't forget the perp in the backseat,' said Holiday.

'Could have been a teenage suspect,' said Ramone. 'Or maybe it was just a lady friend.'

'You think?'

'You tell me.'

'Because I got a history of that,' said Holiday. 'That's what you're sayin?'

Ramone didn't answer.

'You never did ask me about Lacy,' said Holiday.

'I would have. You turned in your badge instead.'

'It was your screwup,' said Holiday. 'You should have grand juried her instead of giving her time to skip.'

'I know it.'

'The day your informant saw me talking to her, before she disappeared? The conversation wasn't about your dirty vice cops or anything else to do with your IAD case.'

'What was it about?'

'Fuck you, Gus.'

'I'm interested. You been wanting to tell me. So why don't you go ahead and get rid of it?'

'I gave her some money,' said Holiday. 'Five hundred dollars. Bus fare back to whatever Bumfuck, Pennsylvania, address she came from and some extra to get started. I was trying to save her life. 'Cause her pimp, Mister Morgan, would have found a way to cut her to shreds whether he was tied up with the law or not. He was that kind of asshole. But you wouldn't have known that, working behind your desk. If you had talked to me, man-to-man, you might have understood.'

'You tanked my case. We never did get to prosecute those vice cops. And Morgan killed a dude six months later. All you did was fuck things up.'

'I was helping that girl.'

'That's not all you were doing with her. She told me all about it in one of our interviews. So don't get all high and mighty on me, all right?'

'I helped her,' said Holiday. But he said it weakly and he couldn't look Ramone in the eye.

'I'm sorry, Doc,' said Ramone. 'I took no pleasure in what happened to you.'

Ramone watched the sunlight shimmer off the water to the right of the lot, the river runoff that formed a pond. Holiday took a last hit of his cigarette and crushed it under his shoe.

'So what's the favor?' said Holiday.

'It's complicated. Asa Johnson's gun was stolen by a guy named Aldan Tinsley after Asa committed suicide. Aldan sold the gun to a Dominique Lyons, who used it in a homicide the following night. I got a confession out of Tinsley, but I shit the bed in the process. I roughed up Tinsley pretty bad, and I ignored his request for a lawyer three times. When the defense attorneys get ahold of this, and the testimonies mutate, I could have a problem. These are bad guys, and I'd like to see them go away.'