Suspicion of Murder

by G. K. Parks

  He raised an eyebrow questioningly, assessing my expression before agreeing and hanging up. He got out of his chair, turned off his computer, and threw the file from his desk into the locked cabinet before picking up his jacket and leaving his office.

  “Good night, Ms. Parker.”

  “Night, Mr. Martin,” I responded automatically. The floor was empty, and I let out a sigh. Nothing was settled, and yet people who were living ordinary lives could be overjoyed when a business meeting went well. Why wasn’t I one of those people? Could I be one of those people?

  Meeting Martin in the garage, Marcal opened the back door, and I slid into the car. Martin put up the privacy screen and turned to me. “Excellent presentation. If I didn’t know you better, I would have thought you were actually focused and convicted to the concepts you were expounding. What happened at the OIO today?”

  “It’s too soon to tell.” I had no way of knowing what was still to come.

  He didn’t like my answer, but he didn’t have any desire to pick a fight. “You look like you need a hug.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  Thirty-seven

  My life was in shambles. At least that’s what it felt like as I stared at the textured ceiling in Martin’s bedroom. He left for work hours ago, and I still felt lost. Ever since getting shot at Infinity, I was emotionally compromised. It’s what led to running scared, getting in bed with Vito, and making all the other blunders. Even now, with Gates dead and my reinstatement revoked, nothing was resolved. O’Connell was right; I needed to establish an insurance policy. My cell phone buzzed across the nightstand, and I answered for lack of anything better to do.

  “We need to talk,” Mark began without so much as a greeting. “Are you still at Marty’s or have you decided you’re a big girl who can stay by herself?”

  “Martin’s.” I didn’t have any fight left.

  “Okay, I’ll be there in an hour.” After we disconnected, I got out of bed and made myself presentable. Mark arrived with a box of files, a bag of donuts, and a couple of lattes. “Peace offering.”

  “Right.” I picked up a cup and found a chocolate crème in the bag. “What’d you want to talk about?”

  “What really happened over the past month.” He popped the lid off the other coffee and shoved a donut in his mouth as he began emptying the contents of the box. “This is all off the books. Kendall doesn’t know about any of this. Neither does Cooper or Moretti,” he supplied around a mouthful of donut.

  “I know what off the books means.” Going into the guestroom, I returned with my own file box full of information, and we got to work.

  A couple hours later, our theory was reasonably sound, backed by as much evidence and coincidence as possible, and there weren’t many unanswered questions left. “Obviously, there’s a certain degree of supposition,” I provided, “but do you want to hear how the whole thing played out?”

  “Go ahead. I’ve been waiting for your rendition for a few weeks.”

  “Antonio Vincenzo planned the heists in all of his clubs, probably for the insurance money. He was using one set of funds to bankroll another, and the two ends were failing to meet in the middle. The clubs and liquor supplier were supposed to be cleaning his money, not bankrupting him, but staging a few burglaries would get him back in the black.”

  “The financial information from the first two club heists corroborates this theory,” Mark pointed out, holding up a couple sheets of paper.

  “Heist zero, the one at The Odessa, was a practice run. My guess is Stephens was in Vincenzo’s pocket, probably had been ever since he and his two rookie pals were moonlighting as enforcers for the mob. So The Odessa heist was swept under the rug by the Cap, but because Detective Hoskins is actually good at his job, he didn’t let it go. Vincenzo must have believed burglary division would discover his money laundering and feared that would lead to the corrupt cops he was paying off, so the calls IAD and the FBI received were distraction tactics. If the investigation pointed to a crooked cop, no one would look too closely at the seemingly unconnected club owners. Vito must have planned to set up a cop all along.”

  “Why do you think Papadakis hired you if they wanted this to be kept quiet?” Mark loved to blow holes through my theories.

  “Ernie didn’t know.” I snorted. “For all intents and purposes, he was an idiot. He honestly feared his club would be next, and his silent partners didn’t tell him otherwise. I should have told him otherwise.”

