HABIT: a gripping detective thriller full of suspense

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HABIT: a gripping detective thriller full of suspense Page 11

by T. J. Brearton


  He sat back in his chair, fiddling with the phone cord. He’d called her on impulse, and now he wasn’t sure what to say. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” she said. “That was . . . I just needed to get out of there.”

  “I understand, I understand.” He leaned forward again and put his elbows on the desk. “How are you?”

  “I didn’t sleep. I locked all the doors and checked them three or four times during the night.”

  Brendan searched for the right words, something comforting, but his mind drew a blank. She continued, “There was a cop outside for most of the night. At first it scared the hell out of me – I saw the headlights sweep over the front window. God, it’s still a mess in here.”

  “We’ll get that cleaned up,” he said right away, remembering the windows in the dining room exploding as the gunman, Heilshorn, opened fire on the house. The memory was surreal, like it had been no more than a dream. Or a nightmare.

  He sat back again, his knees bouncing as his feet jittered on the floor. “Have you eaten anything?”

  “I just keep seeing it,” she was saying. “The way all that glass went flying. I have bullet holes in my wall.”

  “I know. I know. We’ll get it cleaned up, I promise. Listen, are you going to be able to sleep today?”

  “I have clients today.”

  “In your home?”

  “Yes.”

  He realized he hadn’t been in Olivia’s home long enough to see her office. But he knew she was licensed for private practice and saw her patients from a home office, as well as making house calls and assisting with crime scenes. “You’ll have to cancel them, Ms. Jane.”

  “Olivia. I can’t cancel them. These people . . . there’s a woman that . . . I can’t just cancel on my patients at such short notice.”

  “I understand your reluctance. You don’t want your personal circumstances to affect your professional life.”

  “It’s not that, Investigator. I don’t give two barbarians at the gate about that.” She stopped herself, and he could hear her rustling against the phone, like she had started pacing around. He found himself grinning, just a little, at her comment. He thought it was a euphemism for not giving a shit. “I just can’t leave them. Okay, a couple of them, its maybe not such a big deal. But I have two patients in particular that really need their sessions right now.”

  “Ms. Jane. Olivia.”

  “Yes?”

  “Far be it for me to tell you how to do your job. You sound like a very dedicated therapist. I understand your need to not let down your patients.”

  “You keep saying you understand.”

  She was clearly tired and a bit off the rails. Brendan could scarcely imagine the woman he’d met the day before being irritable or insulting in any way. The situation was clearly ungluing her.

  “Olivia, you’ve just been involved in a very serious incident. And you’re now part of a criminal investigation that involves a murder, and two dead people. The man that attacked us yesterday, well, we don’t know if he was after me, or you, or us both, or what.”

  “Did you send the police out last night? To check on me?”

  “I made a call, yes. Listen . . .” He sighed unintentionally, and then took a deep breath. She was silent this time, waiting. “I’m not saying you can’t see your patients today. I do need to speak to you, and you are intertwined in this case now, no matter whether it interferes with your life, or not. I’m sorry for that. But what’s more important here is whether or not you are in a condition to even be of the best help you can be to your patients today. Don’t you think?”

  He winced a little, bracing himself for a backlash. He hadn’t intended to insinuate a lack of professional capability on her part.

  He heard her take a breath, too. The exhalation made for a digital ruffle of air on her end of the conversation. “You’re right,” she said in a quiet voice. “There’s no way I can compartmentalize this one. I mean, Jesus.”

  Brendan remained silent now, and let her continue to think it through. After a few moments, he said, “You need to eat something. I’m going to come by to pick you up at ten. We’ll get some food in us, and we’ll talk it through, okay?”

  She was silent, perhaps hesitant.

  “I need to have your official evaluation of Kevin Heilshorn.” He realized what a crazy thing that was to say and added, “Before.”

  “My evaluation? I’m not a psychiatrist working for the DA, Investigator Healy.”

  “Brendan.”

  “My job is to counsel, to listen and respond to the needs of someone involved in a tragedy.”

