The Thin White Line

* * *

“Damn.” Someone was knocking on the apartment door. Had she arrived already? Why didn’t she use her key and come in? Matt grabbed his backpack then went and opened the door.

“Matthew Bennett?” Matt could tell the guy was a cop even before he flashed his detective badge. “I’m Detective Marino of the Vancouver City Police, this is Detective Cheng.” He smiled and looked past Matt into the apartment. “Mind if we come in?”

“Mind telling me how you got in?” The lobby was locked and there were strict rules about not allowing strangers to follow you into the building. Most residents adhered to it.

“Your manager, nice woman. You here alone?”

Despite his affable manner, Matt sensed the detective was all business, serious business. He appeared old for the job, maybe sixty, paunchy, balding and uncomfortably hot in the sports jacket he wore to conceal his sidearm.

His partner was the epitome of a television detective, young, fit and dressed like he stepped out of the pages of GQ in a sea green lightweight suit, pale lemon shirt and striped tie.

“I was just leaving,” Matt said. “What is it you want?”

“How’d you cut your hand?” Detective Cheng asked. He was looking at Matt’s hand clutching the doorknob, The makeshift bandage stained with blood.

“None of your business.” As a journalist, Matt knew his rights. He also knew that, unlike journalists, nothing told to the police was off the record. “Now tell me what this is about or I’m locking up. I’m already late for my appointment.”

The cops exchanged a look, and then Cheng, half the age of his partner and ten times as fit stepped closer.

“I think you’re going to have to miss that appointment, Mr. Bennett,” Marino said.

“And why’s that?”

“You’re going to accompany us to the station to answer some questions.”

“About what?”

“The murder of Binta Kadeesha Agu.”

“Binta’s been murdered?” Matt was having a difficult time processing the information. “When?”

“It’s still early in the investigation,” Marino said.

Matt's shock turned to disbelief when he noticed both detectives were scrutinizing his reaction. “You think I had something to do with it?”

“Let’s go, it’s like an oven in this hallway,” Marino said.

“Can I take my backpack?” Matt asked.

“As long as we can check it to make sure you don’t have anything in it you could use to harm us or yourself,” Cheng said.

Matt handed the detective the backpack. “It’s just my phone, computer and water bottle.”

“Sure, bring it along,” Marino said.

As they exited the elevator into the lobby, Raminder broke away from talking to the apartment manager.

“Matt, what the hell’s going on?”

“It’s about Binta. I’ll call you,” Matt said, as the police hustled him by her.

“What about Binta?” Raminder followed them as far as the door.

Parked in the passenger zone in front of the apartment was a black Dodge Charger. Cheng got in the driver’s side. Marino opened the rear door and Matt got in, no hand on the head, but then he wasn’t in handcuffs.

As they pulled away, the older detective turned to Matt in the back seat. “Sorry about the lady back there,” he said. “That your wife?”

“Partner.”

“Right.” Marino leaned forward and cranked up the air conditioning. “Did you know Binta well?”

Matt was still considering his predicament. The cops had obviously seen the video or why would they be taking him in for questioning? Add to that he couldn’t account for the time between midnight until he woke up at home ten hours later and he decided not to answer any questions that might further incriminate him.

“She was a piece of work, let me tell you,” Marino said. “Remember that young Indigenous girl found murdered in a downtown East Side hotel?”

Matt wanted to ask which one but kept his mouth shut.

“These young women leave the reservation and their family, for who knows what reason,” Marino raised his eyebrows, “and arrive here with no job, no money, no support whatsoever. It’s a wonder any of them survive, yet we’re the ones Binta blames. She was all over us about negligence of duty, racism, you know the regular stuff.”

The old guy was shrewd. Establish empathy, get the suspect talking and he might unwittingly reveal something. Matt didn’t respond.

“She really had it in for me being white,” Marino said. “I let Benson talk to her, being a BIPOC himself.” He playfully punched his partner in the shoulder.

“I prefer Chinese-Canadian,” Cheng said.

Or white-adjacent thought Matt, but let it go.

