by G. K. Parks
“Alexis,” he began, “I…er…we…you see.” He was tongue-tied.
“Wrong answer.” I shook my head. “You,” I pointed at the girl, “what’s your name?”
“Karen,” she said uncertainly.
“Good,” at least someone was cooperating, “what’s going on here, Karen?”
“Those two guys wanted to hurt us, but you saved us. We’re the victims.”
“Not quite what I was looking for.” I turned to the boy next to her. “C’mon, you’re a big strong guy, talk to me. I’ll let you guys go home if I can get a straight answer.” He looked ashen, and I suspected he was a bigger baby than the rest of the lot. Inside two minutes, he’d be sobbing and begging for his mama.
“A few weeks ago, we came here,” Roger spoke up, “because a friend wanted some study aids.” I raised my eyebrows and waited for him to continue. “We interrupted these guys in the middle of–”
“Shut up if you want to live,” the batter threatened, and I gave him a friendly kick in the ribs.
“Continue,” I urged Roger, who was still uncertain about defying the batter. “These clowns can’t hurt you,” I insisted.
“Bitch,” the one I hit retorted. Fortunately for him, I heard sirens fast approaching. Our sharing time was coming to a close.
“They were in the middle of a buy or something,” Karen volunteered. The impending threat of jail time softened her resolve to keep quiet. “We spooked whoever it was, and ever since then, they’ve been threatening us. Roger’s been paying them every week to make up for their supplier’s loss, but they keep telling us it isn’t enough.”
Before I had time to process the severity of the situation and the implication of her words, I heard the announcement and felt a presence surround the opening. “Police.” I put my hands in the air, and the three teenagers followed suit.
“Thanks for the prompt arrival. I called in to report these two.” I indicated the two bound thugs on the ground.
“We normally don’t find our perps pre-cuffed,” the lead cop commented.
“Alex Parker, police consultant at your service,” I offered. “My gun’s holstered at my side, and my credentials are in my purse.” The cop took my weapon while another one rifled through my wallet, looking for my information.
“Let’s take this downtown and get everything sorted out at the precinct,” he told the four other officers. “You’ll have to come with us, ma’am.”
“Yeah, I figured as much. But can we skip the handcuffs?” I had issues being bound that I had yet to shake and scars to prove it.
“It’s policy, ma’am.” The responding officer looked at Roger’s bruised face, the two teenagers I potentially falsely imprisoned, and the girl crying. Being handcuffed was the least of my worries.
I put my hands behind my back, cringing as the metal tightened and clicked into place. The officers escorted our motley crew to the parking lot just in time to see Detective Heathcliff pull up in his unmarked car.
“Sanchez, unhook her,” he ordered, much to my relief. The officer escorting me released the cuffs, and I immediately rubbed my wrists out of sheer paranoia and a bit of PTSD. We watched as the kids were loaded into the waiting police cars. Roger and the other boy were put in the back of one cruiser. The girl got in a separate car, and the two punks were placed in a third car. “We’ll meet you back at the precinct. Don’t worry, I won’t let this one escape. She’s your collar,” Heathcliff assured them as they pulled away.
“My hero,” I sighed. His gaze shifted to my wrists, which I made the conscious effort to stop rubbing.
“I take it the kid didn’t listen when you told him to stay away from the park.” He handed me my purse off the hood of his car, where the officer dropped it. Unfortunately, he didn’t leave my nine millimeter.
“His mom called and said he came home with bruises and abruptly left, but she didn’t know where he went. I found him here with his two friends, and the reprobates from Friday were back with a baseball bat.”
“So you decided to arrest them?” He sounded amused. “You realize you’re not a cop, right? As far as I know, you were never a cop.”
“Not a cop,” I agreed. “I told them we’d call it a citizen’s arrest.”
“How’d that go?”
“About as well as could be expected. It seems Roger and his friends interrupted a drug deal or maybe a meet with the supplier. I’m not sure which, but it cost someone a pretty penny, and they’ve been shaking Roger down ever since.”
He glanced at my car. “Are you all right?” His focus shifted to my wrists and then back to my face. I nodded. “Okay. I’ll follow you to the station.”
“Why? Are you afraid I’ll make a break for it?”
Twenty-three
My first foray into the wild world of teenage drug sales could have gone better. Although after being questioned by a few of the detectives from narcotics division and getting my ass handed to me by Lt. Moretti, I was free to resume my role as consultant on Skolnick’s murder. Maybe I wasn’t as expendable as I imagined. Thankfully, I wasn’t arrested for assault with a deadly weapon. Sometimes, it was nice to have friends in the right places.
“I told you she can be a handful.” I heard O’Connell’s voice all the way from the stairwell. “Like a tornado, lots of damage and fallout, but when the pieces come together, she’ll leave your head spinning.” I opened the door and walked into the squad room where Heathcliff and O’Connell both turned to gawk. I had no idea what O’Connell was going on about, but I hoped it wasn’t me.
“Are you done playing with narco?” Heathcliff sounded annoyed. I was definitely in the doghouse.
