"Why now what?"
"Why are you asking me about possible perps in a murder? We haven't discussed work in years."
Pierson smiled coyly. She could tell that he was trying to protect her sharing the file on the Otto Freeman murder. "You are always so suspicious! That's what I like about you, Mac. No good deed ever gets done without you questioning the motives behind it."
MacFarland feigned a pained expression. "How little you think of me! But seriously, what is behind this?"
Pierson rubbed her hand through her hair, making her red curls frizz even more. "I hadn't really thought too much about it, but maybe it's just seeing you every day. I remember what you used to be, and maybe I wonder if there is still some of that spark still in there."
MacFarland shook his head. "Nope. That's the past. Now I am just a hot dog vendor.” He rinsed his counter wipe and started cleaning the surfaces of his cart once more.
Pierson sighed, then turned away. "Come on, Lockwood, we're freezing our asses off out here.” Lockwood did not need any further encouragement to walk the two blocks back to Police Headquarters.
They had walked about ten paces away when MacFarland called out, "Check with Lord Bozworth. You'll find him over on Colfax. If the Lord don't know what's going on in Denver, no one does."
Pierson waved her hand in thanks and continued on back towards the police building.
When they were a block away, Lockwood spoke up for the first time. "You spend a lot of time with that loser," he said. "What's so important about him? As he said, he's just a hot dog vendor."
Pierson stopped, staring angrily at Lockwood. Lockwood had continued walking, then realized that Pierson was not by his side. He turned to face her, a bit surprised at the hardness of her expression. "He's one of the invisible people, you fucking asshole. If you want to be successful in this department, you better learn this real quick. The fucker who killed our snitch is also invisible. Only the invisible people will know where he is. Now get your fucking ass back to the office and next time, wear a fucking coat."
MacFarland watched Pierson and Lockwood until they turned the corner and passed out of his view. For the first time in many years, he began to feel good about himself. Cynthia Pierson didn't realize how much her opinion of him meant to him.
Chapter 19
Wednesday, December 9, 1315 Hours
MacFarland was not surprised when Jerry Baker showed up again. Even before the defense lawyer had reached the cart, MacFarland had a brat ready for him. Baker smiled and began to pay for his brat.
"It's on the house," said MacFarland, waving off the money.
"Really? Why so generous?"
MacFarland laughed and shook his head. "I have no idea. Just part of my nature, I guess. Every once in a while, I like to treat my friends."
Baker started to put the condiments on his brat. "Well, I appreciate being one of your friends, Mac. It means something to me. It's the one good thing to brighten up my otherwise shitty day."
MacFarland looked at him curiously, but then he had to handle three customers who arrived one after the other. Rather than leaving, Baker stood around, eating his brat and munching on a bag of Fritos. Even after he finished, he loitered around the cart. Finally MacFarland looked over at the lawyer. "Something on your mind, Jerry?"
"Ah, today was one of those days when you wished you'd gotten up on the other side of the bed. Judge Clements refused to grant my client bail. Which I thought was entirely unreasonable. Hell, she owns a home, and now that her husband is dead, she has a jewelry store. What woman would run out on that?” He paused, then continued. "You know, I've been asking around about you, Mac. It seems that some years ago, you were a pretty good detective."
MacFarland shrugged indifferently. "Not good enough," he said. "I got kicked off the force."
Baker waited while another customer came up and placed his order. As the customer walked away, Baker moved to stand in front of MacFarland. "Here's the deal, Mac. I need your help."
MacFarland began to wipe off his cart, then put some more brats and dogs on the heating rollers. "What kind of help?" he asked hesitantly.
"My PI. He went skiing up at Loveland. The idiot missed a turn and went off the ski slope. He ended up really spraining his ankle. Now he can't walk. I need someone to take his place. Dig up the dirt on this case I'm working. Get the facts that the police are missing."
"In the Otto Freeman murder?"
Baker nodded. "Yes. I think I mentioned that I am convinced that Mrs. Freeman is innocent. I need someone to get me the evidence I need to get her off."
