Chapter 32
"That's him. Do you recognize him?"
Wick looked into the interrogation room. "Never seen him before."
"I hadn't either," Oren said. "Not until he came in here the other night ready to hand over the goods on Ricky Roy Lozada."
"I've got the goods on Ricky Roy Lozada. My great-aunt Betsy's got the goods on Ricky Roy Lozada. Where Lozada is concerned, "the goods," have been got for a long time. Trouble is, they're worthless."
"Calm down," Oren said. "I know you're upset about Dr. Newton's horses."
"Damn right I am."
"Nobody could've predicted he would do that."
"Why wasn't someone watching her house?"
"It's not in our city, not even our county."
"Don't give me any bullshit about jurisdiction, Oren. You staked out Galveston cops at my house there."
Oren dragged his hand down his tired face.
"Okay, maybe it was an oversight. How is Dr. Newton bearing up?"
"She insisted on going back to work today. Said that's what keeps her grounded. We drove in early from her ranch. I dropped her at the hospital just before coming here."
"Hmm."
Wick gave him a sharp look. "What?"
"Nothing."
"So okay, let's see what this bozo has to say."
As he reached for the doorknob Oren caught him by the arm. "Hold up. Don't go charging in there with steam coming out your ears."
"I'm cool."
"You're anything but cool, Wick."
Everyone in the FWPD Criminal Investigation Division knew that Wick Threadgill was among them that morning. Everybody, at least all the homicide detectives, knew that Oren Wesley's scheme to attract Lozada to Galveston had been a dismal failure.
While Threadgill and the lady surgeon were playing footsie on the beach, Lozada had doubled back and killed her stable of fine horses.
That's why Wesley had egg on his face, and you could fry one on Threadgill's ass.
Wick was aware of the attention he had attracted. If he'd had a bull's-eye painted on the back of his shirt he couldn't have felt more conspicuous. It hadn't been easy for him to enter the CID or even to walk into police headquarters. He had felt right at home and ill at ease at the same time.
Since his departure, the turnover of personnel hadn't been that considerable, so he knew many. Some spoke to him and even shook his hand as though genuinely glad to see him. Others looked at him askance and kept their hellos low-key. Wick understood. A police department was as political as any other bureaucracy.
Everyone watched his own back. A friendly greeting to an officer on indefinite leave might be misinterpreted by those who recommended advancement.
Anyone concerned about his next promotion wouldn't jeopardize his chances by mingling with a persona non grata like Wick Threadgill.
As though validating his paranoia and self-consciousness, it seemed that everyone on the entire third floor, upon hearing his and Oren's raised voices, had stopped what they were doing and were watching with frank interest to see how this scene between the former partners was going to play out.
Wick threw off Oren's hand. "I said I'm cool."
"I just don't want--"
"Are we gonna do this or not?"
Oren glanced over his shoulder at their attentive audience, then opened the door to the interrogation room and waved Wick in. Weenie Sawyer was seated at the far end of the small table.
He was jiggling both legs, his bony knees bobbing up and down as rapidly as synchronized sewing-machine needles. His teeth were doing a number on a fingernail.
When he saw Wick he paled, which was remarkable considering that his complexion was already the pasty color of a toad's belly. "What's he doing here?"
"You know Mr. Threadgill?" Oren asked pleasantly.
The man's eyes darted from Wick to Oren then back to Wick. "I recognize him from the pictures in the newspaper."
"Good. Then there's no need to make formal introductions." Oren sat down adjacent to Weenie.
Wick pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table, turned it around, and straddled it backward. He glared at the little man. "So you're the sniveling little shit who's been doing Lozada's research."
The diminutive man seemed to shrivel even smaller. He looked over at Oren. "Why's he here?"
"He's here because I invited him."
"What for?"
"So he could hear what you have to tell us."
Weenie swallowed hard. He squirmed in his seat. "I ... I've been thinking about it. It's not too smart for me to be here and talking to you without a lawyer."
"Come to think of it, you're right," Oren said.
"Maybe you'd better go hire you one. When you do, give us a call." He made to stand.
"Wait, wait!" Weenie divided another nervous glance between them. "If I get a lawyer is the deal still on?"
Wick practically came out of his chair.
"Deal?" He looked at Oren. "You made a deal with this dickhead?"
"Remember, Wick, you're only here because you promised not to interfere."
"Well you promised that this asshole was our ticket to getting Lozada."
"I think he is. But not without--"
"A deal," Wick said, fuming. "What did you offer him?"
"Immunity from prosecution."
He swore under his breath. "That's bullshit.
That's what that is."
"Then what's your idea?"
Wick gave Weenie a scornful once-over. "He's a little too big to throw back. Why don't we bread him in cornmeal and deep-fry him?"
Sweat popped out on Weenie's face. He looked wildly at Oren. "He's crazy!
Everybody says so. Lozada says so.
Lozada says he went 'round the bend when his brother died."
In a blur of motion, Wick practically vaulted the length of the table. He lifted Weenie out of his chair by his scrawny neck and pushed him backward, hard up against the wall, and held him there. The little man squealed like a trapped mouse.
"My brother didn't die."
"Wick, have you lost your mind? Let him go!"
"He was murdered, you puny little cocksucker."
"Wick, I'm warning you."
"Murdered by your pal Lozada."
Weenie's face had turned beet red. His feet danced uselessly a few inches above the floor. He rolled terrified eyes toward Oren. The detective had hold of Wick's arm, trying to break his grip on Weenie's neck.
