The False Mirror

by Dana V. Moison

  Just great, thought Sharon, another theory with no proof. She had the confession of a sadistic criminal, which might have satisfied her curiosity, but she was going to need more than that if she wanted to nail Lisbon.

  “In any case,” Helborgen went on without noticing the doubts rising in the detective, “one night, we made plans to meet in some dark alley downtown. Lisbon must have told his driver to stop on the way so he could take a leak because he didn’t stay for more than a few minutes. He was always nervous about our meetings.” Ray clenched his fists and slammed them together forcibly.

  “Lisbon arrived with a brown paper bag, and inside of it was a syringe. When I took the syringe out and looked at it, he explained that it contained a substance called atropine. He said that if I injected it into Tracy’s chest, it would make her heart explode, just like she had snorted too much coke.”

  Sharon pricked up her ears upon hearing this new information. George Lisbon had the murder weapon in his possession! However, the odds that Helborgen actually saved the incriminating syringe were slim. And he specifically mentioned that Lisbon had handed it to him in a paper bag and hadn’t touched it directly.

  Perhaps she could try and trace where he’d gotten it. Not likely – she immediately dismissed the thought – chances were that Lisbon had made the acquisition in cash and with strict discretion. It was pointless. Another dead end. She felt like she was losing hope.

  “. . . You see, this paranoid didn’t even let me use my own gun because he didn’t want the police to investigate.” Ray’s voice penetrated her thoughts and forced her to refocus on the conversation. “No one was supposed to find out that Tracy was murdered. Everyone was supposed to think she died of a cocaine overdose, not from a stab with an atropine syringe . . .”

  It took Sharon a moment to realize why Helborgen emphasized this point.

  “. . . So, when I ‘accidentally’ dropped it,” Ray’s eyebrows were raised as if he were innocent, “Lisbon didn’t think twice before he caught it in the air and prevented it from falling, cursing the shit out of me.” Ray let out a sly grin. “He shoved it in my hand and hurried back to his fancy car.”

  Sharon looked at Ray, completely dumbfounded. If this were a movie, at this very point the hero would gape at the surprising discovery. Lisbon’s fingerprints might appear on the murder weapon after all.

  Please, God, don’t let it end with Helborgen having thrown the syringe in the trash.

  “I thought I could use a little insurance in case things went south . . .” He got quiet. “Turns out I was right,” he said with a bitter smile. “I have the syringe, well-guarded.”

  “Where?” she demanded. This was the first time she spoke in the conversation.

  “First, I sign a plea bargain; then I tell you everything you wanna to know.”

  CHAPTER 62

  September 26, 2013. Brooklyn, New York

  Sharon marched through the open door into the warm and decorated space that was already seared into her memory. She searched for a familiar face until she recognized one in the crowd.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said to Rebecca Hershenberg.

  “Thank you, dear. I appreciate everything you’ve done for us, and I know Becky feels the same way.”

  Sharon’s heart twinged upon hearing Becky’s name. The image of Max Webber flashed before her eyes – treading toward his freedom, longing to see his daughter – but it immediately faded. Becky remained heartbroken, while Sharon was arranging plea bargains for the man who had orphaned her. A terrible sense of guilt flooded her. Sharon hoped that Becky and Rebecca would never find out about it. She couldn’t look them in the eye if that ever happened.

  Sharon shook her head slightly, as if she were shaking her thoughts away, to refocus on reality. “Where is Becky?” She looked around. “I’d like to see her.”

  “I’m sure the feeling is mutual.” Rebecca smiled warmly at her, which only exacerbated her sense of guilt. “I think she went up to her room a few minutes ago, second room on the left.” She pointed toward the staircase.

  Sharon made her way between the dozens of people talking to each other, sharing stories and memories about the loving couple who had ceased to exist. Considering that Max and Emily Webber hadn’t lived in New York for almost two decades, many people came to their Shiva*, she noted to herself. It seemed that despite everything, they were a beloved couple in the area.

  Sharon climbed the stairs and stopped at the open door. “Can I come in?” she asked with a doleful smile.

  Becky was sitting alone on the bed, looking at old photo albums. She placed the album she was holding aside and rose to hug Sharon. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Sharon noticed the redness in Becky’s eyes. “How are you?” she asked earnestly.

  “It’s weird,” she replied. “At first, I was a bit upset with Grandma about this whole ‘Shiva’ thing. I didn’t want the house to be filled with strangers who have no way of relating to the loss I’m experiencing.” She narrowed her eyes momentarily. “But it made me feel better to see how many people loved Mom and Dad, to listen to stories I’d never heard before about their life in New York, to hear how much I look like my mother . . .” Tears gushed from her eyes. “It’s a very beautiful tradition to sit Shiva. No matter what religion it represents, no matter which religion I belong to, because I’m not sure I know the answer. I’m not even sure I know who I am anymore.”

  “It’s all right,” Sharon comforted her. “You’ve got all the time in the world.” She stroked her hair. “And between you and me, nobody knows who they are at sixteen,” she added with a half-smile.

