Outcomes and Perspective- The Complete Alexis Parker Prequel

by G. K. Parks

  “It was too far from the building to cause any structural damage,” he replied.

  “Maybe it’s a political statement.”

  “All right, let’s get back to the facts and stop with the conjecture for a minute.”

  “That’s all I’ve got.” I stopped pacing and slumped back in the chair. “Mr. Haze hasn’t been to court in weeks. He’s on vacation, according to his assistant, and he hasn’t been assigned any new casework by the district attorney. None of this makes any sense.”

  “If Haze hasn’t been to court in weeks because he’s on vacation, then why was his car parked outside the courthouse for the last four days? How did it get there?”

  “I don’t know.” There wasn’t any way to determine how the car got there or who drove it when the only thing left was a charred, metal heap. It wasn’t like it could be dusted for fingerprints.

  Jablonsky looked like he had an idea as he stepped away from the table. “Let’s go, Parker.”

  Two

  Jablonsky and I were standing in the small office of Mr. Haze’s assistant, Martha Reid. She was on the phone with someone and would periodically glance up, hold up her pointer finger in a wait just a moment gesture, and then continue to scribble notes on the legal pad in front of her. If she held up her finger one more time, I might have to make a similar gesture of my own.

  As we waited, Mark caught my attention and cast his eyes toward the door. Catching his drift, I whispered some excuse and left the office. Haze’s office was across the hall, so I leaned nonchalantly against the door, trying to turn the handle, but it didn’t budge. Didn’t the prosecutor trust anyone?

  Wandering the hallways, I hoped to find someone more helpful than Mrs. Reid. The problem with these legal types was they were always busy, bogged down with paperwork, clients, or booze. Occasionally, a combination of all three. Eventually, I ended up in the copy room. There was an intern or paralegal working the machine as she collated stacks of paper and cursed under her breath.

  “Excuse me,” I said, causing her to jump.

  “You must be the new temp,” she responded automatically. “This place has been insane since one of the ADAs took a leave of absence. I don’t see why they aren’t looking for a temporary replacement for him instead of hiring more of us to handle the research for his current caseload and expecting that we keep the other prosecutors up-to-date on everything.” She let out an annoyed sigh. “Had I known this was the amount of work I’d be doing, I would have just become an attorney myself.”

  “Miss,” I pulled my credentials and flipped them open for her to see, “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind telling me about Mr. Haze.”

  “Great, now they expect me to deal with the cops too.” It seemed correcting her would only lead to further irritation, so I let it slide. “What do you want to know?” She continued collating and stapling.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Courtney Dupree, paralegal to the ungrateful and self-righteous.” And I thought I was having a bad day at work. “Sorry,” she flicked her gaze to me, “I’m a temp. The agency sent me here two weeks ago. I only met Mr. Haze once.” She laughed. “He was going out the door as I was coming in, and he spilled coffee on my blouse.” Laughter seemed like a strange response to have in accordance with that type of recollection. “To make up for it, he hands me a twenty dollar bill to cover the dry cleaning cost, apologizes, and walks away. The joke was on him since I only own wash-and-wear.”

  “He sounds like a nice guy.” I was fishing, but there was little chance I would catch something.

  “Sure, I guess. I’ve never seen him again.” She grabbed the final sheet of paper from the copy tray and finished stapling. “You were probably hoping I would be more helpful.”

  I shrugged. “Do you remember anything else about that day? What he was wearing or driving? If he seemed panicked or in a rush?”

  “It’s been two weeks, and it wasn’t like I was paying that much attention. He had a great smile.” She looked a little sheepish. “I guess he was probably wearing a suit or sports coat. And he seemed fine. Normal, just like everyone else. Maybe a little preoccupied since he did bump right into me, and less of a jackass than most, seeing as how he gave me cash for the coffee stain.”

