by M. Z. Kelly
Dr. Manson, or Francesca, as I preferred, looked nothing like the psychic healer I’d met a few days earlier, who had worn a flower print dress and a headscarf, and spoke with a Caribbean accent. Natalie’s therapist had on a dark pantsuit and wore her hair in a French braid. She looked and sounded every bit the part of someone who had a thriving practice as a modern therapist.
After we exchanged pleasantries, Natalie wasted no time explaining our circumstances. “You already know, I got me a rotten track record when it comes to men. I’m on the rebound and need some advice ‘bout what to do next.” She looked at me. “Kate, on the other hand, is just a loser magnet when it comes to guys.”
I started to defend myself, then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. My ex-husband and my recent relationship with Noah Fraser came to mind, and I had to admit there was some truth to what Natalie had said.
Natalie spent the next twenty minutes detailing her past relationship problems, telling Francesca about everyone from her first elementary school crush to her latest issues with Izzy Cluck.
After hearing her story, Francesca said, “Tell me something, Natalie. What is your idea of the perfect man?”
Natalie took a long moment before answering. I wondered if she was going to talk about everything from penis size to sexual prowess before she finally answered.
“I was thinkin’ ‘bout datin’ Howie Cromwell, the guy who’s gonna help me pay back Izzy for his cheatin’, but he’s got a load of problems. I think what I really want is a bloody nerd.”
Francesca laughed. “Really? A nerd.”
“Yup. I’ve had it with blokes who just wanna make the magic happen, if you get me drift. I want someone who...” She took another moment. “I want someone who makes me feel special, like he really cares ‘bout me more than anything else.”
I realized this was a breakthrough moment for Natalie. She was beginning to realize that relationships were more about giving than receiving. I reached over and squeezed her hand, telling her that I appreciated what she had to say.
Francesca took a moment before responding. “I don’t think you need my help, Natalie. All you really need to do is follow your bliss.”
“Me bliss?”
“Find someone who makes you feel like the person you truly are. Someone who cares about you as a person, not as a sex object or someone who they can use. What you’re really looking for is someone who complements you, but allows you to express your inner strength and beauty.”
Natalie smiled. “Blimey. I think I’ve figure it all out. I know exactly who I need. I’m going...”
“Stop!” Francesca said. “Whoever or whatever you’ve figured out isn’t something you need to share with us. You just need to pursue your bliss in your own way and on your own terms.”
“You’re bloody right.” Natalie looked at me. “What ‘bout Kate? She needs a lot of help.”
Francesca and I shared a look. I had the same feeling as before, that she could look right through me. She finally said, “Kate doesn’t need my help, either. She just needs to honor her power.”
I was feeling defeated after the events of the last couple days. “My power,” I said. “I’m not sure how to get in touch with it.”
Francesca studied me before answering. “Did you ever wonder what it means to be a prisoner?”
Even though I’d put lots of people in jail, I wasn’t sure what she meant. “I’m sorry?”
“To be a prisoner is to be locked away. Sometimes that can mean your freedom is taken away. Other times, it means that you have lost your way and the inherent power that you possess. It means you have become a prisoner of your own circumstances.”
I let her words settle in, unsure how to respond. After a long moment, Francesca leaned in closer to me and said, “You can remove the chains.”
My eyes narrowed on her. “I’m not sure how to do that.”
“Of course you do, Kate. The chains are yours alone to remove. You must decide when you are ready to release them.”
“I got me a question,” Natalie said. “What ‘bout Kate’s love life? Does this mean she can toss off the past and move on?”
Francesca smiled at my friend, then levelled her eyes on me. “That, my dear, is a question of fate. It is also a question that can only be answered by your friend.”
“I don’t feel like I’m ready to move on,” I said to Natalie. I looked at Francesca. “If I’m truly going to find my power and reclaim my life, I think I need to do that on my own and not in a relationship.” I looked away from her for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “But I feel worn down by everything. In some ways, I feel like I’ve been a prisoner of the past, like there’s a battle raging inside me that will never end.”
