Black Cat Weekly #89

Chapter 5-5

“The reporter from the Messenger has been pointing that out, too,” Jody says.

Messenger“Maybe he’d like to come work for me,” Forrest-Mercado says. “Better fringe benefits and more a***e. Well, maybe not.”

Teague hesitates. “How many other cases are you still investigating that involve Stonebury cops?”

“I’d have to check, but three or four come to mind.”

“Do they involve d**g raids?”

“A couple, yes. I’m not sure about the others. But they’re all the same story. Like trying to dig the Panama Canal with teaspoons.”

Teague crosses his fingers. “Would you be able to send us that material, too? If necessary, we could have Weronika Chudzik make an FOI request.”

Forest-Mercado almost smiles. “You should do that. Give me an email address.”

Teague hands her his card, and she holds the door for them. The receptionist taps ostentatiously on her keyboard while they leave.

“Want to stop for ice cream?”

“You tried that yesterday, remember? I’m a grown woman, Chico. Do I look like jailbait?”

Chico“I’m trying to change up my game. I’ve offered to buy you a drink a dozen times, and the thirteenth might be bad luck.”

“Yeah, I guess there’s that.” She c***s her head. “Carvel or Dairy Queen?”

Back at the office, Jody works through her banana split and Teague makes coffee to accompany his hot fudge sundae. Jody flicks a dollop of whipped cream off her lip before speaking.

“I’ve got more of Regina’s friends bookmarked.”

Teague moves his chair next to hers while she brings up an i********: page.

Shirlee Kumin is African American, with flat features and wide shoulders. When Jody shows a picture of all three women together, Shirlee stands a head taller than both her friends. She works in retail and is “in a relationship.”

“Shirlee and Tanya Rios are the only ones who live in town,” Jody says. “I found a couple of others who might have been buds in college, but one’s in California, and the other was somewhere down the East Coast. Delaware, I think.”

She scrolls through pictures of Shirlee Kumin with a man even taller than she is. Another shows her with several small children and other adults, a family Thanksgiving.

“Nice-looking family,” Jody comments.

“Yeah. Wait a second, back up.”

Jody stops scrolling.

“Let me see that shot with Regina again. There. Copy that and blow it up.”

They stare at Shirlee and Regina Brinkley, apparently at a party somewhere, both in low-cut tops and both with slightly off-kilter smiles.

Jody enlarges the image until it begins to pixilate before she backs off slightly.

“She’s wasted,” Teague says. “Both of them are.”

“Yeah.” Jody looks at the date on the picture. “Last winter. What about it?”

“Nothing special. Let’s message Shirlee, too, and see how long it takes her to get back to us.”

Jody shrugs. “She may see this in the next five minutes. Getting back to me’s a whole different thing.”

She texts Chudzik to request the material from the Inspector General. Morgan St. Vincent answers their text, and they arrange to meet with him in his office at Trinity College the following afternoon.

“What now?” Jody asks.

“I’m feeling antsy.” Teague feels his sundae surging through him. “Let’s see if we can stir up another hornet’s nest.”

Mayor Matthew Borden presents himself as the perfect median for any white demographic. He’s about Teague’s height, and an indeterminate age, with receding brown hair, medium brown eyes behind boring frames, and a suit that might have fit him better fifteen pounds ago. His voice is the aural equivalent of a third-generation photocopy.

When Jody and Teague mention Langloise and Ferris, he shakes his head.

“Terrible tragedy,” he says. “But the police were doing their job. They conducted a raid, met resistance, and defended themselves. The Inspector General said so, and I agree.”

“The Inspector General hasn’t issued her report,” Teague points out. “The police have been stonewalling her.”

Borden raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“We interviewed her earlier today.” Jody’s voice is soft. “Neither Christine Ferris nor Henry Langloise owned a g*n, and the warrant was for drugs that weren’t found. Someone screwed up.”

“But they fired at the police,” Borden says. “That’s why they returned fire.”

“A g*n was produced at the scene,” Teague agrees. “But it has no connection to either Langloise or Ferris. Their fingerprints weren’t on it, and neither of them was checked for GSR at the scene or in the hospital. Anyone could have dropped it. And it didn’t even have to be fired at the house.”

“That’s a pretty wild statement, don’t you think?”

“The police report doesn’t mention a bullet hole anywhere in the house with a slug that matches that gun.”

“It might have been omitted because it didn’t matter.”

“It would prove that the g*n was fired in the house.” Jody speaks even more softly, and Teague thinks of a dog that doesn’t bark. “And maybe in the room where Chrissie Ferris was crippled. If it were somewhere else, it might have been fired at another time. If you don’t mention a bullet at all, it leaves the issue unresolved.”

“You sound a little bit paranoid. Some big conspiracy, Big Brother, the Dark State, all that stuff.”

“A journalist is saying those same things, sir.”