MacFarland hesitated. He had to be careful what he said. Jerry Baker was an officer of the court. If the judge found out that Baker had improper access to police records, he could get into a lot of trouble. Hell, it could get Pierson into trouble. On the other hand, everything he had, the police were supposed to turn over to the defense lawyer. Little difference it would make. MacFarland did not see that there was a lot of wiggle room in the case. Maureen Freeman had the means, the opportunity, and probably the motive to kill her husband. It was only a matter of time before Iverson got all the facts together that would prove she was the killer. "From everything I've heard," said MacFarland, "the case goes way beyond circumstantial. I think you should cut a deal for your client."
"I'd cut a deal if I thought she was guilty," said Baker. "I won't take the easy way out knowing she is innocent."
MacFarland shook his head. How could he possibly help Baker, he wondered. He didn't even have an open mind about Maureen Freeman's innocence. Everything pointed to her guilt. "I don't think so, Mr. Baker," he said. "Besides, I have a hot dog stand to run."
"I'll pay you well," said Baker. "I really need your help."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for your client, Mr. Baker, I really do wish there was something I could do."
"Well, think about it, will you?"
"Yeah, I'll think about it, but I don't see me changing my mind."
Chapter 20
Wednesday, December 9, 1845 Hours
By the time MacFarland got home Wednesday night, he was exhausted. He had been busier than he expected, especially for a Wednesday. A large contingent of the tourist crowd--about twenty young people--had gotten lost searching for the U.S. Mint. Since the Mint was only a couple of blocks away, MacFarland concluded that the group had collectively drunk a bit too much beer. Whatever caused their errors in reconnaissance, they had decided to camp out in the open area across the street near the courthouse. When some of them spotted his hot dog cart across the street, they had descended on him like vultures on a corpse. Despite their boisterous mood, and the fact that a couple of them were clearly intoxicated, they were generally well behaved. And quite hungry. He barely had enough product left to supply his homeless friends, most of whom waited until the cash-paying customers had moved away from the cart. MacFarland's friends didn't want to cause him any problems with any unexpected interactions with "regular" folk. Given the boisterous nature of this group, MacFarland thought their caution was a smart idea.
Pierson was already home when he arrived. She started telling him about her day. She had been assigned to work with Narcotics on solving the hit on their snitch, and she was planning on putting in long hours to follow up leads provided by MacFarland's contact.
MacFarland put away his product, cleaned his storage bins, and put his hand wipes into the washer, pretending to listen but mostly wondering if Pierson was going to make anything for dinner. When he asked her, she looked up at him and shook her head. "How about I order some pizza then?" he asked.
Pierson continued to stare into space. "Go ahead, but just order enough for yourself. I'm not feeling very hungry."
MacFarland put in his order, then went and sat down across from Pierson.
"What's bugging you Cyn? Problems with your case? It sounds like Lord Bozworth is already helping.”
She looked up vacantly, then shook her head. "No, the case is going fine. Bozworth, he's great. I can't believe we haven't been using him in the past."
"He's been burned by the police before. Doesn't trust them. I am sure the only reason he is talking to you is because I put in a good word for you."
"Yeah, he only talks to me. Won't even talk if Lockwood is around."
"Can't blame him for that. No offense, but your partner is a jerk."
"He's not so bad once you get past his youthful stupidity. He's actually a pretty smart detective. Or will be one of these days."
MacFarland was glad that he finally got Pierson talking, though he could tell she was still holding something back. The doorbell rang, and he went and paid for the pizza. "Sure you don't want any?" he asked. "I ordered two large pizzas."
"Why the hell did you that, you asshole? It'll just go to waste."