  Becky smiled through her tears, “Thank you for everything, Sharon. Really.” She sniffled. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Don’t worry, kid. From now on, I’ll make sure to visit Brooklyn more often. My mom would love that.”

  Becky remained silent for a few moments before answering. “I decided to go back to Oklahoma. New York was my parent’s home, but Fairland is my home,” she declared. “The doctors report that Brandon’s condition is getting better, and he might wake up in the next couple of days. I want to be there when it happens. I want to graduate with all my friends.” Becky looked into Sharon’s eyes. “I want to get my life back even if it never really was mine in the first place.” She wiped at her tears.

  Sharon was deeply impressed by the young girl’s grown-up approach to all this. At times, it was hard to believe she was only a teenager.

  “I completely understand. I’m going to miss you very much.”

  “Grandma is going to move with me to Fairland and help me take care of Brandon.” Becky sniffled again, trying to hold back her tears. “You know, it’s ironic, but until just a few days ago, I didn’t want anything to do with the money Daddy had stolen. But it could have helped,” she admitted. “The doctors warned us that the medical bills might stack up, and I would hate if Grandma had to sell her house because of it.”

  “I wish I could help you.” Sharon’s forehead furrowed in helplessness. “I have no idea where that money is; but no matter what, I’m sure Jacob will somehow get the Marshals Service to take care of the medical expenses. Rebecca won’t have to sell the house. She has always been my favorite neighbor; I won’t let anyone take her place,” she winked.

  “So, I guess that now isn’t the best time to tell you that I’m your new neighbor,” Jacob’s voice could be heard from behind her.

  * The Jewish mourning period after a death.

  CHAPTER 63

  September 26, 2013. Brooklyn, New York

  Sharon turned around surprised, spotting Jacob’s handsome face a few inches away from hers. They exchanged a brief hug and pulled away from each other.

  “Hey, it’s good to see you,” said Sharon and truly meant it.

  “You, too.” A tiny smile appeared on his lips before his face returned to its usual stern expression.

  “Say, were you serious earlier? Are you really moving here?”r />
  “Yes, at least on paper.” Jacob shrugged. “I was offered a new position. It involves a lot of travel, so I’ll barely be home, but yes, the unit I’ll be working for is based in New York.”

  “Wow, that’s great!” Sharon couldn’t conceal her joy. Honestly, she had gotten quite used to having Jacob around, working side by side.

  If he had gone away, there was no doubt that he would have left an empty space in her heart.

  Jacob released an untypically playful grin, “Don’t be too thrilled. I’ll need someone to help me deal with this city, and you’re the only New Yorker I know.”

  “It’s no problem,” she laughed and sent him a gleaming smile. For a brief moment, the thought that Chris probably wouldn’t like the idea of Jacob moving so close infiltrated her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. We’re just friends, she repeated to herself.

  “I’m supposed to start next week, but I haven’t had the chance to look for an apartment just yet . . .” He arched an eyebrow. “Rebecca was generous enough to offer me to stay here for as long as I need since she’ll be in Oklahoma with Becky.”

  “Of course, Uncle Jake,” interjected Becky. “You’re a part of this family.” She looked at him with a pair of big, glistening eyes and fondly laid her head on his shoulder.

  Jacob placed his big hand around her arm and embraced her. “You’ve always been and always will be my family, kiddo; from the day you were born and until my last day.”

  Sharon watched the two of them as a sudden warmness enveloped her. Perhaps this story would have a good ending after all.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt.” Rebecca’s head peered through the door. “Becky, can you come downstairs for a few minutes? There are some people I’d like you to meet.”

  Becky stepped outside, leaving Sharon and Jacob alone. An awkward silence took over the room while each tried to think of something appropriate to talk about.

  “How’s it going with the Tracy Navarro case?” he asked eventually.

  “The murder weapon is at the lab, being checked for fingerprints as we speak,” she answered proudly. “Luckily, all City Hall employees are obligated to be fingerprinted when they start working at the chambers, so Lisbon’s are already in the system. If we find a match, we got him.”

  “What was it, a knife? A gun?”

  “An atropine syringe.”

  “Excuse me?” He stared at her.

  “Apparently, taking too much of this substance can produce similar side effects to a cocaine overdose.”

  “Wow, even your murder techniques are more sophisticated here than down south,” he bantered.

  “Are you still sure you want to move here?” she teased him.

  “Depends where,” he replied wryly and gave her a half-smile. “My original plan was to find a place in Manhattan, but I think I’ll end up staying in Brooklyn. I like it here.”

  Sharon smiled. There was something about his rugged simplicity that charmed the hell out of her.

  Correction, would have charmed the hell out of her . . . if she hadn’t been head-over-heels in love with Chris.

  “Helborgen gave me directions where to find the hidden syringe. He basically saved our case.” Sharon lowered her eyes. “He signed a plea bargain. He won’t get the death penalty.”

  Although he definitely deserves it.

  “It’s all right, Sharon. You have nothing to be sorry for. You managed to put two murderers in jail, and no one can refute that. As far as I’m concerned, this scumbag deserves a punishment far worse than death.” Jacob clenched his fists. “He shouldn’t get away with it so easily.”

