by Gary Starta
“Huh? How so?”
“I think you know, Jay,” Carter said. “If Sid told the shooters about you, there’s a good bet he told them about Lucy. I have evidence that Sid even disguised himself as Lucy to kill Cheryl Thomas. He might have been obsessed with her in the same way he became obsessed with killing all three of his other victims.”
“What are you saying? There were two victims. Or wait...you mean Sid killed Donnie Cinelli?”
“I’m awaiting confirmation on that. But promise me you’ll hang up and contact Lucy immediately. If you do indeed love her, then I’ll know you’ll do whatever it takes to get her to listen to you.”
“I will, Detective. But you can’t keep us in protective custody forever. If what you’re saying is true, how am I going to protect Lucy—in the future?”
Carter smiled, pleased the PI was thinking about someone other than himself. “I’ve got a plan in motion. Now please Mr. Fishburne, call her.”
Carter headed for the recovery area, eyes still blurry, hoping to catch at least a glimpse of Jill.
He finally found the correct wing of the hospital ten minutes later, but a nurse intervened before he could enter her room. “You may take a seat—outside her room, “the nurse said, nonplussed that Carter had flashed her badge. “You’re under my authority here and I’ll have removed if you don’t adhere to my wishes.”
“Sure thing, ma’am,” Carter said, the fight quickly draining from his body. He slumped into a chair and his head lolled about his shoulders as fatigue washed over him.
In half an hour Carter awoke from a deep sleep by the receptionist. He had had a terrible dream, one in which Jill had died. And as he regained consciousness, he struggled with a notion that life would not be worth living if that had happened.
He ambled out of his chair, but the receptionist, the same one with the red hair who lent him her phone—waved her hand at him.
“Not necessary, dear. I brought a phone to you—being this police business and all.”
Carter smiled as he took the cell. It was his phone.
“Doctor Geyser found it on a chair in the emergency room. But let me tell you she’s none too pleased that she didn’t find you on her gurney.”
Carter embraced her arm in gratitude as he listened to the voice on the other end.
Part one of his plan was complete. Officer Jamieson told Carter he was driving Lucy to the lab as they spoke. Now Carter would try to capture a few more hours asleep. Phase two of his plan would commence at dawn.
It was 5 a.m. Carter forced himself to leave the hospital, just one hour before visiting hours would begin. He couldn’t afford luxury now. The personal pleasure he would derive from seeing Jill awake and recuperating. Riding in a cab, he phoned the lab and made sure Ben Meyers was clocked in. A receptionist patched him through to Meyer’s office and Carter spent a few anxious moments in thought, asking no higher power in particular to please let Mr. Meyers pick up. Carter got more than his wish. Meyers told him he had been working on the tape for the past few hours. And that what the tape held might literally knock Carter off his feet.
“I have isolated four male voices in this tape. They all sound like mob types if you know what I mean,” Meyers explained. “But more astonishing, there are confessions to three murders on it. I have isolated that voice and whoever he is claims responsibility.”
But now Carter blew Meyer’s mind.
“I know who that voice belongs to. It’s Sgt. Sid Auerbach’s. He probably has disguised his voice in accent.”
“That’s incredible,” Meyers said, glancing at the bouncing sound waves on his computer screen. “I never would have guessed. I mean, why would he?”
“Assuming I’m right,” Carter said, “Is there a way you can identify Auerbach’s voice signature—even with the accent.”
“I could if I had another reference sample. But I’m sorry . . . ”
“I’ll provide you with that reference sample momentarily. It’s absolutely imperative I can conclude that the confession comes from Sid Auerbach.”
“But even if you do, I’ve got to remind you most courts won’t admit spectrographic analysis as evidence, and besides if Auerbach is guilty, he’s dead, and obviously can’t be tried.”
“I only have to convince one judge that the voice on the tape belongs to Auerbach, Mr. Meyers. If I can’t do that, more might die.”
Meyers totally perplexed at this juncture—but entirely intrigued—could only sputter a few words back to Carter.
“Bring me that sample and I’ll work my mojo.”
Carter nodded and dialed a number as he made his way out of Meyer’s lab.
He heard Captain Eldridge shouting as he finished his call, en route to the lab’s reception area.
