Severed Relations

by Rebecca Forster

  "What time is it?" Cori ran her tongue over her teeth. She wanted a toothbrush but would settle for gum so she rummaged in her purse for it.

  "Nine forty," Finn murmured.

  "Anything happen while I was snoozing?"

  "Two guys came in around eight. A light went on in the corner unit a little after that. Someone turned on a television."

  "Maybe Webster's running." Cori flipped down the visor. The little lights went on and she peered into the mirror, fluffed her bangs, and took out her lipstick.

  "No reason he should," Finn said as he glanced at his partner. "And when he shows up, he's not going to be admiring your lipstick, woman."

  "Get a clue. Women put on lipstick the way men scratch. It's just–"

  Finn stopped her with one hand around her wrist. With the other hand, he flipped the lighted mirror up, plunging them into darkness once again. The headlights on the car coming toward them shined bright in their eyes before the driver made a wide turn into the driveway of the building they were watching. It slowed just long enough for them to see that the driver's hair had a party going on in the back but it wasn't even business on top. The car was an Oldsmobile, '92 to '95. Dented back passenger door. Greyish/green not bluish/grey.

  Close enough for government work.

  Cori threw her lipstick into her purse.

  Todd 'Buster' Webster was home.

  CHAPTER 35

  DAY 7 – NIGHT

  Cori and Finn stayed in the car and waited for Todd Webster to show himself. A few minutes later he came around the building. The sound of his hard heels hitting concrete echoed off the stucco jungle. The wind kicked up and he caught that hank of hair hanging down his back like a woman would. He passed by a ground floor apartment with its drapes open and lights on. It was enough for Cori and Finn to get a positive ID.

  They got out of the car when he started up the stairs. Someone screamed in a building behind them but it wasn't the kind of scream they needed to attend to, so Cori and Finn stayed to the shadows and took the stairs so deftly that Webster had his key in the door before he realized he wasn't alone. When he looked their way, Finn held up his shield.

  "Todd Webster? We'd like to ask you a few questions."

  "Sure thing." The man grinned as he turned the key.

  That was a disappointment in Finn's book. Nobody wanted for murder with an apartment full of porn, grinned at cops unless there was a plan B. Which there was. Webster shot through the door like a cannon ball, and slammed the door behind him. Finn hit it with his shoulder and sent it crashing back again. The rolling rack of lingerie came at him next, but Finn was quick. He dodged the rack, and it crashed into the wall too.

  He hunkered down in a runner's position to get his bearings. The tin foil on the windows made the apartment a dark place, indeed, but not dark enough so that Finn couldn't see Webster crouching beside the desk. In the next second, he heard the sound of the drawer being pulled open and that was all the encouragement Finn needed.

  "There's nothing there for you, Webster."

  Finn got on his feet and lunged for the man. Webster feigned left and went right. Finn hit the desk and went down. Before he could get up, Webster was on his feet, hauling back and ramming the toe of his boot into Finn's knee.

  "Blast," Finn roared as the pain shot all the way to his groin.

  Todd Webster jumped over the detective and yanked two of the smaller drawers out, raised them above his head and was ready to bring them down on any part of Finn's body he could connect with, when the room went bright.

  "That's enough rough and tumble, boys."

  Webster squinted at Cori Anderson. She had one hand on the light switch, her other hand was holding a gun pointed at his gut.

  "You may want to drop your drawers there, Buster."

  "You doing okay?" Cori asked as Finn limped by her for the third time, walking out the kink the man's boot had left in his knee.

  "Passable." He glared at Todd Webster who was sitting pretty as you please on top of those red satin sheets on the mattress where Cori had put him. "Have you got steel tips in those things?"

  "Naw, just well made," Todd answered, cordial now that he was caught. "So to what do I owe the pleasure?"

  Finn tossed the warrant at his new friend. Todd didn't bother to look at it and tossed it right back.

  "I got nothing to hide, and it looks like you already picked up my piece which is all lawful and such, I might add."

  "Last I looked, trafficking porn was a big no-no," Cori reminded him.

