in cuffi and ushered "into an interview room. In the days of Mike Fallon, someone would have kicked his a.s.s for his fashion choices alone.
"So howd he get a liquor license with a felony conviction on his sheet?" Kovac asked, sagging into his chair.
"He didn"t," Elwood said.
"Come around here, for chrissakel" Kovac groused. "You"re giving me a stiff neck."
Liska grinned and pushed at his chair with the toe of her boot. "You should be
glad for the sensation.""Very funny."Elwood rounded the end of the cubicle, holding out a fax. "The license on thebar was issued by the munic.i.p.ality of Excelsior in the name of CherylBrewster, who months later became Cheryl Fallon." "Ali, the estranged missus""Kovac said. "The soon to be ex-rm* ssus"" Liska corrected. "I called her at home. She"s a nurse. She works nights at Fairview Ridgedale. She says she"s divorcing him,and it can"t happen a moment too soon to suit her. Drunken, mean son of ab.i.t.c.h-just a sampling of the terms of endearment.""Gee, and I found him such an agreeable fellow," Kovac said. "So, the wifeholds the liquor hcense.What happens when she dumps him?" "Neil"ss.h.i.t-out-of-luck, that"s what:" Liska said. "They can sell thebar with the license, pending approval of the new owner by the powers that bein Excelsior. Neil could get himself a new front man, but that hasn"t happenedyet. Cheryl says he"s trying to buy the rest of the business out and forgetthe liquor license, but he can"t seem to get the cash together for thateither. Even if he could, she says he can"t make a living off the placewithout the bar, so ..."I asked her if she thought he"d try to borrow money from his family, Shelaughed and said that Mike wouldn"t give Neil change for a dime, let aloneenough money to buy out the business-even though she says she knows Mike hadplenty.""We call that motive in the detective business," Elwood pointed out. "I wonderif he put the touch on Andy," Kovac mused."He had told Cheryl he was going to see ifAndy wanted to invest, but shedidn"t know what ever happened with that," Liska said. "We can ask Pierce.It"s safe to think he nuight have advised Andy on his financial stuff."170 T A M H 0 A 0 "But if Pierce thought Andy"s brother might have had something to do with hisdeath, why wouldn"t he have said so?" Elwood asked.Kovac nodded. "Why not point the finger instead of acting like the weight"s onhis shoulders? "Let"s check through the notes on the canva.s.s of Fallon"s neighbors. See whowe nuissed, make some follow-up calls. Maybe someone might recognize a car, orknow he"d been seeing someone. Elwood, do you have time to run throughFallon"s address book and check with the friends?" "Will do." "We"ve got to redo part of the neighborhood canva.s.s anyway, Liska said."First time around, two of our little elves were Ogden and Rubel." Kovacgroaned. "Great.That"s what we need, Ogden telling people they didn"t seeanything.""If a wit saw someone other than him or Rubel-like Neil Fallon or Pierce n Ogden would have brains enough to bring it to our attention," Liska said."So we have to hope the uniforms missed that someone.""Who missed who?" Leonard demanded, coming to an abrupt halt at the cubicle.Kovac pretended to search for a file on his desk, covering the notes he"d maderegarding Andy Fallon"s death."The guy that beat up Nixon," he said. "Deene Combs"s henchman.We have to hopehis people missed scaring the s.h.i.t out of someone who knows something about.i.t." "Have you talked to that woman again? The one the cab driver saw going insidethat building as the perp ran away."Five times." "Talk to her again. She"s the key.We know she knows something." "That"s a deadend," Kovac said. "She"ll take it to her grave.""If Nixon isn"t going to rat the guy out himself, Charmiqua Jones isn"t gonnado it for him:"Liska pointed out.Leonard frowned at her. "Talk to her again. Go to where she works. Today. I don"t want these g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers thinking they can run wild." Kovac glanced atLiska, who looked down at the floor and crossedher -eyes. The common logic regarding the Nixon a.s.sault was thatU S T T 0 D U S T 171 Wyan Nixon had shorted his boss, Deene Combs, on a small-time drug deal andhad been made an example by said boss, but no one was talking, includingNixon. The county attorney, who wanted to take a more publicly visible hardline against drug dealers, had pledged the county would press the charges ifNixon wouldn"t. But without a witness, there was no case, and the cab driverhadn"t seen enough to give a detailed description of the a.s.sailant.."It"s a black hole," Kovac said. "No one"s going to testify to anything.What"sthe point?"Leonard made his monkey frown. "The point is, it"s yourjob, Kovac." "I know myjob-""Do you? It sounds to me that you"ve been redefining the parameters.""I don"t know what you"re talking about." "Fallon is closed. Leave it alone.""You heard about Mike?" Kovac said. The deliberate curveball, even as hewondered who had ratted him out to Leonard. His money was on Savard. Shedidn"t want him hanging around, getting too close to her, threatening tobreach the security of the walls she had so carefully erected around herselfWyatt didn"t give a s.h.i.t what went on in Kovac"s little world. AD he caredabout was getting to his next PR event.Leonard looked confused. "That he killed himseIP" "I"m not so sure that"s what happened.""He ate his gun." "Looked that way.""There are a couple of red flags, Lieutenant," Liska said. "The positioming ofthe body, for instance.""You"re saying the scene was staged?""Not staged, but a little too convenient. And there"s no suicide note." "Thatdoesn"t mean anything. A lot of suicides don"t leave notes." "The older sonhas some issues-and a record." "I want to dig a little," Kovac said. "Maybe Mike did whack himself, but whatif he didn"t? We owe him better than to let it slide because suicide was the easy answer.""Let"s see what the ME has to say," Leonard said grudgingly, unhappy with theidea of a slam dunk turning into a whodumit-especially this case, with Wyattand the rest of the bra.s.s monkeys looking on. "In the meantime, go seeCharniqua Jones. Today. I want the county attorney"s office off my a.s.s aboutNixon." T A M 0 A G usually inV D R AT H E R S T I C K myself with needles than go to the Mall of Americaduring the Christmas season."Kovac glanced over at Liska as he piloted the Caprice through rush-hourtraffic going east on 494. "Where"s your consumer spirit. "Dying from lack ofoxygen down at the bottom of my bankaccount. Do you have any idea what kids want for Christmas nowadays?""Semiautomatic weapons?""R.J. gave me a list that looks like the inventory forToys"R"Us." "Look on thebright side, Tinks. He didn"t send it to you from a juvenile detentioncenter." "Whoever said it cost a million bucks to raise a kid through college did nottake Christmas into account." Kovac negotiated a lane change around a snot-green Geo doing fifty with awhite-knuckled balding guy at the wheel. Iowa plates. "I-wegian farmers," hegrowled. "They don"t know how to drivewithout a cornfield on either side of them."
He cut across two lanes to catch the exit he wanted. His driving spurred remarks from Liska, but she said nothing, seeming lost her thoughts of the holiday bearing down on them.
Kovac remembered the Christmas the year after his first wife had left. He"d sent gifts to their daughter. Stuffed animals. A rag doll. s.h.i.t like that.Things he"d hoped a little girl might like.The boxes had been returned unopened. He"d hauled the stuff to a Toys for Tots drop, then gone out and drunk himself into a stupor. He wound up in a fistfight with a Salvation Army Santa out in front of the government center, and got suspended for thirty days without pay. I "He"s your kid," he said. "Get him something he really wants and quit your b.i.t.c.hing. It"s only money."
Liska stared at him.
"What"s he really want?" he asked, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. "He wants me and Speed to get back together."