"Nick, you're going to kill him. Let him go," he said, straining the words through clenched teeth.
He literally tried to peel Wick's fingers from around Weenie's neck. When that didn't work, when Weenie's eyes began to bug out of his head, Oren rammed his elbow into Wick's ribs.
His breath whooshed out. Immediately he released Weenie, who sank to the floor. Cursing expansively and holding his injured right side, Wick bent double.
Oren was breathing hard. "I'm sorry I had to hurt you, but goddammit, you just never learn, do you?"
Weenie remained crouched on the floor, whimpering, but their attention was on each other, not on him.
Wick straightened up, gasping with the effort.
"You do that again and I'll--"
"Shut up and listen, Wick. For once.
Listen." Oren took several breaths to control his own temper. "You're still having issues with anger management."
Wick laughed. "Issues? Anger management? Where'd you hear that? On Oprah?"
Oren shouted over him. "Has your rage blinded you to the fact that you're making the same mistake you made before? You want Lozada to escape prosecution again, you go right on doing what you're doing."
Thigpen opened the door and cautiously poked his head inside. "Everything okay in here?"
"None of your goddamn business!" Wick roared.
Oren told him everything was fine.
"What's the matter with him?" The detective was looking at Weenie, who was still on the floor, mewling and wiping his nose on his sleeve.
"He's okay."
Thigpen gave a dubious shrug, then withdrew and pulled the door closed after him.
Wick continued as though there'd been no interruption. "I've got a temper. I admit it. What you refuse to admit is that when it comes to Lozada, you've got no balls, Oren."
"Speaking of balls, yours should be good and blue by now."
Sparks shot from Wick's eyes. His hands formed fists at his sides. "What are you getting at?"
"Nothing."
"No. Oh, no. We're way past insinuations. Why don't you come right out and say what's on your mind?"
"Okay. You're sleeping with a suspect.
Aren't you?"
"If you're referring to Rennie Newton, yes. I am. And loving every second of it. But she's not a suspect."
"I haven't eliminated her as a suspect in the murder of Dr. Howell. Have you forgotten about that?"
"It was Lozada."
"Who could have been hired by her."
"He wasn't."
"Did she ever tell you about that card that she kept in her nightstand?"
"The enclosure card? I found it, remember?"
"Right, right. It came with the roses that Lozada sent her."
Wick spread his arms wide and shrugged.
"What's your point?"
"I'm curious is all. When she discovered that Lozada was the sender of those roses, why didn't she tear up the card? Destroy it along with the flowers. Throw it away."
"She was saving it as evidence."
"Or as a keepsake. See, after I dismissed it as evidence, she took it back. Far as I know she still has it."
Wick thought about that for maybe a split second, then shook his head emphatically. "She despises Lozada. He gives her the creeps."
"Yeah, so she's said. Tell me, Wick, did you start believing her before or after she screwed your brains out?"
Wick advanced a step. "I warned you once, Oren. Now I'm telling you for the last time, if you ever want to call yourself my friend again, if you ever called my brother your friend, you won't make remarks like that about Rennie. Ever."
Oren didn't back down. "Funny you should mention Joe. Because if he were here, he'd be telling you the same thing. He'd be the first to tell you that you're over the line. You can't be both cop and lover boy to a suspect."
"She's not a suspect," Wick repeated loudly. "She's a victim."
"You sure? You seem to have forgotten that she shot a man."
"She didn't."
"What?" Oren exclaimed.
"She didn't shoot Raymond Collier.
Her father killed him. She took the blame."
"Why?"
"Because T. Dan told her to."
Oren barked a laugh. "You believe that?" He laughed again. "She gives you this sob story that nobody can corroborate and you believe her?"
"That's right."
"Uh-huh. And when she told you this, was she blowing in your ear? Or just plain blowing you?"
Wick launched himself at Oren and both flew backward onto the floor. Weenie shrieked. Wick landed a few punches, but he wasn't anywhere near up to full strength and Oren had always been the heavier and stronger of the two. He fought back with a vengeance and without deference to Wick's injury.
When he had Wick somewhat subdued, he struggled to his knees and pulled his service revolver from his shoulder holster. He pointed it down at Wick. Tears of pain smarted in his eyes, but he could see the bore of Oren's handgun clearly enough.
Upon hearing the commotion, several other plainclothesmen rushed into the room. "Back out!"
Oren ordered. "Everything's under control."
"What happened?"
"Just a little misunderstanding. It stays in this department, understood?" When no one said anything, he shouted, "Understood?"
There were murmurs of consent.
Oren motioned with his pistol. "Get up, Wick."
"I'm not believing this. You pulled a goddamn gun on me?"
"Come on. Up. It might be a good idea if you went in the tank for a while. Cool off."
Oren glanced toward the door. "Thigpen, you got a pair of cuffs handy?"
"Not fucking hardly," Wick growled. He surged to his feet and head-butted Oren's belly. He heard the scuffle of feet behind him and knew the other officers were scrambling to assist Oren. Wick had the momentum, however, and succeeded in backing Oren into the wall. He placed a forearm across his throat while with the other hand he tried to wrest the pistol away from Oren.
"Take back what you said about Rennie."
Oren struggled just as hard as he.
The other cops were trying to pull Wick off, but he had adrenaline working for him. "Take it back!" His shout reverberated off the walls of the small room.
But it wasn't as loud as the gunshot. That deafened him.