Same Difference, page 24
Either way, it wasn’t great for Brooker and I wasn’t sure the rest of us were doing that much better.
‘So you sent Mr Martin to see him,’ I said, thinking aloud. ‘He tied Damien up and forced the tranq down his throat. That’s why there was a stain on Damien’s shirt. Did you give him water to make it go down easier, Mr Martin?’
‘I just do what I’m told,’ Mr Martin said. He was destined for a speaking tour, clearly.
‘What about Merchant?’ Mank said loudly. I could tell he was trying to attract Brooker’s attention and keep the danger away from everyone else. ‘Why did you have to fake his suicide?’
That seemed to have the desired effect, although I questioned whether it was the best tactic for Mank to take because Brooker had the gun and wasn’t exactly presenting the very picture of rationality. He turned away from Ken instead of backing up and faced Mank, meaning the gun was facing Mank, too.
‘Merchant wasn’t squeaky clean,’ he said. I didn’t think anyone had brought up his former partner’s ethos, but Brooker was certainly taking it that way. ‘He wanted a piece of the action and if he didn’t get it he said he’d turn me in to internal affairs.’
‘You killed Merchant?’ That was the first time anything said in this room had registered with Jules. ‘I liked Merchant.’ Taste is specific to each human being.
Brooker didn’t acknowledge Jules’s comment. ‘Everything would have been fine if people had just accepted their roles. And you!’ He lurched ahead at Mank but I saw his target was Eliza.
He pointed the gun directly at her. ‘This isn’t because I have anything against you,’ he told her, his left eye tearing a bit. ‘This is because I told your father I’d kill you if he said anything about that evidence bag. I have to keep my word.’
There was a deep end, and Brooker had gone off it. He was hysterical, and not in a funny way.
‘So the evidence bag itself was what you were saving,’ I said. ‘You didn’t put anything in it, you just saved it and probably substituted another one when you filed your report.’
I moved toward him but he pivoted and pointed the pistol at me. He was sweating. ‘Don’t,’ he said, voice much colder. Mank shook his head. He was behind Eliza so I stopped.
Then I looked over at my brother, and Ken was hiding a little grin. I wanted to hit him over the head with something nearby, like the sofa, but there was no time. I decided I’d do so later.
Brian took the moment to step directly in front of his daughter. ‘If you need to kill someone, Neil, it’s not going to be my daughter. Understand? She’s done you no wrong.’
‘But I promised,’ Brooker said. Clearly the stress of knowing he was going to be caught, booked, indicted, tried, convicted and jailed – as he’d seen happen to so many people based on his own actions – had broken him, at least in this moment. I thought for a moment that Brooker wanted Mank to draw his weapon and shoot him, but I knew Mank wouldn’t do that unless he absolutely had to. Brooker had turned a very bad corner. It would take a lot of treatment from mental health professionals to get him functional again.
‘I absolve you of the promise,’ Brian said. ‘You don’t have to deliver on it.’ That was a clever tactic. I didn’t think it would work, but it was worth a try.
As I expected, Brooker shook his head. ‘You don’t get to make the rules, Brian. You took the chance and put your kid in danger. Now you pay the price.’
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jules trying to be inconspicuous as he inched toward the desk, where I suspected any weapon he owned might be. Andrew was next to him, but standing absolutely still.
Mr Martin just seemed to be wondering what he should do and if he might have to kill someone. That was probably what he was hoping for.
Brooker didn’t look in that direction, but he said, ‘Freeze, Julio. I’m still a cop and I know you don’t want to have some firearms charges added to the list of things you’re going to jail for.’ How long Brooker would remain a cop was a topic for another time.
Jules stopped in his tracks and put his hands behind his back, as if he were a soldier in the ‘at ease’ position.
Eliza, barely visible from behind the human shield that was her father, called over, ‘I wasn’t helping Damien with his business. I didn’t do anything.’ She was missing the point, from Brooker’s perspective. ‘My father only came here because you threatened me. He would have stayed quiet if you didn’t, right, Dad?’
Some people are great liars; they can make you believe even the most outrageous fabrication. Some people are good liars, and they can create plausible explanations that sound like they could be true.
Brian Hennessey was a terrible liar. Sweat pouring from his forehead, lips trembling, his arms spreading to provide the most possible protection for Eliza, he said, ‘That’s right, honey. I wouldn’t have said anything.’
He would totally have blown the whistle on Brooker anyway and everybody in the room knew it. Even Mr Martin.
But especially Brooker, who probably didn’t care if it was true or not. ‘Stand aside, Brian.’ He raised the gun to aim more specifically at Eliza. ‘I wouldn’t want to miss and hit you.’
Mank took a rapid step to the left from behind Eliza. ‘You’re not going to shoot anybody, Brooker.’ And that’s when he reached into his jacket, a move that was clearly going to take too long. Mr Martin was already in motion toward Ken.
