by Abbey, S. C.
He ended the call and looked at Katie with an intense gaze.
“Looks like you are right on the money, Miss Moulin. Tell me, have you ever seen a dead body?”
Chapter 3
HARVEY SAT ON the beige leather chair, waiting impatiently in the staff lounge of the Harvard T.H. Chan School of Public Health where Officer Davis requested him to remain. Officer Davis had ensured him that he was not placed under arrest or anything, though the situation did not seem to be in his favor, considering he was the only one present with Golan in the laboratory when the attack took place.
Harvey fidgeted with the arm rest of the chair before he stood, he couldn’t stand sitting and waiting anymore. He paced up and down the span of the medium-sized room, not knowing what else to do besides replaying the scene he so unfortunately witnessed just moments ago. Harvey frowned, he was sure he haven’t seen the whole picture.
Why?
He couldn’t for the life of him fathom the reason for somebody, anybody to want to put a bullet in Professor Golan. Golan was one of the kindest and unpretending person he knew, one just needn’t be wary of the fatherly old man. He raised his hands, looking at the dried blood stains on his palms which he tried to stop the bleeding wound on Golan’s chest with. He already tried to wipe them on the hoodie he used as a make shift bandage when the ambulance came, but they were still pretty conspicuous. Perhaps he should go to the washroom to clean his hands and wash his face. This morning was not looking as good as he expected it to be. Harvey lumbered toward the door of the staff lounge and opened it, stepping out into the corridor. Officer Davis was still standing by the side of it, he gave Harvey a questioning look when he saw him.
“I’ll just be going to the washroom. I’ll be back in a bit.” Said Harvey wearily before he turned and prodded in the direction of the washroom, not waiting for a reply from the police officer.
Harvey pushed the door to the Men’s room, heading straight to the sink where he reached out to dispense some liquid hand soap and started to lather up his hands. The white suds quickly turned a pretty shade of pink, which continued to darken as Harvey rubbed his hands with it. He ran his soapy hands under the stream of water that came gushing out of the tap he had turned on. The clear clockwise vortex down the drainage became a translucent red hurricane. Satisfied with his hands finally free of blood, Harvey pulled a couple of paper towels to dry his hands on before leaving the restroom and headed back to the staff lounge. He felt a little better now there were no more physical reminiscence of the violent event earlier. Reaching the outside of the staff lounge, Harvey could see that Officer Davis was still standing guard where he had left him. Davis spoke when he saw Harvey approaching.
“The FBI is here. They are waiting for you inside. If you would please, Mr. Nolan.” He said as he opened the door.
Harvey stepped back into the staff lounge, immediately feeling a little cranky from looking at the same boring room for the past 1 hour, except this time, there were two mortal additions to it – one of each gender. The huge man stood switched his attention from his colleague to Harvey as soon as the doctoral candidate entered.
“Mr. Nolan. I’m Detective Womack from the Boston Field Office, we are here to ask you a few questions about the incident you witnessed.” Agent Womack said as he pointed to his right. “This is my colleague–”
“–Katie Moulin.” Said Harvey, finishing the detective’s sentence for him.
“Harvey Nolan.” Replied the woman, smiling a little from her eyes but not her lips.
“–Agent Moulin.” Said Womack, determined to finish his own sentence. He stared at the both of them with a puzzled look on his face. “You know each other?”
Harvey froze for a couple of seconds. He’s had too many surprises for today, at least this was a pleasant one. “Yes, we attended Law School together. Here at Harvard, actually.” Replied Harvey, not losing eye contact with Katie.
“That explains.” Said Womack, brushing the topic off, clearly uninterested and not hiding about it. “Mr. Nolan, please have a seat. This might take a while, you wouldn’t might if we ask you a few questions, would you?”
Harvey strolled toward the same beige chair he was sitting on earlier and took a seat in it. “No, of course not.”
