Killing Frost Read online

  SIXTEEN

  The lights in the vast auditorium blinked. People headed to the pews. The program was about to begin. The place went from quiet and sedate to loud and swinging. The sound of the choir filled the large space with ease. Perhaps Shanahan would have stayed awake if it weren’t for the parade of speakers that followed the choir. Despite or because of the poetic rhythm of the oratory, for Shanahan, the sound turned into an unintelligible drone.

  Even when his brain wasn’t struggling against the swelling and inflammation, long, quivering quotes from the Scriptures sent him into dull gray emptiness. The words ceased to have meaning. ‘The Lord has taken you from one path in order to pursue another …’ Images crept in, faces of his parents, his brother. ‘We have been blessed by your presence in a world that can be callous and uncaring.’ His wife, the mother of his son, who left him so many years ago, visited him. Just a glance. It didn’t trouble him. He had made peace with that part of his life. ‘You have not only witnessed injustice, you’ve tried to right it, put lost souls back on the path of righteousness …’ The kid, the dead face he saw in the window of Fournier’s office appeared, pleading. For what? Shanahan could hear himself moan. Something shook him.

  ‘Like Christ she could not leave the poor and the struggling by the road …’

  He went somewhere. He didn’t know the place. Or how long he was there. He heard a voice. A familiar and welcomed voice.

  It was Maureen. She urged him to follow her. She was trying to help him up. A crowd had gathered around him, yet the pew had been cleared. Harold was there to steady Shanahan, who was unsteady at first. He gained strength and determination as he approached the end of the pew and more strength as they approached the exit.

  ‘You’ve had a small seizure,’ she told him.

  ‘Is he going to be OK?’ Harold asked.

  Maureen nodded, retrieved a small pillbox from Shanahan’s suit pocket, plucked a couple of pills. Shanahan swallowed.

  ‘I have some water in my car,’ Harold said as Shanahan slumped in the front seat of Maureen’s car.

  ‘I caused a scene,’ Shanahan said, realizing with embarrassment that he had lost control of his bladder.

  ‘It’s a big place. It was like a Cubs’ fan fell down in the bleachers in left field. The game continued,’ Maureen said. ‘Nobody noticed.’

  ‘Who won?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘The angels, I suspect. Home field advantage.’

  Shanahan could hear the echoed sound of the speaker from the parking lot. Harold jogged to the Lexus and jogged back.

  ‘Showoff,’ Shanahan said to Harold when he returned.

  Harold smiled.

  ‘You better get back to Miss Bailey,’ Shanahan said. ‘She won’t be happy as it is.’

  ‘She sent me over,’ Harold said. ‘She wanted me to make sure you were all right.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘She said she’d call you tomorrow,’ Harold said.

  He might have slept. Shanahan wasn’t sure. He didn’t know how much time had gone by before the car moved and he reengaged with day-to-day reality.

  People began leaving the church. Small groups turned into larger ones, spilling out into the parking lot. The ritual was respected and Mrs Fournier was sent off.

  Shanahan was quiet, tired and embarrassed. He said nothing on the drive home. The day had been a bust and it wasn’t like he could do it over. He sat in the chair by the window.

  Death had come suddenly, decisively for Alexandra Fournier. But that’s not the usual way, he thought. For most it came in tiny steps, sometimes barely noticeable. Shanahan felt he’d had a tiny death today. Yes, yes, he chided himself. Death always comes suddenly. You are and then suddenly you aren’t. And – he could feel the anger rising – why dwell on it? You big baby! He cursed himself. He almost said it out loud.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Maureen said. ‘I think I’m going to work from home for the next couple of days.’

  The anger returned.

  ‘Nothing going on in the office, and it’s more comfortable here,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t need a nurse,’ he said, more harshly than he intended.

  ‘This isn’t just about you.’

  ‘That’s precisely why I don’t want to be the focus.’

  ‘The reason you had a seizure, Mister Shanahan, is that you didn’t take your pills. They were on the shelf in the bathroom.’ She sat on the arm of the sofa across from him. ‘By the way, Mrs Tice said something interesting to me. It didn’t register right away. Then the program started and I forgot about it. It’s nothing, maybe.’