“Yeah, and I’m an Italian–Canadian. What happened to being just a Canadian?”

It was a fifteen-minute ride to the police station. Cheng pulled into a reserved parking spot and the three of them walked through the main entrance past a gaggle of reporters who appeared to be preparing for a briefing. The news of Binta’s murder must be just breaking. Matt recognized a few of them and he knew they recognized him as well. The video and his appearance at the police station escorted by two detectives wouldn’t be taken as a coincidence. He was about to be famous–for all the wrong reasons.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Marino said.

Like that was possible in a small windowless room, empty except for a four-by-six table bolted to the floor and three uncomfortable chairs. At least it was cool. Half an hour later he was still waiting, another tactic to rattle the detainee. They’d made him check his backpack, so with nothing to do, Matt assessed his situation. Despite his confrontation with Binta, he had no motive, no opportunity and no means, not to mention no criminal record. He wasn’t under arrest which meant they could only detain him for twenty-four hours, and only if they could show cause. He’d be cooperative but circumspect. If the situation became untenable, he’d ask for a lawyer, more specifically a public defender since he couldn’t afford to retain one at his own expense.

“Sorry to keep you,” Marino said, “but at least it’s cool in here.” He sat across the table from Matt while Cheng sat at the far end with a notebook and pen at the ready.

Marino switched on a tape recorder and verbally time-stamped it. “Let’s start with the fight you had with Binta at her party. What was that about?”

“She wanted me to apologize for an article I wrote, which I did.”

“What article?”

Matt told him.

“Go on.”

“It wasn’t enough. She wanted a public humiliation which I was also prepared to concede as well.”

“What you’re saying doesn’t correspond to the video I’ve downloaded,” Cheng said. He took out his cell phone. “Maybe watching it again will help you remember what you actually said and did.”

“Benson’s right, Matt,” Marino said. “You’re saying you did everything but kiss her feet, so what pissed you off?”

“After all the bullshit, she said she was going to withdraw her support for my partner’s book.”

“And that’s a big deal?” Cheng said.

“Yeah, it’s a big deal, but it’s also despicable since the only reason she was going to do it was to get back at me.” Matt knew he was saying too much, but all this was public knowledge. Dozens of people could corroborate it, or at least have their version. It was better if he got the truth out front.

“So, you were angry and embarrassed because she retaliated against your girlfriend?” Marino said.

“Partner.”

“Why?”

“Wouldn’t you be angry if–”

“No. Why did Binta retaliate against your partner if you’d done everything she asked?”

“We got into a bit of verbal sparring and some people took my side.”

“That sounds like Binta,” Marino said.

“When Raminder told me she’d pulled her endorsement, that’s when I confronted her.”

“You mean grabbed her wrist, spun her around, shouted insults and then assaulted the security guard when he tried to subdue you,” Cheng said.

There was silence. Matt was keenly aware that depending on where your sympathies lay, his story could be understandable or indefensible. Regardless, it could hardly be seen as motivation for murder–or could it?

“So, where were you between eleven last night and nine this morning?” Marino asked.

“Raminder went to meet with the publisher’s rep to tell him what happened, and I walked down to the beach to cool off. Then took an Uber home.”

“Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts?”

“I had a drink at a place called Mango’s before I headed home.”

“Raminder? Was she there when you arrived home?”

“No, she stayed with friends.”

Marino shook his head and leaned forward. “Is there anything else you want to tell us, Matt?”

“No.”

“If we find out that you’ve left out any vital information, or lied to us…well, it would be far better for you to tell us now rather than for that to happen.”

“That’s it,” Matt said. “But I wasn’t the only one Binta argued with at the party. I’d check out a person named, Zuri. Binta gave her a public reaming out as well and she wasn’t too happy when she stormed out of the party.”

“You can leave the investigating up to us,” Cheng said.

“And what about all the death threats she said she was receiving? Are you looking into those?”

Cheng frowned. “Like I said…”

“Am I free to go then?”

“Yes.” Marino handed him a business card. “But remember what I said. If you suddenly recall something important, let us know–before we find out ourselves.”