Mimicry of Banshees

by G. K. Parks

  “Damn law school fucked me up more than I care to admit.”

  He chuckled. “I tend to overlook the fact you were a federal agent with your fancy ass background. I always think of you in a gritty, get your hands dirty way.”

  “Thanks,” I gave him a genuine smile, “I appreciate that.”

  Heathcliff barged into the room, slamming the door. O’Connell and I turned and watched him stalk the enclosed space for a few moments, getting his anger in check. “Son of a bitch won’t answer any more questions without his lawyer. I’m done.”

  “Good, he’s scared,” O’Connell offered. “Let’s stick him in holding until morning. His lawyer won’t show up this late.” It was one of the tricks of the trade. We couldn’t touch Spencer without his attorney present, but maybe he would rescind his request after a few hours downstairs. “Just make sure you keep him isolated and away from Alvarez.”

  “No shit,” Heathcliff growled, still miffed.

  * * *

  We were updating our theory board when the tech department phoned Heathcliff’s desk. The background noise and subtle vertical camera motion were both indicative of a water-based location, such as a boat or yacht. The file was created Saturday morning at 1:01 a.m., possibly minutes before Caterina’s murder. The only hitch was the IP address was heavily encrypted and beyond the capabilities of the local PD. They would have to farm out the work to a federal agency or the larger state investigative unit if they wanted a location.

  “Time just isn’t on our side,” Thompson muttered.

  “I’ll make some calls.” Propping my legs on top of the desk, I was tired, aggravated, and now I had to call the OIO and beg for a favor.

  “Jablonsky,” Mark answered.

  “Hey, Mark.” I tried to sound pleasant, particularly since I hadn’t been very nice to him recently. “Do you owe me any favors?”

  “Nope.” He was playing hardball. “If you want something, you’re going to owe me. What do you need?” I explained the internet video situation. “Sounds like you’re in a jam.”

  “Can you help or not? Keep in mind the reason I’m working this.” Maybe I could pass the favor owing off to Martin since it was his fault. I sat silently, waiting for a response, and Heathcliff motioned to tone down the bitchiness.

  “If it were me, I’d help,” Mark offered. “But you’re asking for Bureau resources on a local police thing. It’s above my pay grade. You’ll have to talk to Director Kendall.”

  “Fuck me,” I griped and heard an amused snort from someone nearby. “Is he still there?”

  “No. He left at five when most people go home since he doesn’t have to stay in the office, catching up on paperwork.”

  “See, that’s reason number four to join the private sector.” I let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll call first thing in the morning. But if he can’t help, we’ll be forced to source this out, and it could take weeks. Can you at least put in a good word or pave the way?”

  “Of course,” he sounded genuine. “Call at eight-thirty so I’ll have time to grab a hold of him.”

  “Thanks. I guess I owe you.” I hung up and relayed the information to my police brethren. They all seemed optimistic. I would have been more enthused if I knew we’d get a positive response without a quid pro quo.

  I spent the rest of the night in the police station, ironing out every new detail, charting the new connections, and seeking new leads and suspects for Skolnick’s murder. The paperwork for a warrant on Sanderson’s boat was already in the works, but we wanted to rule out any uncertainty to avoid looking like we were fishing for evidence. There was so much information going in too many directions that I couldn’t wrap my mind around any of it. The outside noise was blaring too loudly for my rational thoughts or gut instincts to be heard over the information overload.

  Pressing my cheek against the cool surface of the desk, I tried to recall who decided to pin strings connecting suspects to evidence as an overlay on our theory board. The spider web pattern was making me dizzy. We had fleshed out as much as possible in the last twelve hours, but we were still missing the biggest parts of the puzzle.

  “I take it you didn’t get to sleep in yesterday,” Heathcliff commented, putting a steaming mug of coffee down next to me.

  “Did you?” I picked it up and inhaled.

