[Sign Behind the Crime 02.0] Aries

by Ronnie Allen

  “Jesus, up until now you were a bodyguard. Why escalate to murder?” Her tone remained compassionate and respectful.

  He kept his gaze on the carpet. “Money. Loyalty. I was making a shitload of dough as an enforcer, probably more than you make as a cop. Then they wanted them whacked. Got paid eighty grand, twenty for each. And then I got paid twice...” He let his voice trail off.

  “Who’s ‘they’?”

  “The weapons guys.”

  “Eighty grand? That’s for four? Who are the other two?”

  “I got one more to do, Meredith Cummings.”

  “Too late on that one. She did it to herself. ODd. Okay, so there was one more.”

  “No.”

  “Jesus, eighty divided by twenty equals four. So who else did they want you to eliminate? Me?” She shifted onto her left hip.

  “No. Not you, by them. Oh man! I was gonna bust her out of that damn hospital for Leonardo. I can’t fucking do that and then whack her.”

  “AriellaRose?”

  He nodded.

  “So all this is about Leonardo?”

  He sat back slumped in the chair. “Yeah.” He swallowed so hard his Adam’s Apple protruded. “His weapons suppliers wanted anyone who distributed for Leonardo disposed of, so no trail could lead back to them.”

  “They must know he’d be facing hard time and try to deal. And you were about to say something else. You were paid twice?”

  “This just keeps getting worse. Doesn’t it?”

  “Well, yes. Murder is never pretty. And it’s always complicated.”

  “Either way, I’m fucked. You know that, right?”

  “Listen. And seriously listen. We could help you. The feds would love to know who the weapons dealers are.”

  “I’m not ratting on them. No way. I’d be a dead man, no matter where I’d go, and I have enough dough to go anywhere in the world. Even off the planet.”

  “I believe you. But I’m also hearing in your voice that you’re not thrilled about looking over your shoulder the rest of your life, either.”

  He let out deep breaths, licking his lips. “AriellaRose has a twin you know.” He rubbed his forehead with his fingers.

  “Yes, Adam.”

  “He wanted the three of them hit. But he didn’t tell me why and I didn’t ask.”

  “He told you nothing?”

  “No.”

  “Not even that he was doing this at his sister’s request?” Sam knew she was putting words into his mouth, and that was “no-no” but he spoke openly enough to make it stick.

  “No.”

  “Um. You know? I like to read a lot of crime novels. A lot where hits are made. The guy called in usually asks a bunch of questions so he/she knows what they’re getting themselves into. And so he can name his price.”

  He sat pensively for a moment. “Yeah, I got some information about AriellaRose. I know what you’re getting at. If I talk, what are the chances of me getting into witness protection?”

  “That’s not my area of expertise. But I’d be happy to ask. I’m assuming you have a weapon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t you slide it over on the carpet toward me, please?”

  He sat for a moment as if contemplating his options. Sam didn’t like how his facial expression turned from hesitant to decisive. His eyes went from a calm haze to the intense beady stare she saw in the mug shot.

  No, Jesus, don’t make the wrong decision. Not now when I am so close to reaching you.

  With that, Jesus pulled his Taurus from behind his back belt, but his hand went up, as if to shoot, rather than down, as if to slide the weapon toward her. He fired straight at her, as Sam ducked, rolled onto her left side, and down onto the carpet between a coffee table and her full size couch. She pulled her weapon from the drawer in the end table and, aiming over the barricade, her coffee table, fired her Glock .40 caliber, twice, hitting Jesus in the chest both times.

  He slumped back into the chair, and his weapon fell to the floor next to his feet. Sam got up and slid the Taurus to the center of her living room with her bare foot. She checked his neck, no pulse.

  She collapsed on her love seat, with her head in her hands. As she leaned back to get a hold of herself, she felt the hot spot. His bullet had pierced the back pillow of the love seat. An anxiety attack overcame her.

  Oh my God. I’ve killed someone.

  She trembled. Sweated. Her heart palpitated. She was alone in her house--with a dead man. And she had caused his death. She ran upstairs, grabbed her cell phone, and put in a call to 911, then Nick.

