by G. K. Parks
I gave him the short version, and he nodded. I noticed halfway through my rendition, Jen turned to face us. Her eyes were half open. So much for a peaceful night’s rest. “Mercer will call with an update,” I concluded. Just telling the story made me want to crawl back to bed. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
“What do you mean?” O’Connell seemed genuinely confused by the question. “Hopefully, your intel will lead to the other kidnappers and the still missing girl.”
I glanced at Jen who shut her eyes again. Either she went back to sleep, or she was trying to give us privacy. “Am I supposed to help the mercenaries kill the kidnappers and dispose of the bodies? Or should I show up at the precinct in a few hours and fill in your partners on what’s going on? Oh yeah, by the way, I’m working for Moretti again.” I sounded cynical, and I rested my head in my hand.
“Well, that explains the outfit,” he attempted to joke as he glanced at my blue button-up blouse over black dress pants and gun holster. “Alexis, I,” he frowned, collecting his thoughts, “I shouldn’t have put all of this on you.”
“Too fucking late now,” I said more loudly than I should have. Jen didn’t move, and I knew she was awake and listening to everything. I sighed. “I don’t know what they’ll do with Adam.” Saying his name made me feel both remorse for my actions and regret for not doing more. I was about as conflicted as one could be, and I had no idea which emotion would win out in the event I was confronted with a similar situation.
“Don’t worry about it.” He met my eyes. “Tell Thompson the situation in case anything turns up.” I looked away, not wanting to admit anything to anyone else. “He would have done the same. Maybe worse. Alex, listen to me, you’re not a monster.”
“It sure as hell feels like it.”
“I’m sorry.” He released his grip on my arm. “But you got Catherine back safe, and there’s no reason in this world why someone shouldn’t beat the daylights out of that guy.” I saw the rage flitter across O’Connell’s eyes. “Yesterday, Mercer wouldn’t let me near him.” He lowered his voice to something barely audible, and I was positive Jen who was five feet away couldn’t hear since I could barely make out the words. “There’s not a doubt in my mind that I would have killed him and made it as painful as possible.” The dark determination in Nick scared me, and in that instant, I realized the hell that the Four Seasons inflicted made crossing that line a very real possibility for Nick, for me, and probably for Heathcliff and Thompson too. They brought us to the point of no return, and the moral quandary was something we’d deal with only as an afterthought.
Jen must have sensed the shift in conversation because she stirred and stretched, yawning loudly. “Alexis, my god, do you want me to call down to x-ray?” I shook my head. She heard enough of our conversation to know not to ask what happened. She stood up from the chair, leaned over and kissed her husband, and then headed for the door. “I’ll be right back. Make sure this one doesn’t plan a jailbreak in the meantime.”
I got off the bed and paced the enclosed space of Nick’s hospital room. He watched but remained silent. It would be awhile before the elephant cleared the room. “How are you feeling?” I asked. The silence was oppressive, and I couldn’t take it.
“I’m all right.” He pushed a button and sat up a little higher. “I’d be better if I wasn’t stuck in this room but doctor’s orders. Although, I think Jenny gave them to the doctor herself.”
“This is what happens when you scare the shit out of all of us.” The pacing was exhausting. Honestly, everything was exhausting. I sat in the chair Jen vacated and stared at the wall across the room. “When this is all over with, assuming I’m not locked up, we have to figure out a way to keep you out of trouble.”
“Isn’t that usually your schtick?”
“Until you called, I was staying out of trouble,” I snapped. I had every right to be resentful.
“You were bored,” he joked.
“I was supposed to be at the beach.”
“What?” He had missed a lot. Being wrapped up in family drama and kidnappings could do that to a person. “It’s October.”
“Yeah, I made that same argument.” I filled him in on my missed trip with Martin while we waited for Jen to return. Halfway through my pointless story about the corporate conference and meeting Francesca, which was my way of keeping my mind focused on other things, Jen returned with half of the stockroom.
