Her Thin Blue Lifeline: Indigo Knights Book I

by A. J. Downey

  I smiled, bolstered by his confidence and said, “Trying every day to make this thing my bitch. What about you? Any luck on that other case?” I wish I’d felt the same level of conviction the words held, but I didn’t. I was hoping that a change of subject would spare me from having to talk about me and my situation anymore.

  I hadn’t seen much of Tony lately. He tried to visit regularly, but unlike the hospital, this place had set visiting hours and he wasn’t always successful at making it inside the times they allowed. We’d seen each other maybe once a week, but traded phone calls and emails fairly regularly. At least until my phone had started blowing up with interview requests. I’d shut it off after telling the Hayworths and Tony to reach me by email if they wanted to talk. Tony had kept up with me the most, emailing once a day minimum, summing up how the day went. Usually the tone of those emails were polite and superficial, but if you read between the lines, the mutual friendship and comradery of both being cogs and wheels in the criminal justice machine were there.

  It was comfortable, and I needed something, anything, that felt that way to cling to so I didn’t lose my mind.

  “We caught the girl. A sad case for sure, but we got her.”

  “Isn’t every case a sad one when working homicide?” I asked.

  “Not always. We don’t get to pick the vic, but sometimes we can’t feel especially sorry for them. Some of ‘em are a real piece of work.”

  “Isn’t it hard not to feel empathy for the killer in those cases, though?”

  “Sometimes yeah, sometimes not so much. Depends on the situation.”

  “Okay, give me an example then.”

  He looked at the sky and I watched the reflection of the fluffy white clouds against the backdrop of his steel blue irises. It was a striking contrast and one I wished I could capture a picture of. Ah well, some things were better left a memory to cherish. Sitting here having a candid conversation, even if it was a bit macabre, was definitely one of those times I was locking away to replay later as I tried to fall asleep.

  “Case I had two years ago, banger gets shot and killed by another banger, pretty common in the south end. Banger one, the victim in this case, was a real piece of work, rap sheet a mile long and was pretty much recruiting kids to run his drugs and guns. Considered himself a real Good Samaritan for it, too. He knew that a kid pinched with that much product or a firearm would be out in less than half the time and would be back to pushin’ for him. Bragged that he was doing the neighborhood a favor, that he was helping these kids earn so that when they aged out and their juvie records were sealed they could have some kind of a future.”

  “A future of crime, maybe.”

  “Yeah, well you know that, and I know that, but it was a hell of a siren’s call to these kids who grew up on government cheese sandwiches at school as their only meal a day for sometimes three and four days straight.”

  “Ugh…” I sighed. “So who killed him, and why?”

  “One of the kids who’d grown up playing banger one’s little game. Banger one was trying to recruit banger two’s little brother. Banger two had gotten himself locked up at seventeen, thinking he was immune to consequences. Was put away on adult charges and as we both know, that shit doesn’t disappear. Got stuck, couldn’t find decent work; had a record hanging over his head the rest of his life. Didn’t want the same for his kid brother.”

  “I can empathize with that, can’t you?”

  “Sure, so could the jury, he got out on a reduced sentence and I picked him up last month for killing his little brother. Little brother refused to give him money. Big brother thought the kid somehow owed him for big brother’s mistakes.”

  “That’s not exactly what we’re talking about here, though. Is it?” I asked, and Tony lifted one leather clad shoulder in a shrug.

  “At the end of the day, and this particular case, isn’t it? I mean, the first time around people’s sympathies and empathies were allowed to cloud their judgment, the man got a reduced sentence because the victim was a piece of shit and the perp had a violin to play.”

  I raised an eyebrow at his cynical world view but heard him out.

  “Second time around, no sympathy, no violin, dude goes directly to jail, but at the same time, that doesn’t bring his little brother back.”

  “The system failed after a fashion, I guess.”

  He studied my face, “How do you figure that?”

