Bodies in Winter by Robert Knightly Page B

cocaine dealer. According to Merkovich’s snitches, there are only four men in his entire crew, most of them relatives or kids he grew up with. He couldn’t have known when Lodge was going to be released, much less where Lodge was headed. It’s simply impossible.’
    I broke a salted roll in half and buttered one end. ‘What was Sarney’s reaction when you told him about Lodge’s file being . . . How did that jerk from Archives put it?’
    â€˜Unable to locate at this time.’
    â€˜So, what’d Sarney have to say when you told him Lodge’s file was temporarily unlocatable?’
    â€˜He said he’d make a formal request to the DA’s office for their copy, plus he’d contact CSU and the crime lab to see what they had in their own files.’
    â€˜He offer a time-frame?’
    â€˜Nope. But there’s good news, too. We’ll have Ellen Lodge’s phone records tomorrow morning.’
    Our dinners arrived a few minutes later: meat, gravy, potatoes and a few broccoli spears that’d been stewing for the better part of the day. As I ate, I allowed myself to fall into the minds of the conspirators, a practice I commonly follow prior to interrogations. From their point of view, the news coming from Jarazelsky must have been devastating. Lodge’s recovered memory would be meaningless in a court of law. The only way he could prove his innocence was by persuading somebody else to confess.
    By this time I knew quite a bit about David Lodge, and not only from Nagy and Beauchamp. The newspaper stories had included extensive accounts of the events leading up to Lodge’s guilty plea seven years earlier. One item in particular had caught my attention. According to the ME, Clarence Spott had been severely beaten prior to being struck with the blackjack. That beating had occurred outside the precinct and had been delivered by David Lodge, who’d already been the subject of a dozen civilian complaints alleging police brutality.
    What would I do if I was one of the co-conspirators, say the man at the top of the pyramid, and I learned that Lodge was coming after me? What would I do to protect myself? What risks would I take? What level of fear would Lodge inspire, this large violent man who spent his days in Attica’s weight yards?
    The death of the Broom was one answer to those questions. Ellen Lodge and Pete Jarazelsky provided two more answers. Like Szarek, they were weak links, points at which a good detective places the splitting wedge before driving it home. Nobody would rely on them unless they were desperate.
    â€˜Eva Hinckle called this morning,’ Adele said, ‘to report her newly surfaced memory. She was very definite. The ski cap rode up and she saw the back of the driver’s neck. He was black.’
    â€˜Which proves what? Even if she’s right?’
    â€˜Don’t you read the newspapers, Corbin? It proves that DuWayne Spott and his army of ghetto gangsters killed David Lodge.’
    Lieutenant Bill Sarney was a compulsive organizer and the walls of his office were dominated by a series of cork boards. As Adele and I sat before his desk the following morning, I found myself caught up in the notes and departmental notices pinned to the boards. What struck me was that the paperwork was absolutely square to the frame and the colored pins holding them had been placed at uniform heights.
    â€˜Alright, guys,’ Sarney declared once we were seated. ‘What’s up?’
    â€˜Nothing you don’t already know, lou,’ I replied. ‘Our day’s just gettin’ started.’
    Sarney’s tone was supremely casual, and his face gave nothing away. ‘Ah, but that’s the point, Harry. I want to know what you’re going to do with your day. That’s why I asked you to stop in.’
    Adele handed Sarney a printed document, Ellen Lodge’s phone records, which Adele had taken off the computer a