by G. K. Parks
“Have we received any intel from the PD’s intelligence or counterterrorism unit regarding Shade?” I asked.
“No, our intel suggests they’re functioning outside our borders,” Jablonsky replied, lowering the legal pad I’d used to list a network of their contacts.
“But DHS issued an alert of a possible impending attack. Wouldn’t the locals be aware?”
“DHS always issues alerts of possible impending attacks. Frankly, I think the PD uses the news alerts as a drinking game.” He chuckled. “We could do the same, but then we’d be too blitzed to get any work done.”
I stared at him, not finding any of this amusing. “Is that a yes or a no?”
“If the locals contacted us, you didn’t make a note of it.”
“Who did you put on the intel besides Lucca?” I hoped to call someone and get a straight answer. This felt promising.
“Shade isn’t a top priority right now. They haven’t made any overt threats to national security. There haven’t been any attempted plots or intel saying otherwise.” He sighed. “I’ll call the office and get someone to double-check, but I highly doubt the PD bothered to check with us about this.”
While Jablonsky was on the phone, I considered his words. If the police department hadn’t reached out, maybe I did. But why? If Shade posed an imminent threat, I would have taken official action through the proper channels. Everyone would have been notified and on high alert. No, this was something else. None of my current cases required local law enforcement, and anything that dealt with my testimony in the Bard case would have involved Det. Heathcliff, not an unidentified cop. Maybe it was an old case, but those records weren’t here.
“Hey, Parker,” Jablonsky said, covering the mouthpiece, “when’s the last time you took a side job?”
“I haven’t lately. The last P.I. job I worked was for one of Martin’s acquaintances, and it overlapped with that gambling ring we busted.”
“And you haven’t done anything since?”
It was no secret that I had spent my hiatus from the OIO as a security consultant and private investigator. My P.I. office had remained empty since my return to the OIO. Once my lease expired, I figured I’d close up shop and stick to a government paycheck. Jablonsky said I could take work on the side if I kept it below the radar, but my potential clients needed more time and energy than I could spare. Corporate work paid better, but it wasn’t as fulfilling.
“No.” I shook my head for emphasis.
“Well, that doesn’t help.” Mark removed his hand from the mouthpiece and turned his back to focus on the call. “Right, Lucca’s working on it, but I need to find out if the police department contacted us after the DHS alert. It’s in relation to a different matter.”
Before the futile feeling returned, someone knocked on my door. “I’ll get it,” I declared, hoping the delivery guy remembered to toss in a few packets of duck sauce. Opening my front door, I took a step back.
“Agent Parker?” the police officer asked.
I looked at the two unfamiliar cops standing in my doorway. “I take it you aren’t here to deliver my Chinese food.”
“No, ma’am.” He glanced inside. “We’re Detectives Delaney and Collins. May we come in?”
“That depends. What’s this about?”
“We have a few questions,” Delaney said.
Jablonsky hung up the phone and stepped closer, subtly shifting his stance to make his OIO badge visible. “How can we help you, gentlemen?”
“Sir, this doesn’t concern you,” Collins said.
“The hell it doesn’t. Parker is my agent. What’s going on?” Jablonsky asked.
“Agent Parker’s credentials and firearm were discovered at a crime scene. Can we please talk inside?”
“Fine,” I stepped away from the door, fighting the urge to ask a dozen questions of my own, “what crime scene?”
The detectives exchanged a look but refused to answer me. Jablonsky caught my eye and shook his head. It was best that I keep my mouth shut. Talking would lead to trouble, and I already had enough of that in my life.
“Where were you Friday night?” Delaney asked. His eyes examined the bandage on my wrist and the few visible cuts and bruises. “It looks like you had an altercation recently.”
“Friday night I was at work. Then something happened, and I woke up outside a parking garage the next morning,” I said, watching the look of disbelief cross Delaney’s face. “My property was reported stolen.” I stared at him, shifting into interrogation mode. “Where did you find it?”
“You expect us to believe that you conveniently forgot what happened?” Collins spat.
“Do you want to see my medical report?” I asked.
“Perhaps later,” Delaney said. “This is a courtesy call. It would be best if you tell us exactly what happened and what you remember. This will go a lot easier if you cooperate.”
“I am cooperating,” I said. Cold, hard bitch was my default setting when the shit hit the fan, and right now, it was getting flung around the room by an industrial grade cooling unit. “Where did you find my ID?”
“At the site of a double homicide,” Collins said. “Ballistics is being run as we speak, but the clip in your gun was three bullets shy. From what the ME says, they’re the same caliber as the bullets pulled out of,” he swallowed, “our DBs.”
“Who?” I asked, but Mark interrupted.
“You can’t seriously be accusing a federal agent of murder,” Mark growled, “especially one that was also attacked.”
“Why the hell didn’t we receive word of such an attack?” Collins asked. “Assault is a local crime.”
“Not if it’s an assault on a federal agent,” Mark retorted. “We take care of our own.”
“So do we,” Collins said, and I knew that one of the bodies they discovered was the slain cop.
“Where were they discovered?” I asked, receiving a searing look from Mark.