  “Probably more than you. It’s seven a.m. Just another hour and a half until your scheduled call. After that, go home and get some sleep. You’re working tomorrow night, and you need to look like a believable twenty-four year old and not a re-animated corpse.”

  “It’s not tomorrow night. The party is Thursday night.”

  “Today’s Wednesday,” he said patiently.

  “Right.”

  I sighed, drank the rest of the coffee, and otherwise remained useless for the next hour and a half. At eight thirty, I called Director Kendall and requested his assistance. He graciously offered the use of Bureau resources, but it was too easy. This would come back to bite me in the ass at some point.

  “We’ll send our tech staff to deliver it and offer to assist on the information recovery,” Heathcliff insisted. “Now go home.”

  Twenty-seven

  It was mid-afternoon when I awoke. Sleep had given my subconscious time to process everything, and the comforting gnawing returned, reassuring me we were getting closer to putting the pieces in order. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the facts.

  Why would Jake Spencer want to drug his lover? Obviously, Caterina had a voracious sexual appetite, based upon their brief interlude in the ladies room, so why slip her a roofie? Spencer was absolutely miserable during the first two interviews when confronted with the crime scene photos, but he gave the drugs to Alvarez. Was Spencer jealous that Caterina would pick someone else up at the party? But dosing the drinks wasn’t an appropriate form of revenge because it left numerous unpredictable variables. We had proof Spencer handed the drugs to Alvarez. Hell, we even had Alvarez’s statement and the envelope of cash, but Alvarez wasn’t the killer since he was working well past the time of death. Who else had motive?

  Both Richard Sanderson, porn star extraordinaire, and Yolanda Tate left the party at an appropriate time to kill Caterina. The cash in the envelope would have been pocket change to either one of them, but they stood to lose a lot by her death. Sanderson was her agent and making a cut from her work. Tate, on the other hand, insisted she was out thousands on the upcoming scheduled photo shoot Caterina had booked, but there was also the insurance policy. I didn’t have the actual numbers in front of me, but maybe Tate would break even or profit because of Caterina’s demise.

  I got out of bed and took my time getting ready. I rummaged through the kitchen, preparing an extremely late breakfast or early supper. At this point, there wasn’t much of a difference. As I pulled some silverware from the drawer, my mind drifted to the knife used to stab Skolnick. It could have been grabbed off of a tray or from the kitchen by any of the guests or servers. Without finding the actual blade, there would be no way of knowing who took it.

  Everything rested on the pillow. Assuming the pornography was filmed prior to Skolnick’s murder and the pillow in the video and the murder weapon were one and the same, then the assailant had to be Sanderson, Yves, or our mysterious filmmaker. Picking up the phone, I dialed the OIO and requested to speak to one of the techs assisting the local police. I asked if they had narrowed the time of the actual filming, or if they could get any angles or reflections which might indicate the identity of the off-screen third party. Since I owed a favor, I might as well get as much as I could out of the trade. Unfortunately, they were still processing the footage, and it would be at least several hours, if not days, until they had something usable.

  I ate while working on a list of suspects, motives, and opportunity – the holy trinity of crime. From the list we compiled, only four individuals had the opportunity to commit the crime, but the reason for the killing left a lot to be desired. I needed to start at
the beginning and work forward. Lola would have to find out everything she could about Jake Spencer’s connection to Caterina Skolnick. This was where everything began, and with any luck, it would lead to our culprit. It also wouldn’t hurt to get as much juicy gossip as humanly possible on Valerie Yves and Monique Webber just in case. After all, Yves was on film with Sanderson, and we still hadn’t pinned down the whereabouts of Ms. Webber, if that was her actual name.

  Once I finished eating, I went back to the precinct. Surely someone had some insight to share. The squad room was much more subdued. Moretti’s office door was closed, but through the blinds covering his small window, three other people could be seen inside his office. O’Connell and Heathcliff were nowhere to be found, so I took my usual seat at the vacant desk and waited for Thompson to get off the phone.

