Forgotten Place

by LS Sygnet

  Williams poked his head out from behind the open trunk door. "And?"

  "The knife looked like a switchblade."

  "Helen."

  "It happened fast. The girl had blood squirting out of her neck, Ned. I didn't get a good look at him. He was sort of behind her, you know?"

  "So the victim was obscuring the perp?"

  "Yeah. A bit. He was white."

  "Hair color?"

  "I..." closed my eyes. "Shit. He was wearing some kind of mask. It covered most of his face. Everything but his jaw and mouth."

  Ned started snapping pictures. "Height? Weight?"

  "He was smaller than you. Definitely smaller than Detective Manners."

  "Mackenzie," he chuckled. "Dev's not a bad guy. At least I don't think he is. He's got some ideas about people being in the way of cops trying to do their jobs. I'm sure he'll feel like a complete imbecile when he learns who you are."

  "I doubt he'll care."

  Ned offered gloves. "Shall we peek inside the young lady's purse and see who she is?"

  I lifted the small, practical handbag off the floor and unfastened the clasp. "Wallet. Car keys. Hospital ID. Lancôme lipstick."

  "What's the ID say?"

  I pulled it out for inspection. "Dr. Journey Ireland, PsyD. Huh. She's a clinical psychologist." I stared at the photo and frowned. "Ireland. Wasn't that the name of that ADA from way back when who was assassinated downtown?"

  My eyes fell on pale and sober Detective Williams.

  "You don't miss much, Helen. She's his daughter."

  "What're the odds... ?"

  "You tell me," he said.

  "I don't believe in coincidence. From the time I heard her initial scream, called 9-1-1 and made it over here, this guy had plenty of time to snatch her purse and run."

  "Then we're on the same page."

  "Father gets shot in a parking garage, and what, sixteen years later his daughter has her throat slashed in a parking garage? Not even the universe is that ironic."

  "Helen, today is December 18th."

  My mind scrabbled for details from a long past conversation about ADA Ireland. Briscoe... Orion... the murder about a week before Christmas. My eyes fluttered shut. "This wouldn't happen to be the anniversary of her father's murder, would it?"

  "Like I said, you don't miss much."

  "This was Briscoe's perp, the guy who died in Downey while he was being interrogated. The one whose body disappeared before Briscoe got the court order for expanded toxicology."

  "Orion, but yeah."

  I didn't want to think about that.

  "Tony won't be back on duty for another week. He and Crevan are picking up days next week and in the meantime, he's spending some time with his kid down in Phoenix."

  "Shit."

  "You want me to call Lou and see what she thinks?"

  "It's Downey's case, Ned. You and Captain Caveman caught it fair and square."

  "Technically, it's yours too. You were first on scene, Helen."

  "I'm not on active duty. God only knows when that troll of a physical therapy intern will release me."

  "All the same, if you're feeling up to it, I'd appreciate it if you'd hang out and see if you can coax a statement out of her, provided she survives this thing."

  "I'll head downstairs. Whatever you and Shelly decide to do about other interested parties, I'll accept it, but I'd rather not liaise between Downey and OSI."

  Stupid gossips.

  Ned nodded curtly and stared at the ground. "Course, you could tell Darnell what's going on, lay out your terms before anybody else finds out what happened today."

  "C'mon, Ned. Use your detective brain. Chris doesn't control anything but the sound bites, and I'm pretty sure that's history too."

  "He has more influence that you realize, Helen. Wouldn't hurt to have him in your corner being the voice of reason why this case needs to stay in our hands. I know Darnell fought it with Lowe but you proved yourself to him. He didn't balk about letting Downey keep that other business with the meth and the cyanide in our house, even though it was OSI's undercover who got killed."

  I pulled out the phone and dialed another number.

  "Darnell."

  "Chris, it's Helen Eriksson."

  "Wow. What a surprise. What can I do for you, Helen?"

  Stop acting like I should call you for coffee and the latest dirt in Darkwater for starters. I tamped down the urge to be sarcastic. "This is a courtesy call. It looks like we've got an active case that might be linked to an old one from Downey."

  "Resolved?"

