Suspicion of Murder

by G. K. Parks

  “What about you?”

  “Finished the metro murder yesterday. Jen’s gone out of town to visit her folks, so I’m back to business. Unofficially,” he leaned in closer, “I’ve read through the reports.” He jerked his chin at the files. “Three rookies mean the same class in the academy.”

  “That could be hundreds of guys.”

  “Yeah, but you can narrow it down by precinct assignments since Rodgers or Gates, whatever the fuck you want to call him, knew the other two guys which would explain his lack of ratting them out.”

  “Get to the point.” I was tired of extraneous details.

  “Heathcliff has a list of guys who were pulled off duty, a list of guys who are no longer kicking, and a list still on the job. The thing is the ones no longer on the job have moved on. Some have moved away, and others are in different lines of work. The majority don’t have a dog in this fight, if you catch my drift.”

  “You’re saying the two unidentified rookies are still on the job?”

  “I’d bet my badge. Hell, I’d bet Thompson’s and Heathcliff’s too.”

  “Damn, I hope you’re right because you’re the only three cops still talking to me.” I smirked. “And with my current predicament, I might need some gun-toting, badge-carrying back-up.”

  “Trust me, I’m right about this.” He looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. “So do you want the short list of names or am I supposed to wait for you to beg before I give them to you?”

  “Names now would be nice.”

  “Fair enough.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “Obviously, the Captain’s on the list, along with Sergeant Smolders, Lieutenant Winston, and some first and second class detectives.” Looking through the seven names, I had my suspicions.

  “You said Moretti’s mulling something over concerning one of his superiors?”

  “Same conclusion I came to.” He swallowed. “But if we’re wrong,” his voice dropped, letting the negative job ramifications float in the space between us.

  “The more serious question is what if you’re not. The precinct’s captain could be in a mobster’s pocket.” Pushing away from the table, I stood and kicked my chair underneath, hearing the clang reverberate through the empty conference room. “Goddamn.”

  “Every case, every arrest, convictions, evidence, internal affairs investigations, everything is going to be reconsidered. How many criminals will get released because of this? How many good, clean cops are going to get their names dragged through the mud? Even if we all transfer out, no one will want to work with any of us. And the community,” Nick shut his eyes and slammed his fist against the table, “they don’t trust us now, just imagine what it’s going to be like after this gets out.”

  “Who assigned the IA liaison?”

  “Stephens. IA’s supposed to be separate, but it’s his house. They still report to him.”

  “Dammit. All right, look, we’re going to wait until Moretti gives us something solid or Sullivan finds an undeniable connection. There’s no reason to jump to worst case scenarios just yet. We could be wrong.”

  “I hope we are.” He left the comment hanging in the air until Mark came into the room, looking as if someone just shot his dog.

  Twenty-nine

  By the conclusion of yet another endless workday, all the evidence pointed to Captain Stephens being the remaining unidentified rookie. Moretti had gone through the evidence room and located all the original paperwork. There was proof the documents had been altered, and with the present technology, the original text on two typewritten reports had been recovered. The report stated that Officer Stephens left the precinct with Officers Rodgers and Ramirez. The same report also specified that Stephens and Ramirez returned together that night from a tour with bruised knuckles and bloodied uniforms.

  Additionally, the investigation into Detective Ramirez’s death linked Stephens to another cover-up. Stephens wasn’t called to the scene to identify the body. He had been first on the scene and told the responding officers he had no idea who the victim was. A note had been placed in a long lost file from Lt. Benjamin Rapier to resubmit the case file with the corrected information. Rapier was also the man responsible for Stephens’ promotion to a command position.

  “Rapier was one of the original dirty cops,” Sullivan concluded from the front of the room. “Unfortunately, he’s not able to testify against any of his accomplices. But he groomed Stephens to take charge.”

  “I’m sure it was all Vincenzo’s idea.” The disdain dripped from my words. With Hoskins’ investigation, Vito probably figured this connection would come to light soon, so instead of risking being found out, he tried to contain the fallout by giving me a name.