  Shanahan was about to bet on nothing.

  ‘She said “boys.” Boys, plural.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I told her how hard it must be for her to go through all this tragedy. Mrs Fournier and the boy.’

  ‘“The young are the most tragic,” she said. “My heart broke when I learned about the boys.”’

  Shanahan sat up straight. No one mentioned two boys had died. True as it was, why wouldn’t they?

  He thought he might know. In fact, it seemed obvious now that he thought about it. He got up, found the phone and his notebook. He punched in the number for Mrs Tice.

  ‘This is Shanahan. You have a moment?’

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m fine. You told Maureen that it was a tragedy about the boys. More than one boy.’

  ‘Yes. Nicky Hernandez and Justice King.’

  Hernandez was the young man cleaning the gutters. Justice King?’

  ‘Justice was accidentally shot by the police some time ago.’

  ‘Was the cop Leonard Card?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just know it probably wasn’t supposed to happen.’

  ‘The boys? They both had connections with the center?’

  ‘They were both aging out at about the same time. They were out on their own. I thought they’d make it.’

  ‘So they knew each other?’

  ‘They were close.’

  ‘You didn’t mention it before.’

  ‘You didn’t ask about it,’ she said. ‘Is there a connection?’

  ‘Did the police talk to you or anyone about the boys knowing each other?’

  ‘No.’

  He understood. Black and Hispanic kids without family, but with juvy records, out on the street get killed. Happens all the time.

  ‘Did Mrs Fournier talk about this Justice kid?’

  ‘She was furious. She wouldn’t talk about it, but when I brought it up she froze in anger in that way she did. We didn’t have to talk. I knew that once someone made it on the outside that was her payment. That gave her what she needed to stay alive.

  Shanahan called Collins. ‘I know it’s asking a lot, but I need to see the files on Justice King and Leonard Card.’

  ‘The files? I don’t have those. Internal Affairs has them.’

  ‘Card’s victim, Justice King, and Nicky Hernandez knew each other. Good friends.’

  ‘Same gang, maybe.’ It was a comment meant to throw cold water on the implications suggested by Shanahan’s questions.

  ‘You circling the wagons, Officer?’

  ‘You’re forgetting some things. Card couldn’t hit the side of a barn with a brick at three feet, and at the time Mrs Fournier was about to ring your bell, Card was having a colonoscopy. I can get you the video if you want it.’

  ‘You ever talk to Justice King’s friends?’

  ‘I didn’t, no,’ Collins said. ‘Others might have.’

  ‘I need to see the file on Card. I need to see what the oversight committee saw or sees, for that matter.’

  ‘I’d like a harem, Shanahan.’

  ‘I asked first.’

  ‘You’re not going to get it from me.’

  ‘What happened to your suggestion of cooperation?’

  ‘I don’t have access to it. I’ve told you.’

  ‘Maybe a reporter could stir things up. With
Charles biting the dust and the connection between the two kids …’

  ‘Don’t threaten.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘When was the last time you said you were sorry?’ Collins asked.

  ‘When John McCain was president.’

  ‘McCain was never president. Oh, I see. I appreciate it even more.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ Shanahan said.

  ‘No, I mean it. I appreciate it.’

  ‘No, I mean it. Don’t mention it.’

  Collins laughed. ‘Give me a day to see what I can do.’

  SEVENTEEN

  The blurry numbers on the clock radio gave him the only information readily available in the darkness: 11:53 p.m.

  Maureen’s moan wasn’t about pleasure or pain, but a complaint about being taken from her sleep by the pounding on the door.

  ‘Stay here,’ Shanahan said. He felt his way to the bureau where he slid his fingers around the cool metal of the .45, slipping it from beneath the underwear in the top drawer. He knew the house by heart, even the creaks in the wood floor, which he could mostly dodge. A knock on the front door could mean someone else was already inside through the backdoor or a window.

  The front porch light, switched on by a movement sensor, revealed the slightly pudgy, mostly tired face of Lieutenant Swann.