  "Partially. I witnessed what looked like a simple mugging at MSUH about twenty minutes ago."

  "All right..."

  I felt Darnell's patience growing thin and cut to the chase. "The victim was Journey Ireland, Chris."

  "Dammit," he hissed. "Johnny needs to know."

  "We'd like this to stay in Downey's hands."

  "I know, and I understand why, but there is no conceivable reason he'll accept for staying away from this case, Helen. If your objections relate to the job –"

  "They do."

  "And not whatever personal thing happened between the two of you that has turned Johnny into Zombie Cop, I'll strongly discourage his involvement."

  "Darkwater Bay needs to believe in its police department again, not see OSI running in to save the day. You know that. We've talked about it before, Chris. I don't object to Finkelstein keeping him in the loop of communication, just like she did on the Cox murder, but we cannot lose control of this to OSI. Not if people are really serious about seeing change in this department."

  "Do your thing, Helen. I trust you to get to the bottom of whatever happened this morning. I'll do my best to remind Johnny that Darkwater needs faith restored in its own department. I can't promise results."

  "I appreciate it."

  "Who caught the case?"

  "Ned Williams and some new guy you and Orion recruited."

  "Devlin?"

  "That sounds right." My voice turned crisp and cold.

  "He's a good cop, Helen. Give him a chance to prove himself. You won't be disappointed."

  I spared the rehash of my first encounter and disconnected. My heart whipped against my ribs in fear that Orion would appear from the mist at any second. It seemed like as good a time as any to check on the victim and see if a conversation was possible.

  "Go ahead," Ned agreed. "There's not much to process here, so let Dev know I'll be down in a bit."

  Must I? Still, in the spirit of maturity I agreed.

  Being of mostly sound mind, whenever I enter an emergency department, I get a bad case of the heebie-jeebies. Given my history, who can blame me? Bits and pieces of my experience as a victim of attempted murder had drifted back over the past couple of months, mostly in the form of olfactory and auditory triggers. The sounds and smells of emergency medicine are not pleasant memories for me.

  The noise alone was enough to put me on the verge of a fugue state. The smell sent my alcohol abused and nutritionally neglected stomach into a full case of revolt. I swallowed back the gag and tried to explain who I was and why I needed beyond the secure doors into the department.

  Fortunately (depending on perspective) the triage nurse recognized me from my recent brush with death and vouched that I am indeed with the Darkwater Bay police. Tough case to make without my badge.

  In front of one of the trauma rooms, Devlin Mackenzie stood out like a prickly thistle in a field of delicate violets. His arms were crossed over his chest, legs spread in a sturdy-wide pose, eyes fixed on the activity through the pane glass doors to the trauma room. His presence was so jarring, I didn't notice the pacing body roving in mauve scrubs past him. Not right away.

  Cognitive dissonance is a strange phenomenon. Logic dictates that without this precise emergency room, I would be dead. Panic and disgust that they saved my worthless life crowded into my existence at the same time that recognition rippled through me.

  "Amy...
"

  Whatever held me back, made me reluctant, put my fear of an inevitable face-to-face with Johnny evaporated. I stepped forward and laid my hand on her shoulder. "Amy? What are you doing here?"

  She startled. "Helen! Oh my God, you're bleeding!"

  I noticed my bloody hands, now seasoned with flour from the powder from inside the gloves I wore upstairs in the parking garage. "I'm fine. What are you doing here, Amy?"

  She burst into tears. At the same moment, Mackenzie's tension slammed into me. I tuned him out of the picture and focused on my physical therapist. Arms wound around her. "Hush now... it's all right, Amy. Tell me what's wrong."

  "My friend," she sobbed, "my very best friend was attacked a little while ago. I came the second I heard, but they won't tell me anything."

  "There isn't anything to say yet, honey. Is your friend Journey Ireland?"

  The blotchy red face tilted upward. "Oh... oh Helen. Is that why you're covered in blood? Did you find her like that? What happened to her?"

  "I'm so sorry. I tried to stop him."

  "Who? It was that son of a bitch Jim, wasn't it? I knew there was a reason Journey wanted nothing to do with him! I knew it!"

  "Who is Jim?"

