by Rick Murcer
Inhaling deeply, she hoped against hope that her mind would trick her lungs into thinking the air was clean and fresh and filled with the scent of pine directly from the Colorado wild.
It had almost worked.
One day. One day.
After one more deep breath, she returned to her bed, fitted tightly against the steel wall of the twelve-by-seven room that had become her home. She glanced at the bright-green door, then back to the open book beside her, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
With the care of a mother toward her child, she reached out and touched the spine of Philip Dick’s creation. He had created a fantasy world, yet deep within that place in his imagination, he’d captured an interaction between the living and the artificial that caused the latter to seek something better. A life worth living. A dream, if you will.
She caressed the book. There was that concept again. Even machines in this book’s futuristic world dared to hope.
And wasn’t that what he’d told her to do? To have faith, to anticipate, to believe in something better. To trust him if she couldn’t trust God. To know that he was fighting for her, and someday, just maybe, she would be out of this world and into the one in which she’d never really learned to function. The real world.
His words rang in her head as if he were right beside her. She thought she could even smell his scent, the one that was his and only his.
“Hurry up, my friend. I’m dying here,” she whispered.
Reaching for her book, she pictured an image of her noble hope deftly displayed in her mind, needing one final reassuring look from him before she would journey to Dick’s realm of fantasy.
She swore she could see him, her hope, smiling back at her, his blue eyes encouraging her to hang tight. She’d try.
CHAPTER-16
Amy Brooks cringed in painful anticipation as she raised her arm, but she was surprised at the absence of agony despite the bullet that had torn through her shoulder. She felt the ravage of flesh, no question, yet there were no waves of nauseating pain matching the kind she’d experienced in the ambulance.
The elderly ER doctor’s stare scanned her face. He then smiled.
“Good. I’m glad it’s better. I’ve seen this kind of gunshot before. Too often, I’m afraid. That one could have been a life changer. However, it wasn’t. You were luckier than a dog in a butcher shop.”
Amy grinned. It had been a couple of days since her last smile. Maybe longer. God knew she didn’t feel so lucky, but the vision of a dog in the butcher shop made her think of her old beagle, Chester. She had loved him the way kids love dogs and dogs loved kids, unconditionally.
The old mutt had found ways to make her laugh that she’d forgotten about until the doctor used his analogy. She’d especially enjoyed the way Chester used to eat. He’d turn his tan butt sideways to protect whatever was in the bowl and growl at anyone who came near, except her.
The little angel in devil’s clothing would even occasionally bring her a piece of the scraps that had been tossed in his beat-up, old bowl, all the while looking at her with those rich brown eyes. She swore he had been smiling.
“Thank you, doctor. It feels much better.”
“Yep. Now don’t get crazy, it’ll be a few weeks before it heals completely, and the bruising will be there a while too. That bullet passed clean through the soft tissue about three millimeters on the outside of your shoulder. You’ve experienced the prototypical flesh wound, albeit a larger caliber load than I’m used to seeing.”
She looked away from the doctor as her partner, Phil, strolled into the room, one uniformed officer on each side of him. They took up residence on the inside of the door, hands folded in front of them. It was impossible for her not to feel uneasy.
“Better?”
“Better. It’s a hardcore flesh wound, and I’ll be pumping iron in no time.”
Phil grinned. “Yeah, since you do that all the time.”
She tilted her head at her partner. He mimicked her, but couldn’t hide the concern in his eyes. More tracks for the uneasy train.
“Phil, what the hell’s going on here? I keep thinking this woman had a hard-on for me over something in my past, God knows that would cover a few hundred folks. But I can’t think of anyone who fits her description or even a family member of someone, you know? Now you bring in two blues to stand watch?”
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Amy. The captain and I want to make sure there’s nothing else going on here. I mean a random attack is one thing, but—”
Her infamous temper crawled up her throat from somewhere deep. She saw only red. Enough was enough. Her husband was dead in bizarre circumstances, the captain thought she was a mess, and now she’d been shot.
More red. She exploded.
“Stop the bullshit, Phil. I’ve had enough the last two days. My husband was killed in that warehouse, and no one can figure out what the hell’s going on with that yet? Now I’m to be protected or watched for more than one reason, right?”
“Come on, Amy.”
“No. You all come on. Don’t give me that shit. Let’s get real here. The captain thinks I have something to do with what happened. Then throw in the Feds and whatever shit they have to say, and I’m a suspect for something I don’t even understand. Well, to hell with all of you. I’m a good cop, and I don’t deserve this. I quit.”
Amy rose from the edge of the bed, danced a few steps with dizziness and nausea, then took a few unsteady strides toward the door, regaining most of her equilibrium.
“Detective Brooks. Wait. You’re right; you don’t deserve this, not yet anyway.”
Her eyes darted in the direction of the voice, the really nice voice, that had spoken to her.
The good-looking man stood just inside the entrance to the room, a pretty Asian woman at his side. She had no idea who he was, then it came to her.
