Deadly Conception

by Patrick Blake

“Mr. Sweeney, you are not under arrest. But it is imperative for you to come to the station now. Your cooperation is very much appreciated.

  “I’ll Uber over. What’s the address?” Gabriel cursed as he grabbed a notepad and pen from the hotel room nightstand and jotted down the address.

  “When you arrive let the desk sergeant know your name and have him contact me. Detective Dan Keeler.”

  Gabriel wrote it all down. “How long will this take? What’s it all about?” Gabriel asked again, hoping to get some hint about what the hell was going on.

  “I’ll explain everything when you arrive.”

  The line went dead before Gabriel could ask any more questions. He swore again and called his business lawyer, leaving a voicemail.

  Cody, I just got a call from the Boston PD…a Detective Keeler…Dan Keeler…from the A-1 District station on New Charles Street. He insisted I go to the station, but he won’t tell me why. So, listen, call me in an hour. If I don’t answer, then get yourself and one of your criminal defense lawyer buddies in Boston to come and get me. Sorry this is so cryptic but it’s all I’ve got. Thanks, buddy. Talk soon. I hope.

  Gabriel placed a second call to Asrani Patel. Again, voicemail.

  “Jesus Christ. Doesn’t anyone answer their effing phone anymore?” Gabriel bitched, and then left a less detailed message for his client.

  Asrani, I’ll be a bit late to arrive at the meeting, something crucial has come up. Pablo Souza can get started if I’m delayed longer than expected. See you soon. Oh, and we need to discuss your prank with Paige. That was dangerous.

  In the elevator, he started to call Pablo when he received a text from his hacker-friend.

  Gabriel, WTF. Boston cops ordering me to come in. Won’t say why. I hope this isn’t your client getting revenge over the car or his stupid phone. This is bullshit, man. Call me. I’m on the way to the police station.

  Gabriel picked up his pace out of the elevator, dropped his room key in the quick check-out box, and pushed through the revolving door to the street. His car was already waiting.

  “Mr. Sweeney?”

  Gabriel turned and came face-to-face with a tall, extremely fit-looking Boston cop.

  “Yes?”

  “Good morning, sir. I’m Officer Gerardi. I believe Detective Keeler told you I’d be escorting you to the station.” The young officer smiled like a flight attendant during turbulence.

  “Good morning, Officer. Hey, you’re the cop from last night, right? Listen, I’ll make my way to the station on my own. Thank you.”

  Gabriel pitched his luggage and satchel into the back seat of the Toyota Camry, quickly climbed in and shut the door. As the driver sped off, he looked out the back window and saw the officer trotting to his patrol car.

  “I guess I’ve got an escort,” muttered Gabriel. He pulled out his phone and called his friend.

  Pablo answered right away. He sounded pissed off. “Damn, Gabriel! This is bull. I’m here at the station. What the hell is going on?”

  “The cops called me, too. I’m on my way now. I’m supposed to meet a detective named Keeler. They’ve got a squad car escorting me. I have no idea what this is about.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m waiting for some cop named Tony Pooka-douchey or whatever. I had to leave all my shit with the hotel storage.”

  Pablo lowered his voice. “I can’t have these nosy cop weasels picking through my stuff. Some of it’s not exactly, y’know, legal,” he disclosed.

  “Jeez. I’m in the dark. I called my lawyer, but he hasn’t gotten back to me yet,” Gabriel said.

  “If this is Asrani’s revenge for the car and phone then I’ll fix his ass good. That prick better not be messing with us.”

  “We’re supposed to save his ass this morning with the data security report. I don’t think he’d mess with that.”

  “I don’t like this. That dude freaks at dinner. You nearly drowned after drinks with his assistant. Now we’re called in by the cops. What in God’s name is going on?”

  “I don’t know, man. I don’t know. Listen, I’m making my way through traffic now. If I don’t see you just answer their questions. Don’t mention the car or the smartphone. If they bring shit up that you don’t want to answer, then hold your tongue and call Cody. You have his number, right?

  “Yeah, man. Okay. Oh, hey, Gabriel?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This wasn’t in my contract. This is what they call mission creep. We need to renegotiate our terms.” Pablo laughed.

