Murder Board

by Brian Shea

  “I said what happened and I took responsibility for the way things broke. I own my mistakes.”

  Kelly walked away. He exited into the main lobby of the courthouse. Kristen Barnes was standing by the information desk and smiled when he approached.

  “What are you doing here?” Kelly asked.

  “I thought maybe you’d need a friend. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Kris, it’s like eleven o’clock.”

  “Coffee, silly.” She smiled. “Now, if it was noon, that might be a different story.”

  Kelly chuckled softly.

  The weight of the deposition was finally lifted. Regardless of the outcome, at least he’d spoken his mind. He could focus his energy back where it belonged.

  22

  The kitchen was loud. Tables had been pushed together and chairs brought up from the cellar. Aleksander yawned. Close to noon, it was still early after the late night he had pulled. He stirred the pot and checked the oven temp.

  The sound of screaming girls overrode the laughter of older men. His young nieces ran into the kitchen, almost pulling the plates off the table. Their game of tag quickly came to an end when his uncle, Stanislaw, intervened with a firm hand. “Take it outside, girls!” he commanded. The two children disappeared out the back of the kitchen as quickly as they’d entered.

  Aleksander looked over at his uncle. “Girls and their silliness. Am I right?”

  “If I recall you were pretty wild as a child, too.” The man sipped his iced vodka and chuckled. “But look at you now. Helping your mother with the family business.”

  Aleksander’s mother entered the room. “He’s learning. My Aleksander is not too shabby around the kitchen, either.” She patted the back of his neck as she passed by. “Stanislaw, now why did you send those girls outside? It’s raining.”

  “In Poland, we played out in the rain. Don’t you remember?”

  “Of course, but times are different now. We are in America. Kids don’t play in the rain.” Nadia Rakowski peered out the window. “And they are in their pretty dresses, too. Call them in now.”

  Stanislaw, her mother’s youngest sibling, bowed to her command and yelled for the girls to come back inside, speaking in his native tongue.

  “How long until it’s ready, Aleksander?”

  “Not long.” He gently poked the pierogis with a fork, checking the tenderness. His technique was gentle enough to depress the exterior without puncturing. The resilience of the doughy casing told him their readiness. “Five more minutes.”

  “Good. Let’s talk.”

  Aleksander followed his mother into the family room, or salon, as she commonly referred to it. “What is it?”

  “I worry that this job is too much for you.” She patted his cheeks tenderly. “You need a little break. What do you think of running the restaurant for a bit?”

  “I am not a baby. Stop treating me like one.”

  His mother cuffed him in the ear. The blow was delivered with the speed and accuracy of a trained fighter. “Then you stop moping about. Get a handle on things and keep your nose clear. Is what I say understood?”

  Aleksander rubbed his ear and nodded.

  His mother walked back into the kitchen and made an announcement. “Let’s all eat the wonderful food prepared. My niece only turns six once.” She clapped her hands twice, with the impact of a cannon’s blast, and the family appeared from the various nooks of the house.

  She had no watch, and there was no clock. Tabitha was back in the room at the house. There was no way of telling what time of day it was. She went to the window and tried to lift it without success. Long, heavy-duty screws secured it to the wooden frame. The window was coated in an opaque paint, the color of dingy dishwater. Maroon blackout curtains added the final layer of visual isolation from the outside world.

  She felt the clothes on her skin. A day ago, the soft green skirt and matching top gave her great joy. Now they were a reminder of the night’s passing and all the intermittent memories that would forever haunt her. Tabitha started to undress when the exterior latch to the door clicked. Startled, she returned to the bed.

  Slice peeked her head inside. “Shower time.”

  Tabitha sat up, but refused to look at her. She edged her feet off the bed and let them dangle for a second before planting them on the floor.

  “Let’s go, girl, or your five minutes under the water will be down to three.” Slice had a meanness to her tone that had been absent during their day of primping. “I know you’re going to want as much time as you can get to wash off the stink of last night.”

  Tabitha moved with her head down toward the door. Slice put a hand on her shoulder and nudged her into the hallway. She followed the tattered carpet runner leading down the hall to the bathroom. All of the other doors were closed, and Tabitha assumed they were locked, as hers had been.

  She stepped her bare feet onto the cool dampness of the tiled floor. Steam hung in the air and the mirrored cabinet above the sink was fogged over.

  Slice stood behind her. “I’m going to be waiting out here. You can use one of those towels when you’re done. You’ve got five minutes.” As she pulled the door closed, she added, “Not sure how much hot water is left. You’re the last one.”