  “Do you have anything on Monique Webber?” I asked after he hung up.

  “Yes.” He passed me a printout. “Nothing conclusive. She’s a small town girl who moved to the big city to start a modeling career and changed her name to something more marketable. No criminal record. Whatever Heathcliff was looking at was for a Monica Webber, not Monique. Damn auto-correct.” Thompson wasn’t normally the type to deliver a soliloquy, and I wondered what provoked it.

  Moretti’s office door opened, and Heathcliff came out, glancing at me as he shut the door behind him. “What are you doing here?” he asked in a not-so-friendly tone.

  “Brilliance has struck.” I was undeterred by his brusqueness. “Our assailant has to be one of the four who left the party. And I’ve been considering what Spencer’s motivation was for drugging his lover, but nothing I’ve come up with makes any sense.”

  “His lawyer showed up this afternoon for the official interrogation,” Heathcliff began, walking to the coffeepot and remaining next to it, so I had to turn around to face him. “Looks like the hotshot photographer’s been around the block a few times, and he wants to make a deal.”

  “For what?” What valuable piece of information would he have?

  “We’re still working out the finer points, but it’s my understanding he can implicate someone else as passing the drugs to him.”

  “What the hell is this, middle school?” My good mood was rapidly turning into frustration. “It wasn’t really mine. It was his.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Did you want to go upstairs to narcotics and see if they’ve made any progress on your other case,” Heathcliff offered out of the blue.

  Something was up. Everyone was acting off. I swiveled in my chair to glance at Thompson, and as I turned, Moretti’s office door opened, and I caught sight of a familiar tailored overcoat still inside. O’Connell emerged and met my eyes. His expression was guilty as sin.

  “Parker,” he acknowledged, scurrying behind his desk, perhaps afraid I would explode, but I was preoccupied, staring at Moretti through the still open door as Martin shook his hand.

  “We really appreciate your help, Mr. Martin.” Moretti led him to the door. “Our people will be covering the entire event, so your safety will be guaranteed.” Martin nodded and stepped out of the office. He didn’t even have time to register my presence before I was out of the chair.

  “Mr. Martin, a word. Now,” I barked, storming to the double doors. In the precinct, there weren’t many places that afforded privacy, so the small area between the two sets of double doors would have to do.

  “Ms. Parker,” he sounded professional, acknowledging my command as if it were only a request and following me.

  I waited for the doors to close and spun around to face him, glaring through the window at any nosy onlookers. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Lt. Moretti called.” His eyes danced ever so slightly. I think he was enjoying irritating me. “The police department has requested my assistance. It seems they think I might be instrumental in identifying the assailant. Looks like I’ll be at the memorial tomorrow night, after all.”

  “You’re a civilian.” I tried to keep my voice low. “You can say no. You should say no.”

  “What fun would that be?” He smirked. “It’ll be fine. Cops will be crawling all over the place, and you’re going to be there.”

  “I’m working undercover.” I spoke slowly to aid in his comprehension since he clearly had the mentality of a two-year-old. “Did you not hear me tell you to stay away from this?”

  “But you don’t work for me.” He cocked an eyebrow up. “Remember?” I paced the small space in front of him. He was back to unilateral decision-making and being completely unreasonable.

  “Why are you doing this?” From past experience, I knew arguing wouldn’t help.

  “The police are hoping it might jog my memory. Maybe I’ve forgotten an important detail, or I might recognize someone I failed to remember. They’re confident they’re close.” I never should have admitted he discovered the internet video. “Am I wrong to assume the reason they’re this close is because of you?” He smiled, watching as I accepted defeat.

  “Take Bruiser with you and do not leave his sight. Not even for a second.”

  “Okay, no problem,” he responded nonchalantly.

  “Promise me. Please.” I hated pleading with him.