  “I’m sorry, I misspoke. I mean to say, I’d like to hear your opinion about how you found Kevin Heilshorn to be yesterday morning, when you had your time with him.”

  “That’s still the same thing. You want to know whether or not I found him to be acting guilty. Did he seem to be experiencing grief, or guilt concealed as grief. Or, did he appear unemotional. Remorseless. So you can put it in your report and call on me when you need a witness for the prosecution. I told you, I don’t do that. I don’t know how long you’ve been doing this, but this isn’t how you get a professional witness on the stand. First of all, I’m not her. Second of all, this isn’t the way. Coercing someone out for a meal so you can use them to ratchet up your investigation.”

  The conversation fell so abruptly silent that Brendan thought she’d hung up. He pulled the phone away from his ear for a second, and then put it back.

  “Did you hang up?”

  There was one last moment of silence. Then she said, “I don’t hang up on people. I’m thirty years old. But I am going to go now, Mr. Healy. Good luck.”

  And then she did hang up.

  Brendan slowly set the handset back in the cradle. He stared at the black phone with its multiple lines and telltales for a moment. “That could have gone better,” he said to it.

  * * *

  Sheriff Taber came into Brendan’s office a few minutes later. Brendan read the fifty-year-old’s face: It looked like he had news he was conflicted about revealing.

  “Morning,” said Taber.

  “Morning, Sheriff.”

  “Get any sleep?”

  “I’m not sure you’d call it sleep. I was unconscious for a few hours.”

  Taber grinned, but his eyes belied this other agenda.

  Brendan sat back and folded his hands. He took a breath. “What is it, Sheriff?”

  Taber, as ever, came right to the point. “I’m wondering if you need time. After yesterday.”

  Brendan felt as though he’d been punched in the solar plexus. He’d expected this question, but it still drove the air from his body. His first case for Oneida County and he was involved in a shooting. Now all eyes were on him. His competence would be in question, no matter everyone’s support and best intentions.

  “I’m fine, sir. I’d like to continue.”

  “Good,” said the Sheriff. “I’d like to keep you on.” His expression reflected that other purpose again, and he said, “We’re adding an investigator from the State Trooper’s Squad to the case. His name is Rudy Colinas.”

  Brendan looked into the Sheriff’s eyes. “Okay.”

  “This is a big investigation. As you know, it’s not unusual for the State to assist us, especially since we’re still lacking another department investigator.”

  “I understand. Can I just ask you one thing?”

  “Of course.” The Sheriff was still standing with the door closed behind him. He looked hopeful.

  “Does this have anything to do with the shooting yesterday afternoon?”

  The Sheriff sighed. “Yes and no.”

  “That’s honest.”

  The Sheriff shot him a look, perhaps probing for insolence. Finding none, he continued. “Delaney is working the evidence. That’s his bag. He’s got a laptop, a cell phone, a vehicle, fingerprints, boot print, tracks on the property –
in fact, a whole property to continue combing. He’s working with the Deputy Coroner on the bodies, as you know. Your job is statements from any witnesses, neighbors, anyone who passed by the house during the timeline for yesterday morning. And suspects. It’s a tall order, and you need help.”

  “Because I tend to shoot my suspects.”

  The Sheriff looked at Brendan, again trying to gauge the younger man. Brendan had to wonder at the words coming out of his own mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said right away. “I just . . .” I just got off the phone with a woman who handed me back my best intentions, he thought.

  The Sheriff waved a hand in dismissal. He then looked around Brendan’s small office like he was searching for something. “I want to have a conference with you and Delaney and Colinas this afternoon at one o’clock. In the meantime, bring him up to speed, and work your suspects. What’s the word so far on the father of the victim’s little girl?”

  “I’m working on it next.”

  The Sheriff nodded. “And the parents?”

  “Do I need to call them?”

  The Sheriff narrowed his eyes. The notion of the detective who had killed their son calling the parents of the deceased was almost absurd. “The Coroner has called them. There’s no way you’re allowed to communicate with the Heilshorns at this time. But we need to know everything about them.”