  "No law against taking pictures of your friends. I got a lot of friends."

  "Really?"

  Finn pulled a picture of a woman out of the stack he had put aside earlier. Her ribs showed through her skin, her arms were turned so that tracks were clearly visible, her eyes were shadowed and it wasn't from make-up. He walked toward Webster and hunkered down so he could see it up close. The man turned his head away more from boredom than defeat. Finn placed his huge hand on Webster's head and turned it back toward the picture slowly, the way he might loosen an especially stubborn bottle cap.

  "Nice looking guy like you hangs out with trash like this?" Finn clicked his tongue. "How do you know she hasn't been sharing a needle, Webster? Aren't you afraid you might catch something from a woman like this?"

  "I don't sleep with 'em, I just shoot 'em. It's all business. I'm like a wedding photographer, if you catch my drift? You know, documenting the moment of coupling."

  Todd chuckled and snorted. Finn tossed that photo aside and pulled out another one.

  "You sleep with this one, don't you? Isn't this your girlfriend?" Todd looked at the picture of Rachel Gerber.

  "Hardly," he said.

  "You must be close. You've got a lot of pictures of her in the bedroom. They don't look so good, but then the picture they took of her at the morgue doesn't look very good either."

  "The morgue? What are you talking about?"

  Finn got up. He towered over the man. He asked: "When was the last time you saw her?"

  "I don't know, two weeks? Maybe longer. And I don't know anything about her being dead. I swear."

  "You were plenty ready to pull a gun on us. Putting a bullet through that woman's head doesn't seem a stretch," Cori pointed out.

  "I didn't know you were for real. I got a dozen badges in that box over there. I was protecting myself."

  "We're real and Rachel is dead," Cori assured him.

  "Why would I shoot her?" Todd cried, twirling toward Cori, twirling back to Finn when he jumped into the conversation.

  "Because you got jealous? Because maybe she was thinking of leaving you for her employer," Finn said. "Jealousy is a monstrous thing, especially when the other man is rich and handsome. Detective Anderson, could it be that this scum had one of his many friends shoot Rachel while he carved up those two precious little girls?"

  "Little girls? Holy crap, I don't know nothin' about little girls. I never even saw the kids Rachel took care of." Todd started to get up, but Finn pushed him back down again. That didn't keep him from talking. "If they're dead, it's nothing to do with me. I swear on my mother's grave."

  "Don't give us that. You never had a mama," Cori said. "We'll just run ballistics on that gun of yours and take a few knives out of your kitchen just to put our minds at rest. But here's the thing, we have witnesses who saw your car and they can put you–"

  "Hey! Hey! I ain't done nothin'. I got a gun because my associates can get a little weird. It's for protection. And I wouldn't have hurt Rachel because–"

  "Ever get funky with Hal or Heidi Horace? Maybe that's who you were going for in Fremont Place," Cori said. "Could be the Horaces were swiping your talent. Was that it? A little business discussion gone wrong? Did you get high and just sort of miss the mark and hit up Rachel instead? Was that it? Under the influence?"

  "I didn't hurt nobody. I didn't do nothing like that. I have alibis. You tell me when it went down with Rachel and I'll give you names. I swear."


  Todd Webster was downright agitated now and when he tried to get up this time Finn grabbed him by the scruff and helped him along.

  "You assaulted an officer, you're a pornographer, you're scum, and I'm going to prove you're a murderer. Cuff him, Anderson. Let's take this somewhere where I can think straight."

  Finn pushed Todd Webster toward Cori even though both of them knew nothing was feeling good about this collar. Still, they'd take it down to the wire, pressure him a little and see what they could find out about the nanny and what went on in the Barnett house.

  Cori was exchanging her gun for her cuffs in anticipation of taking custody of Todd Webster and thinking they had wasted a lot of precious time on such a lump of unimpressive humanity, when things went south. In the next second, the man taught Cori and Finn a lesson in good judgment: never underestimate a desperate man.