"Not if you eat some of it," he replied. He opened one of the boxes and pulled out a slice. It was New York style pizza, which he preferred. Pizza had an incredible aroma. Whenever MacFarland smelled pizza, he knew life couldn’t get much better. He folded his piece over, trapping the tomato sauce and mozzarella cheese inside. As the spicy smell of the sauce wafted across the room, Pierson finally gave in and came over and picked up a slice. "The other box has one with your toppings on it," he added between bites. Cursing profusely, Pierson stood up and went to the kitchen to get paper plates, napkins, and some cans of Diet Coke.
After a couple of pieces of pizza, Pierson finally relaxed. "I'm sorry, guess I was in a mood, Mac. Sometimes, all the bullshit at the office just gets to me."
MacFarland nodded. "I can understand. That's why I always preferred to spend as little time in the office as possible."
Pierson scowled. "I thought you avoided the office so that I would have to write all the reports."
He laughed, picking up another slice. "Well, yes, there was that too. What sort of BS are you hearing these days?"
Pierson didn't answer but started to pick up the pizza boxes and clean up the remains of dinner. MacFarland grabbed hold of her arm, not too forcefully, since he knew that Pierson didn't like being touched. She glared at him, then visibly seemed to slump. She sat back down on the couch, still clutching the empty cans and paper plates.
"I walked into the squad room this morning, and as soon as everyone saw me, they all clammed up. But I had already heard what they were talking about before I arrived."
"What was it?"
"Nothing important. I am just over-reacting."
"Cyn!" said MacFarland, using his most authoritative and ominous voice. "Come on, 'fess up!"
Pierson looked up at him. "You'll think I'm just being silly."
MacFarland laughed, and then said the one thing that he knew would really infuriate her. "Of course you're being silly, Cyn. You're a fucking girl!"
"Bastard!" said Pierson, playfully slapping at him. "Alright, you wanted to know. They were talking about you."
Mac's eyes widened in surprise. "Me? What about me?"
"A couple of the patrolmen were badmouthing you. I think someone finally set them straight about who you are, but still, I didn't like it. I gave them some shit and that seemed to end it."
MacFarland had some idea of who the parties might have been, but he kept his suspicions to himself. "Don't let it bug you, Cyn. I don't give a fuck what any of them say about me."
"You're my partner," Pierson said. "I care."
As Pierson left the room, MacFarland stared after her, somewhat taken back and puzzled. Cynthia Pierson was one of the most hard-nosed, no nonsense women he had ever met on the police force. She wouldn't take shit from anyone, and she could easily dish it out when she had to. Even better than most, since she was probably smarter than just about everyone else in the department. It wasn't like her to let something as trivial and inconsequential as assholes talking shit about him to get to her.
What is going on with her, he wondered.
Chapter 21
Thursday, December 10, 0955 Hours
Monday morning had started out fairly well. The cold front had passed through, heading towards Kansas, and once again Denver was experiencing one of its mild winter days. It was only ten o'clock in the morning and already the temperature was approaching fifty. If this continues, thought MacFarland, I will have to break out the beach ball and swimwear.
His good mood came to an end when he saw Benny Lockwood approaching him. MacFarland checked to see if Pierson was anywhere nearby, but she wasn't in sight. He was surprised that Lockwood would do anything without Pierson, but he was more surprised that Lockwood would be heading in his direction. As the young detective neared the cart, MacFarland put on his friendliest smile.
"Good morning, Detective. Looks like we're in for some pleasant weather today."
Lockwood was not in a mood to reciprocate. "I heard that you once were a detective," he said. "Then you fucked up and got kicked off the force. What were you, a drunk? Were you a drunk when you were partners with Cynthia?"
MacFarland stared at the young man for a moment, his good spirits rapidly dissipating. He worked hard to keep his annoyance with the young snot under control. He counted to ten, then stated as calmly as he could, "I don't see that my life is any of your business, Detective."
"I don't give a fuck about your life, MacFarland. I just want you to stay away from Pierson. She doesn't need a loser like you dragging her down or ruining her reputation in the department."