  "Some guy way too old for someone as young as Journey. They dated a few years ago. She dumped him. He wouldn't let it go."

  "What was Jim's last name?"

  "Linder," she said. "Promise me you'll find him and arrest him, Helen."

  "It's not that simple, Amy. We have to have evidence. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  "I'm worried, not stupid. Journey was young and naïve. I don't know the details of why they broke up, but I can promise you, it had to be bad. Journey isn't the type of person to not stay friends with a guy after they stop dating. Trevor and Timothy can attest to that."

  "I believe you. Can you give me a minute, Amy? I need to go wash up, but I'll be right back." My bloody hands were drawing attention I didn't want. "In the meantime, you should talk to Detective Mackenzie and tell him everything you know about the men in Journey's life. Will you do that for me?"

  She nodded.

  I turned to Mackenzie who barely concealed his rage that someone dare butt into his case. I glared, stepped closer and said, "Get the girl's statement. She says the victim is her best friend."

  "Who the fuck are you to give me orders?"

  I thrust out a bloody hand, hoping he found it as offensive as I did. "Eriksson," I said. "Detective Helen Eriksson."

  Chapter 4

  Some of Captain Caveman's bravado shrank when I introduced myself with bloody hands. He towered over me, like a lot of the men from Darkwater Bay, but kept the scowl in check. Still, he didn't shake the proffered limb.

  "I'll get her statement," Mackenzie said. "Will you be back?"

  My shoulder felt dislocated after catching myself from his shove to the pavement. Part of me has trouble resisting throwing daggers at others, particularly when they're well deserved. I rubbed the bum joint ruefully. "Actually, I should probably trot up to x-ray and have a shot taken of my shoulder. I hit pretty hard when you were rendering assistance to Dr. Ireland."

  So fun to watch big men shrink. But Captain Caveman apparently didn't want to be known as the new guy that brutalized the displaced new guy-cum-hero of Darkwater Bay (me). He snagged the arm of a nurse rushing past. "I think Detective Eriksson might've been injured when we brought in Ms. Ireland. Could you set her up for an x-ray of the shoulder she had surgery on a couple of months ago?"

  Here's another reason to get the hell out of Darkwater Bay. When my face became so known that even a nurse in the emergency department of the local hospital remembered me, recalled with absolute clarity the day I was shot, it was time to get the hell out of Dodge. Dad's rules were never far from the tip of my tongue. Blend in. Do your job well, but don't become so high profile that the world notices you. Uh-huh. I'm precisely on the grid, which is exactly where I don't want to be.

  Still, Datello is here, and it's a lure that I'm not sure I can resist, particularly not now. I'm fully aware that the case that tiptoed close to whatever criminal activity he was engaged in years ago might be heating up again.

  I ignored the words firing at me with the precision of an Uzi, let them bounce right off and indulged in a moment of question. Why would someone slit the throat of David Ireland's daughter in a parking garage on the sixteenth anniversary of his murder? I snorted. Assassins typically don't send those kinds of messages. And if Knife Dude really wanted her dead and was worth the price of his cheap mask, no amount of effort would've saved Journey Ireland's life.

  Then again, she wasn't out of the woods yet.

  "Detective Eriksson?" A huge paw cupped my chin.

  "She does that, Mackenzie." A familiar voice joined the cacophony of unpleasant sounds. "Eriksson has a long history of zoning out in the middle of conversations."

  I turned and tried not to grin at the smart ass approaching. "Detective Conall, what brings you here?"

  "Finkelstein heard you became a magnet for death and mayhem again and thought you might need a hand."

  Good old Darnell followed through and sent up the flare through Downey Division instead of OSI. Though Shelly's choice of aid left something to be desired, I was grateful for a familiar face. No doubt, Crevan had already called Johnny.

  He pulled me into a hug before peering down at me. "Jesus, Helen. No offense, but you look like shit."

  "Thanks. It's good to see you too."

  The nurse I'd already forgotten stood beside me with a wheelchair. "Detective Eriksson, we can shoot a quick film of your shoulder now. If you take a seat, I'll have you up to x-ray in no time."

  "X-ray, huh? What'd you do, try to chase the perp down before he could get away?"