  Finn's grip on the man wasn't as tight as it should have been and their timing of the handoff was a millisecond off. Todd, ever the opportunist, took his moment. He fell back, causing Finn to tighten his grip to steady himself. Todd used the big man to leverage himself, raised his leg and scissor-kicked. He caught Cori in the midsection and she crumbled without a sound, mouth open, her eyes wide.

  Surprised, Finn let go of Todd as he reached for his partner. That was when Webster bolted out the door and hauled ass down the stairs. Cori waved Finn away, but by the time he hit the ground there was no sign of Todd Webster. He ran for the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man fleeing on foot but he saw no one. He whirled back to where he had come from and saw Cori was hanging over the landing, still gasping for breath, and shaking her head. She did that just before Todd's car came barreling out from behind the building.

  Finn was on it, running for his vehicle, throwing himself in and firing up the engine as he kept his eye on the Olds. Webster was turning the corner three blocks down when Finn turned out onto the street and shot ahead. With one hand he steered down the middle of the street; with the other he initiated radio contact.

  "1-H-07. In pursuit. 187 suspect last seen turning off Arbor, south on Highland driving grey/green Olds. Damage to right rear passenger door. California license 2- A – Adam, C – Charles, Z – Zebra, 3 5 6. Suspect is Todd Webster. Wanted for assault on an officer. Homicide. Brown hair. Five ten. Blue shirt. Jeans. Boots. Believed to be unarmed, but should be considered dangerous. Code 6-Charles. Request air 3 response. Code 6-Charles!"

  Finn listened as the link officer repeated his call for assistance. Three short beeps punctuated the radio static. It should have been seconds before the air response was confirmed and evident. Those seconds ticked into minutes as Finn sped through the streets, he prayed that he would soon see a helicopter crisscrossing the night sky, strafing the ground with its Nightsun. But he didn't see a helicopter, the link officer had gone silent, and Finn heard a message loud and clear: It was O'Brien calling, it was O'Brien in trouble. There would be no air assist; there would be no backup on the ground.

  The hell with them.

  Finn turned hard left and sped down the street until he turned right and sped down another. He turned and barreled down street after street as he made his way toward the freeway. He needed to find Webster because no one else would. He searched because no one would come to Cori's aid since she was his partner. Finally, his vision blurred by the night, and the street lamps, and the moisture that swam behind his eyes, Finn O'Brien slammed on the brakes. He hit the steering wheel with an open hand, he bellowed a curse, and he trembled with fury. Finn pulled a hand across his eyes and then his lips.

  Todd "Buster" Webster was gone.

  "1-H-07." The link officer hailed him. "What is your position? 1-H-07?" she said again. "What is your position?"

  Finn stared straight ahead and listened to the false concern: too little, too late, spoken only for the record. Finn had no choice but to respond. The record would show that he alone had lost the suspect in a triple homicide.

  "This is 1-H-07. Highland and Third. No eyes on suspect." He turned off the radio and added. "You friggin' bastards."

  CHAPTER 36

  DAY 8 – AFTERNOON

  "Sit if you want, Anderson," Fowler said as he paced behind his desk.

  "No thank you, Captain."

  Cori kept her eyes forward. Her ribs hurt like hell. An inch lower and Todd Webster would have done some major damage to her gut. An inch higher and her ribs would have been broken, not bruised. All in all, her body had fared better than O'Brien's spirits. He stood beside her, his head high, hands behind his back. The only thing he was missing was a blindfold and a cigarette as he waited for the firing squad.

  Cori heard Fowler turn and she felt him pause, and he spoke off camera like a director unhappy with the actors who couldn't remember their lines long after opening night.

  "I have half a mind to put you both on probation." He reappeared on Cori's horizon. "You have a suspect in a high profile murder case, you don't cuff him during questioning and you leave the door of the apartment open. He kicks – kicks! – a detective and then he drives off into the night pretty as you please. Does that sum it up? Does it?"

  Finn's head inched up. Cori wiggled the fingers of her right hand. She was close enough to touch Finn, but he moved away the minute she made contact.

  "Yes, sir." Cori answered when Finn didn't.

  Fowler was at his desk. He picked up their report.

