Soft Boy by T.J. Staneart

Soft Boy by T.J. Staneart

          “They used to make bomb parts here,” Detective Shultz said with his back to the dead body. “You know, the little fins on the back, the rudders? Made right here.”

          The Thorp Building was an unremarkable industrial holdover, found on nearly every corner of Northeast Minneapolis. Still, Shultz was caught up in it. White brick gilded with more brick, accented by broken windows and iron bars. Wedged between the railroad and Central Avenue, it was built for the easy shipping of General Mills products until America’s priorities shifted. Now it was yoga space, pottery co-ops and bespoke baby furniture.

          Detective Delaney said he had no idea about the bomb stuff and studied the lines of his partner’s face. Not quite 60. Not exactly bald. Not the tallest man who ever lived, but by no means short. Detective Shultz carried it all with an indestructible dignity. Today, though, it was like he was colored a shade too cold, and with too frayed a brush.

          Shultz said, “This was during The War, of course. They had soldiers on guard here every second of the day. Can you imagine? 1940-something, the world’s on fire and we had boys in green, rifles at port arms, all down Central Ave.”

          “Sounds like a cushy gig,” said Delaney.

          “We should all be so lucky. Over there is one of the guard towers.” Shultz pointed down the narrow parking lot to a small stone silo with no top, overgrown with bushes and trees. “I heard that somewhere.”

          Delaney was young yet. People couldn’t keep from reminding him. 33 and already a Robbery/Homicide detective. Shultz once told him he had a politician’s face. He was a climber, people in the department said. Smart. But like all new detectives, he was still shaken by just how much he didn’t know.

          “You alright?” said Delaney.

          Shultz didn’t turn toward the body, not right away. “Perfect,” he said. “I’m just perfect. What are we dealing with?”

          At the detectives’ feet was the dead man.

          He’d dressed in an easy comfort, jeans and a t-shirt. Clean, but not tidy. A sleeve of tattoos covered his arm, nothing grim or noteworthy. His name was Nolan DePalma. He was 28, according to his driver’s license. 180 pounds. Brown hair. Brown eyes. And one of the five best-looking people Delaney had ever seen—man or woman, alive or dead—even with the fifty pounds of jagged concrete pinning his skull to the parking lot.

          “It’s not a robbery, I’ll tell ya that,” Delaney said. “His watch, his wallet, his phone: all still on him. Eighty-bucks in ones and fives in his pocket.”

          Shultz rubbed his eyes for a moment. “Okay. Did we get anything off the phone? Anything useful?”

          “It was locked,” Delaney said. “I tried a few passwords, but it froze up.”

          “Did you try his birthday?”

          “Yep.”

          “111111?”

          “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I tried ones, the fives too. Nothing. A buddy at the station owes me. We’ll get a look before it’s officially logged in with evidence, save us a day in paperwork.”

          “Fine. Keys?” In their eighteen months together, Delaney had never seen Schultz distracted at a crime scene, let alone frustrated.

          “You sure you’re okay, boss?”

          “Were there keys?”

          Delaney said, “Jesus. Relax. Yeah, I think he was walking to his car, keys in hand. He got jumped and dropped them. Found ’em a few feet away from the body.”

          “Maybe what they came for was in the car.”

          “Could be. That’s it over there.”

          Delaney pointed to a Dodge Neon with a red duct tape break light and bald tires. The lot doglegged left a little and the car was at the far end being photographed by CSU techs.

          “It was locked when the they got here. The trunk is filled with random crap. Some art supplies. Gym shorts. Some sports balls.”

          “Sports balls?”

          Delaney shrugged. “Yeah. For the sports.” He didn’t really go in for that sort of thing.

          Shultz smiled for a brief, bright second. Then it was gone.

          “Sure,” Delaney continued. “The killer could have taken something from the car, locked it back up and put the keys back by the body. Possible.”

This was a foundational lesson for Delaney: it’s all possible.

          “But damned unlikely,” said Shultz.

          They walked to the car and Shultz poked his head in. He went around to the other side. “Well it looks like a crime of passion then.”

“I’d say so. The killer didn’t even bring a weapon. That chunk of cement is from an old retaining wall over against the building.”

          “Plus there is this,” Shultz said nodding to the hood of the car. Scratched deep into the paint, in wild strokes, read the words liar, fake and soft. “This DePalma kid had at least one enemy. What was he doing here?”

          Delaney shrugged again. “Body was found first thing this morning. No time of death yet, but I think it’s safe to say he died late last night, after the area thinned out. Otherwise we would have heard about it sooner.”

          “So he’s a drunk or a bartender. And with a pocket full of cash at the end of the night, I’d bet bartender.”

          “Tattersall is just down the lot here, around the corner. Next closest bar is what, Vegas Lounge? Lush, maybe, but it’s a hike.”

          Shultz let out a long breath. “Okay then. Let’s get on with it.”