  ‘Collins said I should come talk to you.’

  Shanahan stifled the word ‘now?’ and stepped aside.

  ‘Sorry about the hour,’ Swann said. He came in, stood still, until Shanahan switched on a light in the living room.

  Not even a moment after they had settled into the barely lit living room, Maureen appeared. She stood in the doorway, robe closed at the neck.

  ‘May I get you some coffee, Lieutenant?’

  ‘Did anyone ever tell you old people went to bed early?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘She isn’t old,’ Swann said by way of defense.

  ‘Can I whip you up some tiramisu or maybe banana flambé?’ Shanahan said.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Swann said with a sad, appreciative grin. One could barely hear him. His head was buried in his hands.

  ‘Coffee would take just a minute. Or there’s whiskey,’ she said. ‘It’s cold out.’

  Shanahan nodded. ‘Whiskies.’

  ‘Collins said you wanted the file on Card,’ Swann said.

  ‘I was expecting something in a manila folder.’

  ‘I’m the manila folder,’ Swann said. He took the glass from Maureen. ‘Thank you. I think this will help.’

  Maureen gave the other glass to Shanahan. ‘I’m climbing back in bed and see if I can’t find that handsome young man in the forest.’

  Shanahan handed her the .45. ‘Put that in the silverware drawer.’

  ‘Helluva way to mash potatoes,’ she said as she disappeared into the hallway.

  ‘Why did Collins send you?’

  ‘I’m kind of the problem.’

  ‘How’s that?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘The oversight committee was about to end the investigation into Card. There was a witness, but the witness wasn’t sure he would testify. Mrs Fournier was furious. She wanted the name of the witness. Internal Affairs didn’t have the name. Only an anonymous note. Fournier came to me for help.’

  ‘Why did she come to you?’ Shanahan sipped his whiskey.

  ‘Same reason she was coming to you. Jennifer Bailey recommended me. If you remember, you and I worked on Bailey’s missing niece. What was her name?’

  ‘Jasmine,’ Shanahan remembered. He’d seen her at the funeral.

  ‘Jasmine. Anyway, Mrs Fournier didn’t know where to go and she didn’t know who to trust. Her sister recommended me.’

  ‘But you’re the problem, you said. I’m puzzled.’

  ‘I am. I’m the reluctant witness,’ Swann said.

  ‘Jesus.’ Shanahan understood. Swann was the witness Fournier wanted Swann to find. Swann’s by-the-book reputation, the basis for his highly respected integrity and his slow but steady success, ran head on into the thin blue line of brother-cop loyalty.

  ‘How about that? I’m the one who can ruin Card’s career. His life.’

  ‘Collins knows.’

  ‘That’s why, in his sardonic way, he put me on the case and why he’s riding it so close.’ Swann took a sip and put the glass on the table. ‘I guess we were putting on the great stall, waiting for divine intervention or at least Lady Luck. Maybe Card would retire or kill himself. Fournier got tired of waiting and came to you.’

  ‘Also on Bailey’s recommendation,’ Shanahan said. ‘Bailey should have had a bigger Rolodex.’

  Swann nodded.

  ‘Card killed the kid on purpose?’ Shanahan continued.

  ‘Card had some other kid collared when Justice King came into the picture. The kid pulled out a cell phone. Card either mistook it for a weapon or he didn’t care. He no doubt felt outnumbered. It was over in seconds. Nobody seemed to mind. But it turns out Justice was some sort of saint in the eyes of some and the story wasn’t going to go away.’

  ‘And you haven’t made up your mind about what to say? How about just the truth as you saw it?’

  ‘Simple, you think.’

  ‘Not easy, but simple,’ Shanahan said.

  ‘I don’t know what Card saw or thought he saw. I can say that a good cop, a good man with cop training wouldn’t have shot that kid. And this isn’t the first mistake Card made that ended in an unnecessary death. Also a black kid.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘A couple of days and the committee decides based on the facts they have,’ Swann said.

  ‘Two questions. Did Card know there was a witness? If so, how?’