Feds.
She caught his stare with one of her own. She couldn’t look away if she’d wanted to do so. His blue eyes were riveting, like he could see through her, yet there was an air of complete honesty about him. She didn’t know how she knew, but she thought she could trust him. She immediately felt her pulse slowing.
“Feds?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you, if you don’t quit your job for another hour,” he said, smiling.
“I bet you think that smile works with all of the women, don’t you?”
“Naw, just the ones that are still breathing,” said his partner.
Sighing, she realized the woman was probably right.
The two stepped forward, both reaching out their hands.
“I’m Special Agent Manny Williams, and this is Double Special Agent Sophie Lee.”
Despite the emotional roller coaster over the last few minutes, she had no choice but to smile at that. She shook both of their hands.
“Detective Amy Brooks, as you know.”
“We do,” said Agent Williams.
“I thought Feds were stuffy-ass and all business. You two don’t seem to fit that mold.”
“Oh, we can be, but hey, you’ve had a tough couple of days, so we’re going to do the good cop/good cop thing and see what’s going on with you,” said Agent Lee.
“Not that we think you’ve done anything wrong, Detective. We just want to talk for a while, okay?” asked Agent Williams.
“I suppose I don’t have a choice, but I’d like to sit down first,” she said, fighting another wave of nausea. Amy turned back to the bed and sat down, feeling better after getting off her feet, her throbbing shoulder still talking to her.
Agent Lee sat on the bed at an angle so Amy could see them both without twisting. Agent Williams pulled up a green padded chair and sat a few feet in front of her. He then motioned for Phil and the blues to leave.
Phil hesitated, looking at her then back to the agents. “Are you okay with that?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. I guess I’m in good hands. “
“Okay, I’ll be outside the door if you
need me, okay?”
She nodded. “Talk to you soon. And Phil, I’m sorry for snapping at you. I’ve had better weeks. Thanks again for saving my ass.”
“I know, Amy, I know. That’s what partners do.”
Her partner walked out of the room and closed the door.
She then turned her attention to Agent Williams. “So this is what an interrogation is like, agents?”
“First thing. This isn’t an interrogation. It’s an information-gathering session. Second thing. Call me Manny.”
“And call me Sophie. Never did care for that agent stuff,” said Agent Lee.
“First names it is.”
The momentary silence should have been unnerving, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was almost soothing. These people were here to do a job, yet they were far more than that. She was no profiler, like Manny obviously was, that much she knew. It was also obvious that Sophie complemented him in ways she could only imagine, making them a true team.
“You two have been working together for years, haven’t you?” she asked quietly.
“You could say that,” said Sophie. “I’ve had to put up with his workaholic tendencies, lack of tech skills, and profiling everyone on the damned planet, but we make it work.”
“I bet you do.” She looked at Manny. “Have I been profiled already?”
“Not intentionally, but I suppose so. That’s part of the reason we’re here and not at HQ with your captain and Internal Affairs standing over our shoulders.”
“Thank God for that. What do you see?”
Manny tilted his head, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Enough to know that you’re honest, caring, can be hard-assed, and that you have some anger issues probably stemming from the job more than your childhood.”
He leaned closer. “That’s the obvious stuff. I also know you have a sense of justice, despite the pain of losing your husband in that warehouse and someone trying to kill you this morning. Your sense of duty and the desire to figure out what the hell is going on lets you compartmentalize your emotions, for the most part, so you can get to work.
“Your tenacity, I suspect, is your most helpful tool and why you made detective as quickly as you did.” Leaning back, he ran his hand through his hair. “How am I doing so far?”
“So far? There’s more? If you get any deeper into her head, you’ll know her favorite color and what she fantasizes about,” said Sophie, rolling her eyes.
Amy shrugged. “Well, it’s a little unnerving to be an open book like that, but I’m glad you’re a Fed rather than someone local. And you probably have an idea about both of the things Sophie said.”
“True,” said Manny.
The agent gathered his thoughts. She could tell that much, never taking his eyes from her face.
“Listen, we have to talk about a couple of things in terms of recollection of what happened this morning,” he said.
“I’ve answered every question Phil had. And over the phone, whatever Captain Ellis wanted to know, and Internal Affairs, until I get to go face to face with them. I don’t know what else to say.”
“We weren’t part of those sessions. While I can guess what went on, we still have to do this, okay?”
“I get that. Like I said, fire away.”
“Do you have any idea why you were attacked?” asked Manny.
“None whatsoever. I now understand that it probably has to do with the shooting death of my husband, but that’s all I’ve got.”
It was still odd to say that out loud, that her husband was dead. The tears welled up again. Shit.
Daryl Brooks would no longer come home late, slide into bed, his large body warm and inviting, hold her in his arms, and make love to her. It had been rough the last few weeks, but once you have those moments with someone, they never disappear, never.