& & &

          Tattersall Distillery and Bar was a lively pop of color built into an old loading bay of The Thorp Building. Bright yellow canopies on the patio. Dark wood finishes on the bar. Steal and glass and brick all around. Holding court over it all: the massive copper stills. The people who went there were young, and not without money. Or they were older, and not without delusion.

          Out front, backed up to the docks like a million trucks before it, was a taco truck, and it already smelled like roasting pork. The side read El Taco Diva in big pink letters.

          “Working the breakfast crowd?” Delaney said, belly up to the order window. Shultz hung back.

          A young Mexican man dipped his head down to see them. Tattoos poured out of his shirt, filling to his collarbones, dripping to his fingernails.           “We’re not open yet.”

          Delaney buckled his knees, feigned a faint. “Damnit. Smells so good. What is that?”

          The man smiled. Big eyes. He caught the morning light just so, and it made him seem enchanted. “Gold, hermano. You gotta get it going now, so it’s tender when the crowd rolls through. I might have some chips ready, though.”

          “Do you?” Delaney said. Then he caught Shultz’s face. “Say, I’m Detective Delaney; this is my partner Detective Shultz. You mind if we ask you a few questions?”

          The man in the truck suddenly lost the will to smile. Shultz stepped up and said, “What’s your name?”

          “Hector Gonzalez.”

          “Do you by chance know this guy? Seen him around?”

          Schultz held up his phone. On it was a close up picture of Nolan DePalma’s ID.

          “No,” said Hector.

          “Is this your truck?”

          “No.”

          “How often does it post up here?” Delaney said.

          “Not very.”

          “Was it here last night?” asked Shultz.

          “Yeah.”

          “Are you sure you didn’t see this guy?” Delaney said. He took Shultz’s phone and rested it on the steel counter. “Look hard.”

          Hector moved his eye from the detectives, to the phone, and back.

          “Sorry. I wasn’t here last night, and anyway, I don’t get out of the truck much. Talk to Sarah. She’s the boss in there.”

          “Fine. If you think of anything,” Shultz said handing him a card, “Give me a call.”

          Shultz strolled inside the bar. Delaney lingered a bit.

& & &

          The detectives stood shoulder to shoulder at the bar. “Cool place,” Delaney said with a mouth full of chips.

          Shultz shook his head. “If you’re in to this kind of thing.”

          The place was hollow and bright with morning sunlight. A tall blonde came out of the back with a beat up gray bin stacked with glassware. The sight of the men annoyed her.

          “Come on, guys. It’s like ten in the morning,” she said putting the bin down on the bar. She was pretty. Messy bun. Long features draped in a green flannel and black yoga pants. “Just because Hector is serving doesn’t mean I am.”

          Shultz took the cardboard bowl of chips away from Delaney and tossed them on the bar. Delaney felt a little empty without them.

          “Are you Sarah?” said Shultz

          She nodded and kept her distance.

          “We’re with the Minneapolis Police Department,” said Delaney. “Can we ask you some questions?”

          She braced for bad news. Shifted her weight. Crossed her arms.

          “Okay. Go ahead.”

          “Do you know this man?” Shultz showed his phone.

          “That’s Nolan. He works here,” she said. “Did he get arrested?”

          “Sorry,” said Delaney. “He was found dead this morning.”

          “You’re messing with me.”

          “We’re not, ma’am,” said Shultz.

          “I,” Sarah said, “Um. I don’t—why? How?”

          “It’s early, but it doesn’t appear to be of natural causes.”

          Tears filled her eyes. She began to hyperventilate.

          “Maybe we could sit down,” said Shultz. He ushered her to a table and pulled out the chair.

          She took a second to herself. Deep breaths and apologies.

          When she was ready Delaney said, “So you knew Mr. DePalma well, then?”

          “Real well.” Sarah seemed to be depending on the table to stay up right. “We worked together for like a year.”

          “Just coworkers?”

          Sarah wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and ran her fingers through her hair, loosening the odd tendril of blonde from the bun.

          “Yeah,” she said. “Okay. We had thing.”

          Shultz said, “You and Mr. DePalma dated?”

          Sarah snorted a laugh and blushed. “Dated? God no.” She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. That’s awful of me.”

          “It’s okay,” said Delaney. “So he wasn’t boyfriend material?”

          “No way. I mean he is a great guy, so sweet. So fun. But the second it got real… Nolan’s a Soft Boy. I had him pegged the day I met him.”

          Shultz raised an eyebrow. “A what now?”

          Sarah said, “A Soft Boy.”

          “It’s what your generation might have called a ladies’ man,” said Delaney. “But in a bad way.”

          “He just gets freaked out. He likes things shiny and new. But you can’t depend on him.” Sarah wiped her cheek again. “Couldn’t, I guess. Now.”

          “How long ago was your thing?”

          “Not long. I don’t know. It was a lost weekend kind of thing. It just happened. Then this girl showed up and freaked out on him.”

          “Why?”

          “Because I answered the door, I think. The poor girl knew right away what was going on. She blew past me and started wailing on Nolan.”