  Brendan understood. With few suspects and an unknown motive, everyone needed to be looked at for potential culpability. The conflict of interest for him to do the investigation on this situation was enormous. “Then Detective Colinas will work them while I find out more about Eddie.”

  “Eddie?”

  “Possibly the biological father of the little girl. All I have right now is his first name.”

  The Sheriff lingered for a moment. Then he nodded again, and opened the door behind him. “I’m going to send in Detective Colinas.”

  “Okay.”

  The men held each other’s gaze for a second, and then the Sheriff left.

  * * *

  Rudy Colinas had an olive complexion and eyes so dark they appeared as all-pupil. His tight, curly hair was carved into a brick. He was well-built, in his forties, and spoke with a slight lisp, as if his tongue pressed against his front teeth for a fraction of a second longer on his Ts. He wore a well-fitting suit, dark grey, and no tie. He had a binder with him and a pen clipped to his shirt pocket, which he slipped out and clicked.

  They made cursory introductions and Rudy Colinas sat in the one chair across from Brendan as he took him through the case. Most of it Rudy was familiar with, nodding here or there, but he remained absolutely silent the entire time, and jotted down occasional notes. When they were finished, Brendan’s stomach was growling. He looked at the clock on his phone and saw that it was almost ten in the morning.

  It was absurd to think of devoting precious time now to the therapist, Olivia Jane. Brendan needed to do what was prudent and procedural – to work his suspects, as the Sheriff had reiterated. Eddie, the Heilshorns, the dead brother. Kevin Heilshorn’s death would become its own case. Brendan felt a knot of dread when he considered this prospect – yesterday’s meeting with IA was only the beginning in what was often a protracted matter: the investigation of a police shooting. There would be more meetings, and there was always the possibility of a lawsuit. Brendan found the words came with difficulty as he tried to explain the situation to Colinas. It felt like he had marbles in his mouth.

  “Tough situation,” said Colinas. It wasn’t clear whether he was referring to the shooting of Kevin Heilshorn, or the conflict with Brendan, as the shooter, continuing an investigation which involved Kevin’s parents. Maybe both.

  Colinas gazed off into the air in the small office space. “I had to draw my weapon on someone once. My heart was beating so hard. I didn’t know . . . you know, if it came down to it . . .” He trailed off, and then his eyes came back to Brendan. “So, where do we go from here, boss? I’m on the parents, got it. I’ll be extremely gentle with them. But suppose I don’t get through, or it takes a while, what next? You want me looking into the victim?”

  “Absolutely,” said Brendan. He was already liking Colinas. “Everything about her. Where she went to grade school up to where she shopped for groceries last week. Of course I’ll help you. I’ve got to see about something else first.”

  “What about this Eddie? You want me to look into that, too, right?”

  “I’m hoping they dovetail,” said Brendan, getting up and collecting his bag. He slipped the manila envelope, containing The Screwtape Letters, into it. “Finding out the history of Rebecca will hopefully run right into the chapter where Eddie was in her life. Hell, check Facebook. See what her timeline has to offer.”

  “On it.”

  Brendan stuck out his hand. “I’ll be back in an hour. Oh. I have one other thing.” Brendan pulled the piece of paper out of his notes which had the serial number on it for the melted laptop. He handed it to Colinas. “See if you can find who this laptop computer was registered to, who purchased it, anything.”

  The men exchanged phone numbers, shook hands, and Brendan hurried out the door, thinking about the best way to evade the reporters if they were still downstairs.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN / FRIDAY, 10:12 AM

  He pulled up to Olivia Jane’s house and found Deputy Bostrom parked out front. Brendan opened the driver’s side door to the Camry, dropped and squashed his cigarette butt along the shoulder of the road, and got out. He noticed instantly how crammed Olivia’s short driveway had become. There was a dark blue Chevy Caprice, with a long antenna, parked in behind her green Aztec. It was a State Detective Squad undercover vehicle. Probably just like the one Rudy Colinas drove. Behind it was a Land Rover.