Francesca had a small refrigerator in her office. She went over and poured us each a glass of a strawberry colored liquid. She served the drinks to Natalie and me without comment.
“I had a friend who passed on several years ago,” Francesca said, after taking her seat again. “She was Cherokee, very proud of her lineage and the legacy of her people. She told me a story once. It is a legend that has been passed on from generation to generation.”
“This stuff is the bomb,” Natalie said, after sipping her drink. “What is it?”
“Just something I make from natural juices,” Francesca said. “It’s guaranteed to help you feel revitalized.”
“It’s delicious,” I agreed.
“The legend,” Francesca said, going back to her story, “involves a boy who tells his grandfather about an injustice he suffered. After listening to his grandson’s account, the old man said, ‘Let me tell you a story. I have also suffered many wrongs in my life from those who have taken much from me, without regret for their actions. My unhappiness caused a hatred to grow inside of me, filling me with anger. In time, I realized there are two wolves fighting for control inside of me. There is a light wolf that has learned harmony and to accept all things with kindness, humility, gratitude, and forgiveness. But there is also the dark wolf that is his opposite. He is full of anger, contempt, and greed.’ The old man looked at his grandson and said, ‘If you let them, these two wolves will forever be at odds, fighting for your soul.’”
I realized her story had been largely for my benefit, as she finished the tale.
“After hearing the story about the two wolves, the old man’s grandson said, ‘If there are two wolves inside of us, always battling for control, which wolf will eventually win?’ His grandfather smiled and said, ‘The one we choose to feed.’”
I told her I appreciated the story, then added, “I guess if I am to someday find my power, I need to decide which wolf is in control.”
Francesca’s dark eyes held on me. “That process sometimes takes a long time. But, in time, you will learn, as the saying goes, with great power comes both great opportunity and great responsibility. You must choose wisely and honor the voice.”
“The voice?”
Francesca smiled. “You know the voice I am talking about, Kate. You must listen and respond to the question that has been asked of you with power.”
SIXTY-ONE
Despite everything that had happened over the past few days, after my session with Francesca, I felt a weight had been lifted from my shoulders as I drove to work the next day. Her story about choosing which wolf to feed and using that to find my power resonated with me.
As for the voice I’d heard during my near-death experience, I had no idea how she knew about that. All I did know was that, with her help, I was ready to reclaim my power and move on. That meant choosing not to feed the wolf of my past that continually haunted me, and honoring the path I knew I was put on this earth to follow. That path was about finding justice for the victims in this world.
Leo was already at his desk when I settled in at my workstation with Bernie. I saw that he was sifting through a mountain of paperwork.
“Fighting crime with a pen?” I said.
He smiled. “The wheels of justice are greased with ink. How
are you?”
“I’m okay. Ready to get back to the grind.”
“What about the feds?”
I’d mentioned to him that I thought Joe was developing feelings for me and I knew it was his way of asking about that. “They’re back doing what the federal government does best.”
“What’s that?”
I laughed. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure.” We looked up in time to see Darby Hall headed our way. I lowered my voice. “Pain in the ass at twelve o’clock.”
“Edna wants everyone in the bat cave in ten,” Darby said. He looked at me. “That includes you, hotshot.”
I ignored his attempt to get under my skin. I happened to see Charlie in the hallway behind him. He was waving to me like he wanted to talk. I told Leo I’d see him in Edna’s office and made my way over to Charlie’s workstation.
“How are things?” I said, taking a seat next to him, while Bernie stood at my side and did a tail wag. Even as I asked the question, I worried that he was going to tell me about needing a pump again.
“Better. I found a doc and got fixed up.”
“That’s good.” I had no idea what fixed up meant and I didn’t want to know. I decided to change the subject. “How are things with your cases?”
“That’s why I called you over. I’m leaving.”
“You’re going back into retirement?”