          “Mr. DePalma and this girl—” said Shultz.

          “They had a thing too, I think,” Sarah said. “It kind of broke the spell for me. I knew what he was like. That just reminded me. He wasn’t a bad guy, though. Don’t think bad about him. It just happened.”

          “Did you recognize her, the woman?” said Shultz.

          “No,” Sarah said, regret in her voices. “She had curly, dark hair. Brown eyes maybe. She was thin, real pretty. And devastated.”

          “We’re not here to judge. We just want to find out what happened.”

          “When was the last time you saw Mr. DePalma?” said Shultz.

          “Last night. We closed. It was slow and he offered to cover for me the last few hours. I got out of here about eleven.”

          “Where did you go?”

          “I met some people at a bar in St. Paul,” she said. “Skinners, on Randolph, until it closed. After that I crashed at a friend’s place because I couldn’t afford the Lyft home.” Sarah provided the detectives with the names and contact info for her alibi.

          “Did anything stand out about last night?” said Delaney. “Suspicious people? Out of the ordinary cars in the lot?”

          “Sorry, detectives. I didn’t see anything. We spent most of the night arguing about the best Harrison Ford movie.”

          “Empire,” said Delaney without hesitation.

          “The Fugitive,” said Sarah. “That’s what Nolan picked. But, yeah. I’m with you.” Sarah smiled blocking more tears. “Hector picked Air Force One, if you can believe it.”

          “Hector?” said Shultz. “The taco truck guy with the tattoos? He was in here last night?”

          Sarah nodded. “Diva is our featured food truck this month. Hector is in here every night. Has been for weeks. Why?”

          Shultz and Delaney shot up from the table and sprinted outside, but it made no difference. The truck was empty.

& & &

          “So let me get this straight,” said Lieutenant Leutson. “You caught an honest to goodness murder, interviewed not only the victim’s recently estranged lover but one of the last people to see the victim alive—a man who later vanished like secrets in the church—and you sit there now with nothing but an order of chips to show for it. Is that about the size of it?”

          Leutson was an impossibly big man. An easy 6’ 9”. Heavy hands. Pink face. Iron-grey hair. Over the years he’d developed a gut and temper. Watching him pace his tiny office was like watching a bear in a zoo: as lovable as it was terrifying, depending on what side of the glass you were on.

          Neither detective said a word.

          “Perfect. What about this Hector fella’s employment records?”

          “They keep it kind of fast and loose over at El Taco Diva. Nothing on file.”

          “It’s on me, LT,” said Shultz. He always sat up straight in the presence of command. Firm yet relaxed. Respectful. Alert. Detective Shultz was an Army Man; he knew how to be yelled at. “I took his cagy bullshit as a run of the mill disrespect. I should have caught it.”

          “You’re goddamn right you should’ve,” said Lieutenant Leutson. “You both should’ve.”

          “Also I don’t think Sarah did it,” said Delaney.

          Lieutenant Leutson thumped his hands down on his desk and looked at Delaney. “You haven’t been here long enough to think anything.”

          “She was really broken up.”

          Shultz shook his head, his patience burning away with every second.

          The lieutenant took the sort of deep breath you learn to take in therapy mandated by the department. “I don’t want to hear from you again today. Say, ‘yes, sir.’”

          Detective Delaney said, “She kept using the present tense. She heard           DePalma was dead, and she thought about him like he was still alive. I’m telling you, hearing it from us was the first she’d heard about it.”

Leutson maintained eye contact.

          Detective Delaney said, “Yes, sir.”

          To Shultz, Leutson said, “Tell me about this girl. The one who assaulted the vic in his home.”

          Shultz said, “We found a number of fairly aggressive texts on DePalma’s phone from a number marked ‘April’. The dates line up well with the waitress’s statement.”

          “April? Is that a name or a date?”

          Shultz shrugged. “There was a dating app on his phone. He only met one women in April that matched the physical description we got from Sarah. And of all the women he’d ever been in touch with, only two used the name April.”

          “Three women?” Leutson threw his head back. “Damnit. That’s too many to run warrants on, by the time you get the records this thing will be cold. No way the people at the site just give up the information.”

“Yeah. No shit,” Shultz said. His words echoed. He leaned back in his chair for the first time. “Look. All we have is garbage, and the longer we sit in here and hold your hand, the longer it’ll take to wade through it.

The lieutenant stood straight. He looked back to Delaney, who was just as surprised.

          “Are you alright, Keith?” asked Leutson.

          Shultz said he was perfect. Just perfect.

          “Um… okay,” said Delaney. “We have an APB out on Hector. He turns up, we’ll know it. The waitress should be able to narrow down the dating app women now that we have some pictures. And we’ll send some uniforms to that bar she hit, check up on her alibi, just in case.”

          Delaney wasn’t sure where to look for validation, so he stayed very still.

          “Good,” said the lieutenant. “Good good. I want an update on this case in 12 hours.”

