Into the Breach: Choices can be deadly...

by Lottie M. Hancock

  Sam was equally shocked, she was still breathtaking after all these years.

  "Lisa? I can't believe it’s you."

  "I can't believe you’re really here! What are you doing in Boston?"

  "Just got transferred. Boston PD." Lisa's face quickly dropped. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm sorry. It’s just not every day that an accident like this happens. Especially where we all can see it." Lisa paused for a moment then quickly remembered where she was, "Oh I forgot, can I get you anything?"

  Sam warily eyed the monstrosity that she had been battling just minutes before. "Truthfully, I was hoping for some coffee."

  Lisa shook her head. "The owner had it delivered this morning. It’s supposed to build coffee sales, but I can't make heads or tails of it."

  "Can I try?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Lisa raised the bar at the end of the counter to let him pass through. "Go right ahead. I surrender."

  Sam fiddled with the machine while Lisa continued to take orders for the pies and teas. Soon, the strong brew was flowing freely.

  "How'd you do that?" Lisa asked, impressed. She hadn’t paid him much attention in school but if he had always been this handy, maybe she should have.

  "They tried a similar model out in my old squad room last year. Finally, we went back to the standard coffee pots. Let your boss know that we discovered it took twice as long to make the coffee. Not to mention that it scorched halfway through the container. It is definitely not worth it." Sam gave her a quick tutorial on a faster way to load the machine.

  "Well, thank you so much. For that, there is no charge for your pie."

  "But I didn't order any pie, Lisa." Sam raised his eyebrow.

  "You will eat the pie and love it," she insisted. "and the coffee is always on the house for our finest. Now if you will just go grab a booth, I will take my break and we can discuss the accident and old times." Before Sam could argue, Lisa grabbed a cup and put whipped cream on a slice of pie. She was something else.

  Sam had settled into a booth that gave him the best view of the scene. The coroner had arrived and two lab coats obviously OK’ed the removal of the remains. Patrolmen were cordoning off the area from spectators, encouraging the passengers and witnesses to move along. Lisa slid into the seat and sat his pie and coffee in front of him. Sam's full attention was on her again. The accident was gone. The coffee was gone. Even the rest of the cafe's patrons were gone. It was just her.

  "What are you smiling about?" Lisa giggled. Sam didn't realize that he had been smiling since he saw her face. He shrugged off her question.

  "I guess it's just good that my first day found such a friendly face, that’s all." Sam lied. Every guy on the football team tried to get her attention, but she would not hear of it. She was brainy and popular as Hell. She wouldn’t put up with any of the bad boys, Sam especially. But that was over thirty years ago and now she was here.

  "Well, I am glad you decided to come in, even though it was for such a morbid reason." Lisa glanced out the window as the wrecked sedan was being lifted up by the tow hitch. The cleanup crews were there and in an hour, no one would even see that there was an accident. She wished it was as easy to clean it from her mind.

  "I saw it happen, you know. He was leaning forward and speeding toward the intersection. It was obvious he wasn't planning to stop. What would make someone do that?"

  "I wish I knew. We will find out though. If I can, I will let you know." Sam questioned her and took a sip of his coffee after he ran out of police business. They sat there awkwardly as it turned from detective and witness to two old friends sitting at a café.

  "Well, how've ya been?" Oh, yeah, like that's original. Way to go, Sam, he thought.

  "Always busy, you know how it is."

  "Been working here long?" Sam took a bite of his pie. It was coconut cream and it melted in his mouth, he had never tasted anything like it before.

  "Just over a year, since I moved to Boston."

  "What brought you way out here?" Curiosity overwhelmed him, while he wanted to know everything, he also wanted to rein himself in. It felt like he was back in high school, awkwardness and all.

  "I should ask you the same thing, but to answer you first, my mom moved here five years ago after she and my dad divorced. She was from here originally."

  "You ever marry?"

  "Yeah," Lisa made a face, contorting her pretty features. "Once. Didn't take. Yourself?"