He shook his head. “Just the opposite. I’ve decided I miss the work. I’m coming out of retirement and being reassigned to the cold case unit.”
“Really?”
The cold case unit was where Leo had once worked. Much of their duties involved pushing paper and asking SID to look for DNA hits on old cases that had gone nowhere. I doubted that Charlie would be happy with the work, but given his age and medical issues—I’m talking about a heart condition, not his sexual problems—it was probably the best assignment for him.
A hint of a smile played on Charlie’s lips. “Bet you think I’m crazy.”
“If you’re determined to come back to work, I think Cold Case is a good choice.”
“You ever met a detective named Claudia Johnson?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
“She’s going to be my new partner, and...” His smile blossomed.
It suddenly hit me. Charlie was returning to active duty in the cold case unit because he thought he might get lucky with his new partner.
I stood. “You’re unbelievable.”
His stupid smile was still there. “I think Claudia and me could be simpatico, if you know what I mean.”
I’m sure Claudia will be really impressed with your penis pump. “Good luck, Charlie. Stay in touch.”
When I got to Lieutenant Edna’s office, he wasted no time reminding us that our assignment was in jeopardy. “As you probably know, Jimmy Castello went to the press yesterday. He’s blaming Patrick Hopkins for his daughter’s death and wants action. That means Dunbar wants our case closed, or Section One goes away.”
Darby shrugged. “It’s going away anyway. Why doesn’t he just reassign us and give the investigation to RHD?”
“I’m not a fucking mind reader, so I can’t tell you that. All I can tell you is that Dunbar wants Hopkins. Where are we on finding him?”
Mel answered. “We’ve been in touch with Chicago PD. They’ve gone by and talked to the lawyers in his firm, some of his friends. They’re convinced he hasn’t returned there.”
“Then where the fuck is he?”
“We also went by and talked to the attorneys he’s been recruiting for his legal practice here,” Leo said. “One of them thought he’s probably holed up somewhere, drinking himself to death.”
Edna looked at Selfie and Molly. “Anything on his credit cards?”
“They haven’t been used,” Selfie said. “Maybe he’s paying cash for a room somewhere.”
Edna exhaled, looked at the rest of us. “So, what you’re telling me is we got a bunch of nothing.”
“Squat,” Darby said, maybe just to irritate his boss, since he knew we were all going to be reassigned anyway.
Edna went on an f-word rant before I gave him my thoughts. “Maybe it would help to backtrack, go over what we know about our murders.”
Darby groaned. “Spare us the agony, hotshot. While you’ve been hooking up with the feds, some of us have been working.”
I raised my voice. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means everybody knows you and that Dawson guy are an item. How were the tacos?”
I looked at Leo, who shook his head, indicating he hadn’t said anything about me telling him I thought Joe had feelings for me.
“We happened to see you and Dawson at the restaurant on Sunset when we drove by yesterday,” Mel said. She looked at Darby. “Let it go.”
“I’ll let it go when she fesses up...”
“STOP!” Edna’s shout caused Molly to spill her coffee. The lieutenant wagged a finger at Darby. “If I hear one more snarky, idiotic comment from you, I’m going to fucking see that you’re reassigned today.” He took a breath and found a tissue for Molly to clean up her coffee. He then said to me, “Let’s go through everything again.” His dark eyes found Darby. “Since nobody else has a fucking clue about what to do.”
I took a moment to gather my thoughts, deciding to begin with a timeline and a witness that the brass had deemed unreliable.
“Last Tuesday afternoon, somewhere between approximately two and six in the afternoon, Campbell Turner, a star on the TV soap opera Stolen Desires was murdered in her home. A neighbor of Campbell’s, Winifred Shaw, reported seeing a man in his mid-fifties arrive at her house at around three-fifteen in the afternoon. She said the man left about forty minutes later. Sometime later, Luke Morgan, a stagehand on Campbell’s TV show and part-time handyman, came by her house, probably to talk about doing some remodeling. Shortly thereafter, Campbell’s boyfriend, Blake Lambert, also came by the house.”