"Jesus H.Any danger of that happening?"
She was silent half a beat too long as they drove into the mall"s west-side ramp. Kovac looked over at her again.
"Has h.e.l.l frozen over yet?" she asked defensively. "Did I miss that on the news?"
T 0.
D U S T 173.
"He"s an a.s.shole.""I don"t need you to tell me that." "I"m just saying."Kovac parked and memorized the level and row number. One of12,750 parking s.p.a.ces on mall property. This was not the place to get lost.The Mall ofAmerica was like a giant, elegant, four-tiered rat maze, the widehallways teerruing with frantic humans scurrying from one store to the next.The biggest mall in the United States-five hundred stores, two and a halfmillion square feet of commercial s.p.a.ce and still there weren"t enough retailoutlets for those searching for the perfect item to wrap and have returned twodays after Christmas. Human nature.The noise from the Camp Snoopy amus.e.m.e.nt park at the mall"s center wasconstant; the dull roar of roller coasters and the water flume ride,punctuated by shrieks of customers. A high school choir was a.s.sembling onrisers in front of the entrance to Macy"s, boys cutting up and girls wanderingtoward the windows of Lerner"s as their director barked at them ineffectually.They pa.s.sed the three-story Lego Imagination Center with its twenty-five-footLego clock tower, huge Lego dinosaur, Lego s.p.a.ce station, and a Lego blimpmade from 138,240 Lego blocks hanging suspended above it all.Kovac turned in at Old Navy with a jaundiced eye on a display of track pantsandT-shirts and ugly quilted vests."Look at this s.h.i.t.""Retro-seventies," Liska said. "Shirts in theall-my-clothes-shrunkin-the-wash-but-I-wear-them-anyway style.""I thought it was ugly the first time around. Looking at this is like having abad flashback on high school."The clerk Kovac badged was a girl with a hp ring, cat-eye gla.s.ses, and maroonhair that looked as if a five-year-old had hacked at it with a pinking shears."Is your manager around?""I"m the manager. Is this about that guy who"s always hiding in the racks andflashing his thing at women?""No." "You ought to do something about him.""I"ll put him on my Est. Is Chamiqua Jones working?"174 T A M"Yes." The girl"s eyes looked big behind the gla.s.ses. "Whatd she do? She"snever flashed a p.e.n.i.s at a nyone."We"ve just got a couple questions:" Liska said. "She"s not in any trouble."Cat Eyes looked skeptical but made no comment as she led them toward the dressing rooms.Chamiqua Jones was twenty-something, looked forty-something, and was builtlike a fifty-five-gallon drum with a rusty Brillo pad hairdo. She stood guardnear the dressing rooms, directing would-be consumers and shoplifters."That door over there, honey." She pointed a customer down the row, then shookher head and muttered under her breath as the customer walked away, "Like yougonna get your fat white a.s.s in them pants."She glanced at Kovac and Liska, then let herself into one of the dressingrooms to pick up a tangled pile of discarded jeans."You again." "Hey, Charmqua.""I don"t need this ha.s.sle on my job, Kovac.""Here I was missing you, and .that"s the greeting I get? I feel likewe"re getting to be old pals."/Jones didn"t smile. "You gonna get my a.s.s killed, that"s what." "You stilldon"t have anything to say about Nixon?" Liska said. "The president? Nope.Nothing. I wasn"t born yet. I hear he was a crook, but ain"t they all?""Witnesses put you at the scene of the a.s.sault, Chamiqua.""That rag-head cab driver?" she said, carrying the jeans to a table. "Helying. I never seen no a.s.sault. I told y"all before.""You didn"t see a man jump Wyan Nixon and beat him with a tire iron.""No, ma"am. All I know "bout Wyan Nixon is he is bad news. Especially for me."She folded the jeans with quick, practiced movements. Her hands were chubby,with short fingers and taut skin.They made Kovac think of small balloonanimals. Her gaze darted twenty feet away to a stocky young man with a tightwhite spandex cap that looked like a condom for the skull. Kovac had neverseen him before, but there was no 1111"staking what he was: muscle. A hundredeighty pounds of sociopathicD U S T T 0 D U S T 175 meanness. He nu*ght have been sixteen or seventeen, but he was no kid. Hestood near a rounder of polar fleece vests, turning it without looking, hisflat, cold gaze on Charmiqua Jones."I"m very busy here:"she said, and went to unlock a dressing room with a keyhanging from a neon-green plastic coil around her wrist. Kovac turned his backto the muscle. "We can offer you protection,Charruiqua.The county attorney wants Deene Combs behind bars." "Protection:"she snorted. "What? You gonna send me on a bus to some flea-trap motel inGary, Indiana? Hide me out?" She shook her head as she returned to the tablewith another pile of clothing. "I"m a decent person, Kovac. I work two jobs.I"m raising three good kids. I want to live to see them through school, thankyou very much. Wyan Nixon can look out for his own black a.s.s. I"m looking outfor mine." "If he wants to be a hard-a.s.s, the county attorney can charge you as accessoryafter the fact," Liska said, fishing. "Obstruction ofjustice, failure tocooperate . .."Jones held her hands out in front of her, darting a glance at Condom Cap."Then you put the cuffs on me and take me away. I got nothing to say aboutWyan Nixon or Deene Combs. I didn"t see nothing."Kovac shook his head. "Not today. See you around, Chamiqua." "I hope not.""n.o.body loves me today," Kovac complained.Liska pulled out a business card and put it down on the stack of folded jeans."Call if you change your mind."Jones tore the card in two as they walked away."Who can blame her?" Kovac said under his breath, giving the skunk eye toCondom Cap as they pa.s.sed."She"s looking out for her kids:"Liska said. "I"d do the same. It"s not likeshe could take Deene Combs off the street, anyway.You know he didn"t do Nixonhimself She could give up some piece of meat like that guy watching her and still get herself killed for her trouble, and for what? There"s a thousandmore where he came from.""Yeah. Let it go. One sc.u.mbag beats the s.h.i.t out of another sc.u.mbag.That"s oneless sc.u.mbag on the street for a whileWho cares? n.o.body cares.""Somebody has to care:"Liska corrected him. "We have to care." Kovac looked ather. "Because we"re all that"s standing between society and anarchy?"176 T A MLiska made a face. "Please. Because our clearance rates count bigtime towardpromotion. Screw society. I have kids to put through college."Kovac laughed. "Tinks, you never fail to put things in their properperspective.""Someone has to keep you from getting morose." "I"m never morose.""You"re always morose."11Fm not morose, I"m bitter," he corrected her as they pa.s.sed the RainforestCafe, where sounds of thunder and rain were playing over the speaker system,and one of the live parrots on display was screaming like a banshee. Peoplelined up for that."There"s a difference," he said. "Morose is pa.s.sive. Bitter is active. Beingbitter is like having a hobby.""Everyone needs a hobby," Liska agreed. "Mine is the mercenary pursuit of easymoney."She veered to the entrance of Sam Goody, where a near-life-size cutout ofAceWyatt stood with its arm protectively around a box full of videotapes tidedPro-Active: A Police Professional"s Tips on How Not to Become a Victim. Sheput her sungla.s.ses on and struck a pose beside the display."What do you think? Don"t we look good together?" she said, grinning. "Don"tyou think he needs a younger female partner to broaden his demographics? Idwear a bikini if I had to."Kovac scowled at the cardboard Wyatt. "Why don"t you just go up to the thirdfloor here and get a job at Hooters? Or you could walk Hennepin Avenue.""I"m a mercenary, not a prost.i.tute. There"s a difference." "No, there isn"t.""Yes, there is. A mercenary doesn"t use a v.a.g.i.n.a.""Jesus." Kovac felt heat creep up his face. "Don"t you ever embarra.s.syourself?"Liska laughed. "With what? My mouth or my seemingly shameless quest foradvancement?""I was raised not to talk about ... those . . ." He flushed an even darkershade of red as they started back down the hall."v.a.g.i.n.as?" Kovac gave her a furious look as pa.s.sing shoppers turned to stareat them.D U S TT 00 U S T 177 "That might help explain why you don"t have one at your disposal," Liska speculated. "You need to open up, Sam.You need to get in touch with your feminine side."