  I spared a sidelong glance at Detective Mackenzie. He stiffened with military precision, and I half expected him to salute. "It was my fault, sir. I didn't recognize Detective Eriksson at the scene and sort of... well, I moved her out of the way so I could render aid to the victim."

  Crevan's chameleon hazel eyes twinkled. "At ease, Mackenzie. You don't have to call me sir, we have the same rank." Back at me, "You all right, Helen?"

  "I ache. And we're keeping Detective Mackenzie from taking a statement from Dr. Ireland's best friend over there."

  "Ouch. Yeah, Shelly mentioned the link to the closed case."

  "What closed case?" Devlin's curiosity was understandable. I'd have been in just as dark a closet if I hadn't twisted Briscoe's arm and demanded a history lesson right out of the gate six months ago.

  "Fill him in. I'm walking to the x-ray department to have this shoulder examined, and then I'm going home."

  "Seriously?" Crevan's eyebrows arched. Though I'm not sure if it was suspicion I saw, it was reasonable to believe he didn't trust a word I said after my behavior in both the investigations I took an active role in with the police.

  "Yes, I promise." Words that seldom fell from my lips had an impact. "The great thing about adrenalin is that it gives you a boost when you need it the most. The bad thing about it is when it's spent, you're wiped out. That's where I am right now. Wiped out. And since I'm not on active duty yet, I figured it would be wise to bow out of this as soon as Ned took my statement."

  "I'm not sure Shelly's gonna be happy about that, Helen."

  My right shoulder rolled upward. "Doctor's orders are doctor's orders. I'm not slamming the door on consulting on this one, but honestly, if witnessing one little attempted murder wears me out like this, I know I'm not capable of a proper investigation, Crevan. Besides, it's like you said. Downey closed the old Ireland case. I have every reason to believe you'll close this one too."

  Before I could step away, Crevan clasped my hand and trailed along behind me. "Helen, you can't be serious. That case was only technically closed, and you know it. The man most directly responsible for David Ireland's murder is still walking around like he owns the city. Now that the cat is out of the bag regarding Johnny's p
osition, it's only made Datello rabid. I think it makes perfect sense that this happened now."

  "Crevan, you said it yourself. There's a good reason I look like shit. I'm not well yet."

  "I meant you look like you lost twenty pounds you couldn't afford to dump. You'd better hurry up to x-ray before Johnny gets here and sees you. We've got enough to deal with already without him going ballistic about starvation and vitamin deficiencies."

  The pin-pricks of fear stabbed into my heart for a second time today. "Right. Call me later. Like afternoon later. I wasn't kidding, Crevan. I'm exhausted." Hung-over. Depressed. Yeah, even malnourished, though I had no idea it showed so much. It couldn't be twenty pounds. Maybe eight or ten.

  "You won't be able to avoid him forever, Helen."

  Him. Nice code word for he who stayed away when I asked. I wasn't as worried about it as Crevan was. "You're wrong, but thanks for the concern. Let Ned know that I couldn't endure more excitement, would you?"

  I walked up to the x-ray department. Heather, the kind little nurse with the wheelchair, accompanied me. I'm not sure, but I suspect she thought I might faint from pain or something, because she kept one of my arms hooked through hers.

  It's good to have friends in high places. That's one benefit of breaking Dad's notoriety rule. I was in and out of x-ray before I could say boo. Stand, face one direction, hold breath, shoot. Repeat for the alternate views. It's called anterior, posterior and lateral and gives the radiologist the best view of any damage my boneheaded fellow detective might've caused when he pushed me out of the way.

  They let me wash my hands while the radiologist took a quick look at the films. When I came back, Heather was waiting with Dr. Scott (his first name – apparently radiologists aren't stick-up-the-butt physicians like my orthopedic surgeon is).

  "Dr. Eriksson, please, step into my office."

  It was more of a cubby that would've made a pathetic closet, but I stepped inside with Heather and Dr. Scott – Chesney, as his surname turned out to be from the degrees on the walls. He popped the recently taken x-rays onto the wall light and pointed to the areas where hardware still affixed bone together.

  "I don't see any new damage, Dr. Eriksson."