  ‘As I understand it, the committee knew the decision was on hold because there might be a witness. That was based on my anonymous note and that fact was probably conveyed through the lawyers. If there’s no corroboration, he’ll walk.’

  ‘Could Card have suspected you?’

  ‘He didn’t know I was there. I was doing a little surveillance on a drive-by. Some of my gang-bangers were there. Everyone, and there were a dozen or more of them, scattered when Justice King went down. I waited a few seconds, drove up and told him I just rolled in. It’s in my hands. Do I let the clock run out?’

  ‘You’ve decided.’

  ‘I have?’

  ‘You told me. I work for Bailey.’

  Swann picked up his glass. There was a gulp left. He took it.

  ‘You knew that.’

  Swann nodded. ‘I needed a nudge.’

  ‘But you’re not happy about it.’

  ‘No,’ Swann said. ‘From the beginning, there was no good end.’

  ‘Who needs Socrates?’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Jennifer Bailey asked. Shanahan put the phone on speaker and set it on the counter. He only had use of one hand, so holding a phone and doing anything else was impossible. He dropped two slices of cinnamon bread in the toaster.

  ‘Good. I missed my morning pills yesterday.’

  ‘One of the many hazards of old age,’ she said.

  ‘And a diminished brain.’

  ‘The subject of my call.’

  ‘Let me give you a report before you show me the door.’

  Maureen came shuffling in, slippers half on. ‘Your sister knew the boy Card killed,’ Shanahan continued. ‘She was also aware there was a witness to the killing of young Justice King, but not who or whether the witness would testify. I think that’s why she came to me. I can’t know that for sure. She was making a lot of noise because without an eyewitness Officer Leonard Card would skate.’

  Maureen poured herself a cup of coffee and sat at the table to listen.

  ‘She hammered the police first. I know that. And not getting a satisfactory response she came to me.’

  ‘Are you telling me that this policeman Card killed off my family to keep his pension?’

  ‘It’s a valid if not compelling motive. But there are sig
nificant problems with it. Card didn’t have the skill to kill Alexandra or Charles the way they were killed. He had an alibi for Alexandra and I’m betting he had one for Charles.’

  ‘He could have hired it done?’

  ‘Collins ran his financials. He was in debt, but not in a desperate way. A mortgage on his house. A loan on his car. The question really is why would he care if Charles lived or died even if he could afford a professional hitman? Charles was behind bars in Michigan City when Card killed the kid. And, I’m sorry, but Charles didn’t seem like the kind of guy who cared whether some kid got whacked. What would he have to do with it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said.

  ‘You’ve told me everything you know, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Do you believe it is worthwhile to continue?’

  ‘Yes, but that’s your call.’ Shanahan waited out the silence.

  ‘It is. Are you capable? You can do this?’

  ‘I will be doing this, Miss Bailey. The only question is whether I do that for you or my other client.’

  ‘Nicky Hernandez,’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought so. I need Harold today. Do what you can, however you can. Get well. He’ll be available tomorrow at noon. Who is this witness, Mr Shanahan?’

  ‘Lieutenant Swann.’

  ‘Good God,’ she said. ‘This means …’

  ‘You tell no one until the time is right.’

  ‘You’re asking me …’

  ‘No, telling you. Lives and careers are on the line. And there’s something else going on, something bigger than a rogue cop. I don’t want to blow it now.’

  The toast popped up. Shanahan jumped.

  Maureen laughed. ‘Tough guy,’ she said.

  Maureen meant what she said about staying home. Shanahan used the noon sun, as warm as it was going to get, to rake the leaves. He was able to use his body and right arm to guide the rake. It was awkward, but doable. Maureen bagged the leaves. The fresh, cool air felt good. The trees on the neighboring lawns and in the stretch of land along the creek below still held some red and gold patches, striking, even without sunlight, against a sky of gray and silver. When winter fully arrived, and that would be soon, there would only be shades of gray. The notion that a sniper had a clear shot at them if he was so inclined wasn’t lost on Shanahan. But the sniper had a clear shot at him on the day Alexandra was killed and didn’t take it.