  “All right, Alex. I promise.” His tone shifted to something softer. He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to one side and assessing me. Not giving him time to complete his analysis, I turned on my heel and went back into the bullpen. Some of us still had work to do, regardless of the monkey wrenches being thrown into the mix.

  “Were you going to tell me?” I asked Heathcliff. “Or were you going to let me be surprised tomorrow night just to see how well my undercover act works with some added stress and additional guests?”

  “You’re consulting here. You don’t need to concern yourself with that situation.” He gazed at the doors, making sure Martin left, and I threw a glance at O’Connell, who immediately avoided my eyes.

  “Whatever,” I huffed. “I called the OIO this afternoon and asked if they could check for a reflection that might provide us with an identity for the camera operator. Optimistically, they’ll have the IP and everything soon.” I tried to focus, even though I felt betrayed. “There isn’t much to do in the meantime. Tomorrow evening, I’ll try to dig up some dirt on Spencer, Webber, Yves, Sanderson, and Tate. Are there any other miracles you need me to work in my spare time?” I was feeling particularly bitter and sarcastic at the moment.

  “Seems you’ve pretty much narrowed it down to our most likely suspects,” Heathcliff complimented. “Now all we need is something concrete or enough substantiated information to obtain warrants to get the hard evidence. Maybe Mr. Martin will turn into a valuable asset if he can recall repeat guests or seeing someone do something he might have dismissed or forgotten. Worst case, he could confront Sanderson about the adult video and see what shakes loose since he’s not a cop but just a curious internet searcher.”

  I bit my lip to prevent my forthcoming response. Swallowing, I got up from the chair. “Clearly, you have things under control, so I’m going home.”

  * * *

  My actions were on auto-pilot as I drove to my office. I wasn’t paying any attention, and when I pulled into the parking lot, I wondered how I got here. I went inside, checked the mail and messages, and sat behind my desk. It was dark out. Somehow, it was almost eight, and I suspected sleeping through most of the day had something to do with the lack of daylight hours.

  Since I was here, I might as well get some work done. Retrieving the MT security applications from my car, I began reviewing them by entering names into the criminal databases and checking other pertinent job and career claims. Half of the applications were thrown into the nay pile based on lack of experience. Since no one had a criminal record or murky past, I had to base my decisions on skills and experience. Was military service a preferential factor? It indicated familiarity with weapons, tactical training, and an ability to obey orders. Maybe Martin should enlist so he could learn how to listen to oth
er people and follow directions.

  I continued reading and rereading the applications, slowly whittling the list down one applicant at a time. There were seven left when my phone rang. “It’ll be fine,” O’Connell said. The radio was playing in the background, and I imagined he was on his way home. “I would have warned you, but I didn’t find out what the LT planned until ten minutes before Martin showed up.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to think of something to say. “Are you still there?”

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, Nick. I can’t pretend he isn’t there, but I can’t ignore everything else in order to keep an eye on him. He shouldn’t be there. Honestly, what good will it do?”

  “It might shake any remaining suspicion off of him,” he responded quietly. “Just think of the press coverage afterward. Millionaire CEO helps catch killer, details at eleven.” He adopted an announcer’s voice.

  “I’ve seen him almost bleed out.” My voice shook slightly. “How can I not worry about him being targeted by Skolnick’s killer? Even if we’re getting closer to pinpointing the killer’s identity, we still don’t know who it is. Anyone could do anything to him tomorrow night. It doesn’t matter how secure the place is or how many guys Moretti has working. You know that, and I know that.”

  “Alex, if you don’t remember, I know exactly what went down the first time. I was the one who radioed the paramedics and secured the area, so they could work on him. We both had his back then, and tomorrow night, everything will be fine. I’ll be at the bar, and as long as he takes a seat and keeps drinking, you won’t have anything to worry about. He’s important to you, and I won’t let anything happen to him.”

  “I feel like I constantly owe you.” My voice contained the hint of a smile.

  “I’ll add it to your tab,” he teased. “We’re close to ending this. I can feel it.”