  “Pablo, you’re crazy…certifiable. Jeeeeez.”

  “I know, right. When life gives you a song you better dance…,” he prompted.

  And Gabriel responded automatically, “…because the song is going to end for everybody.”

  “That’s right. Oh, shit. Detective PoPo-smoochy is here. Later, my friend,” Pablo clicked off.

  Chapter 25

  Gabriel was escorted past the security scanners by Officer Gerardi at the precinct, checked in with the Desk Sergeant, and waited. He didn’t see Pablo. He checked his phone. There was just one text from his lawyer, Cody.

  You ok? Got your message. I’ll call in 45. I’ve got a buddy in Boston. Top notch. She’s ready if we need her.

  Gabriel tapped off a quick status reply.

  Just arrived at the station. Waiting. They called in Pablo, too. No news…yet…give it another hour.

  “Mr. Sweeney?”

  A beefy man in his late 30s bearing a pallid face shambled toward Gabriel, puffy hand extended.

  “Yes. I’m Gabriel Sweeney. And you are…?”

  “Detective Keeler, Dan Keeler. Thank you for coming in so promptly.” He directed Gabriel toward the back offices.

  “Let’s not kid ourselves, Detective. You didn’t really give me a choice.”

  “You’re right. I was insistent. It’s the job. You’ll understand why soon enough.”

  Detective Keeler led Gabriel into a small interview room. Both men sat down.

  “So. Mr. Sweeney. Is this your first time in Boston?”

  “Let’s skip the pleasantries. If I can help you, I will. Otherwise, I have someplace to be. So, what can I do for you?”

  “As you wish, Mr. Sweeney.”

  For the next 15 minutes, Gabriel answered a number of questions about where he was the night before and who he was with. He omitted the pool incident and kept his answers terse.

  Then Keeler leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “During your time with Mr. Patel did he give you or your colleague anything? Anything at all? I want you to take your time. This is very important.”

  Gabriel was dumbfounded. “What? No. Nothing. The whole meeting was for us to give him a report. He didn’t even take it with him. He didn’t give me anything. Why? What are you looking for?”

  “Are you certain?”

  Gabriel bristled. “Yes. Of course, I’m certain.”

  “Okay, Mr. Sweeney. Thank you.”

  “I can go now?”

  “No. Not yet. I need you to come with me.”

  Chapter 26

  The lab was quiet this morning, unlike the day before when Dr. Raimy Robinson returned from his two-week forced hiatus. His return was uneventful, thankfully, but busy. Raimy had conducted half a dozen new autopsies. Typical weekend deaths. A drunk fell in front of a T, two Southies OD’d, a robber was shot to death by a convenience store owner, and a domestic murder-suicide.

  He also cleared three of the four autopsies by the lab’s overnight ME, Dr. Tanzler. The demanding day kept Raimy focused. He was grateful for it. The prior two weeks had been filled with divorce lawyer meetings, arguments with his soon-to-be ex-wife, periodic rage toward the adulterous coach, and much-needed meditation.

  He hadn’t given much more thought to the anomalous lab report that baited his chemistry curiosity and prompted his administrative leave. Maybe Arvind was right, Raimy conceded. Maybe I was chasing unicorns. Seeing what I wanted to see. Trying to play catch-up with successful classmates. It
was probably nothing.

  Raimy had just one case left from the overnight, an apparent heart attack. But the circumstances were suspicious and under police investigation. Tanzler completed the autopsy before his shift ended. The toxicological reports had just arrived. Raimy looked over the lone corpse.

  Unknown male, late 40s, Middle Eastern or Indian descent, no distinguishing marks, no apparent injuries, Raimy noted during a quick physical examination.

  He re-draped the cadaver and reviewed the results from the blood and tissue screens.

  He mumbled the highlights. “Low levels of alcohol present…no THC or cocaine…no markers for amphetamines, PCP, methamphetamine, benzodiazepine, or morphine…likely cause of death is heart attack.”

  He moved on to the organ notes by Tanzler. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  That dead stopped Raimy.

  Wait a second! Raimy moved cat-like and recovered the corpse’s organ pack. He pulled out the heart-lung set that hours earlier pumped and breathed life for the dead man on the lab table.