  "Nah," Sam laughed. "I'm too mean to get married. A couple of close calls though."

  Smitty stepped up to their table, breaking up the tension. Sam could have either rung his chicken neck or thanked him profusely.

  "Hi," Smitty began. "Sorry to disturb you guys, but I got that okay for you from the coroner. She says she is starting on it right away."

  "Hey, thanks. Oh, Lisa, this is Smitty, Smitty this is Lisa. We went to high school together." Lisa and Smitty smiled and shook hands graciously.

  "Wow, is that right? What a coincidence. Now you got connections here. Nice start, huh?" Smitty's fists were on his hips, and he was grinning broadly. He was a good cop and would go far, as long as he didn’t let the Hoshkins' of this world tear him down.

  "Not bad at all." Sam stood up and waited for her to do the same. "I have to take care of this. I will be back."

  "It was really good to see you again, Sam. Nice meeting you, Smitty."

  Smitty tipped his hat to her and stepped outside.

  "I guess I will see you around." Sam followed Smitty out the door, wishing he could order more pie and coffee.

  3

  S enator Stephanie Brandt sat at a table outside the Cornerstone Bistro, sipping on iced tea and watching the people go by. This was her favorite place to have lunch. No one paid any attention to her or her politics when she was there. She was just “Ms. Brandt” to the wait staff and the other patrons all greeted her as Stephanie. She waited tables there when she was working her way through law school and gathered every ounce of overtime she could. She didn’t have much growing up and she was determined not to make her children go through the same experience. Of course, she would be the first to tell anyone that it was her humble beginnings that made her who she was today, but it was the environment that she had lived in that she wanted her children to avoid. A burglar had broken into their matchbox apartment with little effort and when her father tried to defend them, he was shot. Since then, she told anyone who would listen that guns did not kill people, ignorance did. She would never be ignorant again. Her father refused to have a gun in his home and she ended up growing up without him. She carried a Saturday Night Special that was always tucked in the side of her handbag. Her family was poor but worked hard. She just wanted to help those who lived that way to feel safe in their own homes.

  Lost in her thoughts, Stephanie didn’t hear her daughter walk up, but once she was aware of her she beamed and embraced her.

  "Sally!"

  "Hi, Mama." Sally Brandt looked very much like her mother with chestnut hair, brown eyes, and the same body type. There was no denying they were related. "Been waiting long?"

  "No, not long. How was your flight?"

  "I have no idea," she giggled. "I slept the entire way. I just can't seem to stay awake on planes. Have you ordered for us yet?"

  "No, but I thought we could try the Ruben. I haven't had it in a while."

  "Why not? When do you fly down to Washington?" Sally had always been her biggest supporter. She never failed to push her and tell her friends about the good her mom had been doing.

  "No, dear, this lunch is about you. Washington will always be there."

  "True, but I still want to know. So, when?" Sally looked at her mother expectantly. She was always excited about the political forefront, and regardless of any discouragement about getting into the arena, Stephanie knew her baby would probably follow in her footsteps.

  "Okay," Stephanie acquiesced. "I go in next week. Monday. I am so nervous."

 
"Why? You have worked hard for this. It takes forever to get a bill to the floor and you did it in two years. Allow yourself to be proud. Nervousness can wait."

  The waiter came to their table and they placed their orders, including a glass of iced tea for each of them. Sally had been away at Stanford studying law for months, and they wanted to catch up.

  "Now, tell me what's new with you? Anyone new I need to know about?" Stephanie grinned, eyeing her daughter.

  "How did you know?" Sally laughed.

  "A mom knows. Tell me everything."

  "Well, he is pre-law, and kind of shy. Nice parents, good looking as Hell...just perfect." Sally's expression changed, her eyes clouding over.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing, nothing. Just felt a little dizzy for a minute there. I'm okay, proba.." Sally's eyes closed and she slumped over, her head hitting the table. Stephanie jumped up and was quickly at her daughter's side. The waiter ran over to find Stephanie gently shaking her daughter by the shoulders.

