by G. K. Parks
Martin was standing in the doorway to the second floor. I closed my car door, pretending not to notice him, and kept my head down as I walked toward the stairs.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly.
I got to the top of the steps, and he reached for me. But I stepped past him and into the living room. “Yeah.” I wasn’t sure how long my emotionless resolve would last. “I’m okay.”
Mark knew me well enough to keep his distance for fear that I might lash out. I caught his eye, and he could tell immediately I had bad news. “Do you want to sit?” Mark asked, but I shook my head, turning to Martin.
“James.” I used his first name, and he knew instinctively something was wrong. “You might want to take a seat.” I swallowed and avoided his gaze. He sat without question or protest. “Suzanne Griffin’s dead. Fatal gunshot wound. They found her body in the dumpster outside my apartment building.” Dragging my gaze from the floor, I looked up at him. His eyes were full of shock, concern, and pain.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. Did he not just hear what I said? His expression seemed sad and a little guilty.
“I’m okay,” I said slowly, even though I was sick of him asking this inane question.
“I’m glad.” He disappeared upstairs.
I looked at Mark, who shook his head slightly. I wasn’t going to follow; I was barely holding myself together.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Mark asked, grabbing two beers from the fridge.
“What part? The part where everything I own is destroyed and the sanctity of my home no longer exists?” Pull it together, Parker. “Or the part where someone’s gotten tired of this shit and is making sure there aren’t any remaining loose ends left, which most likely means Martin and I are getting closer to the top of that hit list?” So much for being emotionless and compartmentalizing.
“Either,” he said, taking a drink from the bottle.
“Why don’t you tell me how your night went instead?” I needed something else to occupy my mind.
“Easier if I can show you,” he replied, but I shook my head. I didn’t want to risk seeing Martin. His sorrow and remorse would likely throw me over the edge. Mark realized what he implied and attempted to backtrack. “I’ll just tell you about it for now.”
“Did you get a name? Anything?” I didn’t feel like dealing with elaborate explanations. I just wanted simple answers.
“The individual shell companies are set up so intricately we can’t track them back to one person, but the cash withdrawal from the Caymans didn’t go into a corporation. It was filtered back into a personal account which belongs to,” he paused for dramatic effect while I stared, unenthused, “Todd Jackson.”
“So? We already suspected that.” I didn’t see what the fuss was about.
“Yes, but Marty’s figured out a way to follow it backwards to when the money was initially moved in order to identify who gave the authorization.”
I wasn’t entirely sure how that was even possible, but if Mr. Genius could figure it out, who was I to criticize. “You got a name or authorization or whatever?”
“We have the authorization number. Martin’s checking with the corporate bank to get a name. He should have it by morning.” One down, only a million more to go.
“Did you ever get word about the plant footage, and who the saboteur might be?” While he was here, I might as well get as much useful information out of him as possible.
“There weren’t any good angles, and they couldn’t get a clear enough view of his face.” He went to his jacket and removed the disk from his pocket. “I was going to give this back to you earlier, but–” his voice trailed off.
“The shit hit the fan,” I retorted, scowling.
“How bad is it?”
I slumped further into the couch, pulling my knees to my chest. “My place is trashed. Everything’s destroyed. It’s a fucking mess.” I rubbed the corner of my eye.
“If there’s anything,” he began.
“I know, but I can’t think about that right now. I have to be focused here. Griffin’s dead,” I whispered, afraid Martin, two floors above, would hear.
“Any leads?”
“They haven’t even officially identified her, so I doubt it. I knew this would happen. I had a feeling on Saturday when we couldn’t locate her. Things were fine yesterday, and now look.” My volume increased, and I tried to calm down.
“It’s not your fault.”
“I never said it was.” I practically jumped down his throat. “For all I know, that psychotic bitch was the one who broke into my apartment.” I glanced at the stairs, hoping my voice didn’t travel. “Those loose ends are being cut, but I don’t know how a security guard being paid off and a secretary being murdered fit into anything. Who the hell cares about some photos? What? I’m supposed to be scared shitless because someone’s been following me and taking pictures or because they know who I am and where I live? Get in fucking line,” I growled. “We make enemies. That’s the job.”
Mark waited for my venting to stop. When I didn’t say anything else, he decided it was safe to speak. “Jackson was paid to leave the box in your office, even though, technically, you weren’t going into work, and then the box was left in your apartment, even though you haven’t been there for days. Do they have bad intel, or are they just that stupid? Maybe the box and photos are meant to scare you away from Marty?”
“Unless they were staking out my apartment, they wouldn’t know I haven’t been there, and more importantly, I don’t scare easily. The problem is whoever’s behind this knows who I really am. They aren’t fooled by the girlfriend act.” When would the ME determine Griffin’s time of death? “For all I know, the box could have been sitting in my apartment since Saturday after the attempt to leave it in my office failed.”
“True,” Mark said. We needed a way to narrow it down. “Looks like we’re waiting for O’Connell and Thompson to come up with some better answers.” I hated waiting. I really did. “I’m staying the night. Why don’t you get some sleep? Marty’s mentioned how you’ve been dozing on the couch, and given the current situation, you need to be alert and functioning at one hundred and ten percent. I’ll keep an eye out.”