  “Alexis.” He tried to derail my pity party, but I was already back on track.

  “Tuesday, the day after Ernie hired me, I showed up to the club unannounced and spotted him in the back room, talking to one of Vito’s guys. That must have been when he told them who I was.”

  “Which would explain why the outside cameras were disconnected on Thursday.”

  “The day I began waitress training.”

  “Damn,” Mark rubbed his chin, “that had to be when Vincenzo planned everything. What better way to distract from the actual crime and turn the situation into a bumbled burglary turned murder, especially when he could blame the burglary cops for it. Do you think it was Stephens or Vito that sent Gates after you?”

  “I don’t know. The police cruiser parked outside might have been supplied to Gates by Stephens. Stephens could have managed to get it to him while bypassing the paperwork, and then when we tried to track it through precinct records, nothing substantial ever surfaced. So who knows?”

  “Stephens was willing to eat his gun over this. That tells me one thing; he was in too deep. He must have been Vito’s lapdog.” We sat silently, letting the facts and theory sink in. “The photos the FBI got of Hoskins on scene were faked, and the missing shell casings and bullet from Harrigan all could have disappeared because of Stephens.”

  “Mark, do you think there are more dirty cops out there? I mean we’re talking forensic evidence being tampered with, photos faked, files altered. Do you honestly believe one guy could have done it alone?”

  “Keep in mind, that one guy was in charge of telling everyone else what to do. I’m sure he didn’t act alone, but there’s a fine line between following orders and being an accomplice. But that pretty much concludes everything, doesn’t it? It explains how Stephens and Vito were connected, why you were attacked, and how Vito found a way to easily manipulate you.”

  “The son of a bitch played me like a well-worn violin, and every move I made was exactly what he wanted,” I angrily declared, getting up and circling the kitchen. “He tries to paint me as a murderer, and I run. He pops up after my meeting with Gretchen and offers to make my problems go away, and I cave.”

  “You were desperate. Desperate times and all.”

  “Except I didn’t get desperate enough until Martin was threatened. He’s my Achilles heel, and Vito had no problem taking advantage.”

  “I’m not sure that was Vito,” Mark responded. “They were the same guys that went after O’Connell’s wife. Spinelli and Perkins are overzealous cops that were mentored by some hardcore old-schoolers. But I’m sure Stephens encouraged the idea. Maybe he reported it to Vito.”

  “Either way, the first thing I did was run to that motherfucker.” I contemplated slamming my head into the table, but it would be too on the nose to try to knock some sense into my thick skull. “I wanted assurances, protection.”

  “And now you need protection from the slimeball.” He sighed. “Why the hell didn’t you come to me? How could you let this get blown so far out of proportion?” He was harping on the same point since the moment I called him that eventful Sunday morning.

  “It’s me.” I blinked a few times. “Before this thing even started, I had this ominous feeling. I wasn’t sleeping, barely eating. And then things just happened. Unexpected things.”

  “You have instincts. You always did.” He looked glum. “So why the hell did you throw rational thought out the window?”

  “I didn’t realize it until it was too late.” His
look of disappointment was back, and it made my stomach ache. “Before things get worse, I’m taking measures to stop them.”

  “What are you planning?”

  “Mutually assured destruction.”

  He listened intently as I went over my idea to confront Vito, threaten him with evidence and blackmail, and guarantee if anything happened to me or anyone I knew, then he would be destroyed. “You’re insane,” he commented, watching as I separated my files into three piles. “But it might just be enough to keep the devil at bay.”

  “It’s all I can do. If not,” I swallowed, “well, it is just a matter of time, isn’t it?”

  “Alex,” he touched my arm, “I won’t let anything happen to you. Get the information together, get your safety deposit boxes, your lawyer’s instructions, and whatever else you’re going to need in order. But this is preventative. It will never be used.”

  “You can’t promise that. I got myself into this mess, and I’ll get myself out, one way or another.”

