The Libran Investigator (part II)

After all that, Beth and I drove her car to Meadow Park. There were a lot fewer people there now. And they still hadn't removed the body, which was an outrage! How long were they gonna leave him lying there like that?

When I got close, I understood what was happening. The cops who were there now were no longer from the DEA or the homicide department, but from the SAD. I saw one of the cars. It was one of those undercover ones, which had a siren of these which come out and can be put in the glove compartment.

The responsible's frown would drive everyone away. I was wondering how they managed to convince the curious to make room for them to do the job, but probably that man's frown was the reason.

"No one can pass." He said it with ill will as soon as he saw me and Beth.

She showed the badge.

"I'm Elizabeth Wilson, from DEA, and this is Megan Mourne, journalist of the Daily Inquirer."

"God in heaven! The DEA and the journal... Together? Well... The SAD is taking over the case, you may've heard of it. And we're not in a position to give an interview yet."

"Listen. I knew Jim personally... I just came... To see him."

- Então olhe. – Ele apontou com as duas mãos - Dê uma boa olhada! Vamos levar ele para central em vinte minutos.

"Then look!" He pointed with both hands towards him, "take a good look! We'll move him to the headoffice in 20 minutes."

He left and left Beth alone in a rare tactful moment he had. How can anyone be so insensitive?

Beth did like me. She saw the scene and then kept inert, staring into Jim's face. I avoided looking at him again. I turned around and went to the back of their car. As a disguise I asked if anyone could tell me about the situation, but I actually went there to prevent Jim's fallen body from reaching my eyes.

"This is Detective Ewalyn Lowe, in charge of the case." The brunette cop, the lowest, who didn't have the scowl and the bad will, told me. The detective was not wearing a police uniform, but a blazer, shirt and pants combination, in a corporate fashion.

"Well... Are you the girl from the paper?"

She didn't seem very used to doing that.

"Megan Mourne" I reached out. It took her a while, but at least she didn't leave me in a vacuum and shook it. I made amends:

Uh, I... I was expecting some comments if you don't mind. I'd especially like to know why. I mean... Not to publish, but... It's just that I knew him personally and... This all doesn't make sense to me...

My line of thought was no longer making sense to me either. Even I didn't know exactly what I wanted at a time like that.

"I understand..." She answered politely, but clearly lying. Who would've understood that? "Unfortunately, we can't help you. We still don't know anything about motives or prime suspects. All we know is what happened... And we have a vague idea of how it happened. That's about it."

"And what would that vague idea be?"

She looked in the direction of the car, where she would have found Jim, that is, if the car hadn't been in front of the field of vision. Then she looked at me politely again.

"We suspect it was a hit and run."

It took me a few moments to put my head back in place. Like a hit-and-run would rip off one and only one piece of a person like it was... Like it was a bite? Yes. It looked exactly like that! A bite! Made by a big animal or something. From the beginning it was the impression I got, but until then I was trying to avoid thinking about it. But looking at the facts, that's exactly what the situation suggests it was.

Of course, I admit that I am not qualified to throbble, but in any case I was certain it was not a car accident.

And even if it was... What then is the point of transferring the occurred to the special cases division? Don't they investigate special murder cases that the homicide division can't solve or something? I always thought that was it. I don't quite understand the need for the special case division. It's a police division that hardly anyone knows about.

But before I rushed into expressing my indignation at the comment that that detective made with the biggest poker face, I realized that she thought of me as just an ordinary journalist, so it was to be expected that she'd not want to reveal much. Why would she reveal what she knew and let someone publish the progress of the case under work?

No... If I wanted to know what happened to Jim, I'd have to earn their trust. Of the SAD. Since they wouldn't tell anything directly related to the case, I asked the natural question:

"Can you enlighten us on why a hit-and-run case like that ended up in the special cases division?"

Naturally she realized I was playing her game. She slightly made a funny expression, which pissed me off, but soon resumed her expressionless face and responded:

"Just between us... There are suspicions that this hit-and-run was intentional and not accidental. I mean... There was a similar car runover last week."

She must've been referring to McMiller's case, which that little Monday paper, Sproustime, published. They published exactly as the SAD described it: an unfortunate case of a run over in which the irresponsible driver advanced over the sidewalk, hitting the accountant in his abdomen, leading to a fatal wound. No car climbs onto the sidewalk like that without being intentional and still manages to leave the place without leaving tracks. It was a magic car.

I went on deeper with my mockery:

"A similar hit and run? You say... In the sense of a serial killer who always runs over people in exactly the same way? Or would it be more like a coincidence? You know... Caused by mechanical failures that make cars pull to the side of the sidewalk always in the same fashion... Something like that?

She twisted her cheeks in an irritable way. But she never lost her impassive face.

"It could be either. We're still investigating. Now if you'll excuse me..." She turned around and walked towards the body.