  "Sally? Sally! Somebody, help me!" Stephanie screamed. "Get help, please!" Stephanie sobbed, holding her precious daughter to her.

  Sam walked up the hallway toward the city morgue offices. The brick walls were painted white. He felt it made it look sterile, but logic never dictated that death should seem welcoming. A young man sat at the reception desk with earbuds in both ears, jamming to something and playing air guitar. Sam crossed his arms and shook his head. He remembered being that young and his parents questioning his head banging, so he was in no position to judge. The boy's eyes opened slightly when he realized he was not alone. Startled, he jumped to his feet, but bumped into the desk, spilling his coffee.

  "Fuck!" The boy grabbed paper towels from the table behind him and tried to rescue the coffee soaked files. Looking up at the man standing before him, he shook his head. "If I had a dime every time that happened...What do you need?"

  "Dr. Stone is expecting me."

  "She is, huh? Normally the ones she is expecting show up for their appointments on a gurney." The boy's attitude was more than likely due to the coffee but Sam suspected that receptionist was not the best position for him.

  "The car accident autopsy?"

  "Oh, yeah. Well, she probably already started on that one. You sure she knew you were coming?"

  "Billy? Has the detective from..." A small woman with long blond hair and probably in her mid-forties stood in the door beyond the irate receptionist's desk. Noticing Sam, she stopped her queries. "Detective Wesson?"

  "Yes, ma'am." Sam shot the boy a sideways glance that practically shouted, 'Grow up, boy!', as he walked up to the coroner. Holding out his hand, he continued, "Sam Wesson. I am sorry if I'm early."

  "Dr. Ally Stone and not at all. Smitty sounded like you wanted this yesterday so I moved things around." Smitty had come through again.

  "I appreciate that. Smitty was right about the importance of this. A lot of people could have been hurt because of this guy."

  Sam followed the woman through the glass door and down another hallway. The woman was petite like a child's doll, almost as if she shared a 12-year old's body. Her blond hair was fine and straight, hanging down her back like a waterfall. Dr. Stone took a white lab coat off a peg and entered the door at the end of the hall. Sam followed closely. This was not the place he wanted to get lost in.

  The morgue had concrete floors that sloped at intervals toward large drains. Each of the sterile, perforated, steel platform tables had its own monitor screen and overhead lamp system. At the far end was what Sam considered the wall of death. Every morgue had one. The drawers lined the walls from one end to another and stacked five high. It was where they kept the bodies of the dead refrigerated until they could be examined or claimed by family. The body he was most interested in, however, laid on one of the sterile tables. He was disrobed and, for the most part, mangled. His torso was separated from his hips and one of his legs was gone. Sam doubted that this was the doctor's doing since it looked like it had been ripped off rather than surgically removed. Sam walked up to examine the face of the man who started the detective's day way too early, only to see that the lower half of his face had been crushed. The doctor came up beside him now in latex gloves and mask. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun at the back of the neck. His expression must have betrayed him.

  "He won't be winning any beauty contests, I'm afraid," she stated flatly.

  "Do we know anything, yet?" Sam never took his eyes off the gruesome spectacle in front of him.

  "Well, the cause of death is still to be determined, but..."

  "To be determined?" Sam asked, surprised. "Isn't that obvious?" He indicated the twisted corpse with a wave of his hand.

  "You would think so," Dr. Stone began. "but there were some inconsistencies that have to be addressed."

  "Like?"

  "There was virtually no blood loss on impact. No blood loss meant no blood flow. This man was dead before he hit the train."

  Sam took his eyes off the body to study the doctor's face. He hadn’t considered that.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Definitely," continued Dr. Stone. "This man was dead only a minute or two before impact. Blood toxicology came back negative already. No drugs in the system. His blood sugar was low but that can be explained away by high-stress levels."

  A portly man entered the exam room with a small box which he sat on a neighboring table to the deceased.

  "I got the victim’s affects BPD sent over."