“That doesn’t matter. You weren’t there, right? Just your gun, your badge, and perhaps some DNA or fingerprints, unless you were careful,” Collins said.
“Get out,” Mark ordered. “This conversation is over.”
“We’ll be back,” Delaney said. He handed me his business card. “Think about it. If you weren’t there, talking to us will clear you from suspicion. We want to catch whoever’s responsible. Shouldn’t you want the same thing since you claim you were also victimized?”
“I do want the same thing, but I can’t tell you what I don’t remember.” A part of me wanted to unload everything, but it would confuse matters and shift the blame completely to me. I couldn’t take that risk when we were so close to uncovering the truth. My colleagues were already following two promising leads. They’d get there faster than the police would. They had to.
“Fine, we’ll go, but next time won’t be so cordial,” Collins warned.
Fifteen
“Relax,” Mark said, shoving a container of Chinese food toward me, “they’re performing their due diligence. At least we have some idea what’s happened. I put a call in to Lt. Moretti. He’ll get a copy of the report sent over first thing in the morning. In the meantime, we were making some headway, remember?”
“Sure.” My appetite had evaporated as soon as the cops arrived. “Who do you think the second DB is?”
“The CI,” Mark replied, jabbing his chopsticks into the container. “It’s probably safe to assume that your gun was used in the commission of the crime. The police will be back with more questions, so we need to have some answers ready.”
“Until something pans out, we can’t be sure of anything.” It didn’t seem likely that I was the killer given the additional information we had about the SUV and my kamikaze leap from the moving vehicle, but it was possible. “I don’t know who shot them. I can’t even say with one hundred percent certainty that I didn’t. I called and told you that I thought I killed someone.”
“Well, we can spin it to be nothing more than hea
rsay. Shit, our connection was bad. Perhaps I didn’t hear a word you said.” He put the container down. “They don’t need to know about our conversation or any of your cockamamie theories. Whatever you do, do not talk openly to the police until you’re completely cleared from suspicion.”
“I won’t.”
“Good girl.”
He picked up the container and continued to eat, rereading my notes on Shade. While he was occupied, I took to pacing. When the silence threatened to break whatever was left of my sanity, I grabbed the cordless phone off the charger and dialed Lucca. It went to voicemail, and I hung up.
“Do you have the license plate number handy?” I asked. Since the boy scout wasn’t neck deep in DMV records, I could at least do that much.
“Why do you want the plate? We identified the owner. Lucca went to have a chat with him. He and Cooper figured they might make more progress by pounding the pavement. Unfortunately, the vehicle was reported stolen.”
“Big surprise.” I sighed. “Did it have a security system or GPS? They might be able to track its location or previous locations.”
“Parker, I might have told Marty that you are one of the brightest agents I’ve ever seen, but that doesn’t mean that Lucca or anyone else in our department is incompetent. They know what to do.”
“So why are you here?” I asked, realizing that Mark’s appearance outside my door served no real function.
“You don’t have a protection detail. I thought you could use the company. Plus, I updated you on our progress, and we touched base on your visit with the shrink. Don’t blame an old man for being worried about you.”
“I appreciate it.” Slumping onto the couch, I didn’t have the energy to pace any longer. “If the SUV has GPS, that information ought to make it easier for Davenport to trace the route it took and determine my original location.”
“That’s precisely what’s being done.” Mark glanced at the time. “Why don’t you call it a night?”
“Are you sure they don’t need an extra set of eyes on this? I’d be more than happy to help track down these bastards.”
“You can’t, especially now that the police have a vested interest. We need to avoid the appearance of impropriety, at least until we have the actual culprit in our crosshairs.” He cleared the Chinese food off the table, stuffing it inside my fridge. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back later after I check on their progress and make a stop at the police station. I’ll take care of this, Alex. Everything will be okay.”
“Right, and unicorns are real.”
“They are the national animal of Scotland.” Mark smirked. “I’ll keep my phone on if you need me.”
“Thanks.”
After he left, I wound myself into a frenzy. Antsy and aggravated, my nerves were frayed, and I found myself jumping at the slightest creak. Eventually, the pacing and worry were too much for my mending body to deal with, and I conked out for the rest of the night, dead to the world around me.
* * *
The next morning, I felt calm. The questions from last night were manageable. Jablonsky was right; someone on the team would handle it. Everything would be okay. Whatever happened to me and those two lost souls would be determined, and the party responsible would pay. I needed to have faith in myself, my colleagues, and the police department.
Walking out of my bedroom, I jumped at the sight of a man rummaging through my refrigerator. “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked. “How did you get in?”
“Relax, Parker, you gave me your keys, or don’t you remember?” Lucca asked. Holding up the container of orange juice, he added, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I gave you my keys?” I narrowed my eyes, unable to recall that event. “Fine, whatever you say.” Shaking my head, I took a seat at the island in my kitchen. “Why are you here?”
“Jablonsky said he briefed you last night.” I nodded, so Lucca continued. “The owner turned out to be a bust. He reported the SUV stolen two days before you were attacked…or whatever we’re calling it. We have no reason to believe he’s involved. Our computer techs examined surveillance footage from the lot where the vehicle had been parked. Two unsubs broke into the SUV. We haven’t had any luck identifying them.”
