Suspicion of Murder

by G. K. Parks

  “Go for it.” When I was done rewashing the dishes, I went to see what he was doing.

  “The report on police corruption was sent anonymously. Prior to the information IA and the Bureau received, there wasn’t even an inkling of impropriety.”

  “Inkling,” I repeated to his chagrin.

  “Normally, IA’s already got a feel for the dirt. Something could be amiss in a police report, or they have to field a few civilian complaints. There’s always something that doesn’t sit well but not this time.”

  “Not until the anonymous calls?” I double-checked. “You think IA’s involved?”

  “No.” Whatever he was thinking, I wasn’t following. “What if something else is going on here?”

  “I’ve got a scar down my side and along my back to prove I didn’t hallucinate getting shot by a cop. Harrigan can say the same.” Damn, I wanted to go see Sam instead of being stuck in my apartment, waiting for a vengeful asshole to come after me again. Same old tune, different lyrics.

  “And you know it’s a cop because of the badge and how he talked to the officers outside. What else?”

  “There was a dented cruiser parked outside when the waitresses left for the night. It probably belonged to the shooter, or he borrowed it from the motor pool without permission. At least that’s what records indicated.”

  He leaned back, looking smug. “So if you got a hold of a gold shield and were trying to rob a place, what would you do when the cops arrived? And let’s pretend you aren’t on the job.”

  “I’m not a cop.” It was a statement of fact, not part of the scenario we were constructing, but he didn’t see the differentiation. “But if my only options were to confront an armed former federal agent or go outside and be arrested by the police department, maybe impersonating a cop wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

  “It would have to be someone who used to be on the job or was familiar with those on the job,” he deduced. “There’s protocol. Lingo.”

  “Cop swagger,” I added, and he grinned. “It still doesn’t fit. How would the guy know I was working at Infinity? Officer Taylor from vice got me the gig, and other than you guys in major crimes, the only other people aware were in burglary. The police cruiser outside, Martin getting harassed early Sunday morning, Hoskins’ actions today, all of it adds up to dirty cops.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” It felt like I was arguing with a brick wall. “Drop everything recent and focus on the beginning. When did you first believe it was a dirty cop?” He was certain he was on to something and was doggedly trying to make me understand.

  “When the responding officers treated him that way.” Flashing back to the club, I remembered my knee-jerk reaction was the thief had been impersonating a cop, but once he identified himself to the officers, I made the logical leap to dirty cop. Could we have been wrong all along? I shook my head. When Vito picked me up at the park, he spoke of police corruption. He gave us footage of the two man team in exchange for some unforeseen favor. Probably the same two man team that beat the shit out of Ernie.

  “Parker,” Heathcliff shook my shoulder, “you zoned out. Where’d you go?”

  “Derek,” I swallowed, “I might have done something incredibly stupid.” Picking up the phone, I dialed Cooper. When he answered, I asked him to make sure IT verifies the date and time the footage was taken in order to ensure it wasn’t altered in any way. After I hung up, Heathcliff raised an eyebrow.

  “Are you gonna tell me what the stupid thing is? Or how stupid it is?”

  “Jury’s still out, but we should have a verdict soon.”

  Twenty-three

  “Ah, fuck.” I hung up the phone and paced the room. In the interim, I had filled Heathcliff in on the entire situation, top to bottom, everything relating to the shooting, my evasion tactics, and my run-ins with Antonio Vincenzo. Right now, he was the only one fully aware of the situation and my unimaginable idiocy.

  “Parker.” He was in full-on interrogation mode. Thankfully, we weren’t at the precinct, or I’d be chained to the table. “We have to fix this.”

  “No kidding.” My voice held a level of scorn at my own incompetence. “Cooper just confirmed the new footage wasn’t from the dates and times in question. They were doctored, and the techs believe the data was created four days ago. That means Vito’s been lying this entire time. The clubs are in his pocket. Stoltz Bros. is in his pocket. And now it looks like half the police department is in his pocket too.”

