‘I’m Officer Brazil,’ he said, wiping his face with the hem of his tank top.
‘I didn’t recognize you,’ Ehrhart said, appraising him as if thinking about a purchase.
‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ Brazil said, ‘but what were you doing in the gym?’
‘Fact finishing.’
‘Did you talk to Bobby Feeley?’
‘Yes.’
‘I wish you hadn’t done that, Mrs. Ehrhart,’ Brazil said.
‘Someone had to, and I have a personal interested in this that has to do with me. Aren’t you visiting outsiders from Charlotte always telling us to community police? Well, here I am. How old are you?”
‘Community policing does not include interfering with an investigation,’ Brazil told her.
She stared at his legs.
‘You are quite the athletic,’ she flirted. ‘I have a trainer. If ever you want to work in together, the both of us, wouldn’t that be nice?’
‘It’s generous of you to offer.’ Brazil was courteous, professional and respectful.
‘Which gym do you work in out of?’ She rolled the window down the rest of the way, caressing every part of him with eyes that had huge purchasing power.
‘I’ve gotta go,’ Brazil said as she stared at his crotch.
‘How often do you hang yourself out here?’ she inquired, continuing her physical examination of him. ‘You are very sweating. It’s running all down you in little rivets and you look very hots. You should take your shirts off and drinks some Gatorades.’ She patted the passenger’s seat. ‘Come sits, Andy. Out of the heats. I have a swimmer pool at my house. We could go and jump on it. Think how good that would feeling when you are so hots.’
‘Thank you, Mrs. Ehrhart.’ Brazil couldn’t get away fast enough. ‘But I’ve got to head out.’
He ran off. Her window hummed up. Her tires sounded angry when she sped away.
Brazil took two steps at a time and ran inside the Robins Center, dashing into the gym, where Bobby Feeley was working on defense and fouling imaginary Cavaliers.
‘Mr. Feeley?’ Brazil said from the sidelines.
Feeley dribbled the ball over to him. He started laughing.
‘What is this? The inquisition? Or are you just looking for the track, man?’
‘I’m with the Richmond Police Department, investigating the vandalism that occurred in Hollywood Cemetery last night,’ Brazil explained.
‘You always go to work dressed like that?’ Feeley tried another jump shot and the ball didn’t even come close.
‘I just happened to be out running when I saw Lelia Ehrhart drive off,’ Brazil said.
‘Now that’s a piece of work.’ Feeley retrieved the ball. ‘How long’s she been on this planet?’
‘Look, Mr. Feeley
‘It’s Bobby.’
‘Bobby, do you have any idea why someone would paint a statue to look like you?’ Brazil said. ‘Assuming you didn’t do it.’
‘I didn’t do it.’ Feeley faked passes. ‘And although it’s very flattering to think there’s a statue of me in a historic white cemetery, I don’t think so.’ He missed a layup. ‘I’m a pretty sorry basketball player and not likely to be anybody’s hero.’
‘How’d you get on the team?’ Brazil had to ask as he watched Feeley miss another layup.
‘I used to be better than this,’ Feeley said. ‘I pretty much ripped up the court in high school, got recruited a million places and decided on Richmond. So I get here and something goes haywire. I’m telling you, man, I started worrying that maybe I had lupus, muscular dystrophy, Parkinson’s.’
Feeley sat on the basketball, resting his chin in his hand, depressed.
‘Doesn’t help that I’m wearing Twister Gardener’s jersey,’ Feeley said despondently. ‘I’ve wondered if that’s part of it. Getting psyched out, you know, because everybody looks at my number twelve and remembers him.’
‘I’m not from here.’ Brazil sat beside him. ‘More into tennis than basketball.’
‘Well, let me tell you,’ Feeley said, ‘Twister was the best player this school’s ever seen. I got no doubt he’d be playing for the Bulls right now if he hadn’t got killed.”
‘What happened?’ Brazil asked as something started stirring deep in his mind.
‘Car wreck. Some fucking drunk driver on the fucking wrong side of the road. Last August, right before his sophomore year.’