  ***

  Her house had become a crime scene. Jesus lay back on her brand new chair, droplets of blood spreading through his hoodie. She knew it was a good kill and she had the video, but that meant they see her in the flesh, and getting spanked. Embarrassing, hell yes.

  But she had to hand in the tape. Her career depended upon the truth.

  In her bedroom, she checked her butt in the mirror. Red handprints, fingerprints, but no welts. Still hurt. She took out a jar of Arnica cream from her night table drawer and rubbed some on her bottom. She winced but it took the sting away. She got dressed in a T-shirt and jeans while waiting for them.

  Nick had called Frank and he arrived first. The shock of her first trigger pull hit. She collapsed in Frank’s arms, shaking. He sat down on the couch with her, hugging her.

  “Oh my God, Frank--I was so close. So close to talking him in to turning himself in--it was going smoothly once we started talking--I didn’t want to have to do it. But he didn’t think twice about killing me. He fired, but missed,” she cried. “Look, he hit the loveseat.”

  “All right, Sam. It’ll be all right.” He caressed her and ran his hands from the top of her head to her back, patting her. “Sssh. It’s okay. You’re all right.”

  This precinct’s patrol officers came in and stopped, looking at Jesus. Sam looked up at them, sniffling.

  “You okay, Detective?”

  “Yes.”

  The officer put in a call to EMS and Crime Scene. He took the preliminary report as the first responder and spent forty-five minutes interviewing her. Nick and Withers appeared through the doorway when he was done.

  “You okay, Sam?” Nick asked. He sounded official, no warm and fuzzy feelings from her partner.

  “Shook up. Whatever happened to ‘some detectives don’t pull their weapon in twenty-five years on the job?’ Obviously, I broke that myth. Here.” She put her hand in her pocket and retrieved a flash drive. “I recorded it. But I must warn you it’s X-rated. It better not wind up on YouTube.”

  “Hey! Why didn’t you give that to me, Detective?” the patrol officer yelled.

  “It’s personal, and I wanted to give it to my team, sorry. I knew they’d be here and it’s our case. It’s going straight to evidence.”

  “Hold on. Recorded?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah. When I entered juvie, I put recorder devices around.” She sniffled. “They’re disguised in the doorframe. A friend of mine suggested it. This was the first time I ever used it. Has everything. Conversations and the trigger pulls.” She rubbed her arms, chills were still going through her.

  Nick looked at the coffee table. “Is that your weapon?” Sam nodded. He put it into a manila bag with a see through plastic, labeled with the date, time of use, his ID, and signature. He sealed the bag with tape.

  After she gave the report again, and Withers drilled her for a another good half hour, Crime Scene investigators arrived. This would be a quick one since they had the recording.

  Frank hugged her. “Glad you didn’t try to be a maverick and fight him. That was smart.”

  “I did. You’ll see.”

  He felt her, shaking. “Okay. Don’t want you staying here tonight.”

  “I agree. Where can you go?” Nick asked.

  “She’ll come to my house. I have a couple of guest rooms.”

  She wiped her eyes as she gazed up at Nick. “What
happens next?”

  “You should know procedure. Loo and Internal Affairs will look at everything, your report, tapes, crime scene evidence. You may have to work in the office a few days but I’m sure, from the looks of it, you’ll be cleared. You will have to be debriefed, though. Be prepared to talk a lot about it. A shooting takes its toll. Don’t kid yourself. Everyone is vulnerable. So word of advice, partner, don’t pretend to be strong. It’ll catch up with you and bite you in the ass.”

  “That was a poor choice of words.” But she nodded. Nick was a hundred percent right. “Can I pack a few things?”

  An investigator answered her question. “Did he go upstairs at all?”

  Sam nodded, again. “He came up the steps. I pushed him and we both fell down the flight. But he didn’t go into any of the rooms.”

  “Sore anywhere?” Frank asked.

  Sam dug her head into his chest so Nick and Withers couldn’t hear. “Yeah. I’ll never ask you for a spanking, ever again.”