“Are you sure you don’t want to get an x-ray?” she asked, cleaning and bandaging my swollen hand. “I’m not a doctor, but I think a few of your knuckles are broken.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” She met my eyes, and I saw the unsaid apology. “Ice and ibuprofen until you decide to get an actual medical opinion on this.”
“You’re a nurse. Your opinion is good enough for me.”
“Shh,” she glanced at the door, “this is off the books.”
“Right, sorry.”
“The lights suck in here.” She escorted me into the small bathroom and closed the lid over the toilet to create a makeshift chair. “Sit,” she instructed and set to work on my face. “I heard you two talking,” she admitted, applying a liquid bandage to the cut across my cheek. I shook my head and cast my gaze at the ceiling. She took the hint and finished working on my cheek. “Hang on,” she retrieved her purse and came back in, “let’s see if I can work some miracles with foundation and concealer.”
By the time she was finished, I no longer looked like I went a few rounds with a gorilla. My bottom lip was still swollen and red, but to someone who didn’t know me, it looked like I just went a bit crazy with the lipstick. With the exception of the butterfly bandages, the cuts and bruises on my face were barely noticeable. Everything appeared good as new. Maybe that was half the battle.
“Want some breakfast?” O’Connell asked when Jen and I emerged. “It tastes like dog shit, so I’m more than happy to share.”
“I’m going to the precinct,” I decided. “Thompson and I need to chat.”
“Take care of yourself, Alex,” Jen called. “If I can do anything, I’m just a phone call away.”
I chuckled. “Didn’t I say something like that to you yesterday?”
Seeing O’Connell and his wife helped me gain perspective. At least I didn’t feel like I needed to be imprisoned or under a mandatory psych hold. The things the Four Seasons made us endure caused the situation, and I was on the cusp of allowing myself to drop the blame and the guilt. The only thing left to harbor was the darkness. The desire, buried so deep it would hopefully never see the light of day, to end Adam’s life and exact revenge for the pain he and his friends caused. Mercer’s words from the van played through my mind, and the truth they held terrified me. The possibility we weren’t that different any longer scared me shitless.
* * *
“Parker,” Thompson was behind his desk when I came into the bullpen, “I never heard from you. What happened with the K&R specialist?” I wondered if there was a reason he didn’t refer to Mercer by name, but it wasn’t a priority.
“Can we talk in private?”
“C’mon,” he got up, and I followed him out of the building and to an unmarked cruiser, “we’ll get some coffee.” On the drive, I told him what happened, leaving out certain facts like the location of the storefront or the condition Adam was in when I arrived and when I left. “Okay.” He gritted his teeth, not liking any of this. “The kid that broke into the clinic said he was hired by some guy with an accent to grab some stuff.”
“What kind of accent?”
“Spanish, maybe Mexican, Portuguese, Italian,” Thompson shrugged, “he wasn’t sure, but we know it wasn’t English or Australian.”
“Well, hot damn, that only leaves everyone else in the world as a suspect.” Snarky was back. I had missed it. It was a sign that the world was starting to turn in the proper direction on its axis once more. We picked up a tray of extra large coffees and went back to the stati
onhouse.
“Did you get a description of the guy?” I asked, taking the lid off my coffee and pouring a few sugar packets into it. Normally, I didn’t like my coffee sweet, but I needed the extra boost.
“Kid’s working with a sketch artist. They’ve been at it most of the night.”
“You’ve been here all night?”
“Don’t tell me I missed the time clock and the rules stating I have to punch in and out at a certain time.” Apparently sarcasm was contagious. He went to the filing cabinet, selected a folder, and dropped it in front of me. “Interview log from the kid. Get to reading. I’ll see if we have a composite yet.”