I was too far away even to jump at Brooker. The only (pathetic) thing I could think to say was, ‘I forgive you, Mank!’ But it was too late. Brooker’s finger was already tightening on the trigger.
I wanted to shut my eyes, but I didn’t. And that’s why when I heard the gun click, I also saw it not fire.
‘It’s Eliza’s gun,’ I said to myself.
Brooker stared at the weapon and then threw it at Brian, who suffered a glancing blow to the left temple. That gave me enough time to dive over an overstuffed, tattered ottoman and take Brooker down with a flying tackle. Ken had already stopped Mr Martin with a quick jab to the head. Mr Martin was down.
From behind me I heard Mank say quietly, ‘Thanks.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
‘I pulled the gun because I figured someone else would first. If I said a lot of crazy stuff and had a gun in my hand, they’d be afraid of me and maybe I could stall until I thought of something.’ Eliza was slumped, tired, in the armchair we have in our living area. And she was being attended to by her father, Aunt Margie, Ken and me. Mank was looking on but not participating at the moment. Julio, Andrew and Mr Martin were also facing charges, especially Mr Martin (whose real name was William Bailey), who would be charged with giving Damien a lethal dose of tranq on Brooker’s orders. My bet was he’d make a plea deal in exchange for testifying against Brooker.
‘What was going on before we got there?’ I asked her. We’d been fully debriefed by some uniform cops and yet another detective from Brooker’s precinct, plus an internal affairs representative who clearly wished that none of this had ever happened. Frankly, I think everyone there would have signed on for that. But we’d been questioned separately, in locations around Andrew’s apartment, and I hadn’t been privy to what Eliza had told the cops. Even I couldn’t hear clearly from that far away amid all those conversations. It starts to hurt my head after a while.
‘You already know Mr Martin grabbed me from behind you at New Amsterdam,’ she answered. ‘Just put that big hand over my mouth and made it look like we were walking together when he was really dragging me away. I got the impression it wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that.’
‘And he brought you to Andrew’s apartment in the Bronx,’ Ken said. Eliza was still more open to Ken than to me. You can’t question people’s taste. ‘So Brooker wouldn’t be directly connected?’
‘Yeah, and he said that I’d be fine if I didn’t try to get away.’ She shrugged, the most Eliza thing I could imagine she’d do. ‘I figured I needed a place to crash and I wasn’t going back to the construction site, so if I wasn’t going to get hurt I’d stick around and see if I could find out who killed Damien.’
Mank leaned forward because any information he could get on the murder was helpful. Forget that it wasn’t his case or that she’d already been questioned by at least six cops in the Bronx. A detective never just lets something go. ‘Did they say anything that led to Brooker?’ he asked.
‘Well, Andrew didn’t show up for a while. I guess he’d called Julio because Andrew came maybe a couple of hours later and he brought Chinese takeout. There wasn’t much I could eat because it all had meat, but then they felt bad so they ordered a veggie lo mein and had it delivered.’
A drug dealer and his paid enforcer were proving to be the most thoughtful characters in this story and that was weird, but not if you’d met Andrew. ‘What did they say about Brooker?’ Mank said, pushing it a little bit more.
‘Not much, but they were definitely getting nervous when he called and said he was coming over. I didn’t know he’d threatened my father then,’ Eliza said.
Instinctively, everyone looked in Brian’s direction. He seemed embarrassed. ‘Once I heard about Damien, I had a feeling Neil was involved because he was on the case, and it was being treated as a strangulation when it clearly wasn’t, based on the public report from the medical examiner,’ he began. ‘I called him and said I was researching an article and wanted to know if he’d had any cases that involved xylazine, which they call tranq on the street. I could pretty much hear him tense up on the phone and he said he’d confiscated it once or twice but that was it and then he had to go and hung up. I’m not normally a suspicious man but that said something to me.’
Aunt Margie, the crime reporter, rubbed her chin. ‘But then he threatened your daughter.’
‘Yes. He called me this afternoon and said he’d taken Eliza hostage, and if I didn’t give him all of my data on the evidence bag, which I didn’t have, he’d …’
‘Kill me,’ Eliza said for him.
Brian blotted at his face with a cloth handkerchief. It wasn’t that hot in the apartment and he was paying particular attention to his eyes. ‘Yes. He gave me four hours to get him what he wanted. I didn’t have much, just a couple of cops in his precinct who’d said there was a small stash of tranq that had gone missing from their evidence room. But his name was never mentioned.’
Eliza looked slightly puzzled and turned toward her father. ‘You went there knowing he’d killed someone and he was mad at you. You could have vanished without a trace or turned him in to the cops, but you came to that apartment to face him. Why did you do that?’
Brian searched her face as if looking for the part of his thinking that had been lost. ‘My daughter was in danger,’ he said.