  ***

  Sam and Frank heard laughter coming from Loo’s office at eight a.m. the next morning as they walked down the hall. It was loud laughter. Sam recognized the voices of Loo, Dingo, and Nick. But there were a couple more voices she didn’t recognize.

  “Who the hell is in there?” Frank asked.

  “I recognize your pal, Marcus.”

  “Seriously?” Frank knocked on the door.

  “Come in.” Loo choked out.

  As Sam and Frank entered, Loo feigned a coughing fit, to stop laughing in front of her. The two men she didn’t know stared at her, both with their mouths agape.

  Loo introduced her to Internal Affairs investigators, Milt Granger, a mid-fifties gray-haired guy who looked at her with a sympathetic gaze. The other, Casey Ferman, younger, hipper dressed, shot her a mischievous look. She nodded to Marcus Willtower, who just grinned. She wanted to kick him in the teeth.

  “Have a seat, Detective.” Loo began.

  Sam and Frank sat at the conference table with the men.

  “First, Detective Wright, relax. You’re in the clear,” Granger told her. “We viewed the tape. It’s all good. They found Parvos’s car three houses down from yours. In a duffle bag, he had a laptop which is now with our IT guys and over a hundred grand in cash, which can be traced. Here’s what’s going to happen. Technically, Jesus Parvos is yours since you took care of him. But, and it’s a big but, we need you to hand that case over to Agent Willtower, who is working with the FBI to get Leonardo Phileatano put away for life. In order to do that, we need concrete proof he did indeed order a hit on you and it was not just in Parvos’s imagination, what he thought Philetano wanted him to do. That’s a loophole that his attorney will drive an armored truck through. Whatever evidence you collected on the three women when you--one, spoke to AriellaRose and that Emma Sanders, aka Calinda Alexander; two, retrieved from AriellaRose Larcon’s home; three, any interviews from the case, yeah, the Jaye Manning and Mrs. Larcon interviews too, are to be copied and handed over to Agent Willtower, as well. Notice I said copied, not transferred. You are keeping the AriellaRose case and her brother, Adam, who is a suspect in arranging the hits. The rest are dead, so don’t worry about federal charges usurping yours. Those will be added on, after. Response, Detective Wright?”

  She exhaled a deep breath. “Okay. Thank you for telling me I’m cleared, first. Yes. That’s all fine with me. So then the FBI and DEA will be investigating the arms dealers?”

  “Correct. Hopefully, there’ll be correspondence on Parvos’s laptop. Now, if anything with AriellaRose or Adam leads in the direction of those dealers, you’re expected to let us know. Clear?” Willtower said.

  “I will. But are you expecting me to interrogate with that in mind?”

  Willtower smiled.

  “Yeah, sure you are. Okay. I’ll see what I can do. When can I get in to see her?”

  “Her lawyer said to call to make an appointment, but Detective Wright, you’ll be in the office a few days to debrief,” Loo said.

  “I’m fine.”

  Frank shook his head. “Sam, you’re not fine. You were jittery all night. When I checked in on you, you were moaning in your sleep.”

  “Frank! Thanks a lot!”

  “Hey! I wear my shrink hat in the office.”

  “You were together over night?” Loo’s question was official.

  “We live near each other and they didn’t want me to be alone. I was in a guest bedroom.”

  Loo put his glasses on the desk. “Then Frank, you can’t debrief her.”

  “Okay. You know what? Let Doctor Trenton do it. He could Skype it.”

  “I’ll call him and set up appointments. Jittery is no good, Detective,” the lieutenant said. “Just think of it as a time to prefect your paperwork and get everything over to the DA.”

  “Okay, Lieutenant. It’ll also be a good time for me to go over all the files in Frank’s wife’s murder case.”

  All of them nodded in approval.

  Except for Dingo Withers.

  CHAPTER 32

  Frank’s light gray shirt, solid dark gray tie, and charcoal gray pants created the foundation for his long white lab coat. The dreaded stethoscope hung around his neck. He strode down the hall to AriellaRose’s hospital room in the psychiatric ward. He heard her screams for Tattooman and frowned, listening to the torment in her voice, though it was strained and distant.

