The Deepest Wound

by Rick Reed

  The door opened and Trent Wethington came in, followed closely by Eric Manson and county attorney Bob Rothschild. Unlike Pope, all of them looked well rested.

  “Trent, gentlemen,” Pope said, and motioned for them to take seats.

  “We won’t take much of your time, Marlin,” Trent said, and they remained standing in front of his desk.

  Pope stayed in his seat, resigned to what he knew was coming. “Okay.”

  “I’ll get right to the point, Marlin,” Trent said, and leaned forward, his hands on the chief’s desk. “I’ve contacted the State Police and suggested they take control of these investigations. I want Detective Murphy to stand down.”

  “I understand, Trent,” Pope said to a surprised audience.

  Trent straightened, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth. He adjusted the onyx cufflinks in his starched pink shirt. “I’m glad you understand, Marlin. We have discussed this at great length, and we believe it is the best course of action.”

  Trent started to turn toward the door—mission accomplished—but stopped when the chief of police said, “I understand, but I’m not taking Jack off the case.”

  Trent grew rigidly stiff. “I thought you would agree with me, Marlin. I’m disappointed you can’t see the downside of having a loose cannon like Jack Murphy running around out there.”

  “I guess I’m not real smart,” Pope said, pretending humility. “But don’t worry, Trent. Jack will play nice with the state investigators. And I’ll remind you—you’re not governor yet. You still have a responsibility to Evansville. Jack’s the best we’ve got and you know it.” Pope didn’t add that the state police investigators didn’t have a tenth of Murphy’s experience and skill.

  “You won’t be convinced?” Trent asked, recovering from the shock of someone countermanding what he said.

  Marlin read the comment as a threat, knowing Trent would go to the mayor—Pope’s boss—and have him ordered to take Murphy off the case. And the mayor would do just that. But in this case, he would have to refuse.

  Pope kept eye contact but didn’t reply, and Trent shook his head. “Well, I guess there’s nothing else to say.”

  “I guess not.”

  The prosecutor and his men filed out of the room.

  Pope stood and took his hat off the credenza. He straightened his uniform and walked into the outer office.

  “Jennifer,” he said, “I’m going to the hospital. Need to know, okay.”

  That was code for her to tell no one where he was. He was going to the hospital to see Liddell and show respect to Liddell’s wife. If the mayor didn’t like it, well . . . he was tired of being chief of police anyway.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  “Does that mean I can finally go home and get something to eat?” Liddell groused. When his breakfast had come, even Jack thought the portions were small.

  The nurse smiled at him and left the room without commenting.

  Liddell’s clothing and personal items had been thrown into a large plastic bag with ST. MARY’S HOSPITAL embossed on the side. Marcie began going through the bag, folding his bloody shirt and pants, and then held out his size fourteen triple-E shoes. “Is this is why you call him Bigfoot?”

  “It was that or Swamp Thing,” Jack said, glad to see her smile.

  “Hey!” Liddell protested. “I’m in the room, you know.”

  She stuffed his socks inside the shoes and slid the empty holster from his belt, then suddenly realized: “His gun is missing. So is his wallet and money and keys.”

  Jack and Liddell exchanged a knowing look.

  “I’m checking into it,” Jack said.

  “Checking into what,” said the chief from the doorway.

  Marcie went to Pope and bussed his cheek politely. “Thank you for coming, Marlin.”

  “I just wanted to come by . . .” Pope began, but seeing the condition Liddell was in, he was at a loss for the right comforting remark.

  “Thanks, Chief,” Liddell said. “They’re sending me home. I’m ready to get back to work.”

  “I think going home will be up to your doctor,” Pope answered, examining him more closely. “As far as coming back to work—we’ll see.”

  “While you’re here, Chief, I was just getting ready to call the captain to see if they found Liddell’s gun. Can we talk in the hall?” Jack asked.

  “I want to talk to you, too.” Pope spoke to Liddell for a moment, and assured Marcie they would be protected until this was over. “Walk with me, Jack,” he said, and they left the room.

  In the hallway Jack told him about the flash drive.

  Pope asked, “Is anything else missing?”

  Jack didn’t want to feed into the idea that what happened last night was a mugging, although it did look like a robbery. “His wallet, badge and ID, cash, and his gun, too.”

  “It wasn’t a robbery. Someone went to a lot of trouble, and a lot of risk, to get that flash drive.”

  Jack couldn’t hide his surprise that the chief was agreeing with him.

  Pope said, “Don’t look at me that way. I used to be a detective before I lost my mind and tested for rank.” Then he told Jack about Trent’s announcement that state police investigators were being called in.

  “I’ll cooperate with them completely,” Jack lied.

  Pope nodded, knowing that Jack would stonewall the state investigators as much as possible. In fact, he was counting on Jack’s insubordination.

  “So I’m still on the case?” Jack asked.

  “Like your partner is so fond of saying, ‘Does the Pope shit in the woods?’” the chief replied.

  Jack looked sheepish. “You know about that, huh?”

  “Oh, the things that I know.” Pope grinned and walked away.