  “He’s a lawyer. Maybe it was consideration, so you wouldn’t sue him,” I joked. She picked up the stack of papers and headed out the door. Perhaps she was too busy to laugh at my attempt at levity. “Can you point me to someone who might know Mr. Haze a bit better?”

  She came to a complete halt in the middle of the hallway. “Martha would be your best bet. She’s his assistant. Why are you asking about him? Did he do something wrong?”

  “His name has surfaced in regards to a current investigation,” I repeated automatically. This was one of those lines that I could utter in my sleep from overuse. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Dupree.”

  She continued down the hallway, and giving up on my pathetic attempt at snooping, I went back to Mrs. Reid’s office to see if the woman finally concluded her phone call or if Jablonsky ripped the jack from the wall.

  “Frankly, sir, if you want information on any of Doug’s current cases, you’ll need a court order or permission from the district attorney,” Reid’s voice traveled through the closed door and could be heard in the hallway.

  Going back inside, I shut the door and stood near the back wall so as not to interrupt. Apparently, Jablonsky was questioning her on upcoming trials and hearings.

  “Fine.” He looked agitated, pulling out his phone and making a call. He had a lot of professional acquaintances in a lot of different places, and it wasn’t surprising that the DA’s number was saved in his phonebook. He muttered a few words, giving the briefest explanation, and hung up. A second later, Reid’s phone rang, and she answered, provided a couple perfunctory answers, and put the phone in its cradle. “Happy?” Mark asked.

  “Here’s the list of pending trials and corresponding court dates for the days and times you requested.” The information was already prepared for us, so it made no sense why she tried to give us the runaround. I didn’t like it.

  Turning his back to her as he scanned the sheet, he looked at me, hoping I would take over.

  “Mrs. Reid, do you have any idea where Mr. Haze went or how long ago he made these arrangements?”

  “I’m not his keeper. I have enough to do here.”

  “Does Mr. Haze have a family or a significant other? It’d be incredibly helpful to have some insight into his private life,” I added.

  “This is my job. This is a place of business, not some sorority house.” She fixed me with a hard stare. “You should realize how important it is to exercise professionalism. If he didn’t tell me, then I didn’t ask.” Her attitude seemed cold and detached, but when she spoke of him, she referenced his first name. There had to be a familiarity, despite her comments. My gut said she knew more than she was letting on.

  “Of course, ma’am. Thank you for your time,” I replied, giving her a smile. Jablonsky went out the door, confused by our sudden departure. As I followed him, I turned back to her. “When’s Doug supposed to return from his absence?”

  “He didn’t say.” Betrayal flickered across her face. “He didn’t bother to tell me he wasn’t coming back. It’s not like I’ve been his assistant for years, always on top of things, making sure not to cut any corners, and that all the rules were followed to the letter.” She sounded bitter. “Two weeks ago, he says goodnight, as he did every evening, and that was it. The next day, I was scrambling to get another ADA to cover for him. He didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me to make preparations for his absence.”

  “Did he ever do that before?” With Jablonsky outside, she was opening up.

  “No, but I got an e-mail the next morning saying he was taking a sabbatical and to pass along his caseload. No one questioned it, so I figured he must have spoken to the boss about it. I haven’t heard from him since. Who knows what’s going to happen to
me or my job if he doesn’t come back.”

  Nodding, I continued out the door.

  “Get anything useful?” Jablonsky asked as we left the building.

  “Not really.” I stopped, reconsidering. “I spoke to a temporary assistant, Courtney Dupree. She said she was called in the same day Haze left. She also said they’ve been requesting quite a few temps to help with research to make up for the shortage of attorneys.”

  “It looks like Haze planned to leave all along, even if he didn’t bother to inform his assistant,” Jablonsky surmised.

  Sighing audibly, I leaned my forehead against the glass window as we drove back to the OIO. “Our leads are so farfetched right now,” I muttered. “Haze might not have anything to do with the explosion. I mean, seriously, who blows up their own car?”

