William Bernhardt - Hate Crime

“Shelly!” Mike bellowed.

Shelly Chimka froze in her tracks, just outside the front entrance to Remote Control. “Yes?”

Mike ran up to her, Swift and Baxter close behind. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all over town!”

“I went to Springfield to visit a girlfriend. I told Mario I wouldn’t-”

“You didn’t tell him where you were going.”

“Why would I?”

“Don’t give us that innocent routine,” Swift said. “You know you’re a material witness. You were told not to leave town.”

“I didn’t, really. It was just Springfield.” Her face scrunched up. “What’s this all about, anyway?”

“This is about you,” Mike said, gazing down at her right arm, still tucked into the blue sling. “And something that’s bothered me since the first time I talked with you. You told me, not to mention an investigator named Loving, that you tried to commit suicide after Tony was killed. But something about that never seemed right to me. You may well have been close to Tony, but you don’t seem the suicidal type, and your face gave off all the wrong signals when you said it. You’re much too pragmatic. Too controlled.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a compliment, lady. But it left me with a major problem. If you didn’t really try to off yourself, what happened to your arm?”

Shelly instinctively pulled the sling close to her. “I don’t see why it matters to you.”

“Oh, I think it matters a lot,” Mike said. The three of them closed around her. “You told me you tried to kill yourself the night after Tony was killed, but Mario Roma says that the next time you came to work-the very next morning after the incident-your arm was already in a sling.”

“He’s misremembering.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve been reading Tony Barovick’s journal. The last thing he records-the last thing he wrote before going off to his death-was that he had a phone call from you. Coincidence?” Mike shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

“You’re way out of line.”

“Are we?” Baxter asked. “Why did you call Tony?”

“I-I-hardly remember.”

“Give me a break. Last time you talked to him before he’s killed, and you don’t remember what you called about?”

Shelly’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for an avenue of escape. “It was just… just… some work thing.”

“Cut the crap,” Mike growled, pushing his nose into her face. “Someone else might go soft on you because you’re cute and perky, but I don’t give a damn about any of that. All I see is a liar. And now I want the truth!”

“Oh… God!” she gasped. She began to tremble, sobbing at a nearly hysterical pitch. “I didn’t want to do it! They made me!”

“I’m sure they did,” Swift said, wrapping an arm around her. “Now let’s go inside and talk about it.”

Twenty minutes and two cups of coffee later, Shelly had herself sufficiently under control that she could tell them her story without breaking down. And no one would dream of interrupting her. Because what she had to say was incredible.

“They came to my apartment, after my shift.” She sat on a sofa in the break room behind the kitchen of the club. “I was getting ready for a date-all alone, totally vulnerable. Two men. They threw me down on the sofa.” Her face turned ash white, just from the memory. “I thought they were going to kill me.”

“What did they do?”

“They said things, called me ugly names, and they… touched me. Pawed me. One of them jerked up my shirt, and-and-he had a knife and-oh, God, I was so scared! I was afraid-”

“I can imagine,” Baxter said, trying to calm her. “It sounds horrible.”

“What did they want?” Mike asked.

“They wanted Tony. Poor Tony.” Tears seeped from her eyes. “They wanted me to call him up, get him to come over to my place.”

“Did they say why?”

“Not exactly. But they kept calling Tony their partner. Said they’d been working on something together.”

“Did they say what?”

“No. But there was a lot of money involved. And a kid. Several times they referred to a kid.”

Mike, Swift, and Baxter all exchanged looks.

“Why not just wait till Tony left the club after work?”

“Because then he would be with Roger, his boyfriend. They wanted him to leave alone.”

“Was Manny Nowosky one of the men?” Mike asked.

She nodded. “With someone else. That chicken I’d seen in the bar.”

“So what happened? Did you do it?”

“I didn’t want to!” Her face was stricken, contorted by grief. “I refused, several times. Told them I wouldn’t help them.”

“And then?”

“One of them-Manny-knocked me across the face. Called me a dirty little bitch and told me I would do what he said or he’d hurt me. Hurt me bad.”

“So you called.”

“Not at first! I held out as long as I could. I told them I couldn’t, wouldn’t know what to say. Manny got really mad.”

“Did he… hurt you?”

“Not just then. He and the other guy argued for a long time. Manny said he wanted to take me apart, limb by limb. Wanted to hurt me and hurt me till I would beg for the chance to do what they wanted. Then, suddenly, the argument ended. Manny grabbed my arm and jerked me into the kitchen. He pulled a butcher knife out of the drawer and-and-” She threw herself down, her face pressed against a sofa cushion. “He cut me! Don’t you understand? He cut me!”

Mike motioned to Swift, encouraging her to try to comfort the woman. He was useless when it came to this kind of trauma.

Shelly continued. “He slashed my wrist. Not so bad I would die, but the pain was incredible. He wanted me to tell Tony I’d tried to kill myself, that I was losing blood fast. He knew that would get him out of the club and over here in a hurry.” Another wave of tears followed. “And I did it. God help me, but I did it.”

“You had no choice,” Swift said softly, stroking her hair. “None at all.”

“Manny listened in with the knife at my throat the whole time. I told Tony I’d been depressed and I’d slashed my wrist and I didn’t know what to do. Of course, he said he’d come right over. He was always so good. He loved me, he really did. And I loved him.” She buried her face again. “So he left the club in a hurry. Alone. Don’t you see? I killed him! Just as much as anyone. It was my fault!”

“That’s absurd,” Swift said, cradling the distraught woman in her arms. “It was not your fault.”

“This is all well and good,” Baxter said, “but why didn’t you say anything about it before now?”

“I think I can answer that question,” Mike answered. “You didn’t want to see those two men again.”

“I was so scared,” Shelly said. She was rocking back and forth, hugging her knees. “So terrified they would return. Even after I knew Manny and Charlie were dead. He killed Tony. And Manny, right?”

“Probably,” Mike acknowledged. “And Charlie.”

“And he would’ve killed me, if I’d told you what happened. I didn’t like lying. But I had no choice. After I bandaged my wrist, I put my arm in a sling to try to conceal what had happened. I started telling people that I’d hurt myself, hysterical about what had happened to Tony. Any story. Just so no one would know what had really happened.”

“Can’t blame you for that,” Mike said quietly. “A lot tougher types than you would’ve caved if something like that had happened to them.”

“I’m still not getting this,” Baxter said. “We know those two fraternity creeps beat up Tony after he left the club. Did Manny and his pals know they were after him? Were they all working together?”