“I think so. You guys in major crimes are so much more fun to be around.” I was trying to behave, but Heathcliff fixed me with a hard stare and didn’t comment further. He handed me a notepad with a list of names of those whose whereabouts had yet to be ascertained after they left the party.
“Re-watch the surveillance footage and see if you can eliminate any more persons of interest. When you’re done, see who’s left, and if it isn’t too late, start checking into alibis,” he commanded. “I’m going to Patty’s to locate Alvarez.”
“He knows you, and if he spots you, he might make a run for it.”
“Don’t think for a second you’re going down there. Not after what happened today,” he berated.
I shot a look to O’Connell, who nodded almost imperceptibly, before picking up the notepad and heading into the other room. O’Connell would either offer to check into Alvarez himself or argue the reasons why Heathcliff shouldn’t. In the meantime, I wasn’t giving the police department any more reasons to consider throwing me in jail. As it was, my weapon was stuck in evidence until tomorrow.
I settled down with the list and played the footage again. My mind wandered, and I hoped Mrs. Smidel was informed of her son’s trip to the precinct. I was tempted to call her with an update but dismissed the idea. He was seventeen and still a minor, so the arresting officer would have to notify his mom. Plus, I was in enough hot water right now, and my week of being in her employ was basically over. At least Roger and his two friends were okay.
I rewound the feed and started over. There were five names remaining on the list. By the time I finished examining the footage, it was down to four. Every one really does count. I tried to bolster my own morale which hit rock bottom after all the negative feedback I received today, but it wasn’t working. Giving up, I went into the bullpen and found Heathcliff still at his desk. Thompson and O’Connell were gone, probably at Patty’s. Silently, I wrote the four names on a sheet of paper and tacked it to the board.
“Tate and Sanderson we know,” he read the names, “but who are the other two?”
“I performed a quick search. Valerie Yves and Monique Webber are models at Tate’s agency. All four of them disappeared down the pier instead of back toward solid ground, but the camera loses sight of them. All I can say is they each left alone.” I checked the time.
“It’s too late to call without raising a few alarms, and I didn’t think you’d want to scare off any of our suspects.” He barely acknowledged my comment as he typed something into the computer. Maybe he was waiting for an apology. “Thanks for getting me out of trouble today. I appreciate it.”
He stopped typing and examined me for a moment. “What’s your deal, Parker?”
“I don’t have a deal. I just got caught up in a secondary case, and one of the thugs had a bat. Apprehending them seemed like a no-brainer.”
“Everyone’s got a deal.” He continued to stare, and I reconsidered my earlier judgment of his interrogational skills. When I provided no forthcoming answer, he grabbed my elbow and dragged me into one of the empty interrogation rooms.
“Really? You’re going to interrogate me? Unbelievable.”
“No,” his tone didn’t change, “but I thought you might be more apt to talk in private.”
“I’m sorry, okay?” I was annoyed. “I got wrapped up in trying to get the stupid kid out of trouble. Did anyone even notify his mom? I haven’t heard a word. Was he arrested?”
“He and the other two were scared shitless, but their parents were all called. And if they cooperate, they’ll be fine. The two you apprehended are a different story.” At least he supplied a couple of answers. “Why aren’t you a fed anymore?”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” I was being guarded.
“It does if I’m working with someone who has a death wish. You went into an unknown situation alone. You take on two guys by yourself, and if I didn’t hear the call over the radio, you might be in lockup right now. Do you have any idea what they do to cops in lockup? Especially the pretty ones. How can you have such disregard for your own well-being? If you get sent in undercover at Tate’s agency, are you going to be just as reckless?”
“You think I’m pretty?” That wasn’t the part of his speech I was supposed to latch on to, but it was the least serious response I could come up with. His cold gaze didn’t waver. “O’Connell would have gotten me out,” I retorted. “At least I think he would.” Heathcliff shook his head, assessing me. “I’m not some suspect you get to interrogate, Detective.”
“What’s with your wrists?” he asked, staring at my scars and ignoring my protest. I shot daggers at him, but he didn’t back down.
“Maybe I’m just into bondage.” He returned my look. “Not that it’s any of your business, but you get abducted, hung by your wrists, and electrocuted repeatedly, and then we can have this conversation again. I’m still breathing, so obviously, I’m not that willing to roll over and play dead.” I stormed out and slammed the door.
In the squad room, I inhaled a few times to calm myself down. I wasn’t sure if my erratic breathing and pounding pulse were the result of rage or the beginnings of a panic attack, but right now, we were working. There wasn’t time to waste on either of these pointless emotional reactions. I used the board as a distraction and tried to make sense of all the papers, names, dates, and information, but it was a jumble. I wanted to go home.
Instead, I sat at the empty desk and began conducting background checks on Valerie Yves and Monique Webber. Ten minutes later, Heathcliff came into the squad room and sat across from me at his desk. I wondered if I didn’t play well with others or if others just didn’t play well with me.
“Who are you checking into?” he asked.
“Yves,” I responded, not looking up from the screen.
“Okay. I’ll look into Webber. If we split it up, we’ll get finished in half the time.”
“Fine.” My tone was neutral.