  “It was filmed Friday night.” He exhaled, looking grim; we both knew I had been played like a well-worn violin. “Call James and find out exactly when he decided to make the trip home. We need to know when the flight plan was filed, and who else knew of his departure? It might be a coincidence, but dimes to dollars, Vincenzo pulled out all the stops to ensure you played right into his hand.”

  “What about Hoskins?” Our entire investigation was unraveling.

  “I don’t know. Is there anything else you aren’t telling me?” He slipped back into the role of interrogator, and I circled through the kitchen to get away from his pointed glare.

  “I told you everything. If you want to arrest me for known criminal affiliations, then go ahead, but there’s nothing more to tell.” My sincerity was real, and he nodded ever so slightly.

  “You know you screwed up.” If this was a pep talk, he needed to spend more time watching television therapists. “But I can’t say any of us is perfect. Make the call and get your head on straight because we need to stop this before the entire precinct goes down in a sea of paranoia. I’m guessing the shooter isn’t a cop, and from what you’ve said, he’s probably one of Vincenzo’s guys. But if there are cops on the take, we need to flush them out.”

  Reluctantly, I dialed Martin’s cell phone. When he answered, I asked all the relevant questions, relayed the answers to Heathcliff, and said I was working so I’d see him at some point in the distant future.

  After disconnecting, Heathcliff’s expression was confused curiosity. “I’ll see you when I see you?” He parroted my words as his brow furrowed, gauging my reaction. “No offense, but I’m glad we never dated.”

  “Don’t be bitter. You’ve probably spent more overall time with me in the last three months than Martin has. It’s just like we’re dating but without the perks,” I joked.

  “So what? With all the time you and O’Connell spend together, does that mean the two of you are married, and Jen is just a figment of his imagination?”

  “Don’t spread it around.” Our brief kidding quickly turned to serious as he searched for the flight information Martin provided. The flight plan had been filed Friday morning and was cleared by the FFA sixteen hours before landing, thus giving Vincenzo plenty of time to gain awareness of the situation. Since the phony surveillance tapes had been created Friday, it made the whole situation that much more questionable.

  “The cops that stopped Martin,” Heathcliff had his notepad out and read through their names and descriptions, “do you think they’re on the take or just happened to get some information on who to hassle and when?”

  “I don’t know, but all this speculation is driving me crazy.” I slumped onto the couch. “Can you get Moretti to question them?”

  “I’ll make the call.”

  We sat in my apartment for an eternity, waiting on answers from Moretti. It was slow going to bring in an officer and detective, both of whom had already been questioned in relation to Martin’s harassment. The FBI teams were still working on locating Hoskins, but they had even less going for them than Moretti did.

  “Do you want to order in?” I asked, staring at my almost empty fridge. “Or are you going home since it’s kinda late.”

  “I have nowhere else to be, and since Thompson dropped us both off, you’re stuck with me until he returns.”

  I handed him a stack of take-out menus and went in search of my car keys. My double had driven my car back to my place, and I was going to offer him a means of escape if I could find them.
“You don’t have to stick around any longer.” I held up the keys. “It’s not much, but it’ll get you from point A to point B.”

  “Nah, I’ll hang around and keep you company. You have a bad track record as of late. Plus, this way, it doesn’t feel like I’m on administrative leave.”

  “C’mon, tell me what happened.”

  “You aren’t the only one cornering the market on stupid.” He winked. “I’m thinking Thai. Any complaints?”

  “None.”

  * * *

  After dinner, I took the garbage out since I didn’t want my apartment to smell like Thai food for the rest of the week. Heathcliff was on the phone with Moretti, discussing the interrogations from earlier this afternoon, and as far as I could tell, he hadn’t divulged my involvement with Vito. After tossing the bag into the dumpster, I turned around and was shoved against the brick wall.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Hoskins’ tone was raspy, “but I need your help.”

  “Great way to ask for it.” I struggled against his grip, but he held me firmly against the building, removing my holstered weapon and performing a quick pat down before letting go. “What do you want?”

  “I’m being framed.”