  "You waited over five hours for the man to return to his apartment. Detective O'Brien, did it not occur to you to call for assistance?"

  "I felt it would be a waste of manpower given that we didn't know when or if he would be returning. We had taken custody of his weapon. We knew what was in the apartment and I was concerned about escalating the situation unnecessarily."

  Fowler fell into his chair, cocked his arm, and put two fingers to his lips. When he had collected himself, he said:

  "You were investigating a triple homicide and you didn't want to escalate the situation? If you didn't talk about strategy, why don't you tell me what you did talk about for five hours?"

  "Lipstick, sir," Cori offered.

  "Don't screw with me, Anderson."

  "We talked about Mr. Barnett," Finn said. "We are concerned about a client of his. Eros Manufacturing."

  "You're concerned all over the place, O'Brien. Worried about Mr. Barnett, worried about Mrs. Barnett's feelings being hurt because you had to tell her she messed up on the reward, worried about our manpower problems. You just worried yourself up a storm and forgot to follow procedure." Fowler shook his head, hanging it down briefly as though the weight of it was too great to bear. "At this division we are a team. We do not go off like the Lone Ranger and Tonto. And, if you want to know why your fellow officers are reluctant to partner with you, O'Brien, may I suggest you take a look at the one you have. The one who can hardly stand."

  "I called for air support when it was critical." Finn looked directly at his captain because he could not bear to look at Cori. "There was no response, sir, as you can see from my report."

  "That miscommunication has been addressed." Fowler spoke too quickly so Finn knew he was ready to protect the many who were so willing to sacrifice the one.

  "I have half a mind to take you off this case and put someone on who can really do the job." He turned his attention to Cori. "Webster is as much your fault as O'Brien's, Detective Anderson."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Letting a possible child killer get away will not make the public happy and the public can be a whole lot pissier than your fellow officers." Fowler started busying himself with stuff on his desk. "You better pray we find Webster fast. Now get out of here."

  Cori had already taken a couple of steps when she realized Finn wasn't following her.

  "Something else O'Brien?" Fowler asked.

  "Sir, I respectfully request that Detective Anderson be reassigned. I don't think she should be caught in the middle of my troubles."

  "O'Brien." Cori turned too fast and
half of Finn's name was swallowed in a grunt of pain.

  "There's nothing to get caught in the middle of, O'Brien, if you do your job." Fowler picked up a pencil. He was done but Cori wasn't.

  "We're good, Captain," she said.

  "You're hurt and it's my fault," Finn said quietly.

  "I got hurt because I took my eye off the ball," Cori insisted, disgusted that this was the time Finn chose to treat her like a girl.

  "Enough." Fowler tired of O'Brien's baggage and Anderson's willingness to carry it. He wanted them gone. "Detective Anderson, you've got no equity here and O'Brien's reputation endears him to no one. I'll do my best to see that your fellow officers do not look the other way again, but I can only do so much. Take two days if you want and think about the position you're in. Next time it might be more than a kick in the ribs."

  "No. Thank you, sir," she answered and Fowler gave her a nod.

  "There's one more thing, then, since we're laying it all out. Mr. Barnett says you accused him of a relationship with the nanny and that accusation led to estrangement from his wife."

  "That's bull." Cori was on top of it before Finn could speak. "We asked him about funds in Rachel Gerber's account. That's it. Whatever interpretation Mrs. Barnett put to that inquiry is hers alone."

  "I'm only saying to tread carefully. The last thing we need is a lawsuit. Document everything and get something solid on this. That might calm him down."

  With that, they were dismissed. In the hall, Finn reached for Cori's arm to help her. She shook him off, walking slowly, letting her mouth run fast. What she had to say was made harsher, interspersed as it was by sharp intakes of breath and little snipes of pain.

  "If you don't start letting me make my own friggin' decisions and treating me like a partner again, O'Brien, the next time you're wrong I won't be around to see it. And, if you ask me, you need all the friends you can get." Her ribs hurt like the dickens. She took two pivots to turn toward him. "Look, I need some time out. You go on to Eros Manufacturing. I'm going to work here."