          Shultz got up and walked out of the office. Delaney followed, but before he was gone, Walter Leutson stopped him. He spoke in a tone Delaney hadn’t heard from his boss before.

          “Watch out for him, you understand me, Frank?”

          “Yes, sir.”

& & &

          8am sharp, the next day, Detective Shultz pulled the unmarked cruiser into a space on Hatch Avenue, over in St. Paul’s South of Maryland neighborhood. The shops and restaurants were still locally owned, if they were in business at all. Kids still played barefoot in the streets. Diverse, low-income and rowdy in the St. Paul tradition, the area’s rough edges were smooth by its lawless charm.

          The address Sarah provided was a post-war tinderbox someone cut and recut to make it into a four-plex. It had chain-link fence and a small lawn, long dead of exposure.

          Climbing the porch steps, Delaney said, “You ready for this?”

          Shultz didn’t do anything but ring the doorbell. He missed a spot shaving by his ear. Delaney thought better of bringing it up.

          Shultz rang the bell again.

          The old door’s top half was ornate leaded glass, and beyond it Sarah stumbled into sight. She wore a tight black dress, thick, pink socks and a quilt. Her hairdo, once up and organized, was now neither. She opened the door and squinted against the light.

          “Sorry, detectives,” said Sarah. “But… tequila, you know.”

          “Who among us?” said Delaney. “Listen. We were hoping you could help us out.”

          Shultz said, “The woman you saw—the one who confronted Nolan—do you think you’d recognize her again if you saw her?”

          “Maybe,” Sarah said without confidence, “Come in. Please.”

          The waitress’s apartment wasn’t much. The kitchen and living room were separated only by a change in décor. Sarah gestured to a couple mismatched dining room chairs and swept some mail and an empty Patron bottle to the far side of the table. On the couch, not more than five feet away, a man wearing only a sheet and women’s sunglasses lay snoring at the top of his lungs.

          Delaney pointed to the naked man. “Should we maybe go in the other room?”

          Sarah sat down and buried her face in the crook of her arm.

          “Dan,” she said, loud as she could. “See? He wouldn’t wake if you shot at him.” Sarah picked up her head and saw the detectives taking in her state and the state of the apartment. “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

          “I understand,” said Shultz. “We won’t take up too much more of your time. Can you look at these, see if anyone jumps out?”

          Shultz showed her the dating app profile photos on his phone. They were filtered, of course, and most were taken at an overhead angle. Big smiles. Flattering light. Detective Shultz had his doubts that these women even recognized themselves.

          Sarah passed over the first without much thought. She got hung up on the second, but couldn’t be sure until the third photo in the lot. Sarah handed the phone back. “That’s the girl I saw. No doubt.”

          Delaney said, “What makes you so sure?”

          “Her eyes. Her freckles. I don’t know. They made an impression. Do you think she killed him?”

          “Did you think she was capable?” asked Delaney. “How upset was she?”

          Sarah said, “I’ve been cheated on, Detective. For a long time, it turned out. I had no clue. Then I find pictures on his phone. I mean, I saw a future with him, and just like that I’m alone, and I have to start all over. Hell, that’s why I hooked up with Nolan in the first place. God, that feels like so long ago. I feel like I’m going insane.”

          “Why are you telling us this?” said Shultz.

          “I’ve been where she is, detective. She’s capable of anything.”

& & &

          “Three perfectly good lanes and everyone and their mother’s forced over to the godforsaken shoulder. For ten miles now,” said Shultz, his grip on the wheel far too tight. “And for what? This highway was fine!”

          “I told you not to take 94,” said Delaney skimming April’s profile on the dating app. “Just put the siren on. They’ll move.”

          Shultz leaned over the wheel, stretching tall to see passed the Honda he was tailgating. “Look. No one is even working. Unbelievable.”

          Delaney clicked his phone off and tucked it into his jacket. “Okay. Enough. What is your problem?”

          “What the hell makes you think I have a problem?”

          Delaney waited.

          Shultz glanced away from the Honda. He couldn’t look at his partner for long. “I’m fine, kid. Just drop it.”

          “Nah,” said Delaney. “Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna start guessing shit.”

          “Please don’t.”

          “Come on. It’ll be fun,” said Delaney, having no fun at all. “You tell me if I’m getting warm. I’ll start with money? I know every now and then you hear a little something about a horse. Or fight or whatever? How much did you lose?”

          The muscles in Shultz’s jaw flexed and he wrung the wheel.

          “No? Okay. What about women? You meet a nice young lady? Maybe some daddy issues? What’s the matter, you couldn’t deliver? You know it’s actually fairly common in men your age.”

          “Such an asshole. Just stop.”

          “Hey, boss. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

          “Goddamn this guy,” Shultz yelled at the Honda for gently reducing its speed.

          “Okay. Not money. Not women,” said Delaney. He took a second and watched the orange cones. “You’re sick. That’s it. I got it, didn’t I? You: The Invincible Detective Keith Shultz are terminally ill. Tell me, how long do you have? Days? Minutes? Don’t be afraid to go into the light.”