  "Great, thanks," answered the coroner. "Detective Wesson, this is my assistant, Charlie McDougal." Sam nodded to the man while the examiner began pulling out items from the box and laid them neatly on the table. Sam appreciated the woman’s thoroughness. Once she had finished, she sat the box down under the table and she and Sam looked over the contents. There was a wallet, some change and car keys along with torn newspaper and a parking pass. Sam put on a pair of latex gloves and opened the wallet. It had the usual credit cards, $256 in cash and an ID.

  "William Jacob Parsons, age 48, Boston." Sam replaced the I.D. and laid it back in its place on the table. Charlie was busy taking the table's inventory. He was energetic for his size, Sam thought, as if he was hyped up on caffeine. Must come in handy.

  "I am ready to begin the Y-incision. Are you up for this?" Dr. Stone eyed Sam with a trace of humor.

  "After you, Doc." Doctor Stone reached down and pulled out a hidden step stool from under the table and gracefully stepped up to the table with ease. Picking up her scalpel, she flicked on a series of controls in the bed that turned on the monitor cam and direct lighting.

  "Lights, camera, action," Dr. Stone announced as she placed the blade to the victim's chest.

  4

  T he Boston Police A1 department was busier than Sam had expected. The laid-back attitudes that he had been coming across had clouded his judgment, or so it seemed. Boston had its own version of the circus, but similar circumstances. The officers outnumbered the perps, at least, so someone had to be doing something right.

  The smell of the morgue still lingered on his clothing. It had been a while since he sat in on an autopsy, but the smell was always the same.

  Sam walked up to the front desk where the desk sergeant was trying to get his point across to someone on the phone. The officer nodded at Sam but other than that, carried on with his business.

  "Yes, ma'am. We understand your dog is important to you, but all we can do at this point is call Animal Control and have them keep an eye out. Yes, ma'am. You could have done that. I am just saying...Yes, ma'am. You have a good day and good luck finding your dog. Yes, ma'am." The officer hung up the phone and turned his attention to the man standing at his desk. "What can I do for you?" Sam handed him his papers and the stocky man glanced over them. "So you're the new guy, huh?"

  "Guess I am." Sam offered his hand. "Sam Wesson."

  "Frank Macinah. Welcome aboard. Take these down the hall there," Macinah pointed around a barrage of desks to his right. "unt
il you get to Personnel. Sandy will set you up."

  "Good deal." Sam crossed over into the squad room and found the office about four doors down. When he opened the door, he found two desks, one unoccupied, along with a long table lining one wall that contained three computers, all but one shut down. Behind the woman officer at the desk was a row of four-drawer filing cabinets and a small table that held a half-empty coffee pot, a couple of stacks of Styrofoam cups, and a basket of condiments. Home away from home. The woman had short cropped brown hair with slight curls around the edges, and a ruby red smile that lit up the room.

  "Well, hi there. How can I help you?" She had a southern accent that Sam couldn’t place and a personality that bubbled to the surface.

  "Hi. I'm here to report in." Sam handed her his papers and she poured over them before speaking again.

  "You're our new cowboy, hmm? Good. We could use some new blood around here." Sandy got up and opened one of the file drawers that Sam noticed had contained no file folders, and pulled out an empty gun holster and a couple of other items. Placing them on the desk, she made some quick marks into her notebook. "Okay, here is your badge, and your holster. You will get your piece after you go through a round at the range. You can do that this afternoon. So," she smiled and put her elbows on her desk with her hands propped up under her chin. "what do you think of our town so far?"

  "I think I'm gonna like it here. Pretty different from New York, I'm tellin' ya."

  "I'm glad you think so. And yes, it is different. When I moved here from Tennessee, I thought I was a fish out of water, but it grows on ya fast. Good luck."

  Sam left her office and decided to talk again with Sgt. Macinah. He needed someone to give him the tour of the station. The squad room was packed to the brim and he noticed that several of the people were those from the train. It would be a while before the incident would taper off to business as usual.