“Goddamn it, Chapa.”
Tom Jackson, an officer with the Oakton force for twenty-two years, was not happy. In his wrinkled overcoat, a detective’s notepad in one hand, Jackson looked like he’d just walked off the cover of an old pulp crime novel.
“We set up that barrier for a reason.”
“I assumed it was for the safety of others and to aid me in my pursuit of an exclusive.”
Jackson was a lifelong resident of the city he now worked to protect. Tall, built solid, with dark black hair, deep brown eyes, and simple features, he looked younger than he actually was. A former starting tight end in college who’d been known more for his blocking skills than his pass-catching, the detective looked like he could still line up across from the best defensive linemen, and maybe even teach them a few things.
Chapa got on well with Jackson, who had been a valuable source of information on more than one story. But things had changed in the past couple of years. A new administration in City Hall had brought a heightened sense of paranoia among all government employees. That, in turn, had led to a much greater level of secrecy at every level and in each department. This was especially true among the city’s police.
Cops, some in uniform some not, and various official people in suits moved around the scene like scattered ants. Chapa made a mental note of how many there were and what they appeared to be doing.
“Alex, I’m already having to deal with every big shot in town worming their way past the barrier. Now if you would please, get the hell—” Jackson stopped, his eyes fixed on something beyond Chapa.
Chapa turned, expecting to confront one of Jackson’s superiors, but instead saw Nikki walking toward him. If Chapa didn’t know better he might have assumed she belonged there.
“What is that child doing out here?” Jackson asked everyone and no one in particular.
“She’s my daughter,” Chapa said, then turned to Nikki. “And she and I are going to have a lot to talk about.”
“What is this, Chapa? You know better than to bring a child to a crime scene.”
Nikki mouthed I’m sorry as she moved to her father’s side.
“I asked her to stay behind the line, Tom. I apologize.”
Jackson waved off two uniforms who were on their way over to help.
“It’s just as the initial reports stated, Alex. An explosion due to old wiring gone bad.”
One of the city workers, a bearded man with a bowler’s physique, tossed a large slab of wall on top of another, making a loud noise that caused Nikki to flinch. Chapa put his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close against his side.
“Was there anyone else in the house at the time?”
“No.”
“Did you find anything unusual, out of the ordinary?”
“You mean besides the fact that half the house isn’t there anymore? No.”
“What about that repairman Laura Simpson saw walking around the house?”
“No. Wait, what? Who?”
“Laura Simpson, a neighbor, said she saw a suspicious man dressed in service clothes stalking the house earlier in the day.”
Jackson signaled to a younger man, mid-twenties, neatly overdressed the way upstarts and wannabes often are. A moment later, Jackson was holding a clipboard with the names and addresses of each of the neighbors.
“Okay, yeah, she lives at that one,” Jackson said, pointing to a brick ranch across the street and one house down from Chakowski’s. “She probably saw nothing that seemed unusual until after the fact. Happens all the time.”
Chapa heard a five-man crew of engineers debating how to best secure the ruins and keep the rest of the house from collapsing into an enormous pile of rubbish.
“She seemed pretty credible to me, Tom.”
“I’ll talk to her. Now will you get out of here.”
“And you’ll let me know if she has any new info?”
“No, I won’t, not after this stunt of yours.”
“Fine, then I’ll call you,” Chapa said as he took another look around. He was trying to figure out how to sneak a photo when he saw that Nikki was staring at a piece of wall, about six feet in length, at the end of the driveway.
“She needs to get away from that, Alex, now.”
Chapa called to Nikki, but she continued to drift toward the jagged slab of plaster. He hadn’t noticed when she wandered off, and now wished that both of them had stayed behind the barrier.
Nikki was standing over the battered remains from Chakowski’s living room when Chapa reached her. It looked like a piece of wall neatly covered in beige wallpaper, except for the splash of dried blood and organic matter along one side.
Chapa’s first instinct was to lie to her about what it was. But he realized there was no point in doing that. Nikki knew exactly what she was looking at.
He wrapped his arms around his daughter and turned her away from the carnage.
“Sorry about that, Alex,” Jackson said, with a look of honest concern. “The techs didn’t want to clear these pieces away just yet, part of figuring out exactly where the victim was when it happened.”
“Jim Chakowski.”
“What?”
“The victim had a name.”
“Right, he was one of yours.”
Chapa felt Nikki hug him tighter as they started to walk back toward the barrier.
“I’ll call you, Alex.”
This didn’t bring Chapa as much comfort as it normally would, as it might have a minute ago. With his arm curled snugly around Nikki’s shoulders, as he calmly walked her away from the crime scene, Chapa wondered what would be the right balance between scolding his daughter for first lying, then not listening to him, while also comforting her. This was not how the week was supposed to unfold.
“What you saw back there—”
“I know, Dad, it was some sort of an accident that happened to a friend of yours.” She smiled up at him.
“We’ll talk more, later.”
“It’s okay, really.”
Should he say more about it now? Chapa did not know what to do, and didn’t like that feeling. He thought about calling Erin and telling her what happened, but that didn’t seem right, either.
Then Chapa saw a woman standing in the front yard of the house Jackson had said belonged to Laura Simpson. She was wearing a light blue denim shirt, a pair of jeans, and casually watching the goings on. Her light brown hair, streaked with gray or maybe it was the other way around, was pulled back away from her soft face. She was wearing makeup, but not too much, just enough to tell herself it was okay to go out in public. Chapa recalled Moriarity’s thin description, and decided this woman matched it, more or less.
Chapa looked back to where Jackson had been a moment earlier, and saw him standing near the house, talking to a man who was wearing a hard hat and a tool belt. Jackson seemed to be listening intently as the guy pointed toward the sagging ceiling.
“Nikki, I need to talk to this lady over here. Stay with me and don’t say anything.”
She replied with a nod and a smile, which