Suspicion of Murder

by G. K. Parks

  * * *

  Leaving the hospital seemed to be an even more daunting challenge than my arrival. Mark sent an agent to my apartment to retrieve a change of clothes, and once I was dressed and ready to leave, we had to deal with the travel arrangements. The exchanged glances between Mark and O’Connell tipped me off to some type of plan being in play, but no one was giving away any details. Mark drove me in his car, and Nick followed us. Martin was going home alone, and his driver, Marcal, was instructed to take circuitous routes and watch for tails and police vehicles.

  We went straight to the OIO building which housed offices for the FBI and OIO. Even though I was given a clean bill of health, I wasn’t quite ready to go back to work yet. Director Kendall was waiting for us, and once Nick emerged from the elevator, the three of us were ushered into his office.

  “Parker,” Kendall spoke, “you’ve stepped in it again, haven’t you?”

  “Sir, this time, I think it stepped on me.”

  “Either way. Although there is no longer a pending murder charge, you did resist arrest, assault a police officer, trespass, break into an agent’s domicile,” he glanced up from reading the list of offenses, “should I continue?”

  “No need. I’m pretty clear on how that half of the week went.”

  “Police corruption claims are always investigated by the Bureau. The police department has its own IA investigation going, and we’ve been exchanging information. The slug you provided should be a conclusive match to the guilty party; however, all other evidence has been slim. Our only witnesses are being protected by the Marshal Service, but Mr. Harrigan has yet to provide a usable sketch of his attacker.”

  “From what you’ve told us,” Mark added, “your own certainty over identifying the scumbag isn’t very substantial either.”

  “I didn’t see him. Not enough of him, anyway.” My jaw set as I considered if Vito might have more information. He did know a lot about what was going on in the city, but his way of getting results wasn’t legal.

  “I’m prepared to offer you a one-time only deal,” Kendall continued. “We’ll deputize you. Your badge and gun will be returned, and you will resume your position at the OIO for the duration of the police corruption case. You will be assigned to the joint task force the FBI and PD are running, and all charges against you will be forgiven under the guise of necessary in the line of duty.” They both knew I was leery of coming back on a permanent basis or anything resembling a permanent basis, but it was a good deal.

  “Why?” There was always a catch.

  “Right now, you’re not up to the physical reqs, but we want to stick a decoy at your apartment until you are. It will give you a chance to catch up and provide us the perfect opportunity to disseminate some misinformation concerning your ability to positively identify the corrupt son of a bitch.” Now things were falling into place. I was going to be bait.

  “Where do I sign?” Bait or not, some asshole shot me, tried to frame me for murder, and nearly killed a damn good bartender. The gloves were coming off.

  After I was formally deputized and my two handguns were returned to my custody, I was to be escorted to my apartment where I could pack a bag and leave. I would meet with an agent of a similar build and coloring who would impersonate me and return to my apartment until I was deemed fit for duty. Having a stranger live at my place wasn’t a comforting thought, but knowing a dozen agents and police officers had already ransacked my home made the thought of one more person being involved seem less intrusive.

  “Welcome back, Agent Parker,” Kendall announced before I could follow Mark down the hall.

  Twelve

  Being homeless was turning into a way of life. Mark drove to my place and waited in my living room while I shuffled through the mess, grabbed everything I imagined I would need, and threw it all into a very large duffel bag. If I was being watched, hopefully the voyeur would believe I was simply disposing of a dead body. We left my apartment in separate vehicles and returned to the OIO offices. A female agent, who I didn’t think looked anything like me, except she also had long brown hair, met us in the garage where I gave her my jacket and keys to my car and apartment. She left without a word. Alex Parker’s clone was going home for the rest of the evening.

  “O’Connell grabbed all the pertinent files, and he’s setting everything up for you at Marty’s,” Mark stated as I sat sullenly in the passenger’s seat. Just what I wanted, dragging Martin even deeper into my occupational hazards.