"If I could touch my own feminine side, I wouldn"t need ... one of those ...
at my disposal."
"Good point. And you could have your own TV show-Hermaphrodite Homicide Detective. Think of the following that would have. You could stop beingj"ealous ofAce Wyatt."
"I"m notiealous ofAceWyatt."
"Yeah, right. And I"m Heather Locklear."
"You"re just hot for his a.s.sistant.That"s what you"re after," Kovac said.
Liska rolled her eyes. "Gaines? Please. He"s gay."
"Gay or not interested?" "Same difference."
Kovac laughed. "Tinks, you"re too much woman for him, either way. The guy"s a p.r.i.c.k. And Wyatt"s a big a.s.shole. They deserve each other."
"Yeah, all that community service, helping people, working with victims ...
What a jerk."Kovac scowled darkly. "All that publicity, all those promotions, all thatHollywood money., Ace Wyatt never did anything that didn"t benefit Ace Wyatt.""He saved Mike Fallon"s life." "And became a legend.""Yeah, I"m sure that was premeditated."Kovac made a face at the bad taste in his mouth. "All right. He did one decent, selfless thing in his life," he conceded asthey pushed through the doors and were hit with cold air and exhaust. "Thatdoesn"t mean he"s not an a.s.shole." "People are complex.""Yeah," Kovac agreed. "That"s why I hate them. At least with a psychopath, youknow where you stand."0 A QC H A P T E T H E S H I F T H A D changed and Leonard had gone by the time they returnedto the office, saving them from having to report their lack of success withCharmiqua Jones. Liska considered and discarded the idea of making phone callsfrom her desk. She couldn"t shake the feeling that everyone around her waswatching her, listening, straining to hear-all because the questions sheneeded to ask were about other cops.She had always thought of herself as tough, able to take whatever the jobdished out, but she would have preferred any kind of case to this, with theexception of a child killing. Nothing was worse than working a child"s murder.As she gathered her stuff and left the office, she wondered what she would doif the road to advancement led through IA. Make another road.The walk to the Haaff ramp was cold, the wind biting her cheeks and ears. Thedrive home wouldn"t be much better. She hadn"t been able to get an appointmentwith the gla.s.s replacement shop.Too bad the busted window diminished thechances of the car"s being stolen. Her insurance would at least have paid fora loaner then. The same fat attendant manned the booth. He recognized her and ducked hishead, afraid to attract her attention. Liska rolled her eyes and felt in herpocket for the rea.s.suring weight of her ASP She had179 briefly considered parking elsewhere, but in the end had made herself go backto the scene of the crime. Climbing back on the horse--with an eye peeled forher perpetrator at the same time. If she was lucky, she could conquer her fearand make a collar all in one fell swoop, though it seemed unlikely her mysteryman would still be hanging around. Unless he had chosen her specifically ashis target.Nothing stolen. Nothing disturbed but her mail ...Patrol had been instructed to take tours through the concrete maze of the ramptoday. The show of a police presence in the form of the occasional racho carwas meant to scare off the vagrants, who all had likely moved across thestreet to p.i.s.s in the corners of the Gateway Munic.i.p.al ramp and try all thecar doors there in search of spare change.The Saturn sat a third of the way down a mostly empty row, parked nose out.The plastic window was still intact. No one had broken any of the others.Liska walked past it, checking, scanning the area. This level of the ramp wasquiet, half deserted. She went back to her car and let herself in. She lockedthe doors, started the engine and the heater, and dug her cell phone out ofher purse. She punched in the number for the gay and lesbian officers"lialsonand stared at the CHECK ENGINE light glowing red on her dash as the phone rangon the other end. Rotten car. She was going to have to think about trading. Maybe in January,provided her finances survived Christmas. Maybe bite the bullet and trade upto an SUV The extra room would be good for hauling the boys with their buddiesand all their hockey gear. If she could squeeze Speed for the money he owedher ...
"h.e.l.lo?" "Is this David Dungen?" "Yes, it is.,, "David, this is Sergeant Liska, homicide. If this is a good time for you, I have a couple of questions you might be able to help me with." A cautious pause. "Regarding what?"
"Eric Curtis."
"About the murder? That case is closed."
"I realize that. I"m looking into a related matter." "Have you spoken with Internal Affairs?"
"You know how they are. They don"t want to untie the nice, neat bow, and they"re not inclined to share anyway."
"There"s a reason for that:" Dungen said. "These matters are sensitive. I can"t just volunteer information to anyone who asks."
0 A 0.
"I"m not, ust anyone. I"m homicide. I"m not asking because I have some kind of morbid curiosity."
"This has something to do with another case?"
"I"ll be honest with you, David." Use the first name.You"re my pal. You can tell me anything. "It"s a fishing expedition at this point. if I get something I can take to my lieutenant . .
Dungen said nothing for a moment, then finally, "I"ll need to take your badge number."
"I"ll give it to you, but I don"t want any paperwork on this.You understand?"
Again the pregnant pause. "Why is that?"
"Because some people would sooner let sleeping dogs he, if you know what I mean. I"m checking out some things regarding Curtis because someone asked me personally. I don"t know that anything will come of it. I can"t go to my boss with hunches and funny feelings. I need something real."
He was silent for so long this time, Liska began to think she"d lost the connection.
"What"s your number?" he asked at last.
Liska breathed deeply, silently letting go a sigh of relief. The smell of exhaust was strong. She cracked the window but left the engine running. It was too d.a.m.n cold to shut it off. She gave Dungen her shield number, along with her phone number, and hoped to G.o.d he wouldn"t call Leonard to check it out.
"All right:"he said, satisfied. "What would you like to know?"
"I know Curtis had complained to IA he was being hara.s.sed by someone on the Job.What do you know about that?"
"I know he"d gotten some hate letters. In the ransom-note style with letters cut out of magazines. "All f.a.ggots must die. That"s why G.o.d invented AIDS."That was the gist of it. The usual h.o.m.ophobic vitriol with bad grammar and bad spelling."
"Had to be a cop," Liska said dryly.
"Oh, it was a cop. No question.Two of the letters were slipped into his locker. One was found in his car after his shift. The mailman smashed out the pa.s.senger"s window to deliver it."
Liska looked to her blue plastic window, a chin running through her. "Did he have any idea who it was?"
"He said no. He"d ended a relationship several months prior, but he swore it wasn"t the ex.,, D U S T T 0.
0 U S T.
"And the ex was someone in the department?"
"Yes, but the boyfriend wasn"t out.That"s one of the reasons he was an ex.
Curtis wanted him to be honest about who he was."
"Curtis was out."
"Yes, but in a quiet way. He wasn"t some flaming militant. He was just tired of living a lie. He wanted the world to be a place where people could be who they are without having to fear for their lives., Irom*c that he was killed by a gay man."
