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The Shit Gets Deep
When Ford got to his desk he found Lorna waiting there with her feet up, Ford's newspaper in one hand, and a pen in the other.
"That was one thing I always hated about you," Ford said.
"Aw, quit whining," Lorna said. "You're just jealous that I'm better at crosswords than you."
"No, I'm pissed off that you just did MY crossword."
"So anyway," Lorna said, putting her feet on the floor. "I thought you might want to see the forensics report on the kid."
"Anything I don't already know?"
"Not a damn thing."
Ford brushed her out of the way and sat his cup of coffee down on the desk. The box with the knife in it got tucked into the bottom drawer of the desk, then the desk was locked.
"Ooh, you never lock your desk," Lorna noted. "Let me guess, something really expensive and cool that you just had to have because nobody else has one."
"You think you're such a smarty-pants, don't you?" Ford replied.
"Of course. That's why I work sixty hours a week for less than thirty-five K."
"Are you going to tell me what's in that report or do I have to guess?"
"You could try reading it," Lorna said, then remembered who she was talking to. "Okay, like I said before there were no abrasions on the bones, no fractures, nothing. But there was evidence of contractions, and the posture doesn't match the surrounding dirt, meaning this kid was dead and stiff when he was stuck in that hole. No head trauma, so if I had to guess, he was either strangled or poisoned. Of course, neither could be proved because the water run-off did a great job of washing away every part of this kid that wasn't bone."
"You're not helping me out here," Ford said, flopping into his chair. "You're supposed to tell me the kid's head was thumped with a large heavy object shaped like a Z and Zvolen's business card was wedged in his teeth."
"No such luck," Lorna sighed, leaning over the desk. "So how was the movie?"
"Movie?" Ford asked. "Oh, right. Blair Witch. I liked it, apparently everyone else in the free world didn't."
"That's too bad. They're making a third one."
"Yeah," Ford said. "I know. But by the time it comes out nobody will care. Hey!"
"What?" Lorna asked, surprised.
"The Dungeons and Dragons movie is coming out. Wanna go?"
"What for? There's no ranger, no cavalier, no thief, no baby unicorn..."
"Yeah," Ford said, "but it's got a Wayans."
"Oh joy," she said. Then her expression turned serious. "Listen, Ford, I want you to stop."
"Stop what?" He asked.
"This hitting on me and asking me out every time you see me."
"What's it going to take for you to give me another chance? I know you still love me."
"Ford," She sighed. "Yes, you're right, I do. But unless you have some great life-altering experience..."
"Okay, listen up people," shouted Captain Miller as he exited his office. "I have a new policy memo here."
"I'd better go," Lorna said, then disappeared.
"From now on," Miller continued, waving a stack of papers above his head. "You will not interview public servants that were not on-scene without authorization from me. Is that clear?"
"He's talking about you," Frank said, pointing his pipe at Ford.
"I said is that clear?" Miller yelled, then, looking directly at Ford, "does everyone understand this?"
"It's a credit to your genius," Ford noted.
"A triumph of your will," Jake added from the other side of the room.
"It's Okay," LaTasha shrugged.
"Everyone take one, sign it, and give it back to me. Ford!" Miller said, as he slapped the stack of memos down on a random desk. "In my office, now."
"Who'd you kill this time?" Frank asked, keeping his eyes on the novel he was reading.
"Nobody yet," Ford said, rubbing his chin. "Really, Fish, I haven't pissed anyone off for at least a week."
Ford shrugged, then followed Miller.
Captain Barney Miller's office was neat to the point of excessive. Everything was filed properly in one of ten filing cabinets lining the walls, and his desk was spotless. Directly behind Miller's desk, above his chair, was series of plaques and photos from Miller's tour with the Third Brigade in Vietnam. He'd fought at Que Son and been shot in the face at Thon La Chu. And, although his entire tour lasted less than two years, it was the pride of his life. Ford always felt a little guilty that, when Miller was staring down North Vietnamese bullets, he was trading baseball cards with his friends.
"You really know how to find the deep shit, don't you?"
"Excuse me?" Ford asked.
"Here, read this," Miller said, tossing a faxed note across the desk to Ford.
The note was from the office of Joseph Zvolen, his private office, not his Commissioner's office. The letter acknowledged Ford as the investigating officer in the John Doe Jr. case involving property formerly owned by Zvolen's family, and invited Ford to come to the office later in the afternoon to question Zvolen.