I was going to protest since it wasn’t likely I’d sleep much, if at all, but I could use the solace of isolation to get a grip on everything. “Are you sure?” I asked, and he nodded. “Okay.”
I went to my room and shut the door. Stripping down, I stepped into the shower and tried to wash away the negative feelings and events from today. My tears mixed with the hot water before vanishing down the drain. Once my crying subsided, I dried off, put on an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts, and crawled into bed. The noise on the stairs had to be Mark or Martin, and I resisted the urge to investigate. There was nothing for me to worry about with Mark on sentinel duty. I shut my eyes, hoping tomorrow would be better.
Twenty-nine
“Morning, sunshine,” Mark greeted from the dining room table. I glared at him and sat down. It was early, and Martin wasn’t up yet. “How’d you sleep?”
“Pretty good, considering.” I had to admit not having to be on alert actually allowed a few restful hours of sleep.
Mark was reading the paper and drinking coffee. I decided to forgo the caffeine; I was jittery enough. Staring at the paper in front of his face, I sat quietly until he got tired of feeling my eyes on him.
“What?” he asked.
I honestly didn’t have a clue. I wanted answers, and I wanted to make some heads roll. The question was how to go about making these things happen.
“I want this son of a bitch.” I was determined, and he noticed the intensity in my eyes.
“You’ll get him. We’ll get him.”
I picked up the plant surveillance disk and turned it over in my hands. The answers were here. I just had to get to them.
“Morning, sexy,” Mark called.
Martin stumbled into the living room. His hair was wil
dly unkempt, and his eyes were red. He looked like hell. Was he drinking again last night? Either that or he wasn’t a completely self-centered egotist. Cool it, Parker. I knew Martin better than that. The problem was me. I was angry at everyone, and although I knew intellectually my apartment being ransacked was not his fault, it was his problem I got dragged into. I did my best to push the resentment away.
“I get a sunshine, and he gets a sexy,” I whined. “How exactly is that fair?”
Mark looked at me once again like I lost my mind, but he kept his mouth shut. I was used to getting those looks by now. Martin had yet to acknowledge either of us and instead rummaged through the couch cushions, looking for something.
“Shit,” Martin growled, slamming his hand down.
Great, with the mood he was in, we were going to literally kill each other today. I looked at Mark, doing my best to convey I wasn’t ready to deal with Martin. Mark got up to see if he could assist, and I went to the back door, entered the security code, and stepped outside.
Some distance from Martin and his drama might be just what I needed at the moment, so I sat on one of the chaises by the pool, watching as the wind blew the water across the surface. My reflection in the rippled water was only barely decipherable. The only thing I could definitively make out was the shiny reflection of my watch. The light bulb flashed inside my brain, and I jumped up and ran back to the house.
Grabbing the surveillance disk off the table, I went into the living room. Mark and Martin were discussing something, but I paid them no attention. I sat on the coffee table and inserted the disk. Hitting play and then fast forward, I waited until the suspect came on the screen and froze the footage.
“I got you,” I exclaimed to the television. Mark and Martin stopped talking and turned to me. I pointed to the screen. “The watch.” Still, no comprehension dawned on them. “Take this back and have the watch face enhanced.” I ejected the disk and shoved it at Mark. “I will bet that isn’t a run-of-the-mill watch. It’s too large and too damn shiny.” Denton’s diamond encrusted watch face flashed through my mind, but I couldn’t tell from the footage if they were one and the same. However, if I could find a bookie willing to take my bet, I would have put a few grand on that possibility.
“Get the watch, we get the guy.” Mark smiled, catching on.
Martin seemed to see me for the first time since last night but didn’t say anything. We cautiously studied each other for a few moments, sensing uncertainty and maybe some resentment boiling just beneath the surface. My resolve to be less angry seemed much easier now, given how utterly miserable he looked.
“I’m already out the door,” Mark announced, grabbing his keys and jacket. He slipped the disk into his pocket. “Are you gonna be all right?” Martin nodded, and Mark went down the steps to the garage.
“Do you need anything?” I asked quietly. Perhaps extreme mood swings was a contagious disease. Martin shook his head. He wasn’t himself. He lacked focus, drive, and everything that made him an infuriating, arrogant, and brilliant man. To coddle or not to coddle, that was my current dilemma. I didn’t do emotions and feelings usually. At least I didn’t do them well. “Go take a shower and make yourself presentable. God knows what’s going to happen today.”
He pressed his lips together, thinking. Then he headed back up the stairs without uttering a word.
After his door closed, I picked up my phone and called O’Connell. After two rings, he answered. We exchanged some basic pleasantries and got down to business.
“What have you got for me?” I asked, hoping he’d still be amenable to playing ball even in the light of day.
“Positive ID was made on Griffin. She was shot twice in the chest from close range with a small caliber handgun. No one’s seen anything. TOD still needs to be narrowed down, but our best estimate is twelve to twenty-four hours from the time we found her remains.”