          Shultz had the cruiser humming along at no more than ten miles an hour, but the tires screech all the same when he slammed on the breaks. The Chevy at their back almost couldn’t stop in time. The driver laid into his horn until Shultz flipped on the red and blue lights.

          “Listen to me.” Shultz was still trying not to lose it. The soldier and the cop in him were at odds. One for violence, one for control. Which was which was anyone’s guess. “I don’t owe you shit. We’re partners, not buddies. This isn’t a family or whatever made-up bullshit they sold you when you applied. This is about the dead guy and the killer. If I hear anything from you about anything other than that, you and I will have a problem. Understand?”

          Then silence, nothing but the engine and the low buzz of Delaney’s phone. Delaney looked away first, checking his text. Shultz adjusted in his seat, let up the break and turned off the light.

          “You’re gonna want to pop them back on,” said Delaney, placing a call. “They picked up Hector.”

& & &

          He sat where they all sat, cuffed to the center of the steel table in the gray-block interrogation room of the 2nd Precinct. Delaney and Schultz           watched him through the glass.

          “Uniforms got him in Midtown,” said Lieutenant Leutson. He was pacing the floor behind them. “Speeding, he blew a red light on Lake Street. When they tried to stop him, he punched it.”

          “How far did he get?” said Delaney.

          “All the way to Mexico,” said Leutson. “How far the do you think he got?”

          “Anything else?” asked Shultz.

          “He had his kid in the car. A boy, about seven years old. And a couple packed suitcases.”

          “He can’t have thought skipping town would work,” said Delaney.

          “I doubt he was doing much thinking,” Shultz said. “Where’s the kid now?”

          “Down the hall crushing some uniforms in Connect Four. I thought I’d see how this goes before I get Child Services involved.”

          “Good. Smart,” said Shultz. “Does he have a record?”

          Lieutenant Leutson shrugged. “You could say that.”

          He handed a file to Shultz who read it at a glance and passed it to his partner.

          “Interesting,” Shultz said. Without turning to Delaney he asked if he was ready to go. Delaney followed Shultz in to the room like he was trapped in the wake.

          “Hector,” Shultz said, rapping on the steel table with his knuckles as he sat. He had a way of existing in an interrogation that blew Delaney’s mind. He was in a constant state of intimacy with the guy on the other side, like he’d known them forever. It freaked them out. “My partner will not shut up about these chips. Come on, out with it. What’s the secret?”

          Delaney sat down next to Shultz and said, “I’ve been saying it’s lime. You did something with a lime. Come on, don’t make a liar out of me.”

          What Delaney gleaned from watching Shultz in moments like these had been simple: Play along, even if it’s bullshit.

          “What?” Hector had not prepared himself for this line of questioning and after his bearings came back to him, he said, “Where is my son?”

          “I told you he’d never say. Magicians and their tricks, right?”

          “I don’t need his validation,” said Delaney. “It. Was. Lime.”

          Hector’s voice got loud. “Where is my son?”

          Shultz leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Okay. You don’t want to talk about work. Let’s talk about your coworkers. Why did you kill Nolan DePalma?”

          “Just tell me where my son is,” said Hector, this time a plea.

          “Did he steal your girl?” said Delaney. “We know he had a way with the ladies.”

          He hung his head, his chin resting on the high point of a tattooed cross. “Look. I’ll tell you everything. But you gotta let me and my boy go. Forget this ever happened.”

          Hector looked Shultz in the eyes. “Give me your word.”

          Shultz leaned in.

          “I did not do this,” said Hector.

          “Convince me.”

          “It was a good night actually,” Hector said leaning back in his chair. “Guapo, He was a funny guy.”     

          “Guapo?”

          “Handsome,” said Delaney. “It means handsome.”

          “Yeah. He had ladies everywhere. I’d only known him a while, but he always had something going.”

          “And the night he was killed?”

          “Right. We joked around all night. We had a little to drink, you know. Maybe we had a lot. It was a slow night.” Hector smiled that bright smile of his. He shook his head, thinking back. “He wouldn’t shut up about that Harrison Ford movie. The one where he jumps off the waterfall. Anyway. Sarah took off, and Guapo closed up. We get to talking about my ink. I tell him I’m thinking of getting some more, and he says he’s an artist, does that sort of work. He says he has some sketches in his car, so he runs off to grab ’em. I close up the truck, and dude’s been gone a long time. I found him just around the corner, and he was already dead.”

          “He was bludgeoned to death fifty feet away and you didn’t hear anything? Nothing at all?”

          “It’s loud in the truck. I had the music on to drown out the exhaust fan.”

          “Why didn’t you call the cops?”

          “A tatted up, drunk Mexican? Why do you think?”

          Shultz says, “You have been deported twice before, right?”

          Hector looked away. “Si. But that was a long time ago. I can’t go back.           Things are different now.”

          Shultz said, “You have a son.”