Womack and Katie each chose a chair and took a seat too, the three of them facing each other in a triangle. Womack took out a file in which he glanced through before speaking again. “The first officer at the scene told me that you were the one who discovered Professor Bruce Golan, is that correct?”
“Yes, I found him lying on the floor of his laboratory, motionless. He was bleeding from a gunshot wound on his chest.”
“How did you know it was a gunshot wound?” asked Womack.
“That’s because I heard it, just before I stepped into the lab.”
“Did you manage to see who fired the gun?”
“Not exactly.” Harvey replied. “I caught a glimpse of a dark shadow slipping out the back door when I entered, but it was really just a flash of movement, nothing I can identify for sure.”
“Hmm–” Womack scribbled on the document he was holding on before he continued. “Mr. Nolan, why were you doing at the lab in the first place?”
“I was dropping by to see if I can catch Professor Golan for lunch.”
“If I may say, isn’t it a little too early for lunch? It couldn’t have been past 11 when you were at the scene.”
“From what I know, Professor Golan doesn’t take breakfast. Therefore, he lunches pretty early.” Harvey explained. “We go way back, he is like a family friend.”
“I see.” Womack said. He didn’t sound convinced. “And it states here in your first statement that you are a PhD student studying Law, is that correct?”
Harvey nodded in response.
“Harvard Law School is across the river. Why would you come all the way and just to catch someone for lunch? Was Bruce Golan expecting you?”
“He wasn’t.” Harvey replied. “I was in the area running an errand, collecting some documents from the Boston Children’s Hospital. You can verify that with Dr. Anderegg, the Executive Director, he was the one I met while I was there.”
Womack scratched that detail on his file with his pen. He took a minute to stare at the document again before he looked up at Harvey and continued. “Did Bruce Golan say anything before he lost consciousness? Anything about the assailant?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Was there anybody else in the lab besides the two of you and the supposed flash of movement?”
“No.” Harvey said, a little annoyed that the detective was insinuating that the shadow was a figment of his imagination. “Which is kind of strange, actually. Professor Golan’s lab assistant should have been around. Leann’s always around.”
“Do you happen to have any information about her? Any means of contact?”
“As a matter of fact, I do have her cell number.” Harvey said as he fished out his cell phone and entered his passcode. “Professor Golan doesn’t believe in having a cell phone, you see. I have to resort to calling her whenever I need to look for him.”
Harvey scrolled through his contact list, looking for Leann’s.
“Could you do us a favor? Give her a call?”
Harvey blinked at the detective blankly. “Is that a good idea? Given the circumstances–”
“Why not?” Womack said, as a matter-of-factly. “Unless you have reason to think she’s involved. Do you have reason to believe she’s a suspect?”
“I don’t think so.” Harvey said in a firm tone. “She’s not capable of that.” He dialed Leann’s cell but the call did not get through – the phone was switched off.
“That’s always not a good sign, isn’t it?” said Womack.
Harvey shrugged, not knowing what to comment. Womack gave a slight victory smile before he begin to stand from his seat. Katie followed his cue and stood.
“Mr. Nol
an, thank you for your time. If you do recall anything you haven’t told us, do let me know.”
“Definitely, detective.” Harvey stood and shook Womack’s hand. He then turned to his left and said, “Katie,” savoring the word on his tongue.
“Harvey.”
Detective Womack strolled toward the entrance of the staff lounge, he looked like he had to be somewhere else. Katie trailed behind him, she took a quick glance at Harvey before turning back to the detective.
“Womack, do you mind if I have a word with Mr. Nolan, alone? It’s been years since we’ve met.”
Detective Womack stopped in his tracks. “Sure.” He said, eyeing her suspiciously. “Make it a quick one, we’ve got work to do.” He opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him with a soft click.
As soon as the door shut, Katie turned her attention back to Harvey and sauntered toward him. Harvey staggered as he closed the distance between the two of them, pulling Katie into a tight embrace. He took a deep breath as he breathed in the familiar scent that was Katie Moulin.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming back.”