"Do you know who the ex was?""No. I know Curtis had changed patrol partners a couple of times, but thatdoesn"t necessarily mean anything. He didn"t suspect any of them. At any rate,it wasn"t my business. I"m not an investigator. My business was to lodge hiscomplaint and work as a liaison with Internal Affairs and with hissupervisor.""Do you remember the names of his patrol partners?""He was riding with a guy named Ben Engle at the time.As for the others, Idon"t remember off the top of my head. He had no complaints with Engle. Theyseemed to get along well.""When he was found murdered, did you think it was the person who had sent theletters?" "Well, yes, of course that was my first fear. It was terrible. I mean,we--that is to say, gay officers-we"ve all experienced hara.s.sment andprejudice to one degree or another. There are plenty of guys on the job withsmall brains and thick red necks. That whole weightliftina crowd comes readilyto mind. But murder would have taken everything to a whole new, very uglylevel. It was frightening to think. But that"s not how it turned out, thankG.o.d." "You believe Curtis was killed by RenaldoVerma?" "Yes. Don"t you?":,Some people aren"t convinted.""Ah . . ." he said as if the lightbulb of awareness had just gone on. "You"vebeen talking to Yen Ibsen."The name meant nothing to her, but Liska put it to Neon Man"s face. Dungentook her silence for agreement."There hasn"t been a bigger conspiracy theorist since Oliver Stone," he said.:,You think he"s a kook?""I think he"s a drama queen. He doesn"t get enough stage time at the club heworks. He has a history of filing lawsuits for s.e.x discrimination182 T A M and s.e.xual hara.s.sment. He knew Eric Curtis-or claims to have known him-and so that gave him a reason to draw a bead on the department. And now he"s come toyou because Internal Affairs got tired of listening to his theories," Dungenadded. "Actually, he came to me because the Internal Affairs officer he was workingwith was found dead." "Andy Fallon.Yes.That was too bad." "Did you know Fallon?""I spoke with him regarding his investigation. I didn"t know him personally.""He was gay.""It"s not a club, Sergeant.We don"t all play together" " Dungen said. "Isuppose Mr. Ibsen has found a way to incorporate Fallon"s death into hislatest theory. It"s all a part of the larger conspiracy to cover up the menaceofAIDS in the police department!,"Curtis had AIDS?" "He was HIV-positive.You didn"t know that?""I"m new to the game. I"ve got some catching up to do," Liska said, a part ofher brain already reconfiguring the playing field, taking this new bomb intoconsideration. "He was HIV-positive and he was still working the streets?""He hadn"t told his supervisor. He came to me first. He was afraid he"d losehis Job. I told him that couldn"t happen. The department can"t discriminateagainst an officer because of a medical condition. So says the Americans WithDisabilities Act. Curtis would have been taken off the street and rea.s.signed.Obviously, there"s too great a risknot the least of which is to the departmentin the form of potential lawsuits-having an HIV-positive officer on thestreet, having to deal with accident and injury situations, situations wherethe officer himself or herself might become injured and run the risk ofinfecting someone.""At the time he was being hara.s.sed, who else knew Curtis was HIV-positive?Would other uniforms have known?" "To my knowledge, he hadn"t told anyone. I told him he was obligated to inform everyone he"d been intimate with. I don"t know if he did," Dungen said. "Thekiller couldn"t have known. Who would be stupid enough to go after someone whowas HIV-positive with a baseball bat?"Lska could see the crime scene in her head. Blood everywhere,D U S T T 0 0 U S T splattering the walls, the ceiling, lampshades; spraying everywhere as thekiller struck Eric Curtis again and again with the baseball bat.Who would knowingly expose himself to contact with contaminated blood?Someone ignorant about the transmission of the disease or someone who didn"tcare. Someone arrogant enough to believe in his own immortality. Someone whowas already infected."When was the last time Fallon spoke with you about the case?" she asked,rubbing a thumb against her right temple, where a headache was taking root.She buzzed her window back up, thinking it was letting in more fiimes thanoxygen. "Recently?"4" No. The case was closed. The guy cut a deal. What"s this about, Sergeant?"Dungen asked, suspicious. "I thought Andy Fallon corrumtted suicide.""Yeah," Liska said. "Just trying to find out why, that"s all. Thank you foryour time, David."One of the great tricks of interviewing people: know when to quit. Liskabailed on the phone call, and wondered again if it would come back around tobite her in the a.s.s with Leonard. The idea made her feel nauseated. Or maybethat was the carbon monoxide, she thought, only halfjoking. She felt a littledizzy.She turned off the engine and got out of the car, taking a big breath of coldair as she leaned against the roof of the Saturn."Sergeant Liska."The voice went through her like a blade. She turned abruptly to see Rubeltwenty feet away. She hadn"t heard the elevator, hadn"t heard *footfallscoming up the stairwell. It seemed as if he had simply materialized."I tried to catch you at your office:" he said. "You"d already gone." "It"s alittle past the end of your shift, isn"t it?"He came steadily forward, loorming larger and larger. Even without themirrored shades he seemed to have no expression. "Paperwork." "And you foundme here ... how?" He gestured to a black Ford Explorer across and down from the Saturn."Coincidence." My a.s.s, Liska thought. Of all the parking spots in all the parking ramps indowntown Minneapolis ..."Small world," she said flatly. She leaned back against the car to off-0 A 0 set the watery feeling in her legs, and slipped her hands into her coatpockets, curling her fingers around the handle of her ASP"What was It you wanted to talk to me about?" Rubel asked, He stopped just afew feet from her. A foot closer than she would have liked, which he probablyknew. "Like your pal B.O. didn"t fill you in. Please." Rubel said nothing."You knew IA was looking at Ogden for f.u.c.king with evidence in the Curtisinvestigation-""That"s over." "But you went to the investigator"s house on a DB call anyway. IVhose brightidea was that?" "The call came over the radio.We were in the vicinity." "You"re a regularmagnet for coincidence.""We had no way of knowing the dead body was Fallon.""You knew it as soon as you got there. You should have hauled Ogden out ofthere.You seem to make a habit of saving his a.s.s.Why didn"t you do it when yougot to Fallon"s house?"