  “Well, in order for the system to work correctly, you have to judge a case based on the facts presented. It’s flawed in that people are inherently emotional creatures, and so divorcing ourselves from those emotions and thinking logically and critically isn’t always our strongest suit. It’s a flaw in the system, but one we can’t always work around. One we have to live with, remain aware of, and work diligently not to let it get in the way of the truth.”

  “I don’t disagree, beautiful.” He heaved a big sigh and it was a sentiment I echoed.

  “We win and lose every case, sometimes in unexpected ways,” I murmured and thought about my own situation.

  “Hey.”

  I looked over and met Tony’s very serious and very penetrating gaze as he said, “None of this is your fault. You did your job. These people… hell, people nowadays seem to have no real concept of reality. They just don’t know when or how to quit. Their actions are in no way any kind of reflection on who you are, or what you did.”

  I closed my eyes and nodded.

  “You know, Miranda really was innocent. I don’t get to say that about many of my clients, I know that, but Miranda? She was the real deal. She was genuinely afraid for her life when she did what she did. I have zero guilt or regrets that I won that case and she went free.”

  I was pointedly staring down along the grass and away from Tony, fixating on a bundle of yellow trout lily growing against a wall. Tony’s hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze brought me back around to look at him.

  “I kind of figured; I’m sorry you’re taking the heat from this.”

  “Just one more service I offer,” I said meekly at an attempt at humor and it worked, he smiled big and chuckled.

  “You should have been a cop with a sense of humor like that.”

  I smiled too, “A little late for a career change, especially now,” I said lifting my permanently injured arm out from my body slightly for emphasis. I knew what I could get away with, without hurting.

  He nodded and took his hand off my stretch-denim clad knee and gripped the edge of the bench seat.

  “Yeah, maybe so,” he agreed and it was nice. We sat quietly in the atrium of the rehab facility for a time, neither one of us needing to say anything, just comfortable in each other’s presence.

  Chapter 11

  Tony

  Sitting at the bar in the Ten-Thirteen, a bottle of my favorite beer in front of me, Skids polishing a glass in across from me, and flanked by Yale and Backdraft. It wasn’t a bad way to end the evening. It was a quiet Tuesday, the local news on the screen above the bar.

  “Hey, turn that up?”

  Skids turned around and looked, reaching up to hit the volume on the side of the TV we were all watching.

  “The hashtag is trending, ‘where’s Tina?’ The private defense attorney disappeared from Trinity General Hospital in the dead of night…” Backdraft scoffed and I was with him on that one, “…and no one has seen her since!”

  “Did any of these assholes stop to consider that maybe she doesn’t wanna be found?” Skids asked and set down the glass he’d been working behind the bar, picking up another one.

  “I don’t know, man. You’d think they’d just let it die already,” I answered. I looked away from the main station in town and the shitty things people had to say in their nightly edition of ‘Word on the Street’ but my attention was mercilessly dragged back by Yale elbowing me in the ribs.

  I looked up and splashed all over the screen were screen captures off of Facebook, some dude commenting ‘This that lawyer ain’t it?
’ with a picture of Chrissy and I sitting in the little garden in living color on the screen.

  “Shit.”

  “Cover’s blown, man. Go get her,” Backdraft said and Yale was already on the phone.

  The screen panned out and showed the fucking reporter standing in front of the care facility that Chrissy was in.

  “We’re here now, to finally get Ms. Franco’s side of the story.”

  “Fuuuuuck!”

  I booked it, pulling my own phone out of the inside pocket of my jacket, my Captain’s number on speed dial. He picked up on the fourth ring.

  “Yeah?”

  “You watching channel nine?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I’m on my way in.”

  “Got any ideas where to put her that isn’t on the city’s dime?” he asked.

  “Still working on that.”

  “Well take her home for now. Hopefully it’ll be the last place anybody thinks to look. I can authorize the overtime for one of you to stay with her tonight. It’ll give us a minute to figure out what else to do, see if she has someplace else to go.”

  “Copy that, Captain.”

