The Night Gardener

'That's her ex-husband right there,' said the resident manager, watching the replay of the tape over the shoulder of Ramone, the image on the monitor clear as day. 'He be comin around here every so often to see his kids.'

Ramone radioed in William Tyree's name and had it run through the computerized WACIES program. Tyree had no criminal history and no prior arrests. Not even juvenile.

Ramone and Willis had the victim's sister meet them at the VCB offices to view the tape. While the children stayed in a kid-friendly playroom on site, the sister sat in the video room and identified the man leaving the apartment house as William Tyree, Jacqueline Taylor's second husband. He had been upset lately, the sister claimed, frustrated by his continued inability to find gainful employment. She suspected he had begun using drugs. Also, Jackie had taken up with a new man, a sometime construction worker named Raymond Pace, and this exacerbated Tyree's negative state of mind. Pace had priors, had done time for a manslaughter conviction, and, the sister said, was 'not good' with Jackie's kids. Pace's T-shirts and boxers, Ramone presumed, had been the ones in Jacqueline Taylor's dresser drawer.

A watch was put on Tyree's apartment in Washington Highlands until a search warrant came through. Ramone put the Corolla's plate numbers out on the patrol sheets, along with a description of Tyree. He then visited Raymond Pace on his job site. Pace did not seem particularly moved by the news of Taylor's death, and indeed appeared to be as rough a customer as the sister had described. But Pace's foreman and a couple of his coworkers alibied him completely. In any case, the videotape seemed to tell the tale. William Tyree looked right for the murder.

By midnight, Tyree had not turned up. Ramone and Willis had been on the eight-to-four and collected much overtime that day. They went home to their families and returned the following morning at 8:00 a.m. Shortly thereafter, a patrolman made the plates of the Corolla on a Southeast street and radioed in the location.

The Corolla was parked near Oxon Run Park, in a pocket of known drug activity, sellers and users alike. An older resident of the block walked up to Ramone and Willis, standing with uniforms who were dusting the Corolla's door handles for prints, and asked if they were looking for the man who had parked the car. Ramone said they were.

'He went in that apartment house right over there,' said the man, pointing a crooked finger at a brick unit set on the rise of the street. 'Buncha people in and out all the time, ain't got no business bein there.'

'They using heroin?' said Ramone, trying to determine the type of drug personalities he would encounter in the building.

The resident shook his head. 'The pipe.'

Ramone, Willis, and several uniforms went into the apartment house with unsnapped holsters. They did not draw their guns. Tyree was up on a second-floor landing, standing in a gray cloud with two other smoke hounds.

'William Tyree?' said Ramone, producing a pair of bracelets as he climbed the stairs.

Upon seeing the police officers and hearing his name, Tyree extended his hands, touching them together at the wrist. He was cuffed without incident. In his pockets they found Jacqueline Taylor's car keys and wallet.

Everything had been easy, even the arrest.

In the backroom office of Lieutenant Maurice Roberts, a young, respected boss at the VCB, Ramone and Green sat on a couch, leaning over a phone on a plastic table. The speaker had been activated. Through it, Assistant U.S. Attorney Ira Littleton made redundant points about the arrest and interrogation. Ramone and Green had been practicing Littleton's theories back when Littleton was watching Saturday-morning cartoons in his pajamas. Most homicide detectives had good relationships with the prosecutors in the U.S. Attorney's office. It was a necessity that they interact cordially, of course, but beyond the required spirit of cooperation, genuine friendships were often forged. Littleton, young, relatively inexperienced, and insecure, was not one of the attorneys the detectives respected or considered a friend.

'I'd prefer an explicit, full confession,' said Littleton, 'rather than a simple admission that he was wearing bloody clothes yesterday.'

'Right,' said Ramone and Green, nearly in unison.

'We don't have enough to hold him for the murder charge,' said Littleton.

'We can charge him for the theft of the automobile right now,' said Ramone. 'Also, possession of stolen property on the wallet and its contents. That's enough to hold him.'

'But I want the murder charge,' said Littleton.

'Copy,' said Bo Green, looking at Ramone, making a stroking motion with his fist in front of his crotch. Ramone put his thumb an inch away from his forefinger, indicating the probable length of Littleton's prick.

'Get the confession,' said Littleton. 'And swab him for DNA.'

'Not a problem,' said Ramone.

'Will he consent to a blood sample?'

'He did,' said Green. 'And we took it.'

'Was he high when you arrested him?'

'He appeared to be.'

'That'll show up in his blood.'

'Right.'

'Any marks on him, anything like that?'

'A scratch on his face,' said Ramone. 'He says he doesn't remember how he got it.'

'His DNA will be under her fingernails,' said Littleton. 'How much you wa

'I'm not a gambling man,' said Ramone.

'It's almost a slam dunk. Let's take it to the finish line.'

'Well, he's cooperated with every aspect of the investigation so far. Waived his right to an attorney as well. Only thing he hasn't done is come right out and say he killed her. But he will.'

'Okay. We recover that Safeway bag yet?'

'Gene Hornsby's on it,' said Ramone.

'Hornsby's a good man,' said Littleton.

Ramone rolled his eyes.

'God, I hope the garbagemen haven't picked up the trash yet,' said Littleton.

'Me, too,' said Ramone before he stuck his tongue out at the phone. Bo Green was still lazily jacking his fist.

'We want a win, fellas,' said Littleton.

'Yes!' said Green, idly wondering but not really caring if he was being too emphatic in his response. 'Anything else?'

'Call me when you get that confession.'

'We will,' said Ramone, and he killed the button to the speakerphone.

'You hear that?' said Green. 'Littleton said Gene Hornsby was a good man. Said it kinda tender, like. Almost sounded like he was sweet on Gene.'

'Gene ain't go

'Yeah, Gene got a problem with that homosexuality thing.'

'You sayin Littleton's an ass ranger?'

'I don't know, Gus. You got a better sense of that than I do. Some might say a sixth sense.'

'I'm tryin to work over here,' said Lieutenant Roberts, staring at the paperwork on his desk. 'Y'all mind?'

Ramone and Green got up off the couch.

'Ready?' said Ramone.

Green nodded. 'Soon as I get my man a Mountain Dew.'