Rubel stared at her for a long, unnerving time. Liska"s head pounded with thebeat of her pulse.The nausea swirled in her stomach."If you sus ur part he said at last, "why .pect some impropriety on oaren"t you talking to IA about it?""Is that what you wan .t me to do?" "You won"t because your case is closed. Fallon killed himself" "That doesn"tmean it"s over. It doesn"t mean I won"t still talk to your supervisor-""Go ahead." 1 h Ogden?" Liska asked. "How longhave you been riding wit I "Three months." "Who was he riding with before you?""Larry Porter. He left the department. Hired on with the Plymouth PD. Youcould get all this from our supervisor. If you wanted to talk to him."There was a hint of smugness in his tone, as if he knew she wouldn"t go to hissupervisor for fear it would get back to Leonard."You know, I"m trying to cut you a break here, Rubel," she said irritably. "Idon"t want bad blood with the uniforms. We need you guys. But we need you. notto f.u.c.k up at a scene. A case can be madeD U S T T 0 D U S T 185 or broken on what happens at the sceneWhat if it turned out someone murderedAndy Fallon? You think a defense attorney isn"t going to make us all look likea.s.sholes when he hears Ogden, of all people, was there stomping around?""You"ve made your point:" Rubel said calmly. "It won"t happen again."He started to walk away toward his truck."Your partner is a loose cannon, Rubell" Liska said. "If he has the kind ofproblems I think he has, you"d be smart to get yourself clear of that."Rubel looked at her over his shoulder. "I know what I need to know, Sergeant."He looked at her car and said, "You"d better get that window fixed. Id have topull you over for that."Liska watched him walk away and get in his truck. Gooseflesh pebbled the skinof her arms and raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck. The Explorerstarted with a rumble, exhaust billowing out the tailpipe. He backed out anddrove away, leaving her alone again.She couldn"t decide who was scarier: Ogden with his steroidpumped temper, orRubel with his eerie calm.What a pair they made. Breathing deeply for thefirst time since Rubel had startled her, shemoved away from the Saturn and made herself walk, hoping to shake off theweird weakness that trickled down the muscles of her arms and legs. She lookedat her garbage-bag window and wondered if she was being paranoid reading intoRubel"s crack about getting it fixed. He wouldn"t have to break into her carto get her address off herjunk mail. Cops had any number of ways to easilycome by that information.But then, someone might have broken the window for another reason. Out ofanger. To frighten her. As a setup to cast suspicion regarding any futurecrime against her on someone like the old drunk who had tried to jump in thecar with her. None of the options was good.As she stared at the window, she slowly became aware of something hanging downfrom the back end of the Saturn. A chunk of grungy snow, she thought. Anotherreason to hate winter: the filthy snow boogers that built up behind the tiresand would freeze to the density of graruite if not quickly removed.But as Liska went back to kick the thing off, she realized that viasn"t whatshe"d seen at all.What had caught her eye wasn"t hanging behind the tire. Itwas hanging from the tailpipe.0 A G The nausea surged up her esophagus as she bent down.The pain in her templesintensified. Dizzy, she had to brace a hand against the trunk as she squatted behind the car. A filthy white rag had been stuffed into the tailpipe. A cold sweat rm*stedher skin. For all intents and purposes, someone hadjust tried to kill her. The cellphone in her pocket began to bleat. Shaking, Lis-ka rose and leaned againstthe car as she dug the thing out and answered it. "Liska, hormicide.""Sergeant Liska, we need to meet."The voice was familiar. She put a name to it this time: Ken Ibsen. "Where andwhen?" D U S T T 0 D U S T 187 C H A P T E H E Y, R E D , i have a couple of questions about autoerotic asphyxlation."Kate Conlan stared at Kovac. Rene Russo might be this goodlooking on her best day, he thought. She combed an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Awry smile pulled up one corner of her s.e.xy mouth."I"m so flattered you thought of me, Sam. Come on in," she said, stepping backfrom the door. "John and I were just talking about indulging in some weird s.e.xgames.""I didn"t need to know that." "You rang the doorbell. Let me take your coat."He stepped into the entry hall, scrubbing his shoes on the mat. "The house looks great.""Thanks. I"m liking it out here in the "burbs. It"s nice having s.p.a.ce," Katesaid. "And there"s the added benefit that no one"s tried to murder me here, ordied a hideous death in the bas.e.m.e.nt." She tossed that out as if she were saying it was great not to have carpenterants. Oh, those pesky serial killers. The truth was that she had come too d.a.m.nclose to becorming a victim herself instead of an advocate for victims, whichwas herjob. Kovac had been on the scene188 that day, along with John Quinn. Kovac ended up with smoke inhalation. Quinnended up with the girl.The story of my life. "You"re something, Red.""Follow me to the inner sanctum," she said, leading the way down a w ide hallwith a polished wood floor and red oriental rugs. An enormous hairy cat sat onthe hall table. It reached out and tapped Kovac with a paw as he started past."HeyThor." The cat made a sound like a squeaky toyjumped to the floor with athump, and dashed down the hall ahead of them with his huge plume tailstraight up in the air.They went into a den with lots of light-stained pinewood paneling and darkgreen paint on the walls. A Christmas tree stood near a set of French doorsthat led outside.A fire crackled in a fieldstone fireplace. A big yellow Labpuppy slept heavily on a pillow near the hearth. Thor the cat went to thepuppy and stared at him with suspicion and disdain.A pair of desks sat back-to-back on one side of the room, each fully equippedwith computer, phone-fax machine, and the usual clerical cluttenjohn Quinn satat one, intent on the computer screen."Look what the cat dragged in," Kate said.Quinn did, and grinned, pulling off a pair of reading gla.s.ses. "Sam. Good tosee you.""Don"t be too thankful," Kate said dryly. "He wants to talk about his s.e.xlife. The joys of autoerotic adventures."Kovac blushed. "I"m not that desperate."Quinn walked to him and shook his hand. Rugged and athletic, he looked youngernow than when they had met during the Cremator case, more than a year past.There was an ease about Quinn he had not possessed then, and the haunted lookwas gone from the dark eyes. That was apparently what love and contentment could do for a person.After the Cremator, Quinn had left the FBI, where he had been top gun amongthe M1i ndhunters. Too many cases, too much death, too much stress had taken atoll on him. The Bureau had a history of running its best horses into theground, and so they had done with Quinn-with Quinn"s wining partic.i.p.ation. Butnearly losing Kate to a killer had been the wake-up call. Quinn had traded theBureau for D U S T T 0 D U S T 189 private consulting and teaching-and life with Kate. A sweet deal all the wayaround. "Have a seat," he offered, gesturing to a pair of fat couches in front of thefire. "What are you working on, Sam?""An apparent suicide that was ruled an accident that might be something else.""The Internal Affairs guy?" Kate asked, handing Kovac a neat scotch. She satdown on the couch too close to Quinn, and put her stocking feet up on thecoffee table. "That"s the animal." "He was found hanging, right?" Quinn asked. "Was he nude?" "Yes.""Any evidence of masturbatory activity?" "No.""Fantasy, role-playing, bondage?""No, but there was a full-length mirror there so he could see his reflection,"Kovac said."Someone had written the word Sorry on the gla.s.s with a marker."Quinn"s brow furrowed."Did he have any kind of protective padding positioned between the rope andhis throat?" Kate asked. She herself had worked for the FBI in the old Behavioral Sciences unit-in a past life, as she said. "No."Kate frowned. Quinn got up from the couch and went to a set of bookshelves onthe far side of his desk. "Most pract.i.tioners of autoerotic asphyxiophilia-the more sophisticated andexperienced ones-won"t risk the rope leaving a mark on their throat," Katesaid. "How would they explain it to coworkers, family members, friends, etcetera." Kovac reached into the breast pocket of his suit coat. "I"ve got some of thePolaroids." He laid them out on the coffee table. Kate looked at them without reaction,sipping at a gin and tonic from time to time."Did you find any videotapes with s.e.xual subject matter?" Quinn asked, comingback to the couch with a couple of books and a videoca.s.sette."Holiday Inn," Kovac said. "I suppose some people could argue it"s full oflatent h.o.m.os.e.xual subtext or some such bulls.h.i.t." 0 A G "That"s a little more subtle than I was thinking." Quinn went to thetelevision, punched on theVCR and the set, and loaded the tape."No p.o.r.n-gay, straight, or otherwise.The vic was gay, by the way, if thatmatters." "It doesn"t.There"s no data suggesting this paraphilia is more a gay hobbythan a straight one," Quinn said. "The reason I asked about videotapes is thata lot of people who indulge in this kind of thing will videotape themselves,so they can relive the fun later on."He came back to the couch, settled in next to Kate, and hit the play b.u.t.ton onthe remote. Kovac leaned forward with his forearms on his thighs and his eyeson the screen, studiously avoiding looking at Kate"s hand, which settledcasually on her husband"s stomach.The show that rolled across the screen was sordid and sad and pathetic. Aman"s home video of his own accidental death. A pudgy, balding guy with toomuch body hair, dressed in a black leather S and M harness. He set the stagecarefully, checking the elaborate rigging of the rope, which hung in what looked to be a garage or storage shed. He had draped the background with white drop cloths and strategically placed a couple of female mannequins dressed in dominatrix garb. He spent three minutes taping a riding crop into the hand of one of his silent witnesses. INXS played in the background: "Need You Tomi ght."