“Great update,” I said sardonically, “but it wasn’t worth a glass of juice.”
“No?” Lucca grinned. “You might reconsider. In fact, I’m thinking you’re gonna owe me a top-shelf bottle of vodka to add to the juice.”
“What did you find?”
He leaned back, taking a long sip from the glass. “You aren’t working the case, so I’m under no obligation to tell you. Quite frankly, it’s against protocol to discuss an open case with a civilian.”
“I’m not a civilian.”
“You’re on medical leave.”
“You will be too, if you don’t start talking.”
“Fine,” he still had that self-satisfied look on his face, “Davenport tracked the SUV to a restaurant. Jablonsky wants you to see if any of it looks familiar.” His eyes lingered on my pajama shorts. “You might want to change first.”
“Brilliant assessment.”
After a quick shower, I returned to the living room, stuck my nine millimeter into my shoulder holster, and donned a jacket. Lucca was at the kitchen table, helping himself to the breakfast cereal that he had mocked. I gave him a look, but he ignored it. When he was done, he washed the bowl and left it in the drain board to dry.
“Your presence isn’t in an official capacity,” Lucca warned. “You’re a cooperating witness, so don’t ask questions or take over the investigation like you always do.”
“Fine.”
He led us downstairs to his car. “Jablonsky said the police questioned you last night. Is there anything I should know?”
That question struck me as odd, and I turned to face him, wondering what he was thinking. “Like what?”
He shrugged. “Did you remember anything else? What do they know about our investigation?”
“I didn’t say much. Jablonsky was there. I’m sure he gave you the play-by-play.”
Lucca nodded, and the rest of the drive was in uncomfortable silence. At least, I was uncomfortable. I couldn’t tell if it was because being around Lucca had that effect or if it was some odd familiarity about the path we were taking and our destination. An unsettling feeling crept its way into my belly, and when Lucca parked at a meter a block from the building, I knew I’d been here before.
“Parker,” Lucca asked, “are you all right?”
I stared out the windshield. “I have the weirdest feeling of déjà vu.”
“C’mon,” he opened his door, “let’s see if anyone remembers you. Maybe this is where you were.”
Following him down the sidewalk, the anxious feeling in my gut grew stronger. Something was wrong. He stopped at the front door to Pepper, a local bar and grill. The hours were etched in the window. I stared at the frosty white script, but it wasn’t familiar.
“I called ahead,” Lucca said. “The manager agreed to let us check out the place before they open. It’ll give you a chance to look around.”
“This is the place?” I asked. “I was here?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
I didn’t like the non-answer I was given. It sounded like the doublespeak Jablonsky had been using lately. I much preferred straight answers. Hell, even bald-faced lies might be a welcomed change. Certainty, that’s what I wanted. Something had to change. We entered the establishment, and while Lucca spoke to the hostess who was rolling silverware in napkins in preparation for the afternoon opening, I surveyed the room.
It was a restaurant with a bar in the center, restrooms to the left side, and the kitchen around the back. The dining room was divided into four main sections. Moving through the room, I went to the far left corner, hoping that a different angle might jog my memory. Glancing around, I moved to the bar and took a seat at one of the stools.
Etched in the wood were the in
itials T.F. + J.C. I traced my finger along the indentions. Closing my eyes, I remembered doing that before. The martini glasses were stemless, and rum and coke was served in square glasses with artisan ice cubes. Intent on discovering if my memory was accurate, I went around the bar and checked the shelves of glassware. Stemless martini glasses and square highball glasses covered a few levels. The wine glasses were also stemless, but I didn’t remember anyone ordering wine. What was I drinking? Was I drinking? I knew I shouldn’t have been, and my initial thought was I had ordered a virgin rum and coke, but my tox report said otherwise.
I froze in place, pondering what I remembered. I saw the glasses on the bar — a martini glass, a highball glass, and a beer bottle. Noise surrounded us, and I traced the carved initials in the wood with my fingertip. Obviously, I hadn’t sustained any splinters at that point. Faces, I needed to recall faces. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to visualize the rest of the room. Cash was laid on the bar, and a meaty hand pulled it away. There was a set of manicured fingernails tapping next to me, but that was inconsequential. Why couldn’t I remember anything important?
“Dammit,” I snarled at my own faulty memory.
A few of the nearby busboys and servers glanced up from their pre-opening prep to glare at me. Shaking it off, I crossed the room to where Lucca was speaking to the manager. The hostess had returned to rolling her silverware, but she remained close enough to eavesdrop. Excusing himself, Lucca took my elbow and led me out of earshot.
“Parker, does anything look familiar?”
“I’ve been here before.”
“Good. What do you remember?”
“The kind of stemware they have at the bar.” My eyes narrowed in at the wooden tables and chairs. “Did you notice the furniture?”
“Yeah.” He waited, hoping that I would offer some insight or fill in the blanks, but I had no recollection of being at a table or sitting in one of the chairs. “Give the place a final looksy, and we’ll get out of here.”