  Waiting outside her room, her attorney, whom Frank thought was Stan Hartman, looked like he was out of his element. The short, stout, seventy-plus-year-old man sweated in the cool corridor. He looked tired, hunched over, and this case was just beginning. His black-rimmed glassed kept slipping down his nose. His complexion seemed to be scaly, possibly psoriasis, definitely stress related. He better be able to handle this case. Frank planned to increase his stress in about five minutes.

  “Hello, Mr. Hartman. Doctor Khaos.”

  Hartman swallowed in relief. “First, I’m not Stan. He’s my son and winding down a multi-million dollar case now. Final arguments in court. I own the law firm, but retired years ago. My health forced it earlier than I had planned. Just here, trying to help him out. I’m Murray. So thank you for coming, Doctor Khaos. I can’t get a straight story from her, and for six hours non-stop, she’s been screaming for you. Apparently, by the nickname she gave you.”

  “What information do you have?” Frank was intent on listening. His tone softened. Not what he had intended.

  “Everything the detectives and investigators gave the DA. I don’t understand that magick angle at all. I might push that and use it for an insanity defense. I need you to assess her.”

  “Forget about using that for her defense. Too many people do use candles and oils, successfully, positively, and they’re emotionally stable. I know a couple, personally.”

  Hartman removed his glasses and wiped the lenses with a hanky. “I want to be in on your interview with her. She needs to be questioned in the presence of her attorney. It’s her right.”

  “Agreed. But I’m not a cop. I’m her psychiatrist. Let me ask you this. From all of the information you have, do you believe in her innocence?”

  “I don’t have to believe she’s innocent. I have to give her the best defense possible.”

  “And I have to give her the best medical treatment possible.”

  “But I have questions for her and she’s not answering me. She doesn’t seem to understand what I’m asking.”

  “We’ll deal with that. But not today. She has to feel comfortable if I am going to get her to talk. She closed down with you. For six hours, you said? You wait in the visitors lounge. Everything will be taped. It’ll go to the DA and you’ll get an exact copy.”

  “I need to have a conference with her. Doctor, please.”

  “You will, but not with me present. I’ll arrange for someone from the DA’s office to come. Wait in the lounge. I’ll let you know when I’m done.” Frank put his hands in his pocket and stared the attorney do
wn, remaining silent.

  Head down, Mr. Hartman plodded down the hall. Frank saw his pants hem dragging on the ground, at least an inch too long for him. The cuffs on his suit jacket came down to his first knuckle on his hand. Frank had sympathy for the man. Yeah. He was definitely in over his head.

  Frank exhaled a deep breath, unlocked the door, and entered AriellaRose’s room. He stood at the door, observing her. Her hair stuck to her scalp, sweat ridden, her eyes slightly pink on the rims, probably from holding in tears, and her complexion pale. Her gaze up at the ceiling didn’t change, even though the door made a sharp clang when he closed it behind him.

  “AriellaRose.” He stood with his hands in his pockets and kept his face stern, like he did when he needed to reprimand Frankie, lips straight across and closed.

  She kept her gaze on the ceiling. “What the fuck took you so long?”

  “Your attorney knows I’m speaking with you and he’ll get a copy of our conversation.” She didn’t respond but Frank knew she heard him. She swallowed. Planned ignoring was one of her favorite behaviors. “We had a lot of things going on,” he said.

  “Such as?”

  “Okay. Here’s the list. Your three friends, Emma, Rachel, and Meredith are dead.”

  She smiled. He moved out of the way to make sure the camera caught the grin.

  “Want to know how that happened or do you already know?”

  She didn’t look at him. “I don’t know.”

  “Okay. Meredith ODd at your warehouse.”

  Her fists, that lay on top of the sheets, tightened. Again, in camera view.

  “Emma and Rachel were shot by Jesus Parvos.”

  “Who?

  “This guy.” Frank pulled his smartphone out of his pocket. He pulled up the video his DEA agent bro gave him. He positioned the phone in front of her eyes. “Here. Watch.”

  “Oh, that dirt bag. I only saw him that one time. Don’t know his name.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, we’ll find out. We have his laptop and yours.”