When he was satisfied with the set, he walked to a fiill-length imirror and went through his own little play, complete with dialogue. He sentenced himself to punishment, pulled a black discipline mask over his head, and wrapped a long black silk scarf around his throat several times. Then he danced his way from the mirror toward his makeshift gallows, fondling himself, presenting himself to the mannequins. He mounted the step stool and put the noose around his neck. He stroked his erection and eased one foot and then the other off the step.
His toes were just touching the floor, a position he couldn"t maintain for long. The noose tightened. He didn"t realize he was in trouble yet. He was still playing out the fantasy.Then he began to struggle with his balance. He extended one foot back to step onto the stool. The stool skidded backward and the noose tightened as he tried to reach behind and hook the thing with his foot. He let go of his p.e.n.i.s to grab for his safety rope, but he had twisted to one side in an effort to catch the stool and he couldnt quite reach the rope.
D U S T.
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D U S T 191.
And then it was too late. That fast. Seconds, and his dance became something from a horror movie.
"See how quickly it all goes wrong?" Quinn said. "A couple seconds too long, a slight miscalculation-it"s all over."
"Jesus," Kovac muttered. "You don"t want to accidentally return this one to Blockbuster."
Though Kovac knew this was from Quinn"s tape library. His specialty was s.e.xual hormicide.
They sat there and watched a man die the way other people would sit through their neighbor"s vacation video. When the guy stopped kicking and his arms pulled up and went back down for the last time, Quinn clicked the tape off.
From start to finish, the hanging had taken less than four minutes.
"There"s not always this much ceremony involved," Quinn said. "But it"s not uncommon. Not that any of this is common. Rough estimate, you"re probably looking at a confirmed thousand autoerotic deaths in this country every year, with maybe two or three times that that are missed calls, labeled suicide or something else."
"But those are just the people who miscalculate and don"t escape whatever contraption they"ve devised," Kate said. "Who knows how many actually practice the paraphilia and don"t screw up.You haven"t found any family or friends who suggested he was into this kind of thing?"
"The brother says they used to play hangman when they were kids. You know, cowboy stuff, war games, like that. Nothing kinky. But what about that angle?
Have you ever seen family members involved in this kind of thing together?"
"There"s not much I haven"t seen, Sam," Quinn said. "I haven"t seen that, but it could certainly happen. I never say never, "cause just when I think I can"t be shocked, someone comes up with something worse than I ever imagined.What"s your read on the brother?"
"He"s a redneck type. I don"t make him for kinky s.e.x, but I could be wrong.
There was a lot of resentment for the younger brother." "What about friends?"
Kate asked.
"The best friend says no, Fallon wasn"t into kink, but the best f .
riend is hiding something."
"The best friend-a man or a woman?" Kate asked.
"Male, allegedly straight, engaged to someone prominent.The vic, like I said,
was gay. He"d j ust come out to his family."192 T A M 0 A 0 "You think they rmight have been partners:"Quinn said."I think they could have been.That might explain the word on the mirror.Things got out of hand, went wrong, the friend panicked . . ." Kate shook herhead as she studied the Polaroids. "I don"t see this as a game. I still say he would have taken some precautions with his neck. Itlooks more like suicide." "Then why the nuirror?" Quinn challenged. "Self-humiliation."While they argued over details Kovac had wrestled with again and again, heflipped through the books Quinn had brought out: The DSM-IV, AbnormalPsychology and Modern Life, The Handbook of Forensic s.e.xology, AutoeroticFatalities. A little light reading. He had already studied the photographs inthe "Modes of Death" chapter of Practical Homicide Investigation, which showedphoto after photo of one dumb schmuck after another, dead in some elaborateinvention of ropes and pulleys and vacuum cleaner hoses and plastic garbagebagscontraptions designed for bigger, better o.r.g.a.s.ms. Floaters on the shallowend of the gene pool. People surrounded with bizarre s.e.x toys and sickp.o.r.nography. People living in c.r.a.ppy bas.e.m.e.nt apartments with no windows.Losers. "He doesn"t seem to fit in, with this crowd," KQvac said."You never see Rockefellers and Kennedys in these books," Kate said. "Thatdoesn"t mean they can"t be just as sick or worse. It just means they"re rich."Quinn agreed. "The studies show this behavior crosses all socioeconormiclines. But you"re right too, Sam. The scene strikes me as being wrong for AEA.It"s too neat and tidy. And the absence of s.e.xual paraphernalia . ..The scenewe"re looking at doesn"t fit. Any reason to believe it"s not suicide?""Motives and suspects coming out my ears.,,"Murder by hanging is rare," Quinn said. "And d.a.m.n hard to pull off withoutleaving tracks.Any defense wounds on the hands or arms?" "Nope.""Contusions to the head?" "No. I don"t have the full report on the autopsy, but the doc who cut himdidn"t mention anything to Liska about a head wound," Kovac said. "Toxicologyis back. He"d had a drink and taken a prescription sleeping pill-not anoverdose,just a couple of pills." "That"s sounding like suicide."D U S T T 0 D U S T 193 "But there"s no trace of a prescription bottle anywhere in his house. If hehad a scrip, he didn"t fill it at his usual pharmacy, nor was it written byhis shrink." "He was seeing a psychiatrist?""Minor depression. He had a bottle of Zoloft in his medicine cabinet. I talkedto the doc this afternoon." "Did the doctor consider him a candidate for suicide?" Kate asked. "No, but hewasn"t surprised either.""So you"ve got yourself a genuine whodunit," Quinn said. "Unfortunately, noone wants to hear about it. The case is closed. I"m hanging my a.s.s out on alimb for a victim everyone wants buried. He"d be in the ground right now if ithadn"t turned so f.u.c.king cold."He scooped the Polaroids up, returned them to his coat pocket, and pasted on asorry smile for the couple sitting across from him. "But, hey, what else haveI got to do with my time? It"s not like I have a life or anything.""I recommend getting one," Quinn said, winking at Kate, who smiled at him withwarmth and love. Kovac stood up. "All right. I"m out of here before the two of you embarra.s.syourselves.""I think we"re embarra.s.sing you, Sam," Kate said, getting up from the couch.