  “Parker,” he was in lecture mode, “we work this case just like any other. You’re trying to jump ahead because of the ticking clock, but keep in mind, just because some asshole calls in a threat, it doesn’t mean it’s real. It also doesn’t mean we should be sloppy. We go where the evidence leads. Sometimes, it takes us to a dead end, and sometimes, it goes straight to the person responsible. Right now, we don’t have enough to do anything else. This is square one.”

  “There has to be more,” I argued. “Something has to be there.”

  He gazed at me for a long moment, probably too long for someone who was driving a car. “This might be it. We work with what we have and hope it’s enough. Either it will lead somewhere, or it won’t. We can’t always stop things from happening.”

  That was something I wasn’t willing to accept. If a train was speeding toward you, there had to be some way to stop it. We knew it was coming. Now all we had to do was locate the emergency brakes.

  “I don’t like it either,” he said after a time. “I’m not saying we should throw in the towel, but you’ve been at this since we got the call. Tonight, you’re going home early. Fresh eyes and a clear mind work wonders.”

  “Okay.” For once, we were in complete agreement on the insane work hours I tended to keep.

  Three

  Arriving home, I phoned in an order for Thai food, then showered, and changed into something comfortable. The wheels in my head were turning around the explosion, ADA Haze’s sudden disappearance, and the comments Courtney Dupree and Martha Reid made. “Where is the freaking off switch?” I grumbled, turning on the television and channel surfing for a pointless distraction. Stopping on a movie that touted shirtless men with supernatural abilities, I reached for a notepad and started constructing a timeline surrounding Haze’s sudden leave of absence. I just added the run-in with Dupree when there was a knock at my door.

  “You’re not Thai food,” I said, sounding slightly disappointed.

  “Glad to see your observational skills aren’t suffering any,” Carver responded, entering my apartment without invitation. “By the time I got back, Jablonsky said you went home for the night.” He gave me a look. “What gives?”

  “I needed a break and some distance. Mark agreed or suggested it. At this point, I’m not sure which is more accurate,” I rambled as Carver took his jacket off and wandered into my living room.

  He picked up the notepad and read my scribbles before dropping it on the couch cushion. “This is what you call taking a break?” He sat down and stared at the TV. “I’ve seen this movie. Is it the second or third? Either way, they all turn into werewolves at the end.”

  “Michael, why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable?” I remarked.

  “Sure, thanks.” He unhooked his gun from the holster on his hip and put it on my end table. “I figured you’d be burning the midnight oil and thought you’d like an update on what we uncovered today.”

  “You could have called.”

  “True, but we both work better with visual aids,” he picked up my notepad as if to demonstrate his point, “so this made more sense.” He made an obvious pretense of looking around my apartment. “Unless I’m interrupting something. Maybe a date or a meeting with a male prostitute.” I glared at him. “Female prostitute?” I made a disgusted sound, and fearing for his own safety, he cracked a smile. “Take it easy. I was only teasing. I thought you might like some company. If you don’t want to talk about the case, we don’t have to. Or I can go. No hard feelings either way.”

  Before I could answer, there was another knock at the door. This time, dinner arrived. I paid the man and brought the cartons into the living room, dropping them on the coffee table.

  “It seems I might have been overzealous in my ordering as usual. I’d like you to stay for dinner, and we can go over whatever you and the other guys found today. Just stop with the quips, I’m not in the mood.”

  He smiled, appearing as if he just won some kind of prize. “Okay, Alex. Thanks.”

  He picked up the plastic utensils as I selected a carton of noodles, leaving him two other options to choose from. One of these days, I would learn to order one thing at a time, but on the plus side, leftovers often lasted through the rest of the week.

  “We couldn’t locate Douglas Haze,” he said around a mouthful of shrimp. “Sam and I checked his house, spoke to a couple of his neighbors, pulled his phone records, and talked to his friends and family. The guy disappeared.”

  “What’d we get on the bomb materials and the vehicle?”