  “Join the club.” As far as I was concerned, he was too late to jump onto that bandwagon. “The thing is you look a hell of a lot guiltier than I ever did because you emptied out your bank account, slipped your surveillance detail, and dropped off the grid.”

  “None of those things are actual crimes,” he snarled. “I thought since you’ve already dealt with whoever is pulling these strings, you might be willing to lend a helping hand.”

  “You assault me in a dark alley, take my weapon, and ask for my assistance. Need I remind you that yesterday in the precinct you were ready to throw me through the goddamn wall?”

  “Because you started tossing around accusations.”

  “Give me back my gun,” I said impatiently. “Then you can come upstairs, and we’ll talk things out. If I don’t like what I hear, I will turn you in.”

  “I’m holding the gun, and you’re making demands?” he incredulously asked.

  “If you’re not guilty and you want some help and trust, then you’ll play by my rules.” I held out my hand, and he reluctantly handed back my weapon. “What a gentleman. Now let’s go upstairs.” He remained in the dim light, not moving. “After you,” I insisted.

  When we made it to my apartment, I let Hoskins open the door, and I announced loudly to Heathcliff a guest was joining us. As I predicted, Heathcliff had his hand resting on the butt of his revolver as he assessed Hoskins with such intensity I thought he might have an aneurysm.

  “Look what the cat’s dragged in,” Heathcliff muttered, not so gently frisking Hoskins. “I’m surprised you don’t have one hell of a shiner.”

  “Derek,” Hoskins was uneasy, maybe even rigid, “I might have been out of line.”

  Heathcliff tensed and before the two could go another round, I stepped in between the men. “Play nice, boys,” I warned. “Hoskins, take a seat.” Heathcliff was staring daggers, but I shrugged it off. What was I suppose to do? I didn’t invite Hoskins here. “You have five minutes to explain your predicament, and then we’re calling it in.”

  “Start talking,” Heathcliff added.

  “Two months ago, burglary got a report of a break-in at The Odessa, it’s the bar inside a swanky hotel,” Hoskins began.

  “We know. Cut to the chase.” Heathcliff was impatient.

  “Anyway, the bar was ransacked. Bottles were smashed. The register was taken, and the safe was emptied.”

  “Similar MO to the latest string of heists,” I supplied, and Hoskins nodded.

  “Two days after we got the call and did the initial walkthrough, the case was closed.”

  “Who closed it?” Heathcliff asked, getting up from his chair and leaning against my counter. My apartment was cozier than the precinct’s interrogation rooms, but the difference was lost on my police counterpart.

  Hoskins shook his head. “I don’t know. It was shut by the upstairs brass. You know how things are. The cases pile up, and it’s a relief to have one less to worry about. Frankly, I didn’t even think about it until the second club was hit. When I began digging through my notes, I realized the case file was missing. The photos, evidence, and reports were all gone.”

  “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” I stared at Hoskins, trying to determine his sincerity. “I came to you and asked for help on the clubs.”

  “I don’t know you. You’re not a cop, and I had no reason to trust you.”

  “Then why the hell are you here now?” I asked, exasperated.

  “Where else am I going to go?”

  “You expect me to believe, after the shit you were spewing yesterday, that you didn’t come here to silence the only person who can positively identify you as the shooter from Infinity?” Heathcliff was baiting his hook.

  “It wasn’t me.” Hoskins looked for help, his eyes pleading. “Tell him it wasn’t me.” Pressing my lips together, I remained silent. I had no idea if it was Hoskins or not, but letting a suspect sweat was interrogation 101. Right now, it was all we had as leverage on the guy.

  “Frankly, your invidious comments yesterday ought to be construed as a threat,” Heathcliff continued, his voice acidic, and I had to resist the urge to glance at him.

  “Like I said, I might have been out of line.” Hoskins sounded contrite. “I didn’t need to bring up old wounds.”