"There"s that too." Quinn and Kate saw him out together. His last image before the front doorclosed was the pair turning to walk back into their lovely home, each with anarm around the other. And d.a.m.n if that didn"t hurt, he thought as he startedthe car. He hated admitting it, wished he could have hed to himself, but there it was:he"d been half in love with Kate Conlan for the better part of five years andhad never done a d.a.m.n thing about it. Because he wouldn"t allow himself totry. Nothing ventured, nothing lost. What would a woman like her see in a guyEke him? He would never find out now. Facing that reality left a hollow feeling in thedeepest part of his soul. There was no escape from it, sitting there in thedark. He"d never felt more alone. Unbidden, Amanda Savard"s face came to rm* nd. Beautiful, battered, haunted bysomething he couldn"t even guess at. He wanted to tell himself she was just apart of the puzzle, that that was his entire interest0 A G in her. But there were no lies in him tonight. The truth was right there,justunder the surface. He wanted her. 1 Night was wrapped closer to the earth here than in the city. Kate andQuinn"s house was technically in Plymouth, but it was more in the country thanin a suburb. The drive was off a secluded side road. There was a small lake practically in their backyard. Few lights, less traffic. No distractions tokeep him from looking too closely at what -fie was feeling tonight as he satin his car on the side of the road. Maybe there was an advantage to having a neighbor who lit up his yard like acheap Vegas hotel after all.D U S T T 0 D U S T 195 C H A P T E KEN IB*SEN COULDN"T shake the feeling someone was watching him, but then, thatwas nothing new. Ever since the start of this mess, he"d felt as if some giantmalevolent eye had hovered above him, tracking his every move. And the worstof it was, it all seemed for nothing on his part. He had done his best to be aconscientious citizen and a good friend, and all he"d gotten for his troublewas ridicule and hara.s.sment. Eric was just as dead. The wrong man was sittingin jail for his murder, and no one cared he hadn"t done itapparently,including the convict. The world had gone stark raving mad.Andy Fallon had been the only one interested in getting to the truth of whathad happened to Eric, and now Fallon was dead. Ken counted himself lucky to bealive. Maybe it wasn"t such a terrible thing having people think he was aflaming conspiracy nut.But Liska seemed genuinely interested in the truth. So where the h.e.l.l was she?She had agreed to meet him at 10:30. After his first show. He was due backonstage at 11:30. He checked the delicate watch he wore OV I ighed out a delicate stream ofT his white kid glove, and si cigarettesmoke. 10-55. It was a cold five-minute walk in heels back to the club, and hewould-1have to touch up his lipstick....196 He wished now he"d told her to meet him backstage, but he hadn"t wantedcertain extra ears listening in.And the parking lot behind Boys Will Be Girlsdid too brisk a business in clandestine trysts, even in this cold. He didn"twant Liska hearing the guy in the next car getting a blowJ*ob while Ken triedto tell her about the organized hatred of gays in the Minneapolis PoliceDepartment. Credibility was a major issue. Bad enough that he would be meetingher in full costume. He hoped she would see past the makeup and mascara, but then, that was the problem with people, wasn"t it? judgments were most often based on face valueand stereotypes. Most of the people in this coffeehouse would have looked athim sitting here dressed as a woman and decided he was atransvest.i.te/transs.e.xual, the terms being interchangeable to the averageheteros.e.xual. He was neither. They would have a neat package of preconceivedideas about the way he would walk, the way he would talk, his likes, dislikes,talents. Some of their ideas would be right, but most would not.What he was was a gay man with an exceptional voice and a talent for mimicry.He was a serious actor working at a ridiculous job because it paid well. Heliked to shoot pool and wearjeans. He owned a Welmaraner dog, which he neverdressed up in costumes. He preferred steak over quiche, and he couldn"t standBette Midler. Most people are more than their stereotypes.He sipped his coffee and crossed his legs, staring back at the older man whowas watching him from across the room. just to be a jerk, he pursed his lipsand sent the old fart an air kiss. Instead of feeling conspicuous dressed as Marilyn Monroe, he felt safe hiddenbeneath the platinum wig and behind the thick stage makeup. He had slippedinto the coffeehouse the back way and taken a back corner table to avoid thenotice of the other customers. There weren"t many. It was too cold to botherto go out on a weeknight. That suited Ken"s plan-a public place without muchof the public present.Now all he needed was Liska. He sipped his coffee and watched the door.L I S K A S W 0 R E A blue streak under her breath as she idled at yet manother red light. She was late. She was shaken. She was angry. Toof all nights she hadn"t been able to find a sitter who could stay late.D U S T T 0 D U S T 197 She"d spent an hour and a half on the phone, calling everyone she could thinkof while Kyle complained that she"d promised to help him with his math, andRj. expressed his displeasure in her by covering the dining room table withaction figures, then dramatically sweeping them onto the floor.In the end she"d called Speed. Grudgingly. Hating it. There was nothing worseto her than having to rely on him openly for anything. Especially when it cameto the boys. She was supposed to be selfreliant, had to be self-reliant, wa.s.self-reliant. But instead, she felt inadequate, and a failure, and a poormother. It frustrated her no end that had the circ.u.mstances been reversed,Speed would have done exactly the same thing and never batted an eye. Hewouldn"t have even bothered to go through the endless calls to the sitters,and he wouldn"t have felt inadequate.A huge, hot ball of emotion wedged in her throat, and tears burned her eyes.She"d caught him on his cell phone at the gym with every other ironhead in thedepartment, and he had whined about having his workout interrupted. Liskadoubted he had cut it short or skipped his shower. It had taken himfor-f.u.c.king-ever to get to the house. a.s.shole. Now she was late.The light changed and she gunned the Saturn around a Cadillac, cut him off,and took the next right fast. She didn"t know how long Ibsen would wait. Dramaqueen that he was, he was playing the skittish informant to the hilt, refusingto tell her his tale over the phone, insisting on a face-to-face. She wantedto believe he had something valid to tell her. But given the mood she was in,she was more inclined to believe he"d turn out to be everything Dungen hadsaid, and she would have put herself through this evening and risked hercareer, only to be proved a big idiot.Still, beneath the simmering cynicism, Liska believed she was poking at a livehornet"s nest rather than a dead case, and Ken Ibsenkook or no kook-was a partof that. If he would wait five minutes more, she might find out just what hisrole in the drama could be. S H E W A S N "T C 0 M I N G . He"d said it in his rmind every two minutes forthe last ten. In between, he"d distracted himself by doodling on a napkin, drawing a caricature of himself in costume, writing random notes.198 T A M Maybe she didn"t believe him. Maybe she had spoken with that viper DavidDungen, and he had poisoned her mind against him. Dungen, the traitor. Dungen,the puppet of the department higher-1 1 ups. He was nothing but a shill, a warm gay body willing to fill the tokenpost of liaison. The Minneapolis Police Department cared nothing for theconcerns of its gay officers.Of course, Ken didn"t know this from firsthand experience-, but he was certainof it nevertheless. Eric had alluded to as much. The liaison post had beencreated to pay lip service to gay issues. Therefore, the department hadn"treally cared about the hara.s.sment Eric had suffered. Therefore, the departmenthad fostered the environment of hatred that had led to Eric"s death. Therefore, Ken wrote on his napkin, underlining the word, the departmentshould be held accountable in a wrongful death suit.If only the court would recognize his right to file the suit. He was no bloodrelation to Eric Curtis. They hadn"t been married--s ame-s.e.x marriage was(unconst.i.tutionally, to his way of thinking) against the law. Therefore, thecourt would hear nothing from him.Sure, it was fine for Neanderth ,al cops to bludgeon people for their privatepreferences, but allow caring individuals to express their love ... Not that he and Eric had been in love. They had been friends.Well ... acquaintances, with