MacFarland suddenly found himself struggling to keep from laughing. Clearly Lockwood and Pierson were not close enough for her to let him know that MacFarland was living in her house. It would be pretty difficult for MacFarland to stay away from Pierson under those circumstances. Lockwood must have heard some of the crap that was going around the office about him. But why did it matter to the young man? Unless--was it possible Cyn's partner had an infatuation for her? The more MacFarland thought about it, the more certain he was that Lockwood was suffering from a case of puppy love. It would have been cute if it wasn't so pathetic.
"I don't think she needs you to decide who she hangs with, youngster. She's a big girl now and can make those decisions for herself. Now, why don't you go back to the station and leave me alone."
Lockwood stood frozen in place. He got a confused look on his face, as though he was unsure whether he should continue to bluster or think better of it. Finally he calmed down. MacFarland thought he was about to turn and go back to the station when instead, the detective said, "Are any of those Polish sausages ready?"
Chapter 22
Thursday, December 10, 1020 Hours
MacFarland was not at all sure why Lockwood’s comments bothered him so much. Normally, MacFarland didn’t concern himself with other people’s opinion. But Lockwood was Pierson’s new partner. Even though he was a jerk, he was Pierson’s jerk. Somehow, that also made him MacFarland’s jerk.
He tried to clear his mind by thinking about his future. Since he had lost his apartment, he had begun to think more about what he was going to do with his life. There were only fifteen more days until Christmas. Was his invitation to Stefanie’s house for Christmas dinner still valid? He hadn't heard from her since he had been evicted. He wasn't sure he wanted to spend Christmas with his sister-in-law. Nor was he sure whether Christmas with Cynthia Pierson would be much of an improvement. He wondered if Pierson would invite Lockwood over for Christmas.
Perhaps he had just spent too many years living alone, without the benefits of holidays or relatives, for him to be comfortable with the idea of now spending time with other people. Maybe he would just bring his cart out on Christmas Day and give free meals to all the homeless people. Yeah, that’s a good idea, he thought.
As he contemplated Christmas in Pierson’s home, two ideas crossed his mind. The first thought was rather disturbing. He had to find another place to live. He wa
s uncomfortable relying on Pierson's generosity for any longer than was absolutely critical. Yet how did he define critical? That brought up his second concern. He had no money, certainly not enough for the normal deposit on an apartment. He did qualify for subsidized housing, but he was reluctant to apply for the cheaper rent since he might not have much choice in where he lived.
A car pulled up to the stoplight, its windows open and Christmas music blasting into the morning air. Too much Christmas cheer, he thought, as he put his headphones back on. He noticed that Rufus was coming towards him from Civic Center Park. Rufus was wearing a red Santa hat, a small bell on the end jingling as he approached. He was carrying a bag, presumably with their morning coffee. MacFarland smiled good morning and wished Rufus a cheery greeting. "Where did you get the hat?"
"Found it in the park on a bench," said Rufus, handing MacFarland one of the coffees. "I watched it for a whole hour and no one came to claim it, so I claimed it. We need more Christmas cheer, don't ya think?"
"It never hurts," said MacFarland.
As they sipped their coffee, both men lost in their own private thoughts, MacFarland turned towards his homeless friend, wondering once more why Rufus was so adamant about not living in a shelter or any kind of a building. If he wanted to live in a real room, thought MacFarland, I would definitely find a place to live. I owe him that much.
"You've met my partner, haven't you, Rufus?"
"You mean that cute red-haired girl? Yeah, sure, I met her lots of times. You know, when you was missing."
"What do you think of her?"
Rufus held his coffee cup up to his face, as though he could hide behind it. Unfortunately, the cup was too small to afford much sanctuary. "What do I think of her? Hey, boss, she's okay, for a cop, ya know. I think she’s a nice lady. I wouldn't want to get her on my bad side though. I think she could be really tough."
MacFarland smiled. "Tough? Cynthia Pierson?” But Rufus was right. Pierson didn't put up with crap from anyone--not civvies on the street, not her fellow cops, not from the brass. She followed the rules, followed the code, but she didn't let anyone take advantage of her.