“He was rather vague, but he told me that looking into the past never brings anything good.”
“That is vague but unsettling all the same.” She couldn’t find any way of sugarcoating that and respected that Eric didn’t need her to.
“Yeah.”
“Do you think he’s a threat?”
“It’s hard to say. I want to say no, but I never would have believed he’d be capable of covering up a murder either. I did get the sense he was warning me away from the Hansons more than from himself. But still…”
“I definitely think you need to talk with him again, clear the air, get to the bottom of things. How much he knew and when he became involved. He might not have realized all that was being asked of him.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
Sandra wished she could too. As she sat there, feeling for Eric’s predicament, her mind drifted back to what he’d said a moment ago about the past. About it never bringing anything good. Agreeing to meet April Clark from her days in foster care might be a horrible idea. If only she could curb her curiosity.
FORTY-TWO
THURSDAY, 9:00 AM
Eric had brought Sergeant Medina up to date on the situation with the Crawford investigation before clocking out last night. Taking care of that briefing freed up Eric’s morning. He should just head right over to the car rental, but his legs were taking him down the hall toward Todd’s office. Sandra had made a good point about just talking with the man again, laying out what he’d found so far and listening to what he had to say. Not accusing him in any way. Just a face to face. Surely, Medina wouldn’t take issue with that.
Eric found his office empty and stopped a uniformed officer who was walking past. “Do you know where I could find Sergeant Levine?”
“I heard he called in. Guess he’s not feeling well.”
“Thanks.” Eric was on the move. The Todd Levine he knew never called in sick. When Eric had been a rookie, Todd insisted he come in hungover, puking, and sick with a cold. Unless he had the bubonic plague, there was no excuse for ducking a day’s work. He’d say, “Just because we have sick days, it doesn’t mean we need to use them.”
Eric tried his cell phone, and it rang to voicemail. “Shit, don’t do this to me,” Eric muttered. Had Todd felt he was close to being exposed and made a run for it?
He grabbed the keys for an unmarked sedan assigned to the Homicide Branch Unit and headed out. He pressed the gas as hard as he dared, racing through the city as fast as traffic would allow. Within fifteen minutes, he was parking in front of Todd’s rowhouse. He didn’t have a vehicle, so there was no point looking up and down the street for one.
Eric stormed up to the front door and banged hard enough that it rattled the screen. His rapid progression of knocks rang out like artillery fire. “MPD! Open up!” he called out, treating Todd like a perp. To hell with a friendly, informal approach. As far as Eric was concerned, those days with Todd were behind him.
After receiving no answer, Eric tried Todd’s cell phone again. Like before, it rang several times before dropping him into voicemail. That wasn’t like the Todd he knew either. That man always answered his phone, be it day or night.
Eric kicked the welcome mat with his toe, and it reminded him about something else. It stood in contradiction to Todd’s stringent adherence to safety first, but there was always a spare key hidden near the door.
Eric lifted the mat, looked under the planter. Nothing. He extended his gaze, branching out over the garden. About three feet away from the front step, but within a foot of the edging, was a ceramic snail. It stood out that a police sergeant would have such a whimsical thing in his garden.
That’s got to be it!
Eric picked it up, careful not to get the moist dirt on his outfit or his hands.
Bingo!
Eric plucked the key out of a small plastic sleeve and stuck it in the hole for the deadbolt.
One twist and a thunk later, he was going inside. An exigent entry. Completely lawful. Todd was either hurt inside, unconscious, or fleeing.
He wiped his shoes on the front mat and set out into the home. Todd had lived here for all the time Eric knew him. The only difference was his wife, Molly, had moved out long ago. He’d blame her for the snail, but it looked too new.
Heading down the hallway, his target was the office. Todd was never good at striking a work/life balance, and he often took work home. He especially had a thing for domestic cases, never fully understanding the victim mentality. He used to make Eric cringe from how hard he’d pressure women to lay charges.
The office looked like Eric remembered. A simple, small desk overflowing with stacks of folders. The bulletin board on the wall had active BOLOs pinned to it.
Seeing this stabbed Eric in the chest. What made a man with such dedication to the badge look the other way? Or was it as Sandra suggested, and Todd had strived to make up for one immoral act by doing right the rest of his career? As if the good could outweigh the bad and redeem himself from this.
Eric rounded the desk and found an envelope sitting on the keyboard with his name handwritten on the front.