  I hung up and sat astride the front of my bike. I put my phone away and cursed. I had to get a car out of the motor pool. Chrissy couldn’t ride. I switched vehicles in the garage under my precinct and went for one of the unmarked cars with the darkest tint. The whole time going from the Ten-Thirteen to heading to the place she was at, it felt like the last sands were trickling out of some invisible hourglass. Like I was running out of time, the only thing was I didn’t know what I was racing against when it came to the clock. I knew she was cool for a minute; that the reporters wouldn’t be allowed inside, but still, by the time I got to the facility she was in, it was a total shit show. Uniforms were clashing with media at reception and Mary, the receptionist, was all but standing on her desk to get shit under control.

  She made eye contact with me and I slipped past the crowd and headed for Chrissy’s room, texting her and the guys. We had to be slick. There was too much of a crowd, too many witnesses with the media all wanting to get their soundbite that we had one thing going for us. Whoever was trying to finish what they’d started when it came to taking her out would have a lot of eyes on them.

  Of course, this was presupposing they cared about getting caught or not. You never could tell with these whack-jobs. This could also provide a perfect opportunity for this guy to finish the job. Too many variables, too much shit in the air, and I wasn’t the only one who’d broken off and slipped down the hall, either. I saw an orderly coming down the hall in my direction and he called out, “Hey! Hey you! What’re you doing? You can’t be down here!”

  I flashed my badge, clipped to my belt at him and he gave me a chin lift and went right past me, stopping the reporter that’d trailed me down this way. I turned down Chrissy’s hall and slipped into her room.

  She jumped, startled, and cried, “Oh, god! You scared me.”

  “Sorry, you have your shit together?” She nodded and pointed to the twin sized hospital bed they had her in and I shook my head, grabbing the bags off of it, the tote I’d brought her and another fancier looking one, likely from Pasquale.

  “Looks like you’re going to be in your own bed tonight,” I told her.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, come on. You got anything you can cover up with? Like a jacket or coat?”

  “Please don’t tell me we have to run the gauntlet of reporters out there…”

  My phone rang and I picked it up with an irritated, “Yeah?”

  “Cavalry is on its way, Youngblood. Just hang tight.”

  “Jaime, what’ve you got, partner?”

  “Head for the back entrance, the alley off 51st. Yale’s on his way. I got uniforms with me to see about clearing out the problem children out front.”

  “K. I took a cruiser from the motor pool, have a uni come around back and get the keys.”

  “Got it, what a clusterfuck.”

  “Who you tellin’?”

  Chrissy stood to the side, transferring her weight from one foot to the other looking downright shattered and like she was going to implode any second from the stress. I went to her and gently grasped her chin, tipping her face to look me in the eye. She looked, breath stilling completely. I could feel her body trembling finely, we were that much into each other’s personal space, despite the only contact being my fingers gently gripping her chin.

  “You’re going to be fine. I’ve got you.” I told her and let that sink in. Her lovely dark eyes widened and I let her go, she didn’t move for a long series of heartbeats, her eyes locked with mine. I watched her regain her composure, her slightly parted lips pursing as she pulled it together.

  I nodded once and she matched it with one of her own, and I shouldered her bags for her.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked.

  “Back entrance,” I held out my hand and she grasped it with her good one. “Stay behind me, keep an eye out behind us as best you can and let me know if we’ve got anyone coming up on us on our six o’clock. Can you do that?”

  “I can do that,” she said solemnly.

  “I’ll try not to go too fast.”

  “I’ll tell you if I can’t keep up.”

  “Atta girl.”

  I looked out into the hall ahead of us and found it all clear. I slipped out and went for the charting station. The same orderly who’d taken care of the reporter that’d tailed me looked up from behind the desk’s wrap and asked, “What’s up?”

  “Back entrance, alley off 51st, where is it?”