  “Under no circumstances are you meeting Vincenzo alone. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He turned at the sound of footsteps from the floor below. “Does Marty know any of this?”

  “No, and he’s not going to.” Mark nodded and lifted the two boxes from the table and took them back to the guestroom. Apparently, we were in agreement about something.

  * * *

  The next day, I rode with Martin to work, where I picked up the HR files, and then hailed a cab. There were a lot of things I needed to accomplish. I opened two separate safe deposit boxes in two different banks, each containing exact copies of the evidence I had on Vincenzo. Honestly, it wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. The third set of files was delivered to the law offices of Ackerman, Baze, and Clancy. They were a high-powered firm which Martin used for his personal matters and which I had brief dealings. Handing off a sealed manila envelope with precise instructions to junior partner Jack Fletcher, I knew my instructions would be followed to the letter. They weren’t to open or divulge any of the information unless they received proof of my demise.

  I hailed a taxi; my next stop was a rental car agency where I picked up a set of wheels. My insurance adjuster was assessing my vehicle, but I didn’t think bullet holes were covered in my policy. At some point, I’d have to go car shopping and move back into my apartment, but tonight didn’t feel like the night to do it. By the time I made it back to Martin’s, he was already home, preparing dinner.

  “I’m glad you’re still here.” He uncorked a bottle of wine. “There was the possibility you disappeared once again.”

  “If I did disappear, would you look for me?” It was a strange question to ask, and he put the wine down, puzzled.

  “Wouldn’t you be at your apartment or work?”

  “It was just a question,” I covered. “Y’know, maybe I’d grow tired of all this lavishness and disappear in the night, never to be heard from again.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.” I looked away and rummaged in my bag for one of the two safety deposit box keys.

  “I might. You never know.” It was meant to sound teasing, but it didn’t. “In case that ever happens, I want you to have this.” I handed him the key. “But only if I’m gone without a trace, don’t open it otherwise. Do you understand?”

  “Alex,” he focused entirely on me, “what aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing.” I examined the floor. “Everything’s fine. It’s just one of those stupid what ifs. If I remember correctly, you have your own doomsday scheme hatched too, and since I love you, it’s about time I give you a heads up in advance, unlike the emergency contact thing.” He didn’t look convinced, but he picked up the key, opened his wall safe in his second floor office, and stuck it inside.

  “I never want to know what that key will unlock.” I didn’t want to either.

  Plastering a grin on my face, I added, “Dammit, that’s where the safe was this entire time. Crap.”

  “Sorry,” he enveloped me in his arms, “I don’t have any other trips planned.” The only sound in the kitchen was the bubbling of the contents on the stove. Before he released his grip, he whispered in my ear, “I don’t want anything to happen to you. Alex, promise everything will be okay.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen. Not if I can help it.” I clung to him a moment longer than I should, unable to come up with a joking remark. Things were serious, and only time would tell what the future might hold.

  Thirty-eight

  The next day, I loaded the rental car with the majority of my belongings and set out for my apartment. The place had been abandoned for so long that everything was covered in a light layer of dust from disuse. After filling the washing machine, I did a quick once-over of all the surfaces, vacuumed at breakneck speed, and packed an overnight bag. I decided to stay at Martin’s for the rest of the week. My apartment felt eerily quiet, as if someone would jump out of the closet at any moment.

  Before I made it to my front door, my phone rang. It was Heathcliff, wanting to know where I was. After divulging the information, he asked that I sit tight and he and O’Connell would be over soon. What the boys in blue wanted, I didn’t know, but I waited patiently in my apartment, beginning the preliminary assessment for a permanent MT security consultant to begin phase two.

  “Jablonsky called yesterday,” O’Connell said as he and Heathcliff entered my apartment. “Although we were going to draw straws to decide who was going with you to visit Vincenzo, we thought you might prefer having some say in the matter.”

  “You can’t do this,” I warned. “You have Jen to think about. I’ll be fine.”

  “Told you that’s what she was going to say,” Heathcliff piped up. “Which is why I’m going with you.”