          “He’s a citizen. If I’m gone, he’ll go into the system. Or worse, they’ll give him to his mom. I’m the only chance he has to live a good life. I can’t go back to Mexico this time.”

          “Is that everything?” said Shultz who had not changed in the slightest since he sat down.

          Hector rested his forearms on the table and said, “No. There was a woman in the lot. She was way on the other side. And she was running to the street.”

          Delaney said, “What did she look like?”

          “She was running away from me. And it was dark, man. I don’t know.” Hector knew he was coming up short. “But she was small. Um. She had dark hair. You gotta believe me.”

          Shultz said, “Anything else?”

          “That’s a little thin, Hector. Not a lot of provable information.”

          “I can’t go back,” Hector could not keep from crying, just a little. “I can’t. Don’t do this. My boy needs me.”

& & &

           Outside the interrogation room, Lieutenant Leutson said, “Works for me. Book him. Call ICE and Child Services and wrap this thing up.”

          Delaney said, “I’m not sure he did it.”

          “This again?” the lieutenant said. “Well I am sure. Get it done.”

          “He doesn’t really have any motive,” said Delaney.

          “No. You didn’t find the motive. Yet. There’s still time to dig into it.”

          “There is also no physical evidence connecting him to the murder weapon. There was no blood on Hector.”

          “Look, kid. There’s no recoverable evidence from that rock, one way or another. And you didn’t see him until a day later. He could have washed a gallon of blood away by then. He admits to being there, his story is weak as hell, and he ran when he saw you. Make this arrest official and get that kid squared away.”

          “We haven’t even talked to the woman he was cheating on.”

          “Well go do that. After you put this guy in the system. If it turns out to be her, no harm, no foul.”

          “He’ll get deported.”

          “That’s what happens to illegal immigrants. Why am arguing with you? Just get it done.”

          Shultz had been leaning against the wall, right hand tucked into his left arm, left hand smoothing out his mustache over and over. He wasn’t looking at anything. “He didn’t do it,” he said.

          Leutson hung his head and forced himself not to get mad. “Okay then,” he said. “Who did?”

          Shultz shrugged.

          “Fine. I’ll you give the day. Bring me someone better for this or we’re going with him. Get me?”

          Shultz gave a single, small nod.

          Delaney couldn’t stop himself and said, “I lay out some very good points—real reasonable doubt stuff—and you say book him. He shrugs and you’re good? Come on.”

         Leutson left the room without even looking a Delaney. He slammed the door behind him.

         “We have to go see this April person, right?” said Delaney. “If she’s the one Hector saw, if she was there, she had the motive, means and opportunity.”

         Shultz didn’t move.

         “My son died,” he said. His voice was low and quiet. “Killed in action. They told me four days ago and I haven’t slept since.”

          Delaney had no idea what to do.

          “He was in a chopper, moving to a forward operating base. They just gave him his first command, you know. Last time he was here—he was so proud—he told me all about it. So damn proud. He tried to hide it. He wanted to be stoic, but he couldn’t pull it off. He was your age.”

         Delaney said, “I’m sorry.” He moved his hand imperceptibly, to rest it on his partner’s shoulder. But the notion of touching Keith Schultz in anyway beyond a handshake struck him as insane.

         Delaney said, “Tell the boss what’s going on. He’ll give you all the time you need. I can handle this from here.”

         Shultz smiled. “I know you can, kid. But if I stop moving I’m going to fall apart.”

& & &

          “I did it,” said April. She stood tall in the stock room of a high-end coffee shop neither detective had ever heard of. It couldn’t have been more than a year old. April dressed as casually as any of the customers but for the apron and nametag. Her curly black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail that draped over one shoulder. She put her hands on her hips and hung her head. “But he had it coming.”

          It happens sometimes. Detective Delaney had heard about it more than once from older cops. Even Schultz had a story about a man who killed his neighbor—over a borrowed George Forman Grill of all things—and was so astonishingly guilty that all he did, day and night, was wait for the cops to show up. He almost cuffed himself, he was so glad it was over.

          Detective Delaney told Shultz to take it easy on this one, relax. He’d take point. It was already going better then he’d hoped.

Then Detective Shultz gave his partner a small nudge and stopped him from reading her rights.

          “How do you mean?” Shultz said.

          “I knew it, you know. Deep down. I mean the signs were there. He wouldn’t return texts right away. Sometimes not for days, but in that same time he’s liking my Instagram posts. When I’m just about to move the hell on, he texts me at 1am saying he lost his phone. Or he’ll drop in here and ask me out. Then, the prick would stand me up. Do you know how humiliating it is to sit by yourself at a Benihana?”

          “I can’t say that I do, ma’am,” said Shultz once it became clear it hadn’t been rhetorical. 

          She bent down to pick up a sack of unground coffee and tried to hoist it up. “I bet you don’t. Because you’re not a sucker.” 

          Delaney opened his mouth to ask another question, but April cut him off.

          “I am,” she said, losing the bag. Delaney stepped in and caught it. He set the sack on a counter.

          “Thanks.”