He disappeared down the hallway, and I skimmed through the folder. There wasn’t anything important. I had been told all the juicy details, and the rest was filler and fluff. I closed the folder. It was time to revisit the information I gathered with as much emotional detachment as I could muster. I outlined the events that culminated in Catherine’s freedom. Next, I connected the dots to what I knew about the Four Seasons and Adam, and finally, I wrote out the remaining questions and loose ends. While I was in the process, Heathcliff walked in.
“Who did that to you?” he asked, and I looked up, surprised.
“I walked into a wall.”
“Does the wall have a name?” He glanced at my bandaged hand and smiled. “Did you and Mercer reach another understanding?”
I played it off as if his assumptions were completely accurate. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. “No wonder you’re a detective.” He continued to his desk and checked his e-mail and messages. Picking up the phone, he made a call. By the time he was done, Thompson returned.
“Did you get the same lead I did?” Heathcliff asked. I looked from one to the other. They both looked like kids in a candy store who just located the biggest jawbreaker ever. Thompson held up a composite, and Heathcliff swiveled his computer monitor around to reveal the same image. “Do you feel up to tagging along, Parker?”
“Just as long as I don’t have to hit anyone else.”
Thirty-four
“Police, open up.” Heathcliff pounded against the door. The two detectives exchanged a look. “Mr. Santino,” he tried again, “open up.” Faint murmuring came from the other side of the door, and Thompson stepped back, hand against the butt of his gun. Heathcliff was on one side of the door, and I hoped we wouldn’t have to break down the door or run after our suspect.
“Coming, coming,” a man responded, muttering more words in Spanish.
Thompson’s shield was on a chain around his neck, and Heathcliff pulled his from where it was clipped on his pocket. I know they refer to their badges as shields, but the way I had seen many law enforcement officers lead with their badge often made me think they believed it could protect them from bullets. Inwardly, I sighed.
“Get dressed,” Thompson ordered as the door opened and Estobar Santino stood before us in nothing but his birthday suit. Obviously, he wasn’t armed, so I took the opportunity to turn away. Heathcliff stepped back, more than happy to let Thompson handle this matter.
“Is anyone else here?” I asked, focusing on the ruddy hallway carpet.
“No. I’m alone.” Santino went into the bathroom to dress; apparently we interrupted his shower.
Thompson entered the apartment. An invitation inside could be revealing as long as something damning was out in the open and in plain sight. Heathcliff edged into the apartment to assist his partner, and I stayed in the hallway. Sometimes being a consultant had its perks.
Heathcliff chuckled. “At least we know he was talking to us and not a prostitute.”
“Maybe he was on the phone. Sex hotlines are making a comeback,” I quipped. He looked disgusted, and I hid my laughter. Thompson turned to give us both a stern look. This wasn’t a joking matter, but it was a better alternative than watching Santino put on a pair of pants.
There weren’t any looted medical supplies lying about or evidence indicating he might be involved in a kidnapping plot. There weren’t any weapons or drug paraphernalia either. It made things more difficult when the crooks didn’t leave tools of their trade within plain sight, but we would find another way around if need be.
“The Estes family requested no involvement from law enforcement,” Santino stated, returning to the main room in a business suit. I preferred him with his clothes on. “This may be construed as violating their privacy and endangering the life of their daughter. I wish to contact the family immediately so they may get in touch with their attorney.”
“We’re not here because of that,” Thompson said, ignoring Santino’s threat. “The matter at hand involves an unrelated crime. If you would be more comfortable answering our questions at the station, sir, I’d be happy to personally escort you there.”
Estobar blanched. “I will cooperate, but please keep your questions brief. A child’s life hangs in the balance, and anyone who works for the family has been instructed to avoid the authorities. Can you please shut the door? I can’t risk the kidnappers having a spy watching me.”
Stepping inside his apartment, I narrowed my eyes as I shut the door. Normal people weren’t typically this paranoid. My back rested against the door, and I crossed my arms over my chest. Thompson and Heathcliff ran through the perfunctory questions about Santino’s relationship with the clinic, the personnel who worked there, and with the kid who was paid to break-in. None of his responses were helpful, but as I stood waiting, I had the opportunity to examine the room.