  “When I left, they were still trying to identify the suppliers, but nothing was out of the ordinary. My guess would be the bomb could have been constructed from the products they sell at any hardware store. We have a few experts from the PD’s bomb squad checking for a signature on the detonator.” He sighed. “The real kicker is the footage we have of the car prior to its impoundment.”

  “The suspense is killing me,” I deadpanned. Leaning back against the sofa cushion, I curled my legs underneath me, too worn out to pace.

  “From what we can tell, the guy who dropped off the car in front of the courthouse resembles Haze. It might even be him. We’re working on angles and facial recognition right now, but suffice it to say, it doesn’t appear anyone else approached the vehicle except the meter maid and the tow truck driver.” Carver put the carton on the table and sighed. “The problem is,” he chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment, thinking, “we ran Haze’s credit cards to try to locate him. He bought a bus ticket two weeks ago for Indianapolis, and there hasn’t been a bit of financial activity since then.”

  Either Haze was our bomber, or someone with a slight resemblance was. “Any possible ideas what his motivation would be, assuming it is Douglas Haze who is behind the explosion and threats?”

  “Disgruntled employee or a worker drone disenchanted with the entire legal system.”

  “Aren’t we all?” I blew out a breath. “And if it isn’t Haze, we need to determine who had access to his car. Were there any signs of tampering?” Michael looked at me as if I were insane. “Right, it blew up.” I rubbed my eyes. “I guess that means I really do need a break.” I tossed the notepad on the coffee table and settled into the cushions. Closing my eyes, I added, “Talk me through your thought process. Have you reached any conclusions?”

  “Besides the fact that you’re suffering from sleep deprivation and have horrible taste in movies, I think Haze might be our guy. No one drops off the face of the earth. Maybe he needed to take the leave of absence so he could build the bomb. It’s not like he’s an engineer.”

  “But if you’re planning an attack and you don’t want to get caught, then you don’t plant the bomb in your own car. You don’t dramatically change your routine, and you don’t leave it parked someplace you know it’s going to get towed away.” I opened my eyes and studied Carver. “That’s it.” I smiled as the light bulb came on.

  “The target wasn’t the courthouse. It was the impound lot. But how’d he know the vehicle would get towed there?”

  “A good guess,” I shrugged, “but why target an impound lot? It seems contradictory to the follow-up threat we recei
ved.” The pieces were started to break apart again.

  “Unless,” he grabbed his phone, “what if the explosion was to throw us off the scent of something else?” He finished dialing as I tried to process through what he said.

  “Like what?” It made no sense, but he ignored me as he waited for whoever was on the other end to answer.

  Eventually, he hung up when no one answered. “Dammit. I wanted Boyle to get a manifest of the other impounded vehicles. Maybe one of them was used in the commission of another crime, and the police haven’t made the connection yet. An explosion would clearly detract from any other pending investigations.”

  “Apparently, I’m not the only one who needs sleep. Your speculation is started to sound like a conspiracy theory.”

  “Do you have any better ideas?” he remarked, and I shut my mouth.

  It felt like we were getting closer in our assumptions, but we needed facts to support the beginnings of this new theory. Checking the time, it was almost eight. In twelve hours, I’d be back at work.

  He turned around to see what I was looking at. “Okay. Tonight, we’ll leave the investigating in the hands of our capable co-workers, and tomorrow, we’ll see if anything they uncovered supports my theory.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “Now, do you want to finish watching the movie? I think there’s another forty minutes until they all turn into werewolves.”

  “Sure, mindless drivel is precisely what I need right now.”

  He found the remote and put the TV back on as I grabbed the throw from the back of the couch and got more comfortable. As the movie continued, it became apparent the only saving grace it possessed was the shirtless men. Resting my eyes, the forced dialogue and overacting droned in the background as my mind tried to wrap itself around Carver’s newfound theory.

  At some point, I fell asleep because when I opened my eyes again, my head was resting against his shoulder and the sun was peeking through my blinds. Sitting up, Michael opened his eyes and stretched.