  “Look,” Moretti was sitting at the conference table, along with the three detectives who had been assisting the FBI’s investigation all along, “I have a meeting with the commissioner first thing in the morning. His press secretary said to keep a lid on all of it. If word gets out that the head of the precinct is working for a mobster, we’re all going to hell.”

  “The Bureau is letting the commissioner take lead. We’re here for support only. Stephens is key, and anyone else working for him is going down. In the meantime, we have to find Gates. He might not be a cop anymore, but he is our shooter. To simplify things, let’s refer to him as Gates until further notice, just to assist in keeping a tight seal on current matters,” Cooper reported. “For official purposes, the name Gates won’t trace back to the police department like Rodgers will.”

  “Any leads on his whereabouts?” Thompson asked. He was sitting across the table, meticulously straightening the stacks of files in front of him. Thompson was a note taker, and since we were off book, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

  “Nothing yet,” Webster said, clicking the mouse on his laptop a few times. “Everyone has a description, so it’s just a matter of time.”

  “Yeah, because it’s not like it took us over a decade to find Osama bin Laden,” Heathcliff mumbled under his breath. Mark sighed heavily, and the rest of the group ignored his comment.

  “Parker.” I turned at the sound of my name. Sullivan was staring at me. “If Antonio Vincenzo’s been following your movements this entire time, someone must be filling him in.”

  “It was probably the waitress that moonlights as an au pair for one of his higher-ups,” I replied.

  “What about Ernie Papadakis?” she asked. “He runs Infinity, but Vincenzo pulls the strings.”

  “Dammit.” I forgot about Ernie and his role in all of this. Losing sight of the forest because of all the damn trees was happening far too frequently.

  “Get a team over there now,” Cooper ordered. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one suffering from nearsightedness. “After last night, Vito’s cutting ties for his own protection.”

  * * *

  From the doorway, I stared into Ernie’s apartment, feeling responsible. The marshals had been stationed outside all day. No one entered or left, and there was no indication anything was amiss, except for the corpse lying on the bathroom floor next to the broken metal shower rod. The marshals sent in their own team of investigators to work alongside the Bureau’s coroner and forensics unit.

  “COD?” I asked one of the guys in the dark blue jumpsuits as he pushed a gurney past me through the open door.

  “Dr. Jeffries has ruled out the hanging as the cause of death. Preliminary evaluation seems to indicate blunt force trauma to the skull,” the assistant replied.

  “The guy’s brains are all over the corner of the vanity and the floor,” Mark so eloquently stated. “I’d say he tried to hang himself, and when the shower rod broke, he tumbled into the Formica. And it was lights out.”

  “Someone get phone records. Check the mail. I don’t care what it is but figure out how Vito got to him,” I barked.

  Storming out of the apartment as if I were on a mission, I found myself standing outside in the pouring rain, doubled-
over and doing my best to keep my stomach contents on the inside. Another one bites the dust, the inane lyrics played a macabre tune in my head, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl out of my own skin. An escape from my own sick, twisted subconscious mind and my lethally failing deductive reasoning and impaired decision-making abilities would have been a great relief at the moment. Too bad they didn’t sell electroshock therapy from street vendors, at least not in this neighborhood.

  “Parker?” Webster called, exiting the apartment building. “Hey,” he stood next to me, uncomprehending, “what are you doing?”

  “Having a picnic. What the hell does it look like?” He seemed confused but had the foresight not to respond to my rhetorical question.

  “We found a throwaway in Ernie’s apartment. He received a text message almost six hours ago. From the coroner’s estimation, it looks like he spent a couple hours working up the nerve before ending things.”

  My stomach twisted, and I felt the bile rise in my throat. Swallowing the burning acid, I met Webster’s eyes. “We should have stopped this. I should have realized it sooner. It didn’t have to go this way.”