  “Can’t I just sleep on your couch?”

  “No,” but he regretted his unsympathetic tone and added, “there will be federal agents posted outside at all times. You’ll have your own protection detail, and he has Bruiser working nonstop. It’ll be fine. Once you’re fully recovered, you can go home.”

  “Great.” I was unenthused, but no one was asking my permission.

  “So the two of you finally hooked up?” He kept his eyes on the road, but his tone hinted at smug amusement. “Took you long enough.”

  “Watch it, Jablonsky, I just beat one murder rap. I can probably overcome another one.”

  * * *

  Arriving at Martin’s compound, Mark nodded to the agents sitting outside who radioed ahead. The garage door opened, and he pulled into the expansive showroom-esque area. O’Connell was at the top of the stairs, waiting impatiently for us to join him. Mark carried my bag which was the least he could do, and I instructed him to put it in the guestroom as I performed a quick visual sweep for Martin. I hated intruding on him when the two of us hadn’t discussed any of this.

  “Where’s Martin?” I asked O’Connell.

  “Upstairs in his private office. He said we could have the office down here and the run of the living room.”

  “Did the two of you have fun planning this?” I despised being uninformed and out of the loop. Letting other people make decisions was asking for trouble.

  “Yep, and next time, we’re going to braid each other’s hair.”

  When Mark returned, we got down to business. An hour into the briefing or debriefing, at this point I couldn’t tell the difference, Martin came down the stairs. He was annoyed with whoever he was speaking to on the phone and went into his downstairs office to collect a fax. He smiled at me as he disappeared back up the steps. The distraction did not go unnoticed by my male compatriots.

  “Alexis,” Mark said my name, and I turned to him, “are you listening?”

  “Can we take a break?” It was mid-afternoon, and I was tired and hungry. “In case you forgot, six hours ago, I was stuck in a hospital bed. I thought you guys were going to ease me into this.” Apparently, I was also cranky.

  “We’ll stop for today.” He realized the time. “You can read through the rest of the files when you get the chance. I’ll be back tomorrow after work, and the three of us can run through things again. Maybe by then you’ll be more apt to pay attention.” After he left, I turned to O’Connell who appeared intrigued by something in the folder he was holding.

  “Are you sticking around?” I asked, going into the kitchen.

  “Yes, since I was invited for dinner,” Nick gloated. “So eat something light. You don’t want to spoil your appetite. I’ve been promised a feast.” It sounded as though Martin and Nick had become best friends or lovers. Either way, I was frightened. Settling on an apple, I returned to the living room still confused and perplexed by the strange turn of events. “You don’t look so good.”

  “Thanks.” I bit into the fruit and shuffled through the stack of files still on the coffee table. “Paperwork is exhausting.”

  “Right, because it has nothing to do with everything you went through over the past week. Where did you even stay when you were on the run?”

  Before I could respond, Martin descended the stairs and joined us. O’Connell made himself scarce, claiming to need to use the restroom, and Martin sat down next to me.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan on staying here or taking over your office and living ro
om.”

  “It’s okay. I insisted, and you heard the docs. You need to take it easy for the next couple of days. At least if you’re here, I can keep an eye on you. The way I figure it, this way, you’ll be less likely to hold me at gunpoint again and demand I cut a bullet out of your side.” His tone wasn’t as playful as it had been.

  “Point taken.”

  “Plus, I offered Nick a nice meal after everything he’s done.”

  “So the two of you have become pals?”

  He nodded thoughtfully and grinned. “That’s what happens when you spend several hours together in a very drab hospital room. They couldn’t even splurge on cable.”

  “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it’s working.” He kissed my forehead and went into the kitchen to start cooking. I picked up another folder from the pile to read, but I was useless. The print was blending together into an inky haze. By the time I set the folder down, O’Connell returned.

  “Does Jablonsky really believe you’ll get through all of this by tomorrow afternoon?” Nick asked. “I’ve only skimmed through half of this shit, and I wrote most of it.”