Chapter 4
IT ISN’T ALL that uncommon for rain to occur during this time of the year in Boston, but something of this caliber is somewhat quite rare indeed, especially considering the bright sun that was glaring through my windscreen just moments ago.
I sit by the edge of my bed, the inferior spring mattress dipped considerably, providing not much of a support to my aching back. I lock gazes with the black metallic object in my left hand as my right fingers crawl all over it haltingly, experiencing every nook, dip, and cranny the mass has to offer. I release the 8 round magazine via the button on the right of the polymer grip, the silver magazine slip out from under it. The magazine fall into my left palm and I place the gun beside me on the bed. I press the top of the magazine and pushed out the next bullet in line, feeling the weight of the metal between my right index finger and thumb. I keep on doing this until there are no more bullets left in the magazine. Seven. One missing. Earlier this morning, I was determined not to return home till I emptied all eight rounds into him. And yet now, why am I still left with seven? My mission is one-eighth accomplished. I am weak, I should have known. So what if it was my first, no excuses. Sigh. But it is over now. The objective never was the spent, it was the purchase. I got what I wanted.
I start to load the bullets back into the magazine, one at a time. It is a pity it is over. I have actually grown fairly fond of the weapon, just looking at the curves and feeling the texture of the surface of it. Plus, it was pricey. Perhaps I should have used a knife, or just swing a baseball bat. They would have served my purpose equally well. It would have been extremely satisfying too, battering him bloody and broken. Firing the gun was not as gratifying as I expected it to be.
I pull the first bullet down into the magazine and slip in the second.
It seems like yesterday.
I WAS STROLLING ALONG the streets of Mattapan a couple of days back, it was close to evening. The sun was quickly setting in the shady neighborhood where people were rushing back to their homes, uninterested in lingering any longer out in the streets as the night began to approach. I spotted the gun store I was looking for, more than 30 minutes ago, though I did not progressed so much as to walk by it in my hat pulled low and sunglasses on. I was getting cold feet. I continued to pace the pavement outside the store, stealing glances into the shop through the glass door. A group of boys from the hood swaggered toward me, two of them weren’t wearing any shirts. I took a side step, not wanting any trouble, and lowered my glance to prevent any eye contact from happening. As the shirt of a member of the group swept back as he walked by, I caught a glimpse of the silver gun stuck into the waistband of his trousers. I lowered my head even further. As if that little encounter had given me some courage or justification, that carrying a gun is a perfectly normal everyday occurrence in this country, it steeled my resolve to finally step into the gun store that has eluded me thus far. I leaned my body against the glass door, pushing it in with my weight as I entered the shop.
“How can I help you?” A voice says from within the store.
I turn my attention to the old man with the bushy dirty white beard behind a glass showcase. “Just taking a look.”
“Suit yourself. Let me know if you need anything.” Replies the shopkeeper as he eyes me with narrow eyes. He returns to cleaning the metal pieces lay out neatly in front of him.
I walk around the shop, not that there is much floor to cover – it is a small and compact place of business. I don’t know what I am looking for – all I know is that I need a gun that is small enough to conceal and good enough to kill. Price isn’t an issue. There is nothing more in the future left for me, only vengeance. All I have is stuck in my front pockets. I settle on a compact black pistol that lay beautifully on a velvet cloth on the top shelf of a showcase to the left side of the shopkeeper.
“Do you mind if I take a look at this?”
The shopkeeper does not stop his polishing as he peeks up. “Good choice. That’s a Smith & Wesson M&P Shield 9mm caliber. 6.1 inches, it is a slim and lightweight striker-fired polymer pistol, easily concealable, consistent and accurate. What do you need it for?” says the shopkeeper as he places his now shiny metal piece on the cloth he has in front of him. He unlocks the drawer to the showcase where the pistol is and take it out from its nest, handling it to me. “There you go. Don’t drop it.”
