by Brian Shea
Izzy wouldn’t be there to save his ass this time. Nick didn’t like the thought and he involuntarily shuddered, shaking it off.
17
“Mr. Lawrence?”
“Yes,” Nick answered into his cell phone.
“It’s Doctor Whitmore over here at Pine Woods. I know that you are out of town on vacation, but I need you to come here right away,” the doctor said.
Nick heard the tension in the physician’s voice and it concerned him greatly. “I’m back. My trip was cut short. What is it, Doc?”
“Your mother passed away,” Whitmore said.
“What?” Nick said, suddenly unsteady.
Nick looked down at his watch. He’d lost all track of time. It was almost 9:15 p.m. He’d left Simmons back at the office a few hours before, after taking a stack of files home with him. He was trying to get up to speed on years of investigative efforts in a matter of hours.
He’d been absorbed in case file after case file, devouring the information like a pig after the pour of a slop bucket. Time slipped away while he sat on the worn leather-backed chair in his quaint study. An office space that would soon most likely be converted into a baby room. His mind was racing, and all of these thoughts came crashing down on him haphazardly, making it impossible to comprehend the doctor’s words.
He heard the sound of the doctor’s voice but understood none of what was being said.
“What? I—don’t—I mean how—when?” Nick babbled.
“I’d rather discuss this with you in person. When can I expect you?” Whitmore asked calmly.
Nick snapped into focus and was already moving through the condo grabbing his jacket and keys.
“I’m on the way and will be there shortly.”
“I’ll be here to greet you when you arrive,” Whitmore said.
Nick ended the call, dropped his phone into his pocket, and dashed madly out the door into the brisk night air. He barely registered the icy wind that pelted against his face. The only thought on his mind was his mother and how he’d failed to be there at the end.
Nick made fast work of the distance between his house and his mother’s assisted living facility, weaving the Jetta in and out of the minimal suburban traffic.
The doctor had delivered the initial blow, but he had a hard time accepting it. Even though he knew deep down that he was already too late, he still felt an undeniable compunction to get there quickly. A self-preserving thought resonated that if he got there fast enough he could reverse things or prove the doctor wrong. It was irrational thinking and even though he was aware of its lunacy, he continued his maniacal trek.
Nick continued his reckless operation of the small German four-door as he accelerated into the parking area of Pine Woods Retirement Center, slamming on the brakes and skidding to a stop in front of the main entrance.
Nick left the car running and ran to the entrance. The automated sliding doors opened too slowly, and Nick pried at them, forcing the mechanics to work at his desperate speed. He rushed into the main lobby and was greeted by the familiar face of Doctor Whitmore.
“Mr. Lawrence, I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“I still don’t understand. She was fine the other day. I stopped in to see her before I left on my trip,” Nick said through ragged breaths.
“She was. We’re still running some tests and I’ll hopefully have more for you once I have those results, but prelims are indicating heart failure. You know that she’s been in a weakened state for quite some time now,” Whitmore said.
“Why would you let me go on vacation? Why would you tell me that she’d be in good hands?” Nick’s anger seeped through gritted teeth.
“Mr. Lawrence, there would’ve been nothing you could have done even if you were here. I understand you’re upset. Please, take a moment to calm down before we go to see your mother. Would you like some water?”
Nick said nothing. He took long slow breaths trying to regain his composure. The doctor stood by patiently waiting and didn’t interrupt. It was obvious to Nick that the man was comfortable with death and people’s adverse reaction to it. Nick was too, but not when it came to family. His spiraled mood was compounded by the thought of his mother dying alone at Pine Woods. And the image of it made him sick.
“Can I see her?” Nick asked. His voice had returned to its homeostasis.
“Of course. When I realized you were in town I had staff leave her. We wanted to wait for you. If it provides any consolation, your mother looks at peace.”
The doctor turned and proceeded to walk into the restricted wing of the facility reserved for residents who required additional care. Nick’s mother’s dementia had dictated the move to this section of the hospital months ago.
He followed one step behind the doctor. Although Nick towered a good six inches taller than Whitmore, he couldn’t seem to keep pace with the man’s stride. It was as if Nick’s shoes were encased in concrete, each step harder than its predecessor.
The doctor broke the silence. “At least she had one visitor today.”
“What do you mean visitor?” Nick asked.
“An attorney. He wanted to verify the conditions of your mother’s room.”
“Verify the conditions? You’re not making any sense.”
“It’s okay Mr. Lawrence. I take no offense in you ensuring your mother’s receiving the best treatment,” Whitmore said.
Nick stopped dead in his tracks and the doctor in turn did the same, turning to face him.
“I didn’t send an attorney,” Nick said.
“I don’t understand?”
“I said I didn’t send an attorney. I have one that assisted me in setting up power of attorney and things of that nature, but I didn’t send anyone to check up on the living conditions at Pine Woods,” Nick said. His words came out rapid fire and a new panic seized him.
Nick took up a light jog toward his mother’s room, and it was the doctor who now lagged behind.