          “Why not just block his number, if he was so bad? Plenty of fish in the sea,” said Delaney.

          “He was getting better. Just like that, after a month of being ghosted, he was there. We hung out. We met each other’s friends. We made plans once to go to Chicago, to see Courtney Barnet play, and then we went. It was real, you know. We talked about art and life. Then he fell off the face of the earth again. Nothing for two weeks. When I saw that picture, I just… I overreacted.”

          “What picture?” said Shultz.

          April frowned and took out her phone and showed the detectives a photo of the late Nolan DePalma standing in a doorframe in nothing but a loose towel and that grin. The caption read, “He would need a shower, wouldn’t he. #blessed.”

          The detectives gathered it’d been posted by Sarah during their lost weekend. It had a couple hundred Likes.

          “I just happened to be looking at his Instagram when it showed up,” said April.

          The Detectives glanced at each other but stayed quiet.

          “So I went over there to talk to him. Have an adult conversation about our relationship.”

          Delaney said, “A witness stated you assaulted Mr. DePalma.”

          “Mistakes were made. When that Amazon opened the door—I’m not proud of it.”

         “What did you do then?”

         “I went home,” said April. She sat down on another sack of beans and put her chin in her hands. “I tried to call him to apologize but he didn’t pick up. Of course. I just wanted to talk. Maybe we could work it out, so a couple nights later I went to the bar to see if he was working. Then I saw him with her.”

         “The Amazon?” said Delaney.

         “She was everywhere,” said April. “They were laughing, having the time of their stupid lives.”

         Delaney sat down next to her. He spoke calmly, with a comfortable tone. “Is that why you killed him? Because you thought he was laughing at you?”

         April picked her head up and looked at Delaney. He noticed her freckles for the first time, and the interesting way her eyes held awful news. “What?”

         “Is that why you killed him?”

         “I keyed the jerk’s car. Are you saying he’s dead? You think I killed my ex-boyfriend? For cheating on me?” April spoke mostly to herself. “Oh, god that does sound bad. Oh my god. I just said I did it. I did not do it. ”

         April stood up and started pacing the stock room. Her face was red. Her hands were shaking.

         “I didn’t do it. I keyed his car, that’s all. Shit. Why did you just let me say that stuff?”

         Delaney stood back up. “We introduced ourselves and you just stared to confess. If the suspect is confessing, you just let them.”

         “Oh my god. Are you even allowed to do that?”

         “Of course I am,” said Delaney. “Right?” He turned to Shultz who was stifling laughter as best he could.

         “You were right,” he said. “This was very relaxing.”

& & &

         It was quiet in the car. Shultz sipped at a tall, black coffee. Delaney was tapping his phone on his chin, looking out the window.

         “I’m just going to say it,” said Delaney finally. “I don’t think April did it.”

         “Are you sure? Maybe you need to take another crack at her?”

         “I mean it. She had trouble with that sack of beans and the murder weapon weighed as much or more.”

         “Hector had everything to lose. I can’t see it.”

         Delaney turned his phone on and pulled up the photo of Nolan DePalma April had showed them. “Somebody killed this guy.”

         “Sarah could have lifted the concrete.”

         Delaney scrunched his face. “Her alibi checks out. She was in St. Paul when DePalma was killed. Got it on tape. Plus, she knew what she was getting into with the vic.”

         “You know you’re staring at that picture, right?”

         “Well, the guy looks like Jesus and Crossfit gave life to a cologne bottle. I can’t look away. It’s like a sexy car crash, this picture.”

         Shultz leaned over and caught a peek. “Hell’s bells.”

         “I should get back in the gym,” said Delaney with a hand on his belly.

         “What’s all that on the screen?” said Shultz.

         “The handles of the people Sarah tagged in the photo.”

         Shultz set his coffee down. “She sent the photo to people?”

         “More or less.”

         Shultz asked who was tagged but Delaney couldn’t say. One of the names was the victim. A couple were friends of Sarah. A few others Delaney didn’t recognize. He handed the phone to Schultz, who took a couple swipes and stopped. Then he took a few more. He went back to where he started, let out a grunt and tossed the phone back to his partner.

         Shultz started the car and the sirens at the same time.

         “You figured it out, didn’t you?” said Delaney. “What did I miss?”

& & &

         Forty years it was a mom and pop garage, with two spacey bays, old-school lifts and rows of dinged up red tool chests. But not so terribly long before Shultz and Delaney stepped inside, someone bought it at auction and turned it into a gym. Apart from the big bay doors and constant clanging of metal on metal, nothing was the same.

         Shultz and Delaney scanned the faces for the man Shultz for the only other man tagged in the photo of Nolan DePalma. His most recent post had him flexing in the mirror, time stamped 20 minutes before at the Body Shop Gym. They found him benching his bodyweight or more.

         A badge silenced the receptionist as they barged past.

         Delaney grabbed hold of the bar and stopped it at a mid-press position. Shultz pulled an empty bench up to the man who’d been asleep on Sarah’s couch.