An hour and numerous searches later, nothing even remotely suspicious surfaced concerning Valerie Yves. She was a naturalized American citizen originally from Canada. She had been employed by the Tate Modeling Agency for the last eighteen months and had done a few fashion magazine covers but nothing too extensive or impressive. On a whim, I typed her name into an internet search engine and skimmed through the first page of entries, but no warning bells blared.
“Yves looks clean. We’ll have to question her about the party, but she doesn’t have a record. There’s nothing of any real interest here.”
“Webber apparently changed her name, and I’m having difficulty tracking her from before. It looks like she might have some sealed records, but they might be someone else’s.” He tossed the pen onto the desk. “We’ll worry about it in the morning. Maybe our computer savvy officers can check into it.” I stared at him. Why was he trying so hard to be talkative now? There wasn’t anything left to say. “Thompson and O’Connell are at Patty’s. That was a good call you made.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Want to call it a night?”
“Whatever.” I turned off the computer and grabbed my stuff.
“Hold up,” he halted me in my tracks, “I’ll walk you out.” I held my tongue instead of telling him where to go. Once we were outside the police station, he sighed. “I’m not good at interpersonal communication.”
“People who use words like interpersonal never are.” The snarkiness was back, and he chuckled slightly.
“I just want to make sure you take the necessary precautions. I won’t be in the field with someone who takes too many risks and doesn’t have my back. There are a million stories circulating about you, Parker. I know rumors are rumors, but it’s nice to know who I’m working with.”
“Don’t fret,” I remarked. “I don’t even have a gun anymore. And no one around here trusts me to do more than watch surveillance and tack up photos, so you’re not alone. I’m sure Moretti doesn’t plan to send me on patrol.”
“Funny,” he leaned against my car as I unlocked the driver’s side door, “O’Connell just got through saying how impressive you are.”
“Oh yeah, I’m so impressive I was almost arrested today. Maybe you’re right, and you shouldn’t work with me. Why don’t you tell Moretti he needs to find someone to replace Lola?”
“Parker,” he got off my car and stood in front of me, “I’m trying to apologize for overreacting earlier. I thought you might be suicidal with those scars and taking on a group of thugs in the park by yourself, but I was wrong. Are you gonna stop breaking my balls?”
I raised my eyebrows, considering his question. “Probably not.” I winked and got into my car. “If they bring Alvarez in tonight, give me a call. I want to be here for that.”
“You got it.” He shut my door and tapped the side of my car.
Twenty-four
I poked around in my refrigerator, looking for something to eat. After my long day, first interviewing at Tate’s, then running through the surveillance footage, and finally dealing with Roger’s fiasco, I didn’t have time to eat. One day pretending to be a model and I was already starving myself, albeit unintentionally. Finding some cold cuts and bread, I made a sandwich.
Today was rough, and I wanted to hear a friendly voice to commiserate. Briefly, I thought of calling Mark, but he was apt to point out my obvious flaws instead of letting me vent. I checked the time and phoned Martin. It was a little before eleven, and he should still be awake.
“Alex?” he asked, and I automatically smiled because of the worry in his voice, even though I shouldn’t care that he cared.
“Hey, I’m sorry to call so late.”
“It’s okay. I was up, reviewing some merger information. What’s going on?”
“It’s been a long day.” I tried to come up with a legitimate reason for calling. “A really long day.” My head sunk into the couch cushion, and I shut my eyes. “Do the names Valerie Yves or Monique Webber ring any bells?”
“I don’t think so.” He sounded thoughtful. “Should they?”
“I don’t know. We’re tracking leads, and they both left the party prior to you and Caterina. So it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Pretending to be a model is hell. Those girls really go through the wringer.” I sighed. “I’m just tired, b
ut as usual, there’s no rest for the wicked. I should let you get back to work, but thanks for your time.”
“Maybe one of these days you’ll call, and it won’t be business related.”
“Maybe.” I disconnected and lay on the couch. Kicking my shoes off, I closed my eyes. I was too emotionally drained from Tate’s interview, the situation in the park, and Heathcliff’s accusations to do anything other than sit in the silence and let my mind go blank.
I had been asleep for forty-five minutes when my phone rang. Picking it up, I regarded the display. “Alvarez was a no show,” Heathcliff stated. “He called in sick last minute. I think he’s gone. Hell, he might have left the state or even the country by now.”
“I doubt it,” I mumbled. I had gotten into enough trouble today, but there were a few details to divulge regarding Alvarez’s apartment. “Did you get a warrant to search his apartment?”
“Yes, but I didn’t do it personally. The report said they found no evidence of where he might be.” Apparently, some idiots conducted the search.
“There was an envelope of money on his dresser, along with some personal effects. He wouldn’t leave town without them. What is the woman’s name who has a restraining order against him?” I heard papers being shuffled.
“The order of protection was taken out by Linda Reynolds. How do you know what’s on Alvarez’s dresser?”
“A little bird told me,” I responded, putting on my shoes. “Do you have an address for Ms. Reynolds?”
“Yep. By the way, I like the way you think.” He was still on his best behavior.