Eldridge’s belligerent tone permeated the very sanctum of the building, the sanctum Carter believed to be most sacred. Although the inner architecture of the homicide unit could not be in any way confused with a temple or shrine—its stark white walls barren of any particular symbolism or belief—it was within these very walls, this very core where a virtual sanctum existed for victims of crimes. It was where Carter and other dedicated law officials made sure justice was served to the survivors of tragedies. And for Eldridge—as captain of the unit—no less—to violate this temple of justice was desecration in its most vile form.
Carter listened in his head to a prior conversation with Auerbach’s wife. He recalled how she said he had failed the detective’s exam and that his strange behavior after being beaten in an alley may have been the reason why. He also recalled how he claimed someone at the bureau had had his back. And he believed, more as a hunch, that Eldridge was the one who held the secrets of Auerbach’s past. Perhaps protecting him out of no other motivation than pure fraternal brotherhood—one cop watching out for another. Or perhaps revenge was an issue. Maybe by keeping Auerbach on the force, Eldridge felt he had surreptitiously slapped Carter in the face, defying the very man Auerbach had dreamt of becoming, a man who had become respected among not only police but also the public, a man who garnered respect by practicing respect. But as Carter deduced why Eldridge and Auerbach may have had it out for him, he couldn’t fathom this glowing perception of himself to be something others would envy. He only perceived this as a progression, a normal creation; the fruit of any labor done by an honest man. It was not glory that kept me on the job. For Carter, it was about making things right after wrong, and maybe when he was particularly fortunate, to save a wayward soul in the process.
Carter turned a corner, meeting Eldridge’s scorn. Now Eldridge really spat his venom, finding the actual object of his rage before his very eyes.
“Well Carter, what do you think this is—a hotel?” Although he asked a question, there was no hint of doubt in Eldridge’s tone. “I come in to find that revolting excuse for a PI and his naughty whore shacked up here on the taxpayer’s dime—and on whose authority? Did you somehow supersede me sometime over the course of the night? And I’ll tell you another thing . . . ”
Carter interrupted the tirade. “Wait a minute, Captain. I thought you were asking—not telling. And if you’ll let me explain . . . ”
“You’re not going to talk your way out of this one Carter. And I am telling you.”
Carter took his eyes off Eldridge for a moment and noticed his secretary, Amanda Parsons, shaking her head.
“Don’t you think we ought to take this inside, Captain?”
“Fine by me.”
Eldridge’s ire was stoked even higher by the time he and Carter found themselves behind closed doors.
“I want to know how you knew that shooting would take place at the bar. I thought I was very specific—that the unit in no way encouraged the use of psychics in investigations.”
“Oh, I didn’t, Captain. It was just a little detective’s intuition.”
“Well whatever it was, look where it got you. You didn’t save Auerbach, you got Sajak killed.”
“Captain, I am de
eply troubled at the loss of Detective Sajak, but you and I know that Auerbach was behind our last three murder investigations.” Carter paused, eyes begging Eldridge to come clean.
“This is preposterous talk, insubordinate and insulting to both officers who were slain. And if I find in your report that you were there to protect that sleaze ball PI and not Auerbach—you might very well find yourself in front of a review board.”
“Interesting you should bring that up, Captain Eldridge. I also find it intriguing as to why you arbitrarily upheld BIS policy on one hand and dismissed it with the other.”
“Oh,” Eldridge said, pointing a finger at Carter. “So this is what this is about? Sour grapes.” Eldridge had answered his own question. “This is because your little girlfriend is getting shipped out of here. Be careful, Carter. You could be next.” He dropped his finger, and began pacing. “Although you and I know that probably would never happen. You’re way too wrapped up in that badge. I’m surprised you didn’t call off your wedding.” He cupped his hands toward Carter. “I mean what the hell in the great Detective Carter’s eyes could be more important than duty?”
Eldridge waved his hand over his desk and emitted an ugly sarcastic air-filled laugh.
“I think you got beads on my chair, Carter. Well, the way you botched up this investigation, you’re going to be lucky to keep your lieutenant’s rank. Beware ambition, Carter.”
Carter crossed his arms before him and let the hateful ring of Eldridge’s words ebb. He then spoke. “And those who mire themselves in a safety net, content to uphold the status quo even when they know their officers are doing piss poor investigating, should also beware.”
“What’s that Carter,” Eldridge guffawed, “some sort of Zen mumbo jumbo?”
“No, it’s the sound of your corrupt captaincy coming to a crashing end.”
“With whose army, Carter; with whose army?”