Eliza looked at her father for a very long moment. I don’t know about the rest of the people in the room, but I felt like I was intruding. Finally they both sat back on the sofa and looked shaken. Eliza kept stealing glances at Brian as if to confirm that he really was the same father she’d had all her life.
We sat and talked for another hour or so, then Mank confirmed online that Eliza was no longer a suspect in Damien’s murder, I was no longer a suspect in Merchant’s murder, and all was, at least locally, right with the world. Brian and Eliza said their goodbyes and headed back to their home, where Eliza said she’d stay for a while, until she was done with New Amsterdam for the year, anyway.
We never did find out why Laura had signed her cat’s name to her lease, but it was pretty clear she’d just found out it was possible and thought it was funny. There was no strong evidence she was involved in Damien’s business and she was never arrested. Neither was Rainbow.
I felt like I’d just hosted the weirdest party of the year. After a few minutes Aunt Margie went back down to her apartment and Ken, with what he thought was a whimsical glint in his eye, said he was going to his room to sleep. That left me alone with Mank.
He stood and dusted off his pants, which didn’t need dusting off but it was a way to avoid looking me in the eye. ‘So you forgive me, huh?’
‘It was a moment of stress,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’
‘Oh, no. You don’t get to take it back now.’ He took a step in my direction and raised his eyes to my level, which for him was up. ‘You forgave me. You were right to be mad, but then you forgave me and I’m forgiven and you can’t go back.’
I took a deep breath and let it out to simulate a sigh. ‘OK, fine. You’re forgiven. But we’re not back where we were. Not yet, anyway. Right?’
‘Right.’ Then he gestured that I should lean over so he could say something quietly, and when I did, he kissed me.
Damn. The man was still a really good kisser.
THIRTY-NINE
Three days later I got an email from an address I didn’t recognize and I almost deleted it because the subject line said something about a rebate. Then I saw the first line.
My dear daughter.
That was how Mom always started her letters. It was like getting an email from a Jane Austen character.
I’m sorry it’s been so long since you’ve heard from me. You know there are people out there who are not pleased with your father and myself, and they have been making our lives interesting, but not unpleasant. We’ve just been moving around a lot.
I hope things are going well for you and Ken. I still haven’t told Dad that I’m in touch with you, but I think he suspects. He’s been acting especially alert lately, a sign that he thinks our level of danger could go up soon, and one of the things he worries about is that any communication with the two of you or Margie could lead to a breach of security. Personally I think it’s worth the risk. Once we reconnected I realized how much it had hurt to stay away. I won’t do that again.
The first thing you need to know is that your father and I are just fine. We’re not in immediate danger and we’re not ailing at all physically or mentally. But our lifestyle for all these years is getting a little tiresome. I’m hoping we can do something about that in the not-terribly-distant future.
Another thing that’s pretty important for you to be aware of is that there’s a man who calls himself Malcolm Mitchell. (He sometimes uses Malcolm X. Mitchell, which is both silly and offensive.) He might approach you in one way or another, but you should stay away from him at all costs. He’s trying to use your efforts to find Dad and me to trace us, and his interests are not in line with ours. You probably know about our ongoing work. He’s one of the people – or works for them – who want us very badly to fail. Don’t make contact with him.
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to find you again and I promise it won’t again. Once more, if you feel it’s best to tell Ken that we’ve been in touch, I will trust your judgment, but the last time we corresponded you indicated that wasn’t your intention and you had your reasons. Again, what you decide is what you should do.
Know that your parents love you both and wish we’d been a family together for all these years. I hope someday we can try to mend the damage we’ve done. Just know it was for your protection and we want you to have happy lives.
All my love,
Mom
OK, so I teared up a bit when I was reading it, especially that last part, and there are sections I haven’t included here because frankly, they’re none of your business. But it was bothering me that Malcolm X. Mitchell had almost convinced both Ken and me that he was trying to help. We shouldn’t have been that gullible.
With Eliza safe once more and Brooker and crew in cells awaiting trial (no bail for Brooker or Mr Martin), Ken and I could get back to what we laughingly called our normal lives. Take on new clients, help families reconnect when they wanted to, all the things I’d envisioned when I had talked my brother into joining me in a detective agency that would specialize in adopted people and all their families.
But given our own family circumstances and our, let’s say, unusual origins and existence, there was never a time we could completely let down our guard. I’d probably made a mistake opening up to Mank, although I knew he’d never betray my secrets. But I’d have to resist the temptation to do the same again.
I was stewing about all this when there was a knock on my bedroom door and Ken opened it, looking tired. He probably needed a charge. I looked in my bag for the portable battery-operated charger he’d sent me, but he waved a hand. ‘I’ll go plug in right after I go to bed,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to see how you were doing.’
I extended the hand with the portable charger. ‘Use this for a while,’ I said. ‘I have something I need to tell you.’
He sat down.
E.J. Copperman, Same Difference