  “Soon enough, his entire drug empire will crumble and fall, thanks to our friend Richie,” Sharon reminded him. “And then, like dominoes, every next stumbling block will bring another one to fall.”

  “That’s a good start,” he nodded.

  Sharon’s cell phone rang. After glancing at the screen, she decided to answer. Jacob watched her listening carefully to the speaker on the other side of the line. As the conversation grew longer, the smile on her face grew wider.

  “We found a fingerprint match on the syringe along with Tracy’s DNA and traces of atropine, which proves, without a doubt, that this is our murder weapon. Care to guess whose fingerprints they are?”

  CHAPTER 64

  September 26, 2013. Manhattan, New York

  Sharon returned to her cozy apartment in Downtown Manhattan at dusk, at the end of a particularly long day. The darkness outside increased her exhaustion, and she craved washing off the exertions of the day. She went straight to bathroom and turned on the hot water, letting the bath fill slowly. From there, she moved to the adjoining bedroom, placed her Glock on the dresser, and took off her clothes, letting them fall on the wooden floor. After a few minutes, she went back to the bathroom and stepped carefully into the steamy tub.

  She added some bath foam and left her aching muscles at the mercy of the warm water. She felt the water exert its magic, unwinding her strained body. The tension from the last few days had left its mark on each and every organ in her body, but now it was fading slowly, just like the tiny bubbles that surrounded her. This was her first real chance to get some rest and truly relax since this whole story had begun.

  The long-awaited rest did not last long. The sound of the doorbell interrupted her tranquility, and she was forced to detach herself from the soothing warm water. She wrapped herself in a large towel and padded, with wet steps, toward the door.

  She found Chris standing there, carrying a brown paper bag imprinted with the logo of her favorite Chinese restaurant.

  “Oh, I see I came at a bad time,” he said, scanning her towel-covered body with his gaze. “Actually, come to think of it, I arrived just in time.” He laid the bag on the kitchen counter and wrapped his arms around Sharon. Her long hair was dripping all over his tailored shirt, but it didn’t even faze him.

  “You’ve always had perfect timing,” she laughed. Suddenly, she realized they were standing in the middle of a little puddle. “Wait a second, I’ll put something on and be right back.” She disappeared behind the bedroom door in the blink of an eye.

  “Nothing works just fine!” he called after her. “I think this towel really complements your skin tone!”

  When she returned to the living room, the takeout boxes were already lined up on the table, emitting a delicious smell. Sharon inhaled deeply, letting a wide smile expand from her lips. “Wow, to what do I owe the pleasure of this feast?”

  “I got your text about finally closing the Tracy Navarro case; I thought we could celebrate together.”

  “Thanks, Chris. I’m famished.”

  Chris let out a knowing smile, “I assumed your busy schedule today didn’t include regular meals.”

  “You know me all too well,” she smiled back at him.

  “Too bad I had to interrupt you during your victory bath – I know how much they mean to you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have waited for you.”

  Chris pressed the button on Sharon’s home answering machine while giving her a chiding look. As the recording was played, a triumphant grin appeared on his face. “Hey Babe, I called your cell, but it went straight to voicemail. Your battery is probably dead again. I’ll be at your place in an hour, leave room for dinner.”

  Sharon looked at him like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar just before dinner. “Okay, so you told me.”

  He glared at her. “Why do you have an answering machine if you never check your messages?”

  “You know I usually do check them!” she retorted in a defensive tone. “Besides, perhaps someday it will become a collector’s item that we could sell on eBay.” She sent him a shrewd grin.

  Chris chuckled. “Anyway, next time I’ll try to schedule my visits so you don’t catch pneumonia.”

  Sharon looked at Chris with pleasure. She thought about her trip on the subway the other day, when she first seriously considered the id
ea of them moving in together. Maybe she wasn’t ready to take the leap just yet, but she could start with a small, promising step.

  “I have the perfect solution,” she declared with a coy little smile. Sharon took the Cherokee rose keychain she had received from Chris and removed a key. She put it on the table, sliding it over to his side, not taking her eyes off him until he picked it up.

  He gave her a wary look. “Are you serious?”

  She looked into his eyes without a hint of hesitation, “Completely.”

  “Too bad I didn’t interrupt your bath a long time ago . . .”

  “Yeah, it’s too bad you didn’t.” She released a gleeful laugh. “Maybe I would have come to my senses sooner. I love you,” she said and kissed him.

  Chris took the key and added it to his chain. “I love you, too.”

  ***

  “So, how did you nab Lisbon?” Chris asked while trying to fish with his chopsticks the leftover noodles at the bottom of the box.

  “As soon as I got confirmation that the atropine syringe with Tracy’s DNA had Lisbon’s fingerprint on it, I returned to Manhattan with a police escort to place him in custody. The deputy mayor was still in his office, sitting behind his impressive mahogany desk, busy signing documents. When I entered, he looked at me like a frightened calf being led to slaughter, as if he already knew what was about to happen.”