  “Parker,” his tone was softer, “it’s not...”

  “My fault?” I cut in. “Right. Do you really believe that?” Scrutinizing him, I continued, “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” Standing up straight, I strode back to the building.

  “Alex.” Mark was in the living room. The bathroom was occupied by a couple techs as they checked the body for evidence and photographed the scene before removing him. “We’ve upped the security at the safe house where Harrigan is, and we have teams keeping an eye on Infinity staff, particularly Gretchen and Mary, just to be on the safe side. Do you want an additional unit sent to Marty’s?”

  “There’s no reason.” My conviction was hollow. I knew Mark would use his own judgment, so my response was pointless. “Vito’s eliminating anyone who could be a danger to him, those who know of his club connections and maybe about the dirty cops. Martin doesn’t know anything about any of this.”

  “Who does? Give me some names,” Mark insisted.

  “Gretchen. Mary.” I rubbed my face. “I don’t know. Me.”

  “We’ll keep a closer eye on Det. Hoskins. Even though he’s in protective custody, he started looking into the connection in the first place, and with dirty cops, who knows who can be trusted.” He watched as I exhaled uncomfortably. “Go downstairs and wait in the car. While you’re there, give the office an update.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “That wasn’t a request. Follow orders, Agent Parker.”

  “Yes, sir,” I grumbled. Mark wasn’t pushing; this time, he was just watching out for me.

  Getting into the passenger’s side, I knocked my head against the seatback. Dammit, I cursed and slammed my fist repeatedly on the dash. Hopefully, no one was around because it probably looked like I was having an awful seizure or mercilessly killing a swarm of bees. Only when the glove box popped open did I pause, kick it closed, and stop. The side of my hand was throbbing.

  “I’m sorry, Ernie,” I said aloud to the empty air space. Biting my lip, I called Cooper.

  Ten minutes later, Mark opened the driver’s side door and glanced inside. “Are you okay?”

  “No, but we have work to do. Moretti’s meeting with the commissioner now, and we don’t have time to sit around and wait for more of the case to end itself. We’ve been ordered back to HQ, and if Moretti gets the go-ahead, we’ll have a tac team on standby to assist in bringing in Captain Stephens.”

  Thirty

  I was in TacOps, tactical operations, watching the team prepare. The commissioner had given Moretti the go-ahead, and after informing the DA’s office of the situation and locating a judge willing to sign an arrest warrant, we were set to move. The men suiting up were all federal agents trained for crisis situations. With any luck, the warrant would be served, and Stephens would come along quietly.

  Lt. Moretti and Thompson were the only two police personnel present. O’Connell had been ordered to stay away, and I think that was by Thompson’s insistence to protect his partner from psychopaths involved in organized crime. Mark was standing with the three of us, watching as everyone was briefed on the situation. SAC Cooper donned a tactical vest and lifted an assault rifle; apparently, he transferred from hostage negotiation.

  “Glad to know the monotone voice was put to good use in the past,” I joked.

  “Cooper’s an expert marksman,” Mark said, “but he isn’t the greatest at leading the desk brigade.”

  “Takes time,” Moretti chimed in. “Leadership is leadership, but it’s different tactics to get these hardheads to listen.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Mark added as Thompson and I exchanged a look. Obviously, we were the lot who was difficult to corral. Before the conversation could continue further, Sullivan burst into the room, paper in hand.

  “Warrant’s signed,” she announced, “and Stephens is at home.”

  “Let’s move,” Cooper ordered, and the group assembled marched out the door.

  * * *

  Maybe it was professional courtesy or the hope Stephens would act more civil in front of his own men that sent Lt. Moretti knocking on the front door. The tactical team was covering the perimeter, but they were pulled back pretty far. Cooper was the exception to the rule as he stood on the side of the doorway beside Mark. Thompson and I were covering the only other exit, the back door.