My guess was Griffin was murdered Monday night after work, but I had no solid facts to substantiate my claim. Briefly, I considered the possibility Todd had done it, but O’Connell didn’t think so. My gut tended to agree.
“What about the apartment?” I asked, no longer able to think of it as my apartment. It was simply the scene of a crime.
“Prints on the box matched Griffin and Jackson. We got a couple of partials on some of the photos, but they aren’t in the database. And we don’t have anyone else to run comparisons on.” And then there were three. “The rest of the place was clean, despite the huge mess.”
I ignored his attempt to joke. “I’m juggling on this end, working two separate angles. If either pans out, I’ll give you a call.”
“Is everything okay? I can spare a couple of guys to patrol if you want.”
I thought about it but figured more attention would likely do more harm than good. “We can manage, but I’ll be in touch.” I hung up, trying to recall how many things were still in the works. The watch and the bank account authorization, was that it? Or was I forgetting about something?
I sat on the couch, pondering over the last few days, reminding myself it had only been six days since the hot dog cart explosion in front of the MT building. Everything was happening in overdrive, and whoever was behind this was escalating their attack strategy. Two conspirators had been removed from the picture. One was in custody, and the other was dead. We had partial prints for a third, but were there more?
Martin came down the stairs, freshly showered and his hair slightly wet. He went into the kitchen, retrieved a cup of coffee, and headed for the second floor office. I waited a beat before getting up and following him.
“You can’t ignore me forever.” Excellent use of melodrama, my internal voice chided.
He turned, cocking an eyebrow in confusion. “I wasn’t aware I had been ignoring you.” Obviously, the irritating Martin was still in there despite the ennui, but his words lacked their normal banter.
“Maybe I was embellishing just a bit.” I gave him a tentative smile and took a breath. “Are you okay?” I asked sincerely.
“Funny, I thought that was my line that you didn’t quite care for.”
“Look, if you want to be angry or pissed off, that’s fine. If you want to take it out on me because it will make you feel better, that’s okay too. Hell, I’m pissed. I’m chasing my tail in circles, waiting for something to point me in the right direction. Meanwhile, shit keeps happening, and we’re not getting anywhere fast.”
He spun his chair around to face me. I wasn’t sure what to expect, if it would be a verbal attack, a breakdown, or something else entirely, so I waited. He considered his words carefully. “I want my life back. I want my company back. I don’t want to worry about answering the phone or opening an e-mail or walking outside.”
His honesty floored me, and I took a step back as if I had been struck. That was exactly why I was here. “Okay.” I felt the intensity of my newfound conviction. “Okay,” I repeated as I left his office. I picked up my phone and called O’Connell back. “How do you feel about a civilian ride-along? Do you want to knock down some doors? I’m getting tired of waiting for the answers to come to me.”
“I might be able to swing it. We’d be checking into some leads in an ongoing investigation.” He wanted to make my request seem plausible.
“Great, I’ll see you in a half hour.” I found Martin standing in the living room.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To get your life back. I’m sorry it’s taken so long.” I put on my shoulder holster and tightened it, checking the magazine and making sure everything was in working order before snapping my gun into place. After zipping my jacket, I made sure my spare was close by in the event he needed it for anything.
“I didn’t,” he began, but I stopped him by placing my finger on his lips.
“You hired me to do this. Let me do my job.” I was determined. I was pissed, and most of all, I was sick and tired of sitting on my ass while someone continued to destroy my small semblance of a li
fe.
Thirty
I arrived at the police station a little earlier than planned, so I used the extra few minutes to call Mark and tell him I was checking into things with O’Connell. Then I asked if he could keep an eye on Martin. I felt bad for sending him to the OIO only to ask him to return to Martin’s, but he didn’t argue. He just agreed. That was one of the things I liked about Mark; he would do what needed to be done. And he promised to call the moment the image enhancement was complete. Next, I called Martin and told him to expect Mark and asked for the banking information to be passed along as soon as he got it. He wasn’t pleased by having a different babysitter, but he let it go. Finally, O’Connell met me at the front desk of the precinct.
“What did you want to look into?” O’Connell asked.
“I’m waiting on a couple of calls, but I thought we could go through what you’ve already gotten.” Hopefully, he would see this as a fair trade. He had an open murder on his hands and wanted answers just as badly as I did.
We went up to his desk, and he handed me Todd Jackson’s file and the coroner’s report on Suzanne Griffin. I read through each one carefully, trying to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Jackson agreed to provide corroborating evidence against the main conspirator, but he insisted he had no idea who it was. Griffin had been shot at close range with a small caliber handgun. There wasn’t much to tell. Ballistics were running the slugs and trying to match them to a weapon now, but it was too soon to know anything definitive.
“Did you get any video footage from my building?” I asked after reading the reports.
“The cameras were busted, but a few of your neighbors remember seeing an unfamiliar man and woman lurking about.”
“Did you get a description?”
“Nothing that stood out. Basically, average height, average build, and average looking. We passed around Griffin’s photo, but no positive ID was made. You know how reliable eyewitnesses are.”