Nick entered the room and quickly eyed the two nurses that were alongside the bed where his mother lay. Her pearl-white hair was spread out gracefully across the pillow. The light that washed over her from above gave her a heavenly appearance. Her hands were folded across her stomach, and had the doctor not advised him otherwise, Nick would have assumed she was sleeping. Peaceful.
“Everybody get out now!” Nick said in a commanding yet controlled voice.
“Mr. Lawrence, what are you doing? You can’t order them out. This is a treatment facility. There are tests to run and protocols to follow,” Whitmore said, catching his breath as he spoke.
“Everything stops, and everybody needs to step out of this room,” Nick reiterated.
Whitmore stood still, staring wide-eyed at Nick.
“We’re going to be following my protocols now.”
“Mr. Lawrence, I understand you’re upset, but what are you talking about?” Whitmore asked exasperatedly.
“This room is now a crime scene.”
18
He heard a woman’s voice speaking softly, but with an air of command in the hallway just outside the room. It sounded like Izzy. The thought was immediately dashed from his mind, knowing she would never again come through another door. In the threshold of the doorway stood his new partner.
Simmons approached, stopping a foot in front of Nick who was seated on a stool beside his mother.
“I’m so sorry Nick. How’re you holding up?”
“As good as can be expected. Did you get hold of crime scene?” Nick asked.
“I called Cavanaugh and his team,” Simmons said.
“I thought you guys didn’t see eye to eye?”
“I don’t see eye to eye with many people. And besides, Cavanaugh and Spangler have done the two most recent scenes. I’d rather keep some level of continuity in the processing,” Simmons said.
“Makes sense,” Nick said, staring at his lifeless mother.
He was devoid of emotion, an empty shell, running on autopilot.
His shoulders hunched at the massive weight that they carried, albeit an invisible one. Simmons placed her hand between Nick’s shoulder blades. The sensation of her touch brought him into focus, and he turned his head up to look at her.
“It’s not your fault,” Simmons said softly.
The words stabbed at him with a ferocity more devastating than the knife he’d been impaled with months before. An intense tightness gripped his chest like an unseen trash compactor, squeezing his heart. Without thinking, and no words spoken, he slumped, crashing his head into Simmons’s small waistline. Nick felt her arms shift to a loose, but welcome, embrace as his body shook uncontrollably. He resisted the emotional release and the discord conjured up an awkward whimper. The sound escaped his throat and its trumpeting brought him back from the abyss.
He sat upright and wiped his eyes, releasing her. Nick stood, creating more distance from Simmons.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“No need to apologize.” Simmons eyed Nick as if evaluating him.
Nick nodded and rubbed his face, attempting to remove any trace of his collapse.
“I understand if this too much, too personal. And I won’t judge you in any way if you want to come off the case.”
“Are you kidding me?” Nick said with a steely look.
“I’m just saying that I would get it if you did. I took a leave of absence after the death of my parents. I had to hit the reset button. I almost didn’t come back,” Simmons said.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” Nick said.
“All right. Just remember the offer stands.”
“I appreciate it.”
Nick broke eye contact with the green-eyed agent and cast his eyes downward, again taking in the sight of his mother’s lifeless body. Seeing her in that bed and knowing that her last few days had been spent alone, without a visit from her only living son, sent a ripple of guilt that he knew would never leave. I’ve failed you in life, he thought, but not in death.
“Where’d they find it?” Simmons asked.
“In her hand. It fell to the floor when they checked for a pulse.”
“Did they touch it?”
“Yes.” Nick said.
“We’ll still swab it for DNA and fume it for prints. Not that I have any expectation of finding anything but the nurses’.”
“Have you ever before?” Nick asked without any trace of hopefulness.
“Not in twenty-nine bodies. So, I’m not holding my breath that your mother’s coin will be the first.”
Nick’s eyes flashed with anger at the cavalier way Simmons referred to his mother, but it quickly subsided as he was aware of the hypersensitivity he was experiencing. She must’ve caught the look because she took a step back.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dash any hopes,” Simmons offered.
Nick sighed. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”
“That’s why I offered to let you step away from the case. Get some perspective and come back at this thing fresh.”
“That’s not up for debate. I’ve got to see this thing through. Running away isn’t an option,” Nick said. He exhaled deep and long.
“Okay. I won’t bring it up again.”
“So, you’re telling me that you’ve never got a hit on any of these coins? No leads?” Nick asked.
“Forensically, no. I’ve even tried to contact wholesalers and coin collectors but haven’t generated any leads. Apparently, this coin, albeit old, is quite common. The tools used are also commonly bought. I guess if we found the Ferryman’s tool we could positively identify it doing a comparative analysis of the striations, but that would be more for the case’s prosecution than for locating our killer,” Simmons said, rattling off the information.
“Okay.”
Nick stared at the coin sealed in a small plastic ziplock bag resting on the nightstand.
“Why do you ask?” Simmons asked.
“I’m going to keep it,” Nick said flatly.
“You’re going to keep it? A piece of evidence?” Simmons asked.
