Warpath

“Right after his retirement party.” Petticoat’s eyes sternly examine the floor in front of him. “Last month.”

I write down the names.

Deep breath, then he says, “My real intensions.” He laughs, hollow. Like a smoker who should have quit long ago but still lights a cancer stick around his oxygen tank. Petticoat’s merriment sounds like old paper being torn.

“Another buddy of mine sent me to you. Hank Madison. He said you were the kind of guy who could walk into maximum security in the prison and those felons would step back. He said you’ve been off the force long enough for the new policemen to not know who you are, but for some reason, criminals who started yesterday do know you. Like you’re a chapter in their How to Commit Crimes handbook. The “Don’t Fuck With This Guy” chapter. Hank said you’ve earned that reputation.”

Hank Madison is an old friend of mine from the force. He and I were never so close that we exchanged Christmas presents, I’ve never met his wife, but we are cool. It’s been a long time. I make a note to buy Madison a round. Nothing warms my heart like people telling other people I am the baddest motherfucker of all-time.

“I figure a reputation like that gets earned with a solid punch here and there. So sure, I figured once you got your hands on the rapist you’d pop him one for me. But I’m not hiring you to kill him. I’m not. I just...want him.”

“Okay,” I say.

“And why you rather than the police? Well, for starters they have already failed me once. Second, you’re a dedicated asset. If I drop cash in front of a Saint Ansgar detective and say ‘make this your only case,’ it’s a bribe. A defense lawyer can use that to get the rapist off. But, if I do that to you, it’s a fee. And, as I’ve said, I have an operation coming up in eight days.”

Here’s the twist among the rest of his questionable story.

“Heart problems. The cardiac surgeon says if I get the surgery, my chances of survival are thirty-five to forty percent. If I do not, I’ll be dead within six months. Bottom line. Don’t get me wrong; I think the university hospital is great an all—especially for cardiac stuff—but c’mon.”

He holds both hands palms up, adjusting them in the air like they are weight scales. “Die on a table in a hospital, surrounded by doctors and nurses and medicine while I’m under anesthesia, or die at home, doped up on morphine, having severe heart arrhythmias and needing a defibrillator hooked up to me all the time?”

He puts his hands down. Looks right at me, more direct that any other time this evening. “I’m sure a man of your ilk

wants to die in a glorious battle with swords and cannon fire and all that jazz, but a man like me, who has money-making deals on the table right now, he wants to die a long time from now, Mr. Buckner. A long time.”

“Sure.”

“So, I want you as opposed to PD because I need this case reopened and solved in eight days. I want to know the man who raped my wife and destroyed everything I ever had has been caught before I wager sixty to sixty-five percent odds I’ll never wake up.”

He leans in. Like a multi-million dollar real estate transaction with the final word hanging out in space, waiting to be said, he gets a confident look that I imagine he has as he shakes hands and walks away that much richer.

“Mr. Buckner, do we have a deal?”

“You said twenty grand more just to take the case?”

“Yes.”

“You said you just want someone delivered?”

“Yes.”

“You said there’s a good chance you might be dead in eight days?”

“Yes.”

“Sure, we have a deal,” I say. “Why the hell not?”

3

Evening, Sunday

The two biggest factors that solve cold cases are DNA and new testimony from witnesses.

Sometimes a witness will see the entire crime unfold before his eyes and be too afraid to ever speak up. The police might identify said witness as what he is: the most important thing to solve the crime. But the witness doesn’t want to get involved. So he shuts up. And the perp walks.

Then, years later, the perp dies or gets incarcerated. Gets shot during another crime, becomes a victim himself, gets locked up on another charge and will never get out. Then, the witness grows a pair and comes forward with his story. And the perp gets prosecuted on an old crime.

That solves cold cases.