Mimicry of Banshees

by G. K. Parks

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes, if you can wait. Do you think they’ll relinquish my gun back into my custody if I ask nicely?”

  “We’ll convince them. I’ll see you soon.”

  * * *

  It was after midnight, and Heathcliff and I were in an unmarked police cruiser, staking out the apartment leased to Linda Reynolds. He pulled some strings and got my firearm back without too much hassle. It was once again in my shoulder holster at my side. The lights were off in the apartment, but someone was still awake because the television kept flickering through the window.

  “It’s late,” I stated the obvious. “Maybe we should come back tomorrow.”

  He hedged and looked as if to say this was your idea. “Go ring the doorbell and ask her to lower the TV.” I opened the car door and got out, silently shutting it.

  I was standing in front of Linda’s front door, not liking his suggestion. Mussing my hair and streaking whatever mascara might still remain from this morning, I banged loudly on the door. “Chester,” I bellowed, “you son of a bitch, I know you’re here.” I slurred my words and kept hammering away at the door. “Let me in, you bastard.” Knocking over the potted plant on the stoop with a loud crash, I continued making a racket until someone came to the door. “Who the hell are you?” I spat, pretending to be a drunk, jealous girlfriend.

  “This is my house.” The woman standing in front of me was pissed. “There is no Chester here, and if you don’t leave immediately, I’ll call the cops.”

  “Chester,” I screamed, pushing my way inside. “Chester?” A couple of toddler toys were in the corner, along with a highchair and changing table. My wailing should have triggered some crying, but I didn’t hear anything.

  Linda picked up a golf club and held it menacingly. “Get the fuck out of my house, skank.”

  I pretended to burst into outrageous sobs, apologizing profusely and insisting I had the wrong address. Thankfully, I made it out the front door with my skull still intact. Shuffling down the block and out of sight of her apartment, I crossed the street and went back to Heathcliff’s parked car.

  “You didn’t like my TV story, did you?” he inquired as I flipped the vanity mirror down and combed my fingers through my hair and wiped the streaked makeup off my face.

  “It didn’t sound believable. Plus, this way, I got inside the house. She has a kid. Probably not very old, a few months or a year, but it’s not there now.”

  “You think it might be Alvarez’s?”

  “It could be his, or the baby daddy could be the reason she needed the OP. Who knows? But I’m guessing, after my little stunt, she’ll call her significant someone to come over and keep an eye on things.”

  “We’re going to be here awhile.” Resigned, he settled into his seat.

  We had been sitting in the car for almost an hour, staring into the monotony. Nothing changed. The television flickered, but no one showed up at Reynolds’ place. I leaned my seat back and took off my jacket, using it as a blanket. If I closed my eyes for a few minutes, I wouldn’t miss anything.

  “The next time we do this we need to remember the snacks.” I exhaled. “Or a really large thermos of coffee. Or both. Yeah,” I considered the possibility of dunking a few cookies into a warm cup of coffee, “definitely both.” He laughed, but his gaze never left the apartment. I never met anyone who could concentrate for such an extended period of time. “Wake me if something exciting happens.”

  I turned on my side, facing the door, and shut my eyes. Despite the fact I was rapidly approaching being awake for twenty-four hours, I couldn’t sleep. Maybe my forty-five minute nap ruined any hope of sleeping, or the car seat was too uncomfortable, or the nagging at the fringes of my mind wouldn’t let me rest. I sighed and adjusted the seat back into an upright position.

  “Don’t you need your beauty rest, Lola?” he mocked.

  “Lola would probably be awake, running five miles and then doing yoga or something equally energetic and stupid,” I grumbled, staring out the windshield, but there was still no sign of life at the apartment. I closed my eyes again and considered broaching the subject of my current mental turmoil. Without opening my eyes, I asked, “Why don’t you have a partner?”

  “What?” I caught him off-guard which seemed a fair turn of events after earlier.