  “Give me a breakdown.” Leaning back against the couch cushion, I unclipped my newly acquired badge and put it on the table next to my firearms.

  “We’ve narrowed it down to four potentials, but we’re having issues running alibis and conducting searches. The union representative has been all over IA’s ass. Normally, I’d side with the union and tell IAD to go fuck themselves, but corrupt cops give us all a bad name.”

  “Everyone in major crimes is clear, I assume.”

  “Yeah, that’s why we’ve been doing double duty, assisting the FBI in its investigation. Well, me, the LT, Heathcliff, and Thompson. Everyone else is still working cases. It’s not like crime stops when the cops are fighting amongst themselves.”

  “The focus is on the guys in burglary, right?” My assumption was based on a snide comment he had made when I asked for assistance on my case.

  “See, you did read and retain something.”

  “Actually, I’m just a kick ass investigator. It says so on my business card.”

  Before our conversation could return to serious, Martin came in to ask about salad preferences and pasta choices. Food was food, but Nick offered to help. Leaving me alone in the living room, I remained on the couch, staring into nothingness as I began piecing together everything on the robberies and what was in the reports. If someone in burglary was behind it, each heist would need to be re-examined since all investigations were now tainted. The facts were probably inaccurate or downright fictitious. Too bad I couldn’t hide in my unpaid motel room until this investigation was concluded.

  After we finished eating, O’Connell helped sort through the piles and organize them based on suspects, police reports, internal reports, and other miscellaneous information. Martin thanked him again for taking care of me, which was aggravating since I was in the room and not deaf. And before he left, Nick promised to drop by around noon tomorrow to run through everything before Mark joined us.

  Once Martin and I were alone, I announced my desire to take a shower and change. He covered my wound with plastic and tape before permitting my escape. I didn’t deal well with being taken care of, and more importantly, I didn’t handle being controlled by everything around me. Tonight, I would play nice, but if things didn’t change, heads would roll. When I was finished showering and had changed into some plush pajama pants and a cropped t-shirt, Martin untaped the plastic and re-bandaged my side.

  “Why am I here? Did anyone even ask before turning your house into headquarters for this investigation?” My tone was frustrated.

  “I already told you I offered. As far as I can tell, you don’t have anywhere else to go. This is your home too.”

  “Actually, my home has an agent pretending to be me, probably sleeping in my bed and raiding my fridge.”

  “Alex,” he was trying to be patient, “a home is a safe place with people who care about you.”

  “Aww, you care.” My sarcasm was flippant, as usual. “I’m sorry. You’ve gone out of your way. It’s just–”

  “Like I said, you’re a control freak. No one bothered to ask. Not even me.”

  “Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” My words were mocking, but I graced him with a genuine smile.

  “I’ll make a note for the future,” he kidded as we returned to the living room.

  I spent the next few hours perusing one of the stacks of folders while he argued with Luc over some type of business plan concerning information that was obtained at the conference. When my head started to droop, I shut the folder and placed it in the proper pile. That was enough for today. Waking up at five a.m. had an adverse effect on my ability to remain functional and lively. Glancing up, I noticed Martin studying my badge.

  “Is this the same one you had while on the job?”

  “Yes. Kendall must have kept it for a rainy day.”

  “Maybe you should consider going back permanently,” he added out of the blue. This seemed particularly odd since during our one and only short-lived breakup I told him I needed time to choose between him or the job. Maybe I had chosen wrong. “At least you’d have friends with guns always watching your back. There would be no solo work. You couldn’t be framed for murder.”

  “This was just a one-time fluke.” Getting off the couch, I glanced down the hallway to the guestroom. “I’m going to turn in and try to get some sleep.” He looked puzzled. “Don’t feel obligated to join me since I’m sure I’ve kept you awake the last few nights and not in the good way.”