“I don’t need an army. I just need you to unseal Sergeant Auerbach’s permanent file.”
“I’ll do no such thing by dishonoring a man who went down trying to take some of Johnny Cinelli’s henchmen. He deserves a medal.”
“That’s rich, coming from you, when you’re the one who suspended him.”
Eldridge did not comment—he just leered at Carter, hands on hips.
“Now, tell me, Captain. What reason would Sid Auerbach have for trying to take down some of Johnny Cinelli’s men? I think you know because the tape you’ve kept in hiding reveals some dark moments of Auerbach’s past. It might sound nice next to another tape—the one which holds his confession.”
“Okay, Auerbach may have had some personal issues, I’ll admit that much. But they weren’t reasons to take him off the force. Some damn psychiatrist making bullshit observations from the comfort of a leather recliner. These shrinks know nothing about the real world of a cop. I kept Auerbach on the force so he could find who the hell beat him and his partner into submission. And I think he found out who it was. But then you came along Carter, getting him killed because you wanted to save that sorry ass Fishburne—the S.O.B. was an albatross around Sid’s neck for his entire career. I told him to cut the friendship. Get away from that bastard. And I was right. Because you see Carter, it was Fishburne who killed Collins, Thomas and probably Donnie Cinelli. Sid, the poor soul, was probably caught between a rock and a hard place, trying to bring the Cinelli’s to justice while fighting to keep his friend from getting killed. And if you ask me, it would have been better to let Fishburne get shot. I can’t believe you risked your life, Seacrest’s life—not to mention Sajak’s—over Fishburne.”
“As officers who’ve taken an oath we don’t get to pick and choose who we protect. And I think your theory has some serious holes in it, because we both know Sid wasn’t himself when he confronted his killers. He was another person—a person who blamed a petty thief for Donnie Cinelli’s death—a person who then betrayed his best friend by luring him into harm’s way. A person who took all of his friend’s secrets and used them against him.”
“I don’t know, Carter. I think that maybe Fishburne was the one played Sid. Probably knew he had some issues.”
“You could be partially right on that one, Captain. Nevertheless, I request you voluntarily hand over Sid Auerbach’s permanent file or . . . ”
“Or else what . . . ”
“Okay, my detective instinct told me you’d be difficult.”
Carter pulled out his phone and started to dial.
“Get the hell out of here Carter—and take your damn phone with you!”
Carter only spoke a few words and hung up.
Eldridge balled his fist and reared back his arm. “I told you Carter, get the HELL out . . . ”
But before he finished the sentence or could make good on his physical threat, a door opened. Two IA officers stood in the doorway, a halo of light from the hallway silhouetting their black suits. One of the men demanded release of Auerbach’s file. Eldridge’s face went white and before he could catch his breath, the other IA official put him in handcuffs and told him, “You are hereby being removed from your position pending an internal affairs investigation.”
Chapter 23
“This is great news for you, Detective,” Supervisor Jack Hurley said to Carter as they traversed a lab hallway.
“How so? Do you believe I’m actually happy over removing Eldridge from the unit?”
“No, not at all. But I’m appointing you as acting captain in his vacancy.”
“I don’t know, Supervisor Hurley. Even though I’m pretty sure Mr. Eldridge won’t be gracing us with his presence anymore—over the long term—overseeing captain’s duties might overshadow my obligation to homicide . . . ”
“Carter you’ve got to accept it. It’s the loophole you’ve been looking for.”