  Bostrom’s Sheriff’s Department car was parked at the edge of the driveway, near the shoulder of the road. He was sitting in the vehicle as Brendan approached. As he neared the house, the garage came into better view, and the space between, through which the garden was visible. He could see the gold of police tape fluttering in the wind.

  “This is insane,” he muttered.

  Bostrom rolled down his window, seeing Brendan approach. The two men greeted one another, and Brendan looked at the house.

  “Two State Dicks in there,” said Bostrom.

  “When did they get here?”

  “Bout seven-thirty this morning. Maybe a little before. I came on at seven.”

  Brendan nodded. He looked over at the Land Rover, which was close enough to spit on.

  “The woman’s lawyer,” remarked Bostrom, looking at the vehicle. His front bumper almost made contact with it.

  “And when did he or she arrive?”

  “She. Maybe ten minutes after the dicks.”

  That could explain Olivia’s behavior on the phone, thought Brendan. Last night his own department had responded to the scene when he’d called 911 and given his badge number after shooting Kevin Heilshorn. Now that he was back here, the scene replayed itself yet again. He could see right where the young man had been standing. Brendan began to feel light-headed.

  Bostrom was looking at Brendan’s hands. Brendan looked down and saw that they were shaking. He was holding the manila envelope, and it was quivering against his leg.

  “You alright?” Bostrom’s question was genuine. The two men may have had some tension the day before, but there was no hint of pleasure in Bostrom’s face as he asked the detective how he was doing.

  “I don’t know,” answered Brendan honestly.

  “Rough night,” said the deputy.

  It was all anyone seemed to know how to say. Rough night. Tough situation. He felt like they were the kinds of euphemisms people offered to someone with a terminal sickness. Brendan wondered how much longer he had on the case. The Sheriff was in his corner, but that might be it; Taber wanted a conference later. Ostensibly, it was to go over case notes and put together a more official progress report. But Brendan knew what the ulterior might be; further questioning of
his ability to continue with the investigation, given the extreme developments of late.

  Brendan started up towards Olivia’s house without another word to Bostrom. The deputy leaned out of the car and asked, cryptically, “You sure?” Maybe what he wanted to ask was, Are you nuts, heading in there?

  Brendan didn’t know how dialed-in Bostrom was to the situation with Olivia Jane, but perhaps he was intuitive enough to understand that, given the circumstances, it was an odd choice to go house-calling when the State Detective Squad was running this side of things, and the woman had her goddamn lawyer present.

  The lawyer was a curious addition to the equation, Brendan thought. Likely, though, it had far less to do with any possibility of culpability on the part of Olivia Jane, but more to do with her need to protect her confidentiality, and guide her role as it pertained to both investigations.

  He looked at her quaint Cape Cod-style house, with its elegant porch and lathed posts and railing spindles. The windows which had been shot out were crisscrossed with masking tape.

  Brendan stopped. He tapped the manila envelope gently against his leg. His shaking was subsiding, his heart rate resuming a normal tempo. The day was shining, and bright bulbs of clouds sailed overhead.

  Halfway up the path, Brendan decided to turn around.

  He started back towards the driveway, and could see some sort of relief in Bostrom’s face, who was watching. Then Bostrom’s eyes flicked over Brendan’s shoulder as he looked up at the house.

  “Investigator Healy?”

  He looked back and saw Olivia Jane. She stood on the porch at the top of the three stairs down to the walkway. He took a few steps back in her direction, and then stopped again when he saw she had ventured no further herself.

  He tried on a smile. “Wanted to see if you would go get that breakfast with me, after all.”

  She gave him a look, trying to size him up. He saw her eyes fall to the envelope he was carrying, and so he lifted it up. “Something I really need to get your opinion on. But it can wait. Sorry to bother you.” He smiled again and gave her a short nod, almost a bow. Then he started to leave once more.

 

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