the potential to be friends.Who knew what they might havebecome. The bell above the coffeehouse door rang and Ken looked up from his doodling,hopeful, only to have his heart sink. The newest patron was a scruffy-lookingguy in an old army fatigue jacket.She wasn"t coming. Eleven-eighteen. He put out his smoldering cigarette,stuffed the napkin he hadwritten on into the pocket of his full-length faux leopard coat, and went outthe back way.Not that he liked going by way of the alleys. Drunks and drug addicts and thehomeless traveled this maze of back routes, avoiding the cops.That was hisreason as well. He"d been hara.s.sed by the police more than once for walkingdown the street in costume. Like any common street wh.o.r.e could do the kindofjob he did. Idiots. And, naturally, they a.s.sumed any man in a blond wig anda dress was a prost.i.tute.Then there was the fact that he hadn"t exactly made alot of friends among the patrol cops with his diligent pursuit of the truth inEric"s death. D U S T T 0 D U S T 199 It was awfully dark and creepy in this alley. The buildings created a sinistercanyon of. concrete. The darkness was broken only intermittently by weak bulbsover the back doors of dubious businesses. Every Dumpster, every empty box wasa potential hiding place for a predator or a scavenger.As if his thoughts had called up the devil, a shape suddenly loomed up at theend of a trash bin thirty feet down the alley. The end of a cigarette glowedred, an evil eye in the dark.Ken"s step faltered and he slipped on the rutted ice and had to catch himself.a.gainst the side of a building. He swore as he felt a false nail tip give way.He would have to keep his gloves on for the next set. There wouldn"t be anytime to fix the fingernail. d.a.m.n Liska.The figure down the alley didn"t move. The business behind the specter was atattoo parlor. The kind of place where the patrons got AIDS and hepat.i.tis fromdirty needles.Ken dug around in the pocket of his coat for his pepper spray and keptwalking, staying as far on the other side of the alley as possible. The club was two blocks away.He held his breath with each step. He ran every day to stay in shape, and hewas better than most women in the heels, but he didn"t want to have to trysprinting in them.He could feel the specter"s gaze on him. He waited for the eyes to glow red,like a wolf"s. He drew even with the back door of the tattoo parlor, ready to bolt, handsweating around the canister of pepper spray. even in this cold. His heartseemed to be quivering in his chest behind the filsies.G.o.d, he did not want to die in drag. In his mind"s eye he could already seethe crime scene photographs being pa.s.sed around. He could hear the copssruickering. Maybe, if he wasn"t killed tonight, he would go get a tattoo ofhis own: I Am Not A Transvest.i.te. The specter tossed the cigarette, the glowing ember an arc of light in thegloom, and lurched forward suddenly. Ken bolted. Hoa.r.s.e laughter followed himas he slipped and skidded. His right ankle buckled beneath him and he fell,sprawling gracelessly. Pain hit him like so many hammers-both knees, oneelbow, one hipbone, his chin. A cry wrenched out of him, sounding desperateand weak, dying against the brick and concrete.He scrambled to get back on his feet, clawing at anything to pull himself up.He grabbed hold of the edge of a Dumpster and -hauledhimself up, slipping, banging against it. His nylons were ruined. He couldfeel cold and wet against bare skin. He heard st.i.tching pop as his legssplayed and strained the seams of his dress.He jerked his head around to look behind him. Still laughing, the specterturned and went back into the tattoo parlor. a.s.shole.Ken leaned against the Dumpster, breathing hard, the air feeling like dry icerasping down his throat.d.a.m.n Liska. He had half a mind to send her his dry cleaning bill. Limping, hestarted down the alley again. One shoe was missing a heel, and his ankle feltsprained. He touched a hand to his mouth and chin, and brought it away; thewhite glove was smeared with blood and dirt. d.a.m.n. If he needed st.i.tches, hisboss was going to have a hissy fit. Two blocks was looking a lot farther thanit had in the beginning of the evening. And with the repairs he was going tohave to make, there was no way he was making the last set.The end of the alley was near. There was no traffic on the side street. Asingle dark car sat parked along the near curb. He could see the trunk and nomore. He thought nothing of it until Just a split second before the large,dark shadow of a man fell across the mouth of the alley, when the cold wash ofa horrible premonition swept over him.I"m going to die tonight.The trunk of the car opened, the light illurminating a face in a dark skimask.The man reached into the trunk and came out "With a tire iron. Ken Ibsen stopped and stood still, the moment seerming both real and surreal.Then he turned slowly, thinking to go back the way he"d come, after all. Thebetter part of valor. The lesser of evils. But there was no going back. Andthere was no lesser evil. Another dark, faceless figure blocked the escaperoute behind him. A hulking silhouette with something in its hand.He could feel evil emanatmig from them as they closed the distance from eitherside. Fear hit him like a bolt of lightming, and he screamed and pulled thepepper spray from his pocket, fumbling with the triLmyer. The attacker withthe tire iron made one quick move, and Ken"s arm flung out to the side, brokenand useless. The canister clattered to the ground like a piece of trash.He thought to run as the iron hit the side of his knee, and bone shatteredlike gla.s.s.D U S T T 0 He thought to cry out for help, and felt his jaw crumble and his teeth spill like Chiclets; from his mouth.He thought, I don"t want to die in drag, and everything went black.L I S K A S L I D T H E Saturn to the curb in a no-parking zone a quarter of ablock from the coffeehouse Ibsen had chosen for their meet. She was way late.d.a.m.n Speed for taking so long.The few customers sat in knots of two or three, scattered as far away fromeach other as possible, wrapped up in their own conversations. No one lookedup as Liska came in. She went directly to the bar, where the only visibleemployee was engrossed in a textbook as thick as theYellow Pages."What are you learning?" she asked as she pulled her badge out of her purse.The bartender looked up at her through a pair of trendy gla.s.ses. He hadsoulful brown eyes and the kind of thin, elegant face painters attributed toJesus Christ. "I"m learning that my father is spending a lot of money to sendme through school so I can learn to make a great cappuccino." He glanced ather badge. "Are you here to arrest me for impersonating a med student?""Naw, I was supposed to meet someone here a little while ago. Short, slim guywith platinum hair."The med student shook his head. "Haven"t seen anyone like that. There was atransvest.i.te dressed as Marilyn Monroe. He seemed like he was waiting forsomeone, but he left. Not a blind date, I hope.""No. How long ago did Marilyn leave?""Ten, fifteen rm"nutes.Went out the back way. He works down at Boys Will BeGirls. They come in between sets sometimes. Otherwise I wouldn"t know anythingabout that," he hurried to add."A transvest.i.te" " Liska muttered to herself, turning away. "This night justgets better and better."Her big informant went around dressed up as Marilyn Monroe. Preachers andbankers seldom ended up as informants to crimes, she reminded herself And whenthey did, it was because they were secretly perverts or thieves.And her mother wondered why she didn"t date more.-She went down. the hall, past the bathrooms, to the back door of thecoffeehouse. Med Student followed like a puppy.0 A G "Do you know anyone at the county morgue?" he asked. ""Cause the way thingsare going, I"m thinking pathology might be best for me. No malpractice.""Sure, I know people," Liska said. "It"s not a badjob if you can stand thesmell." She pushed the door open and looked out. The alley was dark and wet andfilthyThere should have been some rats and ragged orphans to complete thepicture, she thought, and just then noticed a scavenger bent over somethingthirty feet down the way. He stood in a little puddle of light corming fromover the back door of some other business. He started and stared back at her,like a coyote caught going through the garbage--wanting to run, but loath togive up the treasure. He moved just enough to allow the pale light to fall onhis find, and the details of the scene began to register in Liska"s brain: awoman"s shoe, a bare leg, a glimpse of pale hair."Hey, you!" she shouted, drawing her weapon, moving so that the Dumpster gaveher cover. "Police! Step away from the body!"Call rline-one-one," she said to Med Studen