  “This way,” he came around to lead us and I pulled Chrissy in front of me. She was limping, but making it work, moving along at a good clip. The dude stopped at a fire exit door, one of those ‘open it and everyone’s gonna know about it’ types. He pulled a ring of keys off his belt and went through them to disable the alarm.

  “Glad you’ve got a key,” I said and he shook his head.

  “Me too, I’m sorry this is happening to you Ms. Fenwick – er, Franco.”

  “Thanks, T.J. I appreciate it.”

  He twisted the key in the alarm at the top of the door and depressed the crash bar, I put Chrissy behind me and peeked out.

  “All clear.”

  T.J. and I helped her take the step down and she tucked herself into my side, an SUV turned, pulling down the alley, Yale behind the wheel. I heard a shout at the mouth of the alley, off to one side and I ripped open the door to the back seat. Chrissy needed help, and cried out in pain when it came to getting her one foot high enough to step on the runner board of the cage. Yale reached behind the passenger seat and she took his hand with her good one and with a yelp of pain, hauled herself up into the back.

  Shit, it had taxed her royally, she sat down and I shoved her bags onto the floorboard at her feet and swung the door shut. Reporters with cameras, boom mics, and lights were running up the alley and I hauled myself up to ride shotgun and slammed the door. Yale hit the locks and it was mics and hands beating on the side of the car with reporters screaming over one another demanding a statement from poor Chrissy.

  “Drive,” I said over the chorus of ‘Ms. Franco! Ms. Franco!’ and Yale put the beastly SUV into motion down the alley.

  “You okay?” I demanded, twisting in my seat and Chrissy looked up at me, tears of pain streaming down her face, dripping onto her light gray sweater.

  Fuck.

  “I’m okay,” she said brokenly and wiped at her face. She twisted carefully to look at the reporters back down at the end of the alley staring after the vehicle and brokenly asked, “Why is this happening to me?”

  Yale and I exchanged a hard look. Neither one of us had an answer to that except the world was a shitty place full of some really shitty fucking people.

  Chapter 12

  Chrissy

  I watched the city go by through the dark glass of the SUV’s tinted window and felt tears slide down my face. I wa
s one big ball of hurt, my injuries aching and overtaxed by the hustle to get out of there, but I would be lying if I said that was the only reason why I was crying.

  Parnell and Tony were both silent in the front seat and their silence was a sober one. Traffic was awful at this hour and every time we stopped, I would turn my face from the glass, afraid someone might be able to see in, might point me out to the other people crowding the corner waiting to cross the street or stop the other people bustling back and forth on the sidewalk.

  I was so absorbed with not being seen that I didn’t even notice when we pulled up in front of my building. I flinched when Tony opened the back door and he murmured, “Easy, I’ve got you.”

  He helped me down carefully after hefting my bags and getting down was far easier than getting up had been. Hitching the totes higher on his shoulder, he kept me in front of him, herding me quickly and efficiently inside, and I blinked, surprised that Parnell was already there, holding the door to the elevator open. We went up to the second floor and hustled to my front door. I pulled the keys out of my purse in the top of my bag while Tony grimaced saying, “Should have had you get those out. My bad.”

  I unlocked my door, we rushed inside and shut it tightly behind us, and I flipped on the light.

  Total destruction.

  “Son of a fucking bitch.” His voice was somewhere between disbelief and incendiary rage, while I? I felt nothing but pure, unadulterated, defeat.

  Fluff from my chair’s ripped open cushions littered the room, my couch was just gone. Glass littered the floor, crunching under Tony’s boots as he un-holstered his big black gun. He checked the bathroom, my bedroom, and all the closets and put it up, once he was satisfied we were alone. I simply stared.

  Stupid bitch, was scrawled across my living room wall in black spray paint. Pictures of me were piled in a drift, some torn, others with my eyes burned out with a cigarette. I stood there, feeling hot, feeling cold, feeling empty and feeling so full that all I wanted to do was scream and I couldn’t do anything… nothing at all. My whole life was just like this room was now. Utterly destroyed.