He came back into the living room and sat down, blowing into the cup as if that really would cool his coffee in a hurry.
“Add that to the shitload of other stuff they’re actively taking or supposed to be taking and what do you get?” he went on. “That the only reason Chuckie-boy needs his job in the morgue is to steal drugs. Hell, he doesn’t need the pay, and that may have something to do with why he’s been doing such a shitty job over the last few months.”
“He could be taking in thousands of dollars a week,” I said.
“Doc, you got any reason to think he might be hooked up with your other officers, getting somebody to do the same thing? They get him the pills, he gives them a small cut’
I have no idea.”
“You got four district offices. You steal drugs from all of them, you’re getting into really big bucks now,” Marino said. “Hell, the little shit may even be involved in organized crime, just one more drone bringing stuff to the hive. Problem is, this ain’t shopping at Wal-Mart. He thinks it’s so easy making deals with some guy in a suit, some foxy woman. This person moves the merchandise along to the next person in the chain. Maybe it’s eventually traded for guns that end up in New York.”
Or Miami, I thought.
“Thank God you alerted us, Rose;” I said. “rhe last thing I want is anything flowing out of the office and ending up in the hands of people who will hurt others or even kill them.”
“Not to mention, Chuck’s days are probably going to be numbered, too,” Marino said. “People like him usually don’t live too long.”
He got up and moved to the end of the couch, closer to Rose:
“Now, Rose?” he gently said. “What’s making you think what you’ve just told us has anything to do with Kim Luong’s murder?”
She took a deep breath and turned off the lamp next to her as if it was bothering her eyes. Her hands were shaking so badly that when she reached -for her mug, she spilled some of her tea. She dabbed the wet spot on her lap with a tissue.
“On my way home from the office last night, I decided to pick up shortbreads and a few other things,” she began, her voice getting shaky again.
“Do you know exactly what time this was?” Marino asked.
“Not to the minute. Around ten of six as best I can say.”
“Let me be sure I’ve got this straight,” Marino said, taking notes. “You stopped at the Quik Cary at about six o’clock P.m. Was it closed?”
“Yes. Which irritated me’ a little because it’s not supposed to close until six. I thought ugly thoughts, and now I feel so bad about that, too. Here she is dead in there and I’m mad at her because I couldn’t get cookies . . . !” she sobbed.
“Did you see any cars in the lot?” Marino asked. “Any person or persons?”
“Not a one,” she barely said.
“Think hard, Rose. Was there anything that struck you at all?”
“Oh, yes;” she said. “And this is what I’ve been trying to get at. I could see from Libbie that the market was closed because the lights were out, so I pulled into the lot to turn around, and I saw the closed sign on the door. I got
back on Libbie and hadn’t gone any farther than the ABC store when this car was suddenly behind me with its high beams on.”
“Were you headed home?” I asked.
“Yes. And I really didn’t think anything until I turned on Grove and he did, too, staying on my bumper with those darn lights about to blind me. Cars going the other way were flicking their lights up and down to tell him his high beams were on, in case he didn’t know. But he clearly intended for them to be on. By now I was getting frightened.”
“Any idea what kind of car? Could you see anything?” Marino asked.
“I was practically blinded, and then I was so confused. Immediately I thought of the car in my parking lot on Tuesday night when you came by,” she said to me. “And then your telling me you’d been followed. And I started thinking about Chuck and drugs and the sort of horrible people who get involved in that.”