“That African guy for the Messenger. He’s just a pain in the a*s trying to raise his own profile.”

MessengerBordon leans back in his chair so he can look down his nose at them. “But people in this town support the police. I do, too. The guy is just playing the Black Lives Matter line and talking about defunding the department. That’s so crazy I won’t even discuss it.”

“How about individual police?” Jody says. “Police brutality doesn’t have to be an entire group.”

“Alleged brutality,” Borden raises his eyebrows and Teague feels condescension fill the room.

“Do you know either of the officers involved?” Teague watches Jody’s fingernails digging into the arm of her chair. “Or Joseph Pacyna?”

“He’s the Union rep.”

Borden holds up his palm.

“The guy and his girlfriend. They’re lucky no one checked them for the residue. If they did fire the shots, they could be prosecuted for resisting arrest, maybe even attempted murder.”

“The warrant was hinky,” Jody says. “It says the police got it because of a CI, but nobody’s seen it. We’re wondering if that CI has been used before. Or if he messed up the address and the cops hit the wrong place.”

“You’re reading that columnist again. He’s a r****e-rouser like all those BLM types. I wish to God he’d just shut up and let bygones be bygones.”

“That’s right,” Jody snaps. “This is an election year, isn’t it? You can’t afford to buck the guys who got you elected.”

Borden stiffens. “I’m not going to be intimidated by threats. You two can leave.”

Jody turns to Teague, eyes wide and innocent. “Did you hear a threat, Eric?”

“Not even,” he says. “We’re being pushy and disrespectful, but we’re always like that. We haven’t even said we’re going to post a crappy review online.”

“You two need to get a grip.” Borden’s face turns red. “You’re making wild and dangerous accusations. That’s what that reporter was doing, too, and Karma’s a bitch.”

“Are you threatening us now?” Teague stares at Borden until the man picks up his phone. He turns to Jody.

us“It’s a warm day, Your Honor. Don’t let it get to you.”

Jody seethes all the way back to their car and checks her phone after buckling her seat belt. Tanya Rios has responded to her text and is off that afternoon.

“We’re in luck.” She uses Google Maps to reach the woman’s apartment, a brick building that screams of the eighties with topiary that makes Teague think of The Shining.

The Shining.Tanya greets them in jeans and a Taylor Swift T-shirt and ushers them into a small living room with potted plants on every flat surface except the chairs and couch. Sun splashes through the wide window and makes the place surprisingly bright.

In person, Tanya is Jody’s size, but her energy fills the space, and her voice is a crisp alto..

“Gina, God.” She clasps her hands in her lap. “I still can’t believe it.”

“Do you think Kennedy M’tsumbe killed her?” Teague asks.

“God, he was so into her,” Tanya replies. “I could see that right away, they were like perfect together.”

“Gina was with him for about a year, is that right?”

“Um, I think I met him last fall sometime, and they were absolutely a couple by then. God, so cute. I know that sounds stupid, but…”

“Do you think he killed her?” Jody asks again.

Tanya seems to shrink until Teague fears that she’ll slide between the slats on the back of her chair.

“God, I don’t know, it’s all so crazy. I saw him at her funeral, and he looked awful. I wanted to go up and give him a hug, but…”

“You only saw him a couple of times, though? And were they both long ago?”

“Yeah. He was a kinda like a big brother, you know? Trying to take care of her. He was…”

Tanya twists a lock of her dark hair around her finger and looks toward that sunny window.

“He didn’t like you?” Jody asks. She glances at Teague and changes the conversation to Spanish. Tanya’s eyes widen, but she replies swiftly. Teague’s Spanish consists of a half-dozen words he picked up from local gangbangers or bad movies, but he hears Shirlee Kumin’s name a couple of times. Jody matches her posture to Tanya’s, and they gradually lean toward each other.

After several minutes, Jody stands and thanks the woman, then glances at Teague.

“She’ll text Shirlee and tell her I’m OK and she should call me.”

Outside again, they lean against the shady side of Teague’s car.

“Gina, Tanya and Shirlee all did a little blow,” Jody reports. “That’s why Mitt only saw them a couple of times. Remember, he said he got Gina into rehab?”

“There’s more to it?”

“Tanya says Gina got busted. That’s why she went into rehab.”

Teague stares at her. “When?”

“Last winter sometime. Shirlee knows more about it.”

“Funny neither Mitt nor Chudzik mentioned it.” Teague pulls out his own phone. “Maybe my cousin can check if I ask her nicely.”

“Offer her ice cream,” Jody suggests.

“It doesn’t work on you,” he points out.

“I’m special.”

Teague holds his tongue. Three blocks from Tanya’s apartment, he sees a familiar bulk in the rearview mirror.

“We’ve got company. I think that’s the same SUV again. Or maybe I’m just paranoid.”

“If someone’s following us, that means they’re afraid we’re getting close to something, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe. Or maybe they’re just big fans.”