  “Captain,” Moretti called after he rang the bell, “open up. We need to talk.” Stephens’ wife, Margaret, answered the door. Thompson and I heard the commotion from our side of the house, but we were waiting for a signal before moving inside. “Ma’am,” Moretti began, but the rest of his words were cut off as he entered the house.

  Thompson signaled to check the windows, and we circled in opposite directions across the back before the radio squawked to life. Immediately, we returned to the door, and I counted us off. Thompson kicked the door in, and I entered first, staying low to the ground with my gun at the ready. Thompson was behind me, and we quickly located the cause of the radio call.

  Stephens was seated behind his desk, a glass of bourbon next to him and his service piece in his hand. Margaret was standing in the corner of the room, screaming at him to stop. Moretti was in front of him, trying to talk him down while Mark and Cooper flanked either side, guns at the ready. I couldn’t see someone else commit suicide, not today.

  “I always knew the past would catch up with me,” Stephens said, finishing his drink and waving his gun around as if he were gesturing with a fork and not a loaded weapon. “Things were different then. The job was different. I tried to get out from under this mess, but I couldn’t.”

  “Captain, please,” Moretti tried again, “put down the gun. There’s no reason for anyone to get hurt.”

  “C’mon, Dom,” Stephens was talking to Moretti, “you and I both know what they do to cops in prison. And with the things I’ve done, there’s no way I’d walk.”

  “Honey,” Margaret pleaded from the corner of the room, “I don’t understand. Stop this foolishness.”

  “Maggie,” he focused on her, “I love you.” He looked at me. “Get her out of here.” Cooper gave a slight nod, and I went to Margaret and spoke quietly, trying to encourage her to leave the room. She shrieked and lunged forward. I grabbed her around the waist and hauled her away, kicking and screaming.

  “Mrs. Stephens, calm down. Please, ma’am, no one wants to see your husband get hurt. You need to contain yourself, and let us do our job.” She continued to fight, so I dragged her into the nearest room and shut the door. Releasing her, I blocked the exit. “I’m sorry.” She crumpled to the floor and began to sob. Having ovaries shouldn’t mean I had to be the shoulder to cry on, even though part of me would have loved nothing more than to curl up on the floor and cry too. Today really was just one of those days.

  The reverb from a single gunshot echoed through the house, and my blood ran cold.
I spun around, cracked the door open, and listened. I heard Thompson’s radio asking for an update, and a few tactical guys breached the front door cautiously.

  “Stand down,” Moretti ordered, coming out of the room with Stephens in cuffs.

  “It was a misfire. Stand down,” Cooper repeated the order through the radio, and the tactical teams pulled back.

  “Maggie, it’ll be okay,” Stephens insisted as I held her back while Moretti and Cooper escorted him outside.

  “A little help here,” I called to Mark and Thompson. Mark did his soothing, calm in a crisis situation thing while Thompson and I looked on unhelpfully. “What happened?” I whispered. The gunshot had set us all on edge.

  Thompson pulled me out of earshot and said, “Stephens was about to eat his gun when Cooper crossed the room and knocked it from his hand. Moretti lunged and cuffed him.”

  “Ma’am, we’ll have some officers wait with you. Is there anyone you can stay with for a few days? Relatives or friends?” Mark asked, reaching for her cordless house phone.

  Margaret had a sister an hour away, who was willing to pick her up, so Thompson and I were given sentry duty and instructed to wait and make sure she got out of here in one piece. Half the tactical team was still outside on standby to ensure she wasn’t in any danger by an outside assailant.

  Thompson and I sat in the living room, watching Margaret as if she were an exotic animal. We were afraid to get too close, but at the same time, we didn’t want to leave her unattended. During our wait, we took her statement, and we both tried to question her about Stephens, any recent changes to his behavior, and anything else we could think to ask. She had little to offer as she finished a box of tissues. Finally, her sister arrived, and after recording the address, telephone number, and ensuring we could reach her at a moment’s notice, we let her go. It had been a long day.