  “Old wounds?” Heathcliff’s tone lowered to something lethal. “Accusing major crimes of not being able to protect its women reads like a threat to me.” I flashed back to Heathcliff’s former partner, who had committed suicide, and Jen’s threats. No wonder Heathcliff lost it. As it stood, I was livid by the gender biased attitude of this asshole.

  “Sounds threatening to me,” I chimed in, glancing briefly at Heathcliff to make sure he had himself under control. It took a lot to fire up Detective Stoic, and I doubted I’d be able to physically pull him off of Hoskins if it came down to it.

  “I’m confused,” Heathcliff’s stone-like demeanor returned, “what exactly are you even saying happened or is happening, and why should we believe you, let alone help you?”

  Hoskins cleared his throat. “After the second club heist, I began digging around and asking questions. A couple of uniformed cops remembered the scene, but no one had any real clue how the case was closed. It was all hush-hush. I began my own investigation, and just when I make some headway, I hear about the IA investigation. Fingers are getting pointed in my direction, and yesterday, a stack of photos was sent to IAD, positively placing me at the scene of the shooting.” Hoskins focused on me. “I wasn’t there.”

  “Where were you?” I asked. He was hiding something, but I didn’t know what it was.

  “Elsewhere,” he responded vaguely.

  “Convenient,” Heathcliff commented. “You need an alibi and someone to verify it. If not.” He tilted his head and shrugged.

  Hoskins sat quietly, not talking. Maybe we wouldn’t be able to break him, but we also didn’t have to put up with him anymore.

  “I’m gonna call it in,” I declared, heading for the phone. “Do you have a preference? I’m thinking of giving him to Cooper, but if Moretti would rather have him back, I’m game.”

  “Give him to Cooper first. Moretti can request a prisoner transfer if he wants.”

  “Wait,” Hoskins interrupted, “you can’t do this. Whoever tried to frame me for your shooting is probably the same person who tried to frame and kill you. What do you think is going to happen to me?”

  “Probably the same thing that happens to most cops who get sent to prison,” I retorted unsympathetically. Slowly, I picked up the phone and began to dial. By the fourth digit, Hoskins was singing like a lark.

  Twenty-four

  “Hoskins’ alibi checks out,” Heathcliff declared, hanging up the phone. “Cooper wants him in protective cust
ody.”

  “Damn, it’s catching,” I added, tossing a forgiving smile to Hoskins. “They’ll keep you safe until everything gets straightened out. In the meantime, you need to give us everything you have, whatever you remember, all of it.”

  “You’re on to something.” Hoskins looked at the two of us suspiciously. “I’m such a goddamn fool to think you ever believed it was me.”

  “Actually, we didn’t know,” I offered. “And believe me when I say, ‘damn, you’re paranoid’. No one gives a shit who you were banging in the back of a patrol car on Saturday night.”

  “Moretti might,” Heathcliff deadpanned, “but that’s more a regulations thing.”

  “Promise you’ll keep it quiet if you can,” Hoskins begged. His sexual preferences and orientation were of no interest to me, and Heathcliff felt the same way.

  In the time it took Mark and a team of agents to procure our latest asset, Hoskins had spilled his guts on the matter at hand. His personal investigation into the hotel bar burglary, the connections he found to Antonio Vincenzo’s crime syndicate, and the dirt being swept under the rug by the upstairs brass stunk to high heaven. Heathcliff was running names and data on my computer faster than I believed my outdated hardware was capable of processing.

  My brain was mulling over the information while Hoskins continued to babble on, completely relieved to be able to trust someone. “What were you going to do?” I asked once the information turned into nothing more than obscure theorizing.

  “Get the hell out of Dodge while the getting was still good.” He had decided on the more feasible route toward self-preservation – escape.

  “One last question, Carl,” Heathcliff turned to him from behind a sea of numbers and letters, “any idea how far this thing goes?” Before an answer could be ascertained, Mark and Cooper entered my apartment with a team of agents. My place was beginning to look like alphabet soup.

  “Parker,” Cooper sighed, “you don’t follow orders very well, do you?”

  “Now what?” As far as I knew, only Heathcliff was aware of my current predicament with Vito.