  As Jack walked back to Liddell’s room, two things occurred to him. First, the chief had said nothing about Marcie shooting at someone last night. Second, the chief didn’t act surprised about the existence of the flash drive.

  He turned and ran to catch up with the chief.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  The conversation with the boss took a turn Clint wasn’t expecting.

  “We found the item you told me about. The big cop had it. Not Murphy,” Clint explained. “We had to hurt him to get it, but I don’t think he’s dead.”

  The response was dead silence. Clint continued quickly, “We tried to make it look like a street robbery, but some woman came out of the house with a gun and started shooting.”

  The line remained silent. Clint debated telling her about his being shot, but decided against it.

  “I know about the cop. He’s in the hospital. The woman was his wife. I have two questions for you.” She paused and Clint imagined she could see his nervousness. “Did you destroy the thing I asked you to?”

  With no hesitation he answered, “Yeah. I found it in the cop’s pocket. I smashed it with a rock and threw it in a farm pond.” He didn’t know why he was lying about destroying the flash drive, but his gut told him that if it was important enough to grab, it might be a good bargaining chip if all this went to shit—like it was threatening to.

  The voice that came through the phone receiver was barely controlled. “Can the woman identify either of you or the vehicle?”

  Clint heard the skepticism in her voice. Unless the client was a cop—and he didn’t believe that for one minute—the boss had someone close to the case in her pocket. That made him nervous. He felt the telephone grow sweaty against his ear.

  “We sank the vehicle in the farm pond. No one will find it for a long time. And we didn’t leave anything in it to lead anywhere.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah! I’m sure,” Clint said a little too forcefully, but she was making him mad. He would probably regret it, but he asked, “Why is that flash drive so important?” Then he realized his mistake and said, “I mean, why was it so important?”

  She said, “Here’s your new instructions.”

  Her men had perform
ed well—considering they had to improvise. If she’d been told about the problem sooner, she could have come up with a better plan.

  She was curious how the client could have let things get so out of hand. After all, he had an inside track. His continuing needs, along with all the changes of plans, made her look bad to her superiors.

  The company she worked for didn’t know about the client’s multitude of problems. If they had known, they wouldn’t have made the deal. But it was too late now.

  She turned her thoughts to the problem at hand. Book and Clint were good at what they did, but she’d never used them for a job like this one. She wondered if they would be able to keep it together much longer. Clint was starting to ask questions.

  Jobs were compartmentalized. She told them what they needed to know and nothing more. She planned, they executed. She could tell them to clean up the mess, and that would mean killing everyone involved. If the client weren’t so valuable, she would have Book put a bullet in his head. Make it look like a guilt-ridden suicide. Problem solved.

  In any case, she would have to make a decision about this cop Murphy. If he was as good as the client said he was, he might get onto her crew, and that would lead to a lot of questions, and possibly back to her.

  She didn’t want to retire her men early, but then again, c’est la vie. She’d heard about a couple of ex–Navy SEALs who were looking for work. Her primary job was to protect the company.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Eric sat at the kitchen table with Katie, sipping coffee while managing to look both overworked and apologetic. Moira had left for the office. It was the first time she and Eric had talked—much less been alone together—since their interrupted engagement party. She didn’t honestly know how she felt about his absence.

  “You know I’ll have to talk to Moira about taking evidence home, don’t you?”

  Katie had made it clear that she didn’t want to talk about Moira, but he still was pushing the issue. Putting her coffee down, she said, “Is that the only reason you came by? She’s my sister, Eric. I’m not her mother.”

  He turned his face away, but not before she saw his annoyance.

  “Look, Eric, she lives with me, but Moira’s a grown woman. She has a strong sense of loyalty, and family.”

  “Hardheaded is more like it,” he groused. “I’m sorry, Katie. I just don’t want you to be mad at me over this.”

  She thought, You have enough fences to mend here to worry about work, but she said nothing.

  He took her silence for agreement and reached across the table, putting a hand over her. “I love you, Katie Connelly.”

  Since she’d met him, he’d refused to call her by her married name of Murphy.

  She squeezed his hand and then pulled it back to pick up her coffee. “Me too,” she said.

  “I was surprised you were home when I called this morning,” he said, wanting to keep the conversation light. “Don’t you have classes?”

  They had been dating off and on for nine months, seriously for the last six, and sometimes she thought the only thing they shared was great sex. At times like this she realized they really didn’t know each other at all.

  “I go in early on Monday and Friday,” she explained once again. “We had breakfast here last Wednesday morning, Eric,” she reminded him.

  His look softened and he said, “What can I do to make you feel better?” He reached across the table and began rubbing her arms.

  She recognized the look on his face, and was horrified to see that he was thinking of sex.

  She stood up and pushed her chair in. “Shouldn’t you be going to work?”

  “You’re right,” he said, getting up from the table. “I guess I had better go.” He took his suit jacket from the back of the chair and left the kitchen.

  She felt guilty at the look of rejection on his face, but he still hadn’t explained why he hadn’t called. As the front door shut behind Eric, she wondered what was the matter. This definitely wasn’t the way a couple should behave if they were in love. And she did love Eric. Didn’t she?

  She would make it up to him tonight. She had at least two hours before she had to be at school. She could go to the store and buy something for a nice meal. Maybe some flowers to brighten the table.