  “The desk across from yours is empty. You’ve been sidled with me on this Skolnick thing. What gives?” My eyes remained closed, and I wondered if he was examining my facial expression or shooting death glares. Most likely, he was still staring at the apartment. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

  “My partner took a leave of absence to find herself or some New Age bullshit like that.” He sounded morose. “She came back a few months later, and we were assigned to a joint task force assisting in a child abduction case. There was a ransom demand and a trade-off.” His words sounded rehearsed or memorized, like he repeated them too many times. “The deal went south, and we recovered the body. Two days later, she didn’t report to work, and when I went to her place, I found her in the bathtub with her wrists slit.” I opened my eyes and turned to him, but he didn’t look at me. He just stared out the window.

  “I didn’t know.” My mouth went dry. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t say anything more.

  At least I understood the reason for his earlier confrontation. O’Connell should have warned me before I blundered around like an insensitive bitch. We stared in silence at the apartment until the sun came up, and a second team relieved us.

  “Can I buy you breakfast?” he asked, his stoicism faltering slightly in the light of day.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  * * *

  We were in the back corner of a pancake joint. Heathcliff ordered steak with eggs and black coffee. I ordered a decaf coffee and a blueberry muffin. He scoffed at my meal.

  “Is this the meal you’re skipping in order to be model thin?” he teased. It was a relief we were back in a friendlier pattern, and he loosened up. Last night, we both made incorrect assumptions and mistakes.

  “No.” I picked at the crumbs on the muffin wrapper. “This is my pre-bedtime snack.” I shut my eyes briefly and pushed back against the seat. “How are you still wide awake? We’ve been up for twenty-four hours.”

  “I’m used to the long hours.” We finished eating and returned to the precinct. I went straight to my car, ready to go home and crawl into bed.

  “What time do you want me back?” I asked.

  “I’ll check if there are any new developments, and then I’m going home too. Unless something occurs, take the day off. You’ve earned it.”

  Not needing to be told twice, I went home, changed, and hit the hay. I had no desire to wake before dinnertime. Unfortunately, the universe has a habit of conspiring against me. It was noon when the ringing phone interrupted my dreamless sleep.

  “Hello,” I asked, holding the phone to my ear. There was no response, but the ringing continued. In my sleep deprived state, it took another two rings before I realized it was Lola’s phone that was beckoning. I jumped out of bed and lunged for the bothersome device, answering it milliseconds before the voicemail cut in. “Hello.” I tried my best to sound awake.

  “Ms. Peters, please hold for Mrs. Tate,” a woman said as music filled the dead air space. Just what I wanted, someone to call and put me on hold.

  “Ms. Peters?” Tate’s voice replaced the horrible, pre-recorded cacophony.

  “Yes, Mrs. Tate. What can I do for you?”

  “Thursday evening, a party is being held in memoriam to one of my former models.” She was nonchalant. “It will be an opportunity to show off the new faces at my agency, or more accurately, in your case, a possible new face at my agency. There will be backers and business types present. This is an excellent chance for you to network, and hopefully, someone will make a request for you to advertise their product.” She was selling a memorial as a great business prospect. Ice queen wasn’t an accurate enough term to denounc
e her level of coldness. “My assistant will text you the details. I would suggest wearing your most flattering dress.” She hung up before I even said a word.

  I dropped the cell phone and picked up my home phone, dialing the precinct. I relayed the news to Thompson, who just happened to answer. The police were going to infiltrate the catering crew and wait staff in order to get an inside look at the suspects. More than likely, the same crowd who attended Caterina’s final event would also be in attendance on Thursday. After relaying the news, I climbed back into bed and tried to return to my previous sound asleep state.

  I just drifted into unconsciousness when, once again, the phone interrupted the peacefulness. I cursed at whatever deity was amused by the insanity of my life. At least, my phone was ringing this time.

  “Parker,” I answered.