"Unbelievable," Ford said.
"Yes," Miller agreed. "That fax came in just as I finished photocopying the memo I was hoping would keep you away from Zvolen. Tell me, Ford, what is it about this case that's keeping you from just filing it away? I saw Perry's report, we don't even know it was a murder."
"You're right, Captain," Ford said. "But there's something smelly about this guy. I can't put my finger on it."
"Ford," Miller said, leaning back in his chair. "You're a homicide detective, you investigate murders, not crooked politicians."
"I know that," Ford nodded.
"Listen to me. I'm not going to play TV Captain and pull you from this case, because you haven't fucked up, yet. But if you're going to fuck up you'd better fuck up small and do it soon. Otherwise, don't fuck up at all."
"Right, I gotcha," Ford said, pocketing the fax. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
The Novato office of Brubakker and Zvolen still had that new scent to it, and Brubakker's Lexus was still parked outside, accompanied this time by a stretch Cadillac with tinted windows. The main difference this visit was that Ford was allowed right in. Somehow, it wasn't what Ford had imagined it would be. For some reason, he had the idea that a lawyer's office should resemble a doctor's office, with a waiting room, and clients ushered into secret back offices. This office was more like the kind of advertising agency you see on television, with offices and meeting rooms lining the walls and a large, open space in the middle.
"Huh?" Ford asked the secretary, suddenly realizing she had been talking to him.
"I said Mr. Zvolen will be with you in a moment."
"Oh, thanks," Ford said, taking a seat. He picked up a copy of "People," and leafed through it for a moment, but paid no attention to its contents at all. "Hey, can I ask you something?"
The secretary seemed genuinely surprised, but shrugged.
"Do you ever get really busy here?"
"Oh, no," the secretary said. "Mr. Zvolen and Mr. Brubakker never see clients in the office."
"Ah, I see," Ford said, despite the fact that he didn't.
After a brief wait, Ford was told he would be seen, and the secretary stood up to show him the way. Halfway across the main area, Zvolen appeared in a doorway and waved Ford over. If the law office wasn't what Ford was expecting, then Zvolen's office was the complete opposite of his expectations. The room was lit by a fluorescent light in the ceiling, the windows having been drawn shut tightly. The frame of the desk was silver, the top being a single piece of glass. There were no photos or certificates on the walls; instead, a large sword hung to the left of the door, and a shield with a family crest hung above Zvolen's chair. A single houseplant sat on the windowsill.
"So," Zvolen said, waking Ford from his ruminations. "Of course, I'd like to help any way I can, Mr. Ford, but if we could please hurry this up."
As he reached into his leather jacket to retrieve his notebook, Ford made a mental note that Zvolen was being far more considerate than should be expected.
"Well," Ford said, taking a seat across the glass-topped desk from Zvolen. "I'll just ask you some questions and I'll be on my way. First, What kind of relationship did you have with your father?"
"Excuse me?" Zvolen asked. "I don't see how that can possibly be relevant to the case. Do you Detective?"
"Er, no," Ford acknowledged. "No, I don't. Can you tell me about the house staff or the people that worked for your father?"
"No, detective. That's not important either, is it?"
"No," Ford shrugged. For some reason he suddenly felt very uncomfortable, as if he were being watched; there must be cameras hidden somewhere, he thought. He shifted his weight in the chair and continued. "What about any enemies your father may have had?"
"I don't believe so," Zvolen said. "Are you even sure this was a murder, Detective?"
"Well," Ford suddenly aware of how thin the case was. "That is to say, no. No, I'm not."
"So why are you pursuing this?"
"I don't know," Ford shrugged. "I guess I was just trying to close the case."
"Well," Zvolen smiled. "Why don't you just close it then, if you have no evidence that a murder even took place?"
"I guess you're right."
"Of course I'm right," Zvolen said. "So you'll close the case?"
"Yes," Ford said, tucking his notebook back into his jacket. "Of course I will."
"Good," Zvolen said, picking up his phone and dialing a number. "Now that I've been inconvenienced, I wish to be left alone."
"Of course," Ford said, backing toward the door. "And if there's anything else you need, you know, parking tickets, that kind of thing, don't hesitate to give me a call."
"I will do that, Detective," Zvolen said.
"Thank you," Ford said. He started to bow, but then thought better of it. "Thank you for your time, sir."
With that, he hurried out of the office.
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