  “Well, after that kind of invitation, how can I possibly resist?” He disappeared up the steps to change before meeting me in the guestroom just to sleep. The doctors said to take it easy, and my only desire was not to wake until the sun was up.

  * * *

  The next morning, I jumped at the sound of Martin’s alarm clock. He reached over and blindly hit snooze. Once he got up, my day would start. Fifteen minutes later, he disappeared from the room, and I carefully stretched, making sure not to pull my healing side. Thirty minutes later, I was determining the functionality of his new, expensive coffeemaker. The struggle of woman versus machine wasn’t worth it, and I went into the living room and dove into the second stack of file folders, coffee-free.

  After Martin’s early morning workout routine, he went upstairs to shower and dress. In his zombified state, he didn’t notice I was sitting on the couch. Maybe he had finally been broken of his annoying morning person habits. Unfortunately, my victory wasn’t as gratifying as I hoped. Before he left for the office, he provided a brief tutorial in brewing fancy individual cups of coffee. At least I would be able to say I achieved something today.

  The rest of the morning was spent reading reports. The information was swirling together, and no set of facts were calling attention to themselves. Either I was off my game, or there really weren’t any solid leads. Shuffling back through the paperwork, I pulled out the dossiers on the four potential suspects. On a sheet of paper, I listed the commonalities: detective, assigned burglary division, involved in working the club heist cases, male. Not much more to go on.

  Maybe height could be determined based on the reflection. A field trip to Infinity might be helpful. Also, Ernie could be of some use. If we let him look through a six pack, maybe he could point out anyone familiar from the photos. Vito was the only possible problem with going near Ernie. Was Ernie attacked by a dirty cop or by his silent partners? There was no way to know for certain, and I didn’t want anyone to know of my brief connection with organized crime if it could be avoided.

  The door from the ground floor opened, and I grabbed my nine millimeter and pointed it at the intruder. O’Connell held up his hands and shook a brown paper bag.

  “I brought lunch, don’t shoot.” Lowering my gun, I got up from amidst the files to grab a couple bottles of water. “Making any progress?”

  “Do you think it’s possible to
knock down a brick wall by slamming my head into it repeatedly?”

  “From your metaphor, shall I assume that means something’s gotta give?” He scooted the paperwork off the coffee table, placing the food in front of him, and I handed him a bottle and sat down.

  “Let me tell you what I’ve determined, and you can add your wise, detectively insight to it.” He unwrapped a burger while I ran through the commonalities among our suspects. “Is anyone in burglary absolutely free of suspicion?”

  “Schwartz and Andrews. They’re women. You distinctly said a man shot you, and Harrigan’s shooter was obviously male. Although, how we’ve come to the conclusion it’s a single party acting alone still makes zero sense. General cop code, you watch your partner’s ass. Nine times out of ten, if your partner’s dirty, you know.”

  “I only spotted one shooter inside Infinity, but who’s to say he didn’t have help on the outside. Do we know who declared it was a single dirty cop acting alone?”

  “It came from above my pay grade. Might have even come from your side, Agent Parker.” He was enjoying putting the screws to me on my reinstatement.

  “Do you think the proclamation is for PR purposes or because it’s a rogue cop?” Nick shrugged. “Out of the four potentials, are any of them partnered together? Where did they even come from?”

  “It’s burglary division. They all work together, just like us major crime guys. And the video footage you miraculously had delivered gave the AV geeks a basis for height, weight, and hair color. These four were the closest matches.”

  “Hoskins, Packard, Metz, and Fisher,” I read the names out loud. The only one I encountered was Hoskins, and my brief communication with him wasn’t enough to base anything on. “What do you know about them?” O’Connell reached for the employee files, but I stopped his hand. “Personally, do you know any of them?”

  “We’ve never worked together. There’s never been a reason for our paths to cross. Heathcliff worked with Fisher on a jewelry thing a couple years back, but he hasn’t said yea or nay about the guy.”