  “You said you would bring Roger home. Instead, he was arrested.” Mrs. Smidel was rightfully angry. “I asked you to keep him out of trouble, and you let him get arrested. Arrested. How could you let that happen?” I wondered how many more times she was going to use the word arrested.

  “Ma’am,” the bored annoyance I was only capable of when exhausted was creeping into every syllable, “I’ve been assured if Roger cooperates, he will be fine. No record. No further incidents. Nothing. Quite frankly, getting arrested was one of the more positive outcomes that could have happened yesterday afternoon.”

  “I don’t see how that could be,” she snippily replied. “How can you think having a criminal record is a good idea? His college admission could be rescinded. His entire future could be jeopardized.” She was screeching again, completely appalled by my actions.

  “Ma’am,” I was considering hanging up, but feared she’d keep calling until I heard her out, “I don’t know what Roger told you, but I tracked him and his friends to a clearing in the park. The two brutes were threatening them, and one of them had a baseball bat.”

  “I thought the brutes were removed.”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear as she continued to scream. Maybe I could take the battery out and take my home phone off the hook. Then she’d probably hire another private eye to find me, so she could scream in person.

  “I will make sure Roger’s name is cleared,” I paused, sensing her displeasure, “pro bono. I have some useful contacts, lawyers, friends in the DA’s office, cops, whatever. It will be fine. In the meantime, I strongly advise you to tell Roger to cooperate with the police should they need anything from him. The situation isn’t as simple as you’d hope. He ended up involved with some shady characters, but it’s being resolved.”

  “But.” She couldn’t articulate a sound argument, but she wasn’t easily dissuaded either.

  “I’ll be by late this afternoon to discuss things further. Expect me around five.” I hung up, got into bed, picked up the extra pillow, held it over my face, and screamed. I put the pillow down and turned on my side, desperate to go back to sleep.

  My mind was wandering in a few different directions as one thought wisp faded into another. Did Caterina scream when she was suffocated? Did anyone hear it? If there were four other people somewhere on the pier or on a boat docked at the pier, then why didn’t any of them come forward? I was drifting off again when the phone rang a final time.

  “I give up,” I growled, answering with a very pleasant, “what the fuck do you want?” My question was met with silence, and I was afraid to see who I yelled at. After a moment, someone cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” Martin offered, sounding sheepish. “Um…”

  “No, I’m sorry.” I audibly sighed. “That long day turned into a long twenty-four hours, and dozens of harassing phone calls later, well, you get the point.” I was embellishing.

  “Three things,” he began. “First, I did an internet search last night for those names you mentioned. I don’t know them, but you have to see what I found. Second, Martin Technologies needs you to evaluate some new security hires. Jeffrey Myers will be gone for six weeks because of rotator cuff surgery and well,” he hesitated, probably afraid I would yell more profanities at him.

  “Kinda falls under my job duties.” I dropped all resentment and bitchiness, trying to sound professional. “What time are you finishing up today?”

  “Four.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there at four to pick up the job applications for a thorough review, and you can show me whatever it is then. Is that all right?” I searched my closet, looking for something to wear.

  “I’ll see you later. Sorry I called.”

  “I wish you were the only one. Or the first one.”

  Twenty-five

  I made a pot of coffee and sorted through everything that needed to be done. I dialed Fletcher’s number since I needed legal advice and a sound game plan to pass along to the incorrigible Lynette Smidel.

  “Jack Fletcher,” he answered pleasantly.

  “Mr. Fletcher, it’s Alex Parker. I’m in need of your legal expertise, and Ackerman, Baze, and Clancy are supposed to be one of the best law firms in the city.” I was laying it on thick after my bailing on their request.

  “You don’t think my job is completely pointless?” he joked.

  “Of course not.” He probably didn’t believe me. “This is a purely hypothetical situation, unless of course my client expresses an interest in hiring you or your firm, and you agree to take this individual’s case.” Even on my best day, legalese had a habit of making my head spin.