“Like you said, it’s not going to tell us anything we don’t already know. So, I’m taking it.” Nick said this with a finality and subtle firmness in his voice that did little to belie his conviction.
“Why?”
“As a reminder,” Nick said.
Simmons did not answer verbally. She nodded, and her eyes cast him a solemn glance. Nick watched as she slid her delicate hand to her throat along the open collar of her cream-colored button-down shirt. Her finger tugged at the thin silver chain of a necklace draped around her neck. A pendant was exposed as she removed her hand, allowing Nick a clear view. The hobo nickel with an etched skull rested outside of her shirt between the slight rise of her breasts.
“My reminder,” Simmons said.
“From your parents?”
“My father.”
Nick reached over to the table without any further hesitation and picked up the bag containing his mother’s death token. He opened the seal and his fingers dug out the coin. Nick slipped the silver coin into his pants pocket. He left his hand in his pocket and thumbed the raised features of the skull before letting it fall into the recesses of the pocket’s cotton lining.
“I’m going to need you two to move unless you want to be in the shot,” Spangler said, holding a large-lensed camera as he stood in the threshold of the door. The massive frame of Cavanaugh eclipsed the hallway’s light as he stood behind, dwarfing the smaller crime scene tech.
“You guys are quick,” Simmons said as she discretely tucked her pendant away.
“I figured we had to get over here before you agent types wrecked the scene,” Spangler said.
Nick heard a hiss in Spangler’s speech that he hadn’t noticed before. It was more of whistle that followed certain syllables. Nick surmised that it probably was a byproduct of a deviated septum based on the crookedness of his bulbous nose. The effect gave his voice a lyrical lilt as he spoke.
Cavanaugh brushed past Spangler and approached Nick, clasping a large hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.”
“Anything you need on this, just ask,” Cavanaugh said.
Nick nodded.
“We’ll leave you kids to your work,” Simmons said.
Nick saw Simmons bat her eyes at the large Homicide detective, taunting him slightly.
“I finished up the other scene from the dumpster. I emailed you the files including the photographs,” Spangler said.
“Thanks Ed. I’ll take a look when we get back to the office,” Simmons said.
Nick squeezed his mother’s hand one last time. The coldness of it seemed to linger fleetingly after he let go. Nick then turned to follow behind Simmons as she moved toward the white light of the hallway.
“There was a message,” Spangler said.
Nick and Simmons both stopped, turning in unison to face him.
Simmons spoke first, “What message?”
“It was taped to his upper back. We didn’t see it until we rolled him. It said, Remember me? I am the soil that gave you root,” Spangler said. “Creepy shit.”
“Please tell me that it was a hand-written note,” Simmons said wishfully.
“No luck. Letters cut from various publications. We’re having it analyzed. Maybe we’ll get lucky and the asshole forgot to glove up or glued down an eyelash.”
“Let me know what you find,” Simmons said over her shoulder, already moving in full stride again.
Nick paused for a fraction of a second. Remember me? He thought about the man in the alley. There was something familiar about him, but it was just out of his mental reach.
“Hey, did you ever get an identification on the guy?” Nick asked.
“Ran his prints. Chester Mullins,” Cavanaugh answered.
“Shit,” Nick said, and he took up a slight jog in the hallway, playing catchup with Simmons who was moving at a brisk pace toward t
he wing’s exit.
Simmons turned as he approached.
“I think we’ve got our first break in the case,” Nick said.
Simmons’s eyes widened. “How so?”
“We need to get back to the office. If I’m right on this we may be able to predict the next victim,” Nick said, barely able to contain his newfound enthusiasm.
His hand slid into his pocket and he rubbed the coin between his thumb and forefinger. A reminder of his failure. He wouldn’t fail again.
19
“It’s late Nick. Let’s hit the reset button and start again first thing tomorrow,” Simmons said.
Nick looked at his watch. It was already past midnight. “I’m not much for sleep, and I don’t think that’s going to change tonight.”
“I’m a bit of an insomniac too.” Simmons gave him a gentle smile. Nick noticed she had a seductive quality when she softened her rigid exterior.
“Coffee?” Simmons asked.
“Might as well.”
Nick stood up and stretched. His back cracked, and he exhaled with the release of its tension. He looked down on the conference table that was covered in a blanket of tattered manila case jackets.
“Somewhere in this mess is the answer. I know it,” Nick said more to himself.
“I hope so,” Simmons said striding out in the direction of the break room.
She returned a few minutes later with two porcelain mugs in hand. The steam rose, and Simmons placed a cup in front of Nick. World’s Best Dad was stenciled on it. Somehow this mug had made its way into the community cabinet of shared items.
Simmons gave Nick a knowing smile. “Not yet, but soon.”
Nick hooked his fingers in the handle and raised it to his lips, giving Simmons a half smile and wink acknowledging her comment.
“So let’s walk this thing back and see if we can figure out his next move. Pentlow was part of your investigation. I get that piece. The Ferryman’s way of reaching you. A loud statement to get your attention,” Simmons said.
“Well he’s got it. Undivided.” Nick didn’t look up from the open folder in front of him.