***
Carter was seated in a waiting room inside of the Department of Justice. He waited pensively for Judge Anthony Arquette’s decision. It was Arquette who could approve Carter’s long-term plan to protect Lucy Klein—the streetwalker—and Jay Fishburne, the PI. He had little faith in federally funded assistance and was sure that bureaucracy more often than not impeded the very intent of the program’s agenda. He also was quite aware that most courts usually tended to dismiss forensic evidence based upon sound spectrograph research because it theorized that each human voice was distinct, due to physical uniqueness of vocal track, distinctive environmental influences during speech development and the unique development of neurological faculties responsible for the production of speech. In other words, there were no hard facts to back up these claims. Nonetheless, Carter held onto hope. The lab’s sound analyst expert Ben Meyers had spent the last 36 hours preparing Carter’s argument. Painstakingly creating digital graphics for the judge to examine, showing that the voice of Sid Auerbach was indeed on the confession tape provided by his killers and also on a disc taken from Auerbach’s personal file. The audio disc not only contained a sample of Auerbach’s voice but also included a full session with a psychologist. The psychologist in no uncertain terms had recommended Auerbach continue therapy and not come back to the force until she had deemed him fit for active duty. However, Eldridge had obviously ignored the psychiatrist’s warnings, choosing to bury the disc in a sealed record only he had privilege to open. Maybe Eldridge had kept the disc to perhaps hold it as bargaining leverage over Auerbach at some point in the future—a future that would not come for Sid Auerbach. The findings of the psychologist, Dr. Sylvia Downs, had been based upon the inconsistency and bizarreness of the sergeant’s answers on the detective’s exam. During the taped session, Auerbach had even lapsed into the same mobster-like voice during the session, nearly threatening the doctor not to recommend additional therapy. Fortunately for Auerbach, Eldridge had obviously sided with his officer, overturning the judgment for additional therapy and dismissing any requisites for a leave.
The fact that Sid Auerbach—a literal human time bomb—had not endangered more lives over the
years gave Carter some solace as he waited. And as he began to wonder if Jay Fishburne had indeed used Auerbach’s illness against him, a door opened and a woman dressed in a light blue blazer announced the judge would see him.
***
Yes. Giving a Jill a commendation, a medal of valor should have been sufficient to alleviate some of his guilt, his reason for keeping Jill Seacrest within the confines of the BIS. Nonetheless, the bureaucratic favoritism, granted to him by accepting Supervisor Hurley’s request to become acting captain still gnawed at him. The supervisor who received notification of an impending bureau marriage or who had reported it had the discretion to waive the no marriage rule. With Eldridge gone, this discretion fell to Carter. It didn’t sit with Carter any better than the paperwork jungle he had entered into with the Department of Justice. But during the last few hours Carter had made major progress in getting some of his wishes granted. Only for Carter, wishes were thought to be extravagances, things best left to others to give or take away. He had been prepared to lose Jill to a transfer. Perhaps, his moment of clarity had confirmed this to be the best path for her to take. And now, as he walked the hallways of Massachusetts General Hospital he wondered why he didn’t feel better about delivering good news. Not only did his news impact Jill, but also the woman she had been very concerned about saving. Carter had successfully entered Jay Fishburne and Lucy Klein into the federal witness protection program contingent upon his continued effort to build a case against Johnny Cinelli, the don Carter believed was an accomplice to three murders: Esteban Cruz, Sid Auerbach and Christopher Sajak. And if it weren’t for Jill, Carter too might have made it onto that murder laundry list.
I was supposed to save her, Carter mulled, reaching a reception desk. Yet she had saved me. And now he wondered about his instincts. About a lot of things, including a cryptic warning message that played at the end of the confession tape. A male voice, not Auerbach’s, warned him to watch his back. How should he interpret this? Would the Cinelli’s retaliate for his interference? Had they made the warning in case he survived the assault? They had not expected Carter at the parking lot. So maybe they were warning him about others connected to Auerbach, who might have known his dark secret. If so, Carter could only deduce the warning had been made to protect him. But now, since Carter has actively initiated an investigation to bring down Johnny Cinelli, he surmised the family would have had a change of heart. They would have no reason to want me protected. Of course, they most likely wanted him to refrain from bringing retribution to the family, and he could see, in their twisted sort of logic, they might feel validated about killing Sid Auerbach since he had murdered their beloved Donnie. They were most likely validated about killing Esteban Cruz because Auerbach had initially lied to them. Perhaps, even validated by attempting to kill Jay Fishburne who might have ignited Sid Auerbach’s alter ego—a man on the tape Auerbach spoke of in the third person as Rocko. But how in their deepest recesses of their souls, Carter asked, could the Cinelli’s give themselves absolution for killing Detective Sajak, or attempting to kill he and Jill for that matter? Carter knew, deep down, Johnny Cinelli couldn’t really absolve himself about these actions in the eyes of his God. And because Johnny Cinelli had already exceeded his right for vengeance, by murdering Detective Sajak, Carter realized he would not stop at taking him out as well. So, as Carter signed a guest log, he felt the prickles of hair stand on end at the back of his neck. His actions at the courthouse today would probably set about a war in motion. He had protected Jay Fishburne and Lucy Klein from the family, but he had not protected himself from them, nor had he protected Jill for that matter.