David Coe - Spell Blind

Once again it came to me in a rush. “Damn!”

I crossed to the phone in two quick strides, intending to bypass 911 and call Kona’s direct line.

Before I could pick up the receiver, I heard a light footfall outside the window. I dropped into a crouch and again pulled my weapon free, which seemed at the time like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. Turns out it wasn’t such a great idea.

Every light in the house went out. I heard both the front and back doors being rammed open at the same time, and seconds later there were several bright lights shining in my eyes and a number of guys carrying what appeared in the darkness to be very large weapons ordering me to drop my pistol and lie down on the floor.

They identified themselves as Phoenix Police, and I had no reason to doubt them. This had the feel of a narcotics bust. And here I was, an ex-cop who’d left the force amid rumors of drug and alcohol abuse, with my pistol drawn in the house of a known dealer, who happened to be dead on the couch. I could imagine the big, shit-eating grin on Cole Hibbard’s face when he heard about this.

By the time the lights came on again, I had been cuffed, and a guy was standing over me with his foot resting on my back and his shotgun aimed at the nape of my neck.

Another cop squatted down next to my head. He was a big guy, mid-forties maybe. Sandy hair. I didn’t recognize him. He was in plain clothes, but he had on a dark blue windbreaker. I’d seen jackets like that before-I was pretty sure it had “PPD NARCOTICS” stenciled on the back.

“What’s your name, buddy?”

“Jay Fearsson,” I said. “I’m a PI. My license is in my wallet.”

“Fearsson?”

“Yeah. I used to be on the job.”

I saw him nod, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to take off my cuffs and invite me out for coffee and doughnuts.

“That your car out front?” he asked. “The 280Z?”

“Yeah, that’s mine.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes. I found the door unlocked.”

“So you just thought you’d let yourself in.”

“At this time of night, I thought something might be wrong, so yeah, I walked in. Listen, can you at least help me up. Carrying on a conversation with my face on the floor isn’t as much fun as you might think.”

The cop glanced up at the guy standing over me and nodded. A moment later, I was hoisted to my feet.

The cop I’d been talking to began to inform me of my Miranda rights.

I cut him off. “I understand my rights,” I said. “I’ll answer any questions you have.”

“You’re waiving your right to have an attorney present at questioning?”

“Yes, I am. Ask your questions.”

The two cops exchanged glances.

“How do you know the kid?” the cop asked me, taking out a pencil and pad.

“I remembered Robby from when I was a cop. I knew he’d been dealing for a while, and when I was hired by the Deegan family to look into Claudia Deegan’s death, I came to him, to find out if he sold Claudia her stuff. They were an item for a while.”

“Sommer and Deegan?” the cop said.

I nodded.

“How’d he die?”

“I have no idea. He was dead when I found him.”

“Can you account for your whereabouts tonight?”

“I was at Robo’s from about eight to ten. I dropped off my date at ten-thirty and drove to the Maryvale eight-thirteen to see a friend. Turned out there’d been an accident at his place and he was hurt. So I called 911 and waited with him until the ambulance arrived. Then I came here.”

“Busy night,” the cop said.

“Busier than I would have liked.”

“What’s your date’s name?”

“Billie Castle. She’s a political blogger. Maybe you’ve heard of her.”

He ignored that. “And the hurt friend?”

“Orestes Quinley.”

That got his attention. “Quinley?”

“Q and I have been friends for a long time. I’m the only cop who’s ever arrested him and gotten the charges to stick.”

The cop grinned. “And that’s the basis of your friendship?”

“When I was still on the job, he helped me out a few times. I still go to him for information.”

“All right, Fearsson. You know we have to take you in, right? I mean, the kid’s dead, you’re in the house, you’re carrying a weapon.”

“I understand.” He nodded to the other cop again and started to walk away.

“Tell me something,” I said, stopping him. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We’ve been watching Sommer for a while now-several months. Like you say, he’s been dealing for a long time.”

“Yeah, but why bust in on him tonight?”

“We got a call, a tip. Said there was a big deal going on here tonight.”

“When did the call come in?”

“Maybe an hour ago.”

“What time is it now?”

He squinted at his watch. “A little bit after one.”

An hour ago. Red must have made the call moments after killing Robby. He might even have made the call from here, maybe after retrieving his red stone. Had he taken one from ’Toine’s place, too? Was that why he’d torn it apart? Regardless of the rest, I was sure that he’d set me up. Was I being that predictable?

“Thanks,” I said. “Listen, can you do me a favor?”

The cop frowned.

“It’s nothing big,” I told him. “Just give a call to Kona Shaw in Homicide. Tell her I’ve been arrested, and where, and under what circumstances. She’ll do the rest.”

His expression remained sour and for a moment I thought he might say no. But I was an ex-cop, and that still counted for something. And I don’t think he believed I’d killed Robby. He was covering all the bases by having me taken in. I would have done the same in his position.

“Sure,” he said. He even pulled out his pad and pencil again. “Kona Shaw, you say?”

“She was my partner.”

He wrote it down, then nodded to me. “I’ll make the call.”

“Thanks.”

He walked toward the back of the house, then stopped again. “You touch anything?” he asked.

“I kicked in a couple of doors down the hallway, thinking I might find someone here. Other than that, no.”

The other cop led me outside and put me in a squad car. A crowd of people had gathered outside Robby’s house, and I could feel their stares as I sat in the cruiser, waiting to be driven to central processing. Even knowing that I’d done nothing wrong, I couldn’t help but feel humiliated. A couple of people yelled things at me, but I tried not to listen. I kept my head down, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. It occurred to me then that every cop should be put through this at least once, so that they could know how it feels to be on the other side.

When two of the cops finally got in the front of the car and we pulled away from the curb, I leaned back and closed my eyes, glad to be putting some distance between myself and the crowd. I never thought I’d be so pleased to be on my way to jail.

True to his word, the cop from narcotics called Kona. And she did the rest, just as I’d known she would.

In this case, doing the rest meant placing a call to Mateo Fuentes, in the public defender’s office. Mateo had been working in the P.D. office for several years now, and I can tell you as a former cop that I hated it when Mateo worked one of my cases. The guy was tenacious, brilliant, articulate, and sneaky as hell. In other words, he was the perfect trial lawyer. He could have made a mint in private practice, but he never went that route. Don’t get me wrong: public defenders are, as a rule, good people and they tend to be good lawyers-competent if not spectacular. But generally speaking, the shining stars in the P.D. office can find better jobs with the D.A. or in private practice. Public defense is crap work. At least half the time the lawyers there find themselves defending people they know or suspect are guilty. The pay is low compared with what most lawyers make, and the hours are nothing special.