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Authors: Tom Corcoran
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can’t stand behind your office chair whispering cues,” I said.
“I think you’re scared of real work.”
“Not true, Sheriff. If I ever, in my life, take a true job, I want my phone to ring at least half the time with good news. If I took this job, every fucking call would be another dead person in the county.”
“You’re exaggerating, and you’re underestimating your talent. I know how you are. You go on a mission, you never let up.”
I laughed. “That’s how Bohner described Millican yesterday. He sinks in his teeth and never lets go.”
“Millican’s a subject I don’t have the energy to discuss. But I will say this. From this moment onward, if you happen to follow your nose, I don’t want to learn any new developments in the Citizen. I will be your first ear, and that’s an order, not a recommendation. If I were a mental and physical basket case, I’d still have the muscle to put you in a world of hurt.”
Liska threatening? This was too far around the corner. “If I learn anything,” I said, “it’ll be because it fell in my lap.”
Liska bit his lip, shook his head, and looked down at the page of paper he’d been holding the whole time. “I’m sorry now that I sent you up there with Billy Bohner. This written report you didn’t finish? You didn’t get the simple shit right. It wasn’t Tenth Street South.”
“My evidence is empirical. I read the sign. That’s where we turned.”
He pushed himself out of the lounge chair. “Your eyes are failing you.”
“I’m a photographer. My life’s in the details. Bohner made a fast approach to Tenth, jammed his brakes, and cut a Mario Andretti turn like he knew where he was going.”
“I do details, too, and I was in the dispatching room when the call came in as Thirteenth Street. The officer on the horn is the superstitious type. He wouldn’t say the number. He wrote it down and said, ‘Corpse, Unlucky Road.’”
“I stand by my version.”
“Why argue?” Liska pulled out his cell phone, punched a number. After a short wait and a ten-second conversation, he snapped the phone shut. “The call came in wrong, so I told him Thirteenth Street. How did Bohner know where to go?”
“Maybe it showed on his computer.”
“Good, but not true,” he said. “With two deaths so much alike, I didn’t want a media feeding frenzy. I ordered Web and radio silence on the location. It was word of mouth or landline phone only.”
“What time was the call?”
“Six-fifteen.”
“You were in your office that early?”
“I was at the Freeman Substation on Cudjoe. I had a breakfast meeting with the Border Patrol, which meant I brought coffee and doughnuts. That’s where we got the call. Why did you tell Lewis to think about two killers?”
“Did you get your prints from Hall this morning?”
“Yep,” he said. “I passed them to her. Something you saw?”
“The noose knots are identical, except they’re reversed as if one was tied by someone right-handed and the other by a lefty. But they both learned at the same school.”
“Do we know how to find you?”
“Al Manning’s place on Little Torch. Call here, it’ll jump to my cell. I’ll fax an invoice with my temporary address. Lewis has the other number.”
“That’s too much info, Rutledge. We’ll chase you down if we need to follow up on this chat. Other than that, I’ll take you at your word. If your phone doesn’t ring, it’s us.”
He swung open the screen door, stepped out, and let it slam shut behind him. I couldn’t tell if he was faking or hobbling with pain. Just before he got to his car, he reached for his cell phone. He looked back at the porch as he spoke, locked eyes with me, and appeared to make a mental decision. I saw him say no to his caller, and could tell by the way he moved his head that he was issuing orders.
I had understood his wanting to be secretive over the years, to hold his cards close during his city time and his short tenure as
“I think you’re scared of real work.”
“Not true, Sheriff. If I ever, in my life, take a true job, I want my phone to ring at least half the time with good news. If I took this job, every fucking call would be another dead person in the county.”
“You’re exaggerating, and you’re underestimating your talent. I know how you are. You go on a mission, you never let up.”
I laughed. “That’s how Bohner described Millican yesterday. He sinks in his teeth and never lets go.”
“Millican’s a subject I don’t have the energy to discuss. But I will say this. From this moment onward, if you happen to follow your nose, I don’t want to learn any new developments in the Citizen. I will be your first ear, and that’s an order, not a recommendation. If I were a mental and physical basket case, I’d still have the muscle to put you in a world of hurt.”
Liska threatening? This was too far around the corner. “If I learn anything,” I said, “it’ll be because it fell in my lap.”
Liska bit his lip, shook his head, and looked down at the page of paper he’d been holding the whole time. “I’m sorry now that I sent you up there with Billy Bohner. This written report you didn’t finish? You didn’t get the simple shit right. It wasn’t Tenth Street South.”
“My evidence is empirical. I read the sign. That’s where we turned.”
He pushed himself out of the lounge chair. “Your eyes are failing you.”
“I’m a photographer. My life’s in the details. Bohner made a fast approach to Tenth, jammed his brakes, and cut a Mario Andretti turn like he knew where he was going.”
“I do details, too, and I was in the dispatching room when the call came in as Thirteenth Street. The officer on the horn is the superstitious type. He wouldn’t say the number. He wrote it down and said, ‘Corpse, Unlucky Road.’”
“I stand by my version.”
“Why argue?” Liska pulled out his cell phone, punched a number. After a short wait and a ten-second conversation, he snapped the phone shut. “The call came in wrong, so I told him Thirteenth Street. How did Bohner know where to go?”
“Maybe it showed on his computer.”
“Good, but not true,” he said. “With two deaths so much alike, I didn’t want a media feeding frenzy. I ordered Web and radio silence on the location. It was word of mouth or landline phone only.”
“What time was the call?”
“Six-fifteen.”
“You were in your office that early?”
“I was at the Freeman Substation on Cudjoe. I had a breakfast meeting with the Border Patrol, which meant I brought coffee and doughnuts. That’s where we got the call. Why did you tell Lewis to think about two killers?”
“Did you get your prints from Hall this morning?”
“Yep,” he said. “I passed them to her. Something you saw?”
“The noose knots are identical, except they’re reversed as if one was tied by someone right-handed and the other by a lefty. But they both learned at the same school.”
“Do we know how to find you?”
“Al Manning’s place on Little Torch. Call here, it’ll jump to my cell. I’ll fax an invoice with my temporary address. Lewis has the other number.”
“That’s too much info, Rutledge. We’ll chase you down if we need to follow up on this chat. Other than that, I’ll take you at your word. If your phone doesn’t ring, it’s us.”
He swung open the screen door, stepped out, and let it slam shut behind him. I couldn’t tell if he was faking or hobbling with pain. Just before he got to his car, he reached for his cell phone. He looked back at the porch as he spoke, locked eyes with me, and appeared to make a mental decision. I saw him say no to his caller, and could tell by the way he moved his head that he was issuing orders.
I had understood his wanting to be secretive over the years, to hold his cards close during his city time and his short tenure as
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