  “Derek,” I began, “you don’t need to get involved. It’ll be fine.”

  “If it’s going to be fine, then there’s no reason why you can’t have some back-up.”

  “But,” I tried again, “this is my mess.”

  “And I would rather not have to worry about Hoskins being proven right, ever. Jablonsky said you needed some support, and since he’ll be outside in case things sour, you need someone inside, preferably not a federal agent.”

  “But you’re a cop.”

  “Don’t worry, I remember a thing or two from my days working undercover in narcotics,” he clarified. “When do you want to do this?”

  I chuckled at my own procrastination attempt. “I’ve been afraid if I do it, it’ll be game over. But the longer I wait, same possible result, right?”

  O’Connell caught my eye and gave an encouraging look. “Is everything in place?”

  “As of yesterday. Mark and Martin have the safety deposit keys, and the lawyers have the rest. It can all be pieced together if it comes down to it.”

  “Then get it done tonight,” Nick suggested. “Heathcliff, go home and make yourself hoodlum appropriate, and Parker, call Jablonsky and get him to meet us here. The two of us will sit outside and keep an eye out.”

  “Nick.” I was prepared to argue.

  “I’m staying outside. He’ll never see me, and if he does, it’ll be the last thing he ever sees.” O’Connell was resolute. Heathcliff left, and we planned to reconvene at my place at seven before going to the bar where I had spoken twice to Vito. Third time’s a charm, I hope.

  * * *

  The dive bar was busier tonight than it had been, but the drunks were too far gone to pay any attention. Vito’s muscle was another story.

  “I’m here to see your boss. And no, I’m not going to make an appointment.”

  Heathcliff was a few steps behind me, dark glasses, tattered leather jacket, dark wash jeans with chains hanging from the pocket, and just enough scruff to pass for either a badass or a bum. With his outfit, I was leaning more toward badass.

  “Tony,” Vito called from the back booth, sounding bored, “let her through.” He eyed me suspiciously. “Still wearing
a wire?”

  “I’m off the job.” I wasn’t in the mood for any of this.

  “Who’s your friend?” Tony approached Heathcliff, who barely moved, but somehow, Tony ended up on the ground, clutching his stomach.

  “I’m her entourage,” Heathcliff snarled.

  I didn’t know about Vito or his goons, but I wouldn’t have wanted to mess with Heathcliff or run into him in a dark alley. Vito laughed and gestured to the other side of the booth, and Heathcliff sat at a stool, next to the seat Tony managed to pull himself onto.

  “Ms. Parker, it’s no longer agent?” Vito inquired.

  “No, it isn’t. I told you before, the corruption case was it. By the way, Gates is dead in case you wanted to send your condolences or maybe buy some flowers for his grave.”

  “It had to be done. He failed, and he became a liability.” Vito spoke with no remorse or emotion. “Maybe you did return that favor, after all.”

  “Mr. Vincenzo, I want to make one thing very clear. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t exist. I’ve never met you, spoke to you, or have otherwise encountered you. I’m not a federal agent, and any investigations into you and yours aren’t on me.” I leaned back in the booth. “That being said, I have what we’re going to call assurances in place. Just because I’m not gunning for you doesn’t mean I don’t have enough to bury you.” The words came out as a cold sneer.

  “Ah, I see.” He smiled, enjoying the dramatics. “Maybe you’re afraid of me.”

  “The only thing I’m afraid of is the lineup at the courthouse to take you down. There could be a traffic jam, car accidents, pedestrians run over in the haste. It’d be a shame if any innocents got hurt because of you. So that’s why I’m offering you the opportunity to avoid this.” Placing my palms on the table, I leaned forward. “If anything happens to me, every shred of evidence I have on you, your clubs, your involvement with Gates and Stephens, drugs, guns, girls, it’s all going to become public knowledge. Numerous copies will be sent to every high-ranking member of every alphabet soup agency you can think of. There will be no escape and no chance you’ll get away, not again.”