  He focused on the heart vessels, valves, and muscle looking for irregularities, calcifications, and blockages caused by a clot or a build-up of cholesterol, fatty stuff, calcium, or fibrin – the typical causes of a heart attack.

  Nothing.

  Raimy checked if any portion of the heart muscle was necrotic.

  Nothing.

  “What the devil! This heart is healthy. How could Tanzler miss this?” Raimy grumbled and replaced the organ pack.

  He sat down and started reviewing every page of the toxicological reports, including the summaries and the test results data. Everything was negative except one of the tox-screens for diamorphine. The Marquis field test was negative. The gas chromatography was negative. But the mass spectrum test was different.

  Oh man. Not again.

  The key ions ought to be 327, 43, 369, 268, 310, 42, 215 and 204. But extra ones were showing.

  Extra ions? Impossible.

  “What in the blazes?” He dialed the lab techs.

  “Hey, good morning. It’s Dr. Robinson. Yeah, it’s good to be back. Thanks. Listen, two weeks ago we had a heroin overdose case, Liam Lohan. Right. Can you send up the file? Great. Thanks.”

  Raimy hung up the phone just as the lab door opened.

  Chapter 27

  “Dr. Robinson?”

  “Yes, what can I do for you.”

  “I’m Detective Antonio Paolucci. Boston PD,” said the balding, barrel-chested man. “This gentleman with me may be able to identify the John Doe on your table over there.”

  Raimy looked over the detective, checked his badge and ID.

  “Okay, detective. You know the drill. Sign in over there.” Raimy turned to the other man.

  “Good morning, sir. I’m Dr. Raimy Robinson. Before we get started, I’ll need to see your identification.”

  “Hi. Good morning. Shit. This place is creepy. I’m Pablo Souza. Here’s my ID.”

  The two shook hands.

  Pablo continued. “I have no idea why I’m here. Detective Pocahontas over there asks lots of questions but doesn’t answer any of mine.”

  “Well, Mr. Souza, that’s their job. Especially if a case is suspicious…like this one. And, yes, a morgue is creepy for most people. But for me, this is my office, so let me know if you need anything. For now, please go sign in.” Raimy returned the man’s identification.

  Raimy brought the lights up over the examination table and waited next to the covered corpse.

  “Okay, Mr. Souza. The doc is gonna lift the sheet back,” Paolucci explained. “I want you to take a good long look. Take your time. Tell me if you recognize him. Got it?”

  Pablo jerked an awkward nod. Raimy pulled the sheet back.

  “Dios mio! That’s freakin’ Asrani. What in holy hell happened to him? Jesus-the-fuck-all!”

  “Mr. Souza, who is this man. How do you know him?” the detective quizzed and scribbled notes.

  “Who is he? He’s effing Asrani Patel. I just met him last night at dinner. Over at Hampton Dowling’s. Some booshy restaurant. Christ!”

  “Calm down, Mr. Souza.”

  “You goddamn calm down! That’s the CEO of the Pilgrim Trust Bank. How in holy hell did he die? Tell me what the fuck is the deal?”

  “When did you first meet this Patel character?”

  “Detective are you deaf? Too many donuts in your ears? I just said I met him last night. What’s the matter with you?”

  “What time did you meet? Why were you meeting?”

  “Oh, for crying out loud! Am I a suspect? You’re being a dick. We met to discuss business. I did some work for him. Me and my colleague. I know you’re talking with him, too. We met over dinner to discuss a report and how to present it at the board meeting today. Jesus!”

  “Mr. Souza, this Patel character…”

  “Stop calling him ‘this Patel character’. His name is Asrani Patel. Show some respect you inconsiderate ass.”

  “Of course. I apologize, Mr. Souza. Did Mr. Patel leave with everything? Did he leave anything behind?”

  Pablo immediately remembered the memory chip and quickly decided that was a can of worms best left unopened.

  “No. He left with everything. The only thing he left behind was the check.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Souza. Mr. Patel was found in Boston Commons very late last night, a little after midnight. He had no ID, no wallet, no watch, no briefcase, no smartphone, nothing. Did he have any of those things with him at your dinner?”