“Self-defense.” I lie. “I live in a rough neighborhood.” I say as I feel the gun in my hands, the weight, the balance, it all feels so right, as if we are made for each other. There is no question about it, this is the one. With this, I will create my legacy.
“No place worse than Morton Street in Boston.” The shopkeeper chuckles as he points at the gun. “But that would do.”
“I’ll take it. And rounds.”
“Cool. Can I have your Firearms License please?” Says the shopkeeper as he pulls out a logbook.
“I was told.” I say, pausing nervously from the very reason I picked this shop, before I continue. “Exceptions could be made, here.”
The shopkeeper stops everything he is doing and stares at me intensely. He scans the entire span of my body before stealing a quick glance out of the store and then back to me. “Who sent you?” he says with a dead serious expression.
“Ricky.” That grease ball.
“Son of a– I don’t do that. Not anymore.”
“Please.” I have no other choice.
The shopkeeper frowns in deep thought. The silence endures for a whole minute before he speaks again. “It’s gonna cost you a lot more.”
“How much?” Any number.
“Eight bills. I’ll take nothing less.”
“I’ve only got seven and a half. Please.”
The shopkeeper hesitates. “Leave them on the glass so I can see them.” He retrieves the gun from me as I unwillingly let it go. “Not this one.” He replaces the gun in the showcase and locks the drawer before reaching down below where I cannot see. He comes up with a similar looking gun. My heart leaps. “Exact same model. This one’s unregistered.” He tosses it into a brown paper bag with a box of 20 rounds.
The shopkeeper snatches the bills off the surface of the showcase where I left them and passes the paper bag to me. I reach out to grab the bag, but as my fingers tighten around it, the shopkeeper reaches out his other hand to grasp my wrist in a painful iron clench.
I panicked.
“Whatever you are planning to do, think about your family. It’s almost never worth it.” The shopkeeper said before he released his grip. “Now get out of here.”
I did. “Thank you.” I said before I hurried out of the gun store, not looking back.
THE RAIN STOPPED.
I pull the sixth bullet in and slip in the seventh.
There is no more left.
I pick the gun up where I left it on the bed
and slip the magazine into it before pushing myself off the bed. I toss the gun into a paper bag and wrap it taunt before hugging it close to my waist. I put on a sweater as I walk toward the front door of the house. I slam the door shut behind me and approach the left side of my car, slipping into the driver’s seat. The air feels damp. I stick the key into the ignition and twist it.
The engine springs to life.
Chapter 5
HARVEY STOOD UNDER the shelter of Brigham Circle station, a light rain was starting to splatter. The signature green tram slowed down as it approached the station, its windscreen wiper swabbing twitchingly to remove the raindrops from the glass. Harvey boarded the vehicle and tapped his CharlieCard on the fare box. He strolled to the back of the car and spotted a seat. He sat on it.
Katie.
It has been 2 and a half years since he last saw Katie Moulin, and she looked practically unchanged. I must ask her about her diet and exercise regime. He laughed mentally. After so long, and that was all he could conjure? Pathetic. The smell of her still lingered on him from the hug earlier. He didn’t want to let go. Harvey wanted the moment to last as long as it could. But alas, like all things great put on this planet by God almighty himself, it had to end. At least she promised they would meet again before she leaves, again. Oh god, how he loathed this helplessness. He started to feel a little annoyed that she didn’t tell him beforehand that she was going to be in Boston.
At least she is doing what she always wanted to do. And I should stop thinking of her.
Harvey forced himself to think about something else instead of spiraling into the bottomless pit. Another incidental memory chose to make itself know by sneakily slipping into his mind.
Wasn’t there supposed to be a research student working with Professor Golan in his lab on his pharmaceutical research project? Why wasn’t he there?
Harvey thought about the nerdy looking chap that eluded his mind when Katie Moulin chose to pop back into his life unannounced. He mentally slapped himself for acting like a 16 year old school boy. He had to call Detective Womack.