“You mean Flick,” Sam said. “Boris Flick. It wouldn’t do to let something like Prick slip on the witness stand or to a newspaper reporter, now would it?”
Ballant hated that Sam talked down to him. It drove him absolutely nuts. He was his boss after all. He deserved some respect. The only problem was that Ballant knew that Sam would make a better chief than he did, so Ballant let him get away with it. Partially out of insecurity, but mostly because Sam was the best homicide detective he had ever known. Sam had a gut instinct about the work that was unparalleled. Ballant didn’t know how he could just look at someone and know, just know that they were guilty or innocent.
“Dugan says you like the landlord for the Burns case?” Ballant said.
“What?” Sam asked.
“He said you gave him a hard time, took him down to get fingerprinted and everything.”
Sam laughed. “Dugan’s an idiot. I was just messing with that little weasel. He pissed me off, so I gave him a little scare.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, Sam. That sounds like something Dugan would do, but not you.”
“Maybe he’s rubbing off on me.”
“Who do you like for the Burns case?”
“Don’t know.” Sam pulled out a baseball he kept in his drawer and started rolling it around in the palm of his hand with his fingers. “I’ve only talked to the landlord. Planning to talk to the ex-husband and the fiancé.”
“You going there now?”
“I am.”
“You taking Dugan?”
“I thought he was busy.” Sam got up and walked out of the homicide room. Ballant walked to his office and slammed his door shut.
♦♦♦
The ex-husband had an address in Highland Park. Sam drove his Royal Lance four-door east of the city. He loved that car. He had gotten it as a family car, but it worked nicely on the job as well. Better than that damn Corvette that Dugan had bought. Dugan’s giant frame looked ridiculous inside the tiny red car, especially with the roof off. And when Dugan insisted on taking the Corvette and they both had to sit inside of it, they looked like clowns in a clown car. Sam much preferred to take the lower key two-toned, dark and light blue Royal Lancer. The fins, roof and lower body were light blue and the rest dark blue.
Sam parked the car in front of the Highland Park address and looked at the house that sat up a short flight of cement stairs. The house and yard were well kept. Being that it was a Sunday, he had figured the man would be home. As he walked up the steps, he heard noises coming from around the back of the house. Sam moved slowly around the house. Everything was in very nice condition, the yard freshly cut and the bushes that marked the border between houses were freshly trimmed. He could hear hedge shears working in the back. As he came around the rear corner of the house, a man was clipping at some hedges with his back to him. The white t-shirt soaked with sweat clung to the man’s wiry body.
“Mr. Burns?” Sam called out. The man turned around. He was about forty with a strong jawline and piercing blue eyes. His black hair slicked back with sweat.
“Who are you?” Burns asked holding the shears in Sam’s direction in defense. They looked sharp and dangerous.
“My name is Detective Sam Lucas. I am the lead detective on your wife’s case.”
“I see.” Burns lowered the clippers. He walked over to a table near the back door and drank from a glass of water sitting there. He laid the clippers down. “Would you like something to drink, Detective?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Burns.”
“I hadn’t seen Kate in probably six months. She was a good egg.”
“Can you tell me why you two divorced?” Sam asked.
“You get right to it, don’t you?”
“Would you like me to drag it out?”
“No, faster the better, I guess. It is just really hard to talk about. Especially now that she’s gone. I wasn’t much of a prize as a husband. I drank too much and I’m not a very nice drunk. I don’t drink anymore, mind you, but when we were married, I drank a lot and by consequence, I wasn’t very nice a lot. Kate kept it together for a while though. She attended D.A. meetings.”
“D.A. meetings?”
“Divorcees Anonymous. It helped her out tremendously in dealing with our problems and how she could change to help make me happier in our marriage.”
“Where did these D.A. meetings take place?”
“They had a group that got together at the school.”
“What school?”
“Where she works. She was a teacher. Didn’t you know that?”
“I’m just starting this investigation.”
“She taught fourth grade English at Hilston Elementary.”
“Where is that?”
“In West View.”
“This D.A. helped her figure out what she was doing wrong to cause you to drink and not be nice to her?” Sam asked appalled.
“Yes. That was their mission. To help wives understand how they could be better wives to make their husbands happier.”
“I’m guessing she wasn’t successful,” Sam said.
“She was very successful. I wasn’t. The thing is it is all bullshit. She wasn’t doing anything to make me drink or beat her. I was just an asshole who didn’t know how good I had it until it was too late. They tried to brainwash her into believing it was her. And hey, I thought it was great, because it didn’t have to be me. I wasn’t the asshole, get it. I was a victim of her inadequacies as a wife. She went to her meetings and she was as nice and sweet and kind and gentle and loving as she had always been, and I still drank and I still beat her.”
Burns broke down and started sobbing. Sam wasn’t sure what to do. He almost felt bad for the guy. On one hand, this man was admitting that he had violent tendencies towards the victim, but on the other hand he clearly had great remorse. So much so that he had changed his life around. He looked around the perfectly kept house and yard. This was not the house and yard of a drunk and wastrel.
“What happened?” Sam asked.
“Well, we went to therapy. I would go in and see the therapist and then she would go in. And every time we went, she got angrier and angrier after the therapies. Finally, she had it. She told off our therapist and then told me off. It wasn’t her fault, she said. Nothing she could do was ever going to be good enough, she said, because she would never be able to make me feel good about myself, only I could do that. I’ll never forget that. The therapist just sat there stunned. Then, she stormed out. The therapist had the nerve to tell me don’t worry, she’ll come around. I punched him. Couldn’t help it. Had to be done, really. As he laid there on the floor, blood forming at the corners of his mouth, I knew I had to do something different, but it was too late. I looked down at that little man and said it is a shame that my wife is a better therapist than he was. When I got home, she was gone.”
“You haven’t seen your wife in six months?”
“No. She’s not my wife anymore, is she? She’s getting married. Was getting married. Nice guy by all accounts. I wonder how he’s doing. I hope better than me. I just couldn’t watch her fall in love with someone else. It was unbearable. So, I just stayed away.”