Sophie’s hand reached out for her arm. “I get what you’re thinking. What’s going on in your brain. He was your husband. That won’t change, ever. And you’ll find things down the road that make you wish you were drunk or stoned so you don’t have to think about him. But right now, let’s figure out what’s going on, okay?”
It didn’t take a mind reader to see that Sophie was speaking from experience.
“When did you lose your husband?” Amy asked softly.
The agent exhaled and smiled a sad smile. “Let’s just say it’s still very real. Maybe we can talk later. Right now, let’s stay on task. There will be plenty of time for mourning, trust me.”
“I think that’s a good idea. We believe more lives are at stake,” said Manny.
She nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
“Do you know why your husband was at the warehouse?”
She shook her head. “No, for the tenth time, no.”
“Did you know any of the people he was with when he was killed?”
“No. I studied the mug shots last night and again this morning. I’ve never seen any of them. Not even at the club where he worked as a bouncer.”
“Did you go there often?”
“Two or three times. I’m not a big party girl.”
“What about social-media accounts? The cyber unit will go over your phones and computers, but was he active there?”
“You know, he wasn’t. He was a bit of a throwback regarding tech. He finally got an email account last year. Three months ago, he got a smartphone so we could text. It took him days to get the hang of it. He preferred being around people. He actually hated it when we’d go out for a meal and people were staring at their damned phones instead of talking to each other.”
Manny smiled that mesmerizing smile. “Sophie thinks I’m the only one like that. I use the tech stuff, but I’d rather be in the crowd.”
“True dat,” said Sophie.
“What about people to your house? Did you entertain much?”
“No. I’m a cop; he worked weird hours. I don’t remember the last real visitor we had. He didn’t have much family, and mine is mostly out of state. I don’t have a lot of friends. He had even less, at least that I knew about.”
“If our assumption is right, that you were attacked was because of how and where he was killed, why come after you?”
“I answered that. I don’t know.”
“The person, probably people, behind shooting at you, think differently. They think you might know or have something that will lead to discovering who they are. So you can’t think of one reason why this woman wanted you dead?”
“I can’t. She might be someone’s friend or relative from a case I was involved in, and maybe her showing up this morning was a coincidence. Either way, I’ve never seen her before. I have no idea what she wanted with me, other than to end my life.”
Leaning back in the chair again, Manny looked at his hands, then over to Sophie. “Got anything else?”
“Naw. I think we can come back and talk later, but I believe her.”
“Yeah, me too. I think you’re telling the truth as you see and remember it, so we’ll move on to the next step.”
“As I remember it?”
“You’re a cop. You know that sometimes when people are in stressful situations, their minds aren’t geared for this type of questioning.”
“And they might think of something later? Okay, I can buy that. But I don’t have anything for you.”
“Fair enough. The next step is to take you back to this morning and put you in a situation where you can recall more details. The fresher the experience, the more likely we are to make this work. Are you up for another session?”
She rolled her eyes. “Again, do I have a choice?”
“Of course, but I think I can help you retrieve a few more details to assist the investigation.”
“Okay, I’ll do my best.”
“Great. Let’s get started. I want to work backward, because I think the near past unlocks the earlier past.”
“Whatever you say. Are you going to hypnotize me?”
“No, it’s
not like that. I think people just need to be put into the right frame of reference. I just need you to relax and concentrate.”
He leaned closer.
“Take us to five minutes before you were attacked this morning. I want to know everything. What you felt. What you heard and saw. Even what you smelled. What you were thinking, truly thinking? There is nothing too unimportant here.”
“Is this kind of like getting into repressed memory?” Amy asked.
“Sort of, but more like a visualization of a past experience. It’s like the drill you did in the police academy to help you remember a crime scene, only far deeper. Sophie and I won’t suggest anything; we’ll just listen to you talk. You’d be surprised what we see without realizing that we did.”
“Got it.”
“And don’t worry; this is between us chickens,” said Sophie.
“That’s good to know. Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”
Manny nodded. He then scooted the chair so close she could smell his aftershave. He began to talk softly. “Like I said, close your eyes, relax, clear your thoughts, and picture walking out of your home.”
It took a few seconds to get Daryl’s face from her mind, but she eventually did what he asked.
The sound of his voice was as quieting as anything she heard, especially in light of the last two days. The tension began to run out of her body and ultimately, it seemed, leave through her toes.
“What are you seeing? Sensing? What about the feel of the door when you opened it to go outside to wait for Phil? Warm? Cool?”
Amy began to talk about her morning just after she exited the front door of her ranch home. She verbalized every detail. It was as if she were watching an HD video.
At times she swore she felt the breeze or the warm sun on her face as she spoke. Manny had been right—she was sharing details that she hadn’t really taken much stock in. Buzzing bees and car engines on the street behind her. The sound of lawn sprinklers and even the street cleaner that had passed her home only minutes before she was attacked. Then the slight woman came into her mind’s view.