  “My colleague and I paid the bills, so I didn’t see Asrani’s wallet. He had a briefcase. I don’t remember if he had a watch or not. He dropped his cell phone on the floor and put it in his suit breast pocket. So, I know he had that.”

  “As you can imagine, Mr. Souza, it’s rather unusual to find someone so well-dressed without any ID. He was just in a suit. A very expensive suit, I might add.”

  Pablo shook his head in dazed agreement, and absent-mindedly noticed how poorly-fitting the detective’s polyester clothes were.

  Paolucci continued. “We passed his picture around the area. Local bars, restaurants, parking garages, hotels, the Opera House…the usual places. We got lucky. A barmaid and waiter at Hampton Dowling’s recognized him…but didn’t know who he was. They said he was with you and a Mr. Gabriel Sweeney.”

  “Wow! I’m not from here. How in the hell did they know me?”

  “You all ran up a healthy bill, ate in a private dining room, tipped very well. You and Mr. Sweeney made quite the charming impression,” Paolucci said with disdain. “They pulled your credit card charges and we got you names. Skip traced your credit card numbers and found your charges at the Aesop bar and the hotel where you two are staying. It was easy after that.”

  Pablo nodded. “I guess so.”

  “Doc, that’s all for now. Mr. Souza, thank you for identifying this man. We weren’t certain who he was. Please come with me. I have some more questions for you.”

  Raimy watched the two men noisily leave the lab. The detective was all business, moving briskly. The other one, the witness, was unnerved, anxiously lobbing questions at the officer.

  Raimy had seen this before. People reacted to death in all sorts of ways – disbelief, sadness, despair, guilt…and anger.

  He pulled the sheet back over the dead man, then walked across the lab and doused the bright exam table lights.

  Raimy resumed his work for a few minutes before the lab doors burst open again.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m Detective Dan Keeler with the Boston Police Department. I’m here with someone who may be able to identify…”

  “Fuckin’ A! Raimy! What are you doing here?” Gabriel moved past the lumbering, pasty-face detective and grabbed his Vineyard friend’s hand.

  “Gabriel! Holy smokes! I work here, man. What are you doing here? I thought you lived in New York.” The startled doctor beamed, awash in the memory of his first leap off the Jaws bridge a fe
w weeks ago.

  “I do. I’m here on business. But Boston’s finest needs me to take a crack at IDing some dead dude. I’m supposed to be at meeting on the West End. Fucked up way to meet again, huh?”

  “You two know each?” Keeler interrupted.

  “You figured that out all by yourself, Keeler? It’s no wonder they made you detective.” Gabriel ribbed, eager to take a poke at the pushy officer.

  “You’re a smart-ass, Sweeney. Dr. Robinson do you mind if we get started?”

  “Of course not, Detective Keeler.”

  The detective shuffled across the lab, out of earshot, and checked in.

  “Do I need to sign in, too?” Gabriel asked.

  “Yeah. And I’ll need to see your identification. And leave me your number. I’d love to catch up with you before you head back to New York.”

  “Drinks tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  “Hey, Sweeney. You gonna blow hot air all day? I seem to recall you had very important business meetings today. Chop chop.”

  “Whatever, detective.” Gabriel sneered, and stepped over to the check-in book.

  Raimy elevated the exam table lights and waited by the corpse as the two men sidled up.

  Detective Keeler’s tone became grave. “Mr. Sweeney, this is important. I need you to take this very seriously yourself. Dr. Robinson will pull back the sheet. Please take a look at the person…a good long look. Take your time. Be as certain as you possibly can. I want you to tell me if you recognize the man. If you’ve seen him before. Anything you can remember. Okay?”

  “Got it.”

  Raimy slid the sheet down across the dead man’s face.

  “Oh my God! Oh, my fucking God…that’s my client. That’s Asrani Patel!” Gabriel’s knees buckled; blood drained from his face. “Jesus Christ! What happened to him? I was with him last night. He’s the man I’m supposed to be meeting. What the fuck happened to him?”

  He leaned on the exam table, steadied himself.

  “Mr. Sweeney, who is he? How do you know him?” Keeler pressed.

  “Gabriel, come over here. Sit down. Let me get you some water,” urged Raimy.