  “All right,” he sounded intrigued, “shoot.” I ran through Roger’s entire situation or as much of it as I was aware. Fletcher made the appropriate affirmative sounds to indicate he was paying attention. When I was done, I waited patiently for his evaluation. “No previous record, upstanding member of the community, and valuable information for the police. It shouldn’t take much to strike a fair deal and have any record of this either sealed or expunged.”

  “Okay. If I were to pull a name out of a hat, should it be yours or do you want to recommend someone else who specializes in criminal cases?”

  “I can handle it, and given our recent run-in with the police department and DA’s office, they might still owe us a favor or two for not filing suit against them.”

  “Sounds good. I will pass your card along to the appropriate parties. You have my work address, right? Just send the bill there.” At least I worked on resolving one issue.

  I finished the remainder of the coffee, hoping that replacing the bulk of my blood with caffeine would help me get through the day a little easier. I decided to start at the MT building, stop by the Smidels, and then go to the precinct. Maybe I could take tomorrow off since today was a bust.

  Once I arrived at the MT building, I went straight to the human resources office, hoping to pick up the pertinent applicant files while I waited for Martin to finish for the day. Unfortunately, HR didn’t have the files. Bored, I made another cup of coffee. There was a good chance I would never sleep again.

  Standing in front of the coffeemaker, I took a few long sips from the mug and stared in the general direction of Martin’s opaque glass wall. When my phone rang, I jumped. Jittery wasn’t a good thing, so I put the mug down and answered the phone.

  “You busy?” Heathcliff asked.

  “I’m about to be,” I replied. “I have to deal with some consulting stuff, and then I’m supposed to reason with a screeching banshee of a woman. What’s going on?”

  “We have eyes on Alvarez. He’s at Reynolds’ apartment. Back-up’s on the way, and when they arrive, we’ll move in and take him.”

  “It’s about damn time. What’d you want from me?”

  “Just thought you’d enjoy watching him get booked and questioned again. After all, it was your idea to check out his old lady’s house.”

  “I’ll swing by after I deal with everything else, so don’t wait on my account. By the way, did you hear the news about the memorial that Tate’s hosting?”

  “Yes, Moretti’s been on the phone with the party planner
and catering company. We want to get some UCs on the inside, but since we can’t rule out the hired help as suspects, it has to be approved from the top. This whole thing is a total shit storm.”

  “I don’t see why murderers can’t just wait at the scene of the crime, holding the weapon with a video of the act.”

  “Keep dreaming of a perfect world,” he retorted before hanging up.

  Actually, a perfect world wouldn’t have murderers or criminals. What would I do in a perfect world? Maybe I’d be a painter. Hell, who was I kidding, I’d be bored to death.

  As I returned my phone to my purse, Guillot exited Martin’s office. He nodded on his way down the hallway. I checked the time and knocked on Martin’s door. Promptly, he buzzed me in.

  “You summoned,” I teased.

  He glanced up from behind his desk, his brows furrowing in concern. “Are you all right? You look like hell.”

  “Thanks, I try.” I glared at him. “Did HR lose the,” I stopped midsentence, noticing the stack of applications on the corner of his desk, “never mind.” I picked up the heap of papers and flipped through them. There were maybe twenty in the pile. It wouldn’t take long to narrow it down. “What are you looking for? Top five? Top three? Anyone who can do the job and doesn’t have a criminal record?”

  He considered his options. “Top five, by the end of the week.”

  “No problem.” I’d find time to sort it out. It’s not like I needed to sleep or anything. “You said there were three things. One down. What are the other two?”

  “Come here.” He scooted his desk chair over, making room so I could stand behind his desk. “I won’t bite.” He grinned mischievously, and I ignored him and went around the desk. “Like I said, I searched for Webber and Yves, just to verify I don’t know them.”

  “Sure, makes sense.” I was flashing back to his ramblings about the pillow. Single word answers were perfectly appropriate. Why did he qualify every word that came out of his mouth?