Looks like that was going to be the 'facts' the Inquirer would get about what happened. Unless I asked again later more calmly. So I risked another intrusion:

"Wait! Would it be okay if I went to the SAD building this afternoon for more info, after you, well... Become less... Busy?

The girl didn't respond verbally, but she shrugged. Which for me was a 'yes'!

As soon as she got away from me and went to talk to the other two policemen, the little black guy and the grumpy one, I saw Beth wandering barely, looking at the sidewalk. Poor girl. She was devastated just like I was earlier. I walked up to her.

"Beth?"

She fell into my arms and burst into tears.

After a minute of silence she uttered just two words, which she swallowed amidst her sobs:

"So... Horrible..."

Really, it was the worst thing you could imagine. I mean... seeing someone you spend most of your time with at work just going like that... That way.

We stood there for a while.

Who could have done something so inhuman? And why? Was it someone who was Jim's enemy? If so, was it some criminal he knew? I mean... He was a cop after all. And if it was some criminal that Jim knew, would it be someone involved with the drug trafficking? I mean... Jim's specialty was dealing with drug criminals.

What was I doing? Drawing conclusions like that? I should leave the job to the cops.

I'm just a journalist.

But it was so unfair! I wanted to know. I had the right to know! And so did Beth. Beth was in the same department as Jim. Why wouldn't they let her handle the case? Why was the SAD doing that?

The nice cop poked me lightly in the shoulder, with which Beth and I turned around. He said:

"You're from the DEA department, the same as Jim Sanford, right? Come with us, please. We need you to sign a body recognition document..."

"Er... I'm Megan Mourne, from the Inquirer. Only Beth here is from the DEA, but..."

"Just come with us."

For some reason they had brought the paperwork in the car so we didn't have to go to the police station to do the bureaucratic part. Which was bad for me, as I wanted to take a look-or rather, a listening-at what the SAD people were talking about.

I signed - I confess without reading - the paper. And then it was Beth's turn. She took the paper to read... And she stopped at that part that said "runover.' It wasn't a thorough analysis by any coroner, just a description they had to put on the document to explain what the case was about. What it looked like was the case. An a priori description. And in that description that word came up. 'Runover.'

That ridiculous word.

Beth dropped the pen from her hand - and then she snapped.

What's that? What kind of work is that? Why are you doing this? This is clearly murder! Mur-der!

She began to yell louder and louder, expressing her indignation by exposing those arguments in a redundant manner until she became inaudible. The insensitive SAD policemen looked at each other in a 'sigh' expression and tried to calm her down, and once unsuccessfully, they began to concentrate on getting her out of there.

It was a completely idiotic thing. They got our signature and after they didn't need us anymore they just sent us away and refused to talk more.

We had to go to the drugstore to get Beth to calm down. I admit she made a scene. But she was right. The attitudes of that group didn't match the expected attitudes of a police department. It seemed like they even knew the motive and/or the method of the murder and were trying to hide something by covering it up like that.

Analyzing at the facts, it seemed too much they were doing that. Was it really it?

But if it was, they should try to do a better job, because the Daily Inquirer wouldn't settle for so little. Ah. That certainly wouldn't.

"Sorry, Meg... I lost my temper. And now we've been kicked out and they're gone."

"No... Not at all... You're totally right, Beth. They're doing something... Something wrong. This whole secrecy thing, switching departments... Pretending it's a commonplace hit-and-run... Doesn't that smell a little suspicious to you?"

"Of course it does, Meg. I'm a cop too. I can smell strange from afar, but..."

Beth suddenly stopped her line of reasoning and got crestfallen.

"But...?"

"We have to do something, Meg."

"...Yeah!"

"Meg... Let's work together?"

"Yeah! What are we gonna do?"

"Lemme see... Since I work at the DEA I'll try to see with the supervisor if he can't transfer the case back to us. Or if he can't at least get some confidential information. After all, you know... We're entitled. Jim was ours."

"Of course! Makes perfect sense! What about me? What do I do?"

Beth enthusiastically put her hands on my shoulders:

"You... You insist! That's it! You insist on the interview! On your story! But be stubborn. Don't let go of the SAD until you find something."

So I would try to interview the SAD later, after the forensics had been done. After they'd figured something out. I had though doing that from the beginning... I wasn't gonna stand still.

"Then it's setteld! Meg...," she looked amazingly at her wristwatch, "I have to go! The guys are waiting for me."

"Me too. I'll go back to my work and report the failure that it was here."

"Don't say that! After they'll be more considerate. Well... I'll be going. You want me to drop you off at the journal?"

"No need to. I feel like I really need a walk."

"Really? It's close... I'll leave you at the door."

Well... A ride would come in handy...

"Okay then. But aren't you late? I mean..."

"Oh, come on. The DEA's gonna be a mess at this hour, anyway."

I can only imagine... With the commotion caused by that news.

Me and Beth got in her car and she drove me to the Daily Inquirer, as agreed. We didn't exchange a word along the way. In the end she left me at the front gate and we traded goodbye.