Leo took up the story. “When questioned, Lambert said he found Campbell had been beaten to death with a hammer. He told us Morgan was in the residence and mumbled something about Campbell deserving what she got. When Morgan threatened him with what turned out to be his own hammer, which he’d left in the garage, Lambert said that left him with no choice but to shoot him.”
“Morgan was shot twice,” I said. “The first shot, to the upper body, wasn’t fatal. The second, fatal shot was made at close range to the head.”
“Meaning there was a premeditated aspect to Morgan’s death,” Mel said.
“If it went down as Lambert told us and Morgan did murder his girlfriend,” Darby said. “I would have done the same thing.”
“We’ll remember that next time you’re involved in a homicide,” Edna said. He looked at me. “Go on.”
“Here’s where things get complicated. Forty-eight hours after Campbell was murdered, Blake Lambert was found dead in a motel room from a gunshot wound to his head. A note was left at the scene, with Lambert saying that Morgan had been involved with Campbell and he murdered her after an argument. In the note, Lambert admitted killing Morgan after finding his girlfriend dead. All of that’s consistent with what Lambert previously told us when he was interviewed.”
“But the blood splatter analysis tells a different story,” Leo said. “Lambert’s death was probably a homicide made to look like a suicide, and the note was written by someone else.”
“Enter Patrick Hopkins,” Mel said, “Campbell’s college sweetheart. We know from our interview with his ex-girlfriend, Abby O’Dell, that Campbell had left Hopkins for Blake Lambert when they were in college. O’Dell told us that Campbell and Hopkins had been secretly hooking up again. O’Dell describes Hopkins as an abusive, violent alcoholic.”
“He’s the only one left with a motive,” Darby said. “It’s just a matter of finding him and putting a bow on everything.”
“But we have nothing that ties Hopkins to the murder scene.”
<
br /> “There are also a couple other issues,” I said. “We know that Blake Lambert was also hooking up with his old girlfriend, Alexis Teller.” I looked at Leo. “Did you get a chance to talk to her?”
“Yesterday. She admits they were an item again, but denies knowing anything more. She’s pretty shallow, but I think she’s credible.”
“There’s also the issue of Campbell being a drug addict, specifically a heroin user,” I said. “According to the roommate from her drug program, she had lots of issues with her father.”
“The world’s greatest detective,” Leo said.
“You’re leaving out something,” Edna said to me. “The middle-aged man the neighbor saw at Campbell’s house.”
I nodded. “His presence at the house that afternoon puts him within the window of opportunity to have committed the crime.”
“That’s nonsense,” Darby said. “The neighbor isn’t reliable. And, if there was a guy, for all we know, he was walking the street, selling magazines or religion.”
I ignored him. “That leaves us with three unanswered questions: Why was Campbell angry with her father? What led her into a life of drug abuse? And who is the man the neighbor saw at Campbell’s house before she died?”
“I just answered your third question,” Darby said. “As for the second one, people use drugs because they make stupid choices, especially celebrities.”
“That leaves one question unanswered, Sherlock,” Mel said, maybe just humoring her partner. “Why did Campbell hate her father?”
“Because he was probably never around,” Darby said. “He was a big shot TV detective when she was growing up. She never saw him and resented it.”
Mel shook her head. “I don’t buy it.” She looked at Edna. “I want to go back to Jimmy Castello. I think he’s holding something back.”
“Like what?” Edna growled.
“Maybe he molested her.”
Darby groaned. “And maybe monkeys will fly out of my ass.”
I chuckled. “I’d pay money to see that.”
“Enough,” Edna said, before Darby could respond.
As the lieutenant and Darby exchanged words, I mentally sifted through what we knew again. A scenario came to me. I wasn’t sure if all the pieces fit, but I decided it was worth laying out, and told everyone that.