As I scrutinized the furniture, décor, and knickknacks littering the table, the possibility that Santino lived alone diminished. When Thompson took a break from the questioning to consult his notes, I stepped away from the door and went to the window to look outside. Santino sat up a little straighter and edged toward the end of the couch. Heathcliff caught my eye, and I began to wander around the apartment.
“Please don’t do that,” Santino sputtered. I stopped, inches away from a curio, and cocked my head to the side.
“I’m not doing anything, sir.” I continued onward, trying to determine what he didn’t want me to find. “Is there a reason you’re so nervous? I promise not to touch or break anything.”
“Just be careful,” he huffed and made a show of looking at his watch. “Detectives, I’m late for work, and under the circumstances, I need to get going.”
Before he could say another word, I spotted the tiny Lenox picture frame among the other crystal and ceramic collectibles. Inside was a photo of Rosa Estes and a baby girl. I caught Thompson’s eye and jerked my chin at the curio. As I stepped away, he went to the spot I vacated and looked down.
“Is this your family?” Thompson asked, ignoring Santino’s attempt to get us to leave.
Santino glowered and looked away. “You should leave now.”
“Estobar Santino,” Thompson pulled the cuffs from his belt, “you’re under arrest.”
“I’ve done nothing,” he squawked.
“The picture of Mrs. Estes and her daughter says otherwise,” I remarked as Thompson read Santino his rights and escorted him from the apartment. His lawyers would have him released by lunch, but there was a chance it could be the break we were looking for.
* * *
I read Santino’s file from my seat at O’Connell’s desk. As our theory unfolded, he became our prime suspect. The framed photo in his apartment did nothing to alleviate the appearance of guilt. Heathcliff and Thompson were questioning him, but I declined the invitation to watch through the two-way mirror. Instead, I wondered why the lawyer Santino requested wasn’t the same lawyer from the Estes’ house.
It had been a long two weeks, and I couldn’t remember the last time I slept through the night. This needed to pan out. Every step was bringing us closer to finding the kidnappers, maybe Adalina too. But it would be nice if Santino sang like a canary, and we could bust the Four Seasons before Mercer called with their location. I would go with him and his team if he asked, but I worried what the con
sequences would be.
“Get anything?” I asked Thompson.
“No.” His response was gruff, and he picked up his jacket from his chair. “I’m going home.”
Before I could say anything else, I saw Santino’s lawyer emerge and shake hands with Moretti’s boss before escorting his client down the hallway. Apparently Santino had friends in high places.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” Heathcliff muttered, walking past me.
I waited for the brass to be out of earshot before getting up and leaning against Heathcliff’s desk. “What now?”
“It’s not a crime to have a photo of your boss’s family in your living room.”
“What about everything we’ve pieced together?” I argued.
“Circumstantial.” His eyes burned fierce. “We’re fishing. We should investigate alternate avenues.”
“Bullshit,” I sighed, rubbing my sore hand. Other avenues weren’t legally viable. “Where’d Thompson go?”
“He’s been working too many doubles. Not enough rest in between shifts has impacted his professional perception and caused him to make errors in judgment.”
“So he’s suspended?”
He snorted. “Forced to take the next thirty-six hours off as mandated by union rules.” He glanced up at me. “So yeah, and Santino walks.”
“This is ridiculous.”
We needed to keep eyes on Santino in case he was choreographing the Four Seasons, now Three Seasons. If he even sneezed wrong, someone needed to know, but once again, our hands were tied. Powerful people always pulled the strings.
Sitting back down, I dialed Mercer. For once, he answered. I told him what happened with Santino and figured if anything were to change it might be beneficial for him to pass it along. This was the only time we spoke without him arguing or controlling the conversation. It was strange.