         “Hello, Dan. Nice to see you up and about. And dressed,” Shultz said.          “So here’s what I think happened.”

         “What the hell?” said Dan, struggling against Delaney.

         “Don’t interrupt. Now you’re what we used to call a shit-heel, in my day. What’s the word for it now?”

         “Douchebag,” said Delaney.

         “Screw you,” said Dan. He tried to shift the weight to his side, but the detective wouldn’t let him. Dan’s arms started to shake.

         “Times they are a-changin’, am I right? So because you’re such douchebag you cheated on your girlfriend, Sarah. Who, I tell ya, seems too good for you. Just saying. Looking at your picture-gram deal, seems like you two were together a couple years. Then Sarah found some things on your phone she didn’t like and the whole shootin’ match fell apart on you. I bet you don’t even know why you screwed around. Probably you just wanted to. Or you didn’t see how one thing had to do with the other. Regardless, she caught you and threw you out, which you didn’t like. So you tried to charm her, win her back. I bet you’ve said the words changed man so many times the last few days they sound strange. How am I doing so far?”

         Dan tried another burst to push Delaney off, but the bar was now almost to his throat. He was sweating and red-faced.

         “Great. Glad to hear it. So maybe you would’ve moved on, told your buddies Sarah was a lesbian, and got back out there. But then you saw the photo she posted of Nolan DePalma. You couldn’t let that stand? Right?”

         Dan grit his teeth. Veins swelled in his neck.

         “That was your girl. And this pretty-boy comes along and steals her right from under you?”

         Dan pinched his eyes shut and a tear slipped out, disappearing into the sweat.

         “That doesn’t happen to you,” said Shultz, his voice getting loud. “You do it to other guys. You get the girl, right? You’re the goddamn man, so you had to kill him. You had no choice.”

         “I just wanted to hurt him,” Dan yelled.

         Delaney pulled the bar back up and racked it. Free of the weight, Dan covered his face with his hands and sobbed.

         Shultz leaned in. “I bet when she called you last night, you thought all was right in the world.”

         “I just wanted to beat his ass, man. I swear I didn’t go there to kill him, but—”

         Delaney took out his cuffs. “But they just looked so damn happy.”

& & &

         Shultz paced the hall outside the holding cells. “Come on, kid. I got five bucks on you. Don’t let me down.”

         Delaney sat slouched on a bench. Hector’s son sat next to him. Between them: an all-but-won game of Connect Four.

         “Can’t believe you bet against me,” said Delaney.

         “I can’t believe you’re losing.”

         The kid dropped a red disk into the final spot.

         “How?” Delaney said, so much louder than he intended. “How do you win every single time?”

         The kid had his father’s smile. “Want to play again?”

         Before he could release the pieces and divvy them up, a buzzer went off and the steel door unlocked. A uniformed officer escorted Hector out of holding and removed his handcuffs. Before he had both arms free, he was hugging the boy. He scooped him up and held him so tight, he complained in         Spanish.

         Shultz was glad to see it, but he couldn’t look for long.

         In a low voice he said, “Okay, Mr. Smith. You’re free to go.”

         Hector raised an eyebrow at first, then came around.

         “Thank you,” said Hector. He put out his free hand and Shultz shook it.

         “I don’t ever want to see you again,” Shultz said, handing him his card. “Unless I have to.”

         Hector and his son walk out the door. Before it closed, the Lieutenant came in and said, “Mr. Smith get out okay?”

         “Yes, sir, he did,” said Shultz. “Thanks for doing that.”

         Leutson nodded. “Now that it’s all over but the paperwork, I want you to take some time off. A few days.”

         “What the hell are you talking about?” said Shultz in a cold tone.      

         “He made me tell him,” Delaney said.

         “If it helps the situation, he put up a fight.”

         “I don’t need time. I’m fine.”

         “Stress only makes these things worse. When this happened to me, I could hardly move. It hurt to even get up in the morning. You have to talk to someone, see a doctor.”

         “I think he’s got this under control, boss,” said Delaney.

         “Take some time. That’s an order.” The Lieutenant smacked Detective Shultz on the shoulder and marched out.

         Shultz thought about it. “When this happened to him? He doesn’t have children.”

         “Try not to get mad,” Delaney said. “He wouldn’t let it go, so I told him you had that irritable bowel thing, and you were feeling weird about it.”

         “You told him I have IBS?”

         “Yep. I panicked,” said Delaney.   

         Shultz smiled and scoffed. Then he laughed outright, loud and cheerful. It took him over so completely he teared up. He doubled over. He snorted. People started to notice, and Delaney encouraged them to keep it moving. After nearly a full minute, Shultz let out deep breath and said, “I need a drink. And you’re buying.”

         “I’m buying?” said Delaney. “I listened to the LT talk about his ‘jittery dumper’ for twenty minutes, for you.”

         Shultz dried an eye. “Fine. I’ll buy.”

* * * * THE END * * * *
Copyright T.J. Staneart 2025