  Then she thought about Marcie alone at the hospital, and her mood darkened. Marcie must be going crazy! And poor Jack. You would think he was the one who was beaten, given the look on his face last night.

  She grabbed her keys off the peg by the back door and hurried to her car.

  “Katie,” Marcie said with a surprised smile. “You’re just in time. He’s being released.”

  “They’re trying to starve me to death,” Liddell said from the hospital bed. “You just missed Jack. He had to get ready for work.”

  Katie gave Liddell a hug. “How are you this morning? Still in a lot of pain?”

  “I’ve been worse,” he answered, and pulled Marcie close.

  “I don’t want to make a habit of doing this,” she said.

  “What do you say we get together for a crawfish boil when this is over?” Liddell asked.

  Marcie’s eyes were sunken with dark circles beneath, and she was still wearing her slippers from home. Then Katie noticed Marcie’s pajamas were stained with blood.

  What kind of friend am I? Katie thought. I should have come here right away. “Have you had any rest?”

  Marcie looked down at herself and cringed. “I must be a sight.”

  “I should have brought you a change of clothes,” Katie said, putting her arms around her friend.

  “I’ll be fine. But I’m ready to get home. A hot shower and some clean clothes would be nice.”

  Katie smiled at her. Marcie and Liddell were perfect together, and Liddell was such a good man; it hurt her heart to see him like this.

  Marcie surprised her, saying, “Have you talked to Eric?”

  Katie’s face showed embarrassment. “I wasn’t very nice to him this morning.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  The nurse came in every hour during the night to perform neuro checks—that is, check his pupil size and reactivity to light, level of consciousness and grip-strength equality. If Liddell wasn’t brain damaged, the hourly tests would make him so. Jack had woken up for each of the visits, so he wasn’t faring much better.

  All in all, it was a truly shitty night, and the morning didn’t get any better. When Jack went home to get ready for work, he found the present Cinderella had left in his new shoes. It was a smelly and wet reminder that she couldn’t be left unattended for such a long period.

  When he arrived at the morgue, three vehicles were parked in the front lot. One was Dr. John’s pet project, a 1963 rust-colored Ford Falcon, complete with rusted quarter panels and bald tires that could have been the original Firestone radials. Little Casket’s Suburban was parked next to Dr. John’s. Jack didn’t recognize the third vehicle, a new black Dodge Charger. He parked next to the Charger, with its unblemished paint and barely legal dark-tinted windows, gleaming in the morning sun. In comparison, his five-year-old Crown Vic looked like a black washed-out wreck. The Charger either belonged to a cop or a drug dealer, but it wasn’t likely that a drug dealer would be at the morgue unless they were there as the guest cadaver.

  He first made his way to the conference room, but it was empty, so he checked the autopsy room and found it empty as well. Then he heard someone talking in back by the coolers.

  An attractive woman of about thirty came out of the refrigerated room and held the door open for Little Casket and Dr. John, who were pushing a gurney occupied by a sheet-covered corpse. An arm was hanging over the side, and Jack spied a tattoo of an ivy vine curling up from the wrist and disappearing under the sheet. Hope Dupree. The girl from Harrisburg.

  Jack and the newcomer looked each other up and down, trying to assess friend or foe. Despite her looks he pegged her as a cop.

  “Well, don’t just stand there gawking. Help me
get her on the table,” Lilly said to Jack, and pushed the gurney alongside the steel autopsy table.

  “I thought we were doing the male from Harrisburg first.” Jack looked at the clock and saw it was eight o’clock. He wondered how long the autopsies on all the bodies would take.

  “I just do what I’m told,” Lilly said.

  “I’m afraid I’m to blame,” the new woman said, and motioned for Jack to help her slide the body onto the autopsy table. They each took hold and slid the body over in one practiced move.

  “You must be Detective Murphy.”

  “Why’s that?” he asked, and saw a flicker of a smile.

  “It’s your sparkling personality, Jack,” Lilly answered.

  “Your reputation as a smart-ass precedes you?” Dr. John offered.

  “I am armed,” Jack pointed out.

  “Lilly could take you in about two seconds,” the woman whispered in Jack’s ear.

  “And you are?” Jack asked her.

  “Brooke,” she said, and extended a hand.

  Jack noticed that she didn’t wear jewelry, and her nails were cut short and practical for doing police work. Her red hair was worn shoulder length, stylishly cut, and loose about her face, not tied back into the tight buns that some female law enforcement officers preferred.

  He took her hand and was surprised at the strength in her grip. She was a few inches shorter than him, even in two-inch heels—apparently her one concession to her gender. She wasn’t wearing a gun. Tight-fitting tan slacks—too tight to conceal an ankle holster—and a blue short-sleeve shirt with the State of Indiana logo emblazoned over the left pocket completed the picture. All in all, she was a very attractive woman.

  The Great Seal of Indiana had a picture of a guy with an axe chasing a buffalo through the woods. Jack had never seen a buffalo until he took a kayaking trip in Montana, but he guessed buffalo must have roamed in Indiana at one time. Guys with axes must have chased them all out of the state.