bugged."
Bryers almost blinked. "I'd like to know what Roberto Hermano told you during your conversation."
"He told me Bob Petty was a good guy, and that now he thought he was fucked because Petty was gone, and the whole operation would be folded. I guess he was right."
Bryers nodded. "We found him in his apartment with his throat cut. His testicles had been stuffed into his mouth."
Bryers waited for a reaction that Paine didn't give, and then leaned slightly forward. "The thing is, Paine, I don't want you involved in this."
"Why not?"
"Because you're just going to get in my way. I was sent here to do a job. I've been here six months, and in another few months this police department will be clean."
"Bob Petty isn't a dirty cop."
"I wish I could believe that, Paine. But now I don't think so. We believe Coleman had Roberto Hermano killed. Coleman had been dealing with Hermano ever since Petty's drug sting was set up. When the sting was sprung we were going to bring Coleman down with the rest of them. Now it looks like Petty, too, was on the other side of the fence. I realize Petty is your friend, Paine, and I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."
"I can't believe that."
Bryers leaned a fraction of an inch closer. "We did have Coleman's office bugged, Paine. And his phone tapped. Very legal, I've got the court orders.
"Petty made a call to Coleman two days ago, resigning from the force. He was very abusive and abrupt. There were a lot of expletives. It sounded like he was drunk, but I've listened to the tape and I can tell you there was no doubt he meant what he said.
"That was bad enough, walking out in the middle of an investigation and resigning the way he did. But he made another phone call to Coleman, yesterday. After the call, Coleman left his office and disappeared. The desk sergeant saw him leave, and said Coleman was white as a sheet.
"We went over the tape, and we're sure it was Bob Petty's voice."
Bryers leaned back in his chair, pulled open a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a slim cassette recorder. He put it on the desk between himself and Paine.
"Like I said, I'm sorry he's your friend."
Bryers pushed the play button. The tape hissed and then a voice said, in a professionally hurried tone, "Coleman."
There was silence. Then Coleman began to say hello into the phone to see if anyone was there and was cut off.
It was Bobby Petty's voice. He wasn't drunk this time. "We're murderers, Joe," he said, as if presenting a death sentence.
Coleman began to say, "Bobby—" but Petty cut him off again.
"Tiny," Petty said, and then one end of the phone was cut off. But they heard air run out of a set of lungs on the other end, and then Coleman's voice, just before the phone was hung up, said, as frightened as a human voice gets, "Oh, God, Jesus."
12
T his time, Terry looked almost back to normal. There was a firmness around her mouth, a hard set that had never been there before, but otherwise she looked like nothing had happened.
"Hello, Jack," she said, as if Paine had come for a barbecue, or to help stain the redwood furniture with Bobby out back. He might almost have thought that Bobby would come out of the kitchen any moment, if not for the fact that much of Bobby's possessions, the same things Paine had meticulously gone through the day before, were heaped in the front hallway, some of them in open boxes filled to the top.
"What's all this?" Paine asked.
"Trash day is tomorrow," Terry answered matter- of-factly. "There's more of it out by the garage."
Paine noticed just how tight the set of her mouth was when she spoke.
Paine wandered down the hallway to the back bedroom. The two bottom drawers on the chest were out on the bed, empty ; the third of the closet where Bobby's shirts and shoes had been stored was cleared.
"Terry, what are you doing?"
She stood in the doorway with her arms folded. "Getting rid of it."
"Why?"
"Because he's not coming back."
"Terry—"
"He called me again, this
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