  A gray hand towel hung from a rod and was stained in a brownish red she assumed was blood. Whether it was the thick humid air or the combination of whatever she’d ingested during the night, Tabitha’s head spun, and her stomach lurched. She launched herself toward the toilet and vomited. The acidic bile burned her nose.

  Feeling no better but knowing she had limited time, Tabitha forced herself to stand. Using the side of the tub for balance, she turned the shower faucet handle all the way to the right. The water cascaded down. Slice was wrong; there was still hot water left. Tabitha was glad for it. She wanted to burn away as much filth as she could.

  Stepping inside, the water poured over her head and body. Tabitha Porter wept silently. She found a withered bar of green soap and set about scrubbing at her skin. The frothy lather of her efforts built up around the puddle at her feet, but nothing could remove the filth. She would feel forever tainted. Her body ached and had a tenderness to the touch. It only caused her to scrub harder. She noticed strange bruises on her arms and legs, the cause of which she had no recall. It was like being transported to another body.

  Tabitha Porter didn’t exist anymore. What was left was a shadow of her former self. Looking down, she saw a cheap disposable razor resting in the corner of the tub. She picked it up and started pulling at the plastic casing covering the blade. Tabitha nimbly navigated her fingers, avoiding unwanted cuts. After a few moments of toil, she freed the blade. Holding the paper-thin metal, she looked down at her wrist.

  Guiding the sharpened edge to the inside of her left forearm, she held it there as water trickled down her back. Her heartbeat thumped wildly as she contemplated the option.

  “Time’s up!” Slice called through the closed door. “Wrap it up, sunshine.”

  The sound of Slice’s voice ripped her from the desperation, shattering her commitment. Tabitha had another idea. She slipped the blade into her mouth, carefully resting it between her cheek and gumline. Slowly biting down, she closed her mouth. Tabitha grabbed the cleanest of the used towels from the discarded pile, wrapped it around her chest, and stepped out into the hallway.

  “Let’s get you back to your room. You’re going to need your rest for tonight.”

  The thought of what that meant sickened her. She fought back the urge to release the contents of her stomach again.

  Tabitha entered the room and flopped atop the bed. Slice closed the door. The door’s exterior deadbolt made its distinctive thunk. She closed her eyes in the hopes the experience of the past twelve hours was just a terrible nightmare. Deep down she knew it was only the beginning. Spitting the razor blade into her hand, Tabitha looked down at her possible escape plan.

  23

  With the morning’s Baxter Green
hearing complete and the stall in the Faith Wilson case, Kelly took advantage of the break and decided to make good on a promise.

  He waited on the front steps of Mercy Elementary as droves of kids emptied out in excited anticipation of that weekend’s prospect of being curbside at Sunday’s St. Patty’s Day Parade. Rarely did the parade land on the 17th, but when it did, there was a contagious, intangible vibe. Kelly celebrated the day in a different way, one with less fanfare, but nonetheless important.

  Kelly saw Embry before she saw him. Her long auburn hair swung in a ponytail from side to side as she bounded down the concrete steps, giggling infectiously with one of her classmates. The hardened cop inhaled these moments, tucking the memory deep in a protected mental reserve from which he pulled when all else seemed lost. His daughter had saved his life more times than she’d ever know. He thought of Jimmy Smokes and wondered if he’d had an Embry would he have stuffed that gun in his mouth?

  Her pace doubled when she saw him. Airborne off the last step, she dove into her father’s arms, smothering him with much needed affection. He wondered how long these hugs would come to him. How much time did he have before she was too old to show her feelings? He let the thought slip away with the sound of her voice. “Daddy! You’re here?”

  “Of course, Squiggles. I couldn’t miss an official Daddy-Daughter Date Night, now could I?”

  “Dinner at Sushi Mama?”

  “Wouldn’t be complete without it.”

  Embry turned and said goodbye to her friend. She slipped her hand into his and they walked away toward his unmarked, this time parked legally in a spot.

  Dinner was fantastic. Embry filled him in on all of the amazing things happening in the world of a second grader. She gave animated retellings of conversations with friends. The most seemingly insignificant discussion about an argument she had with Shelly DeLong about why dogs were better than cats got absorbed with a strange fascination. Kelly envied his daughter’s innocence.

  On the way home, they stopped by a Redbox and picked up The Meg. Ever since his daughter was younger, she had been fascinated with all things big and scary. It started with dinosaurs and had apparently migrated to giant man-eating sharks. He hesitated on making the selection, but she made a pretty good argument about it being a film about a prehistoric shark. Kelly was in no place to battle with his daughter’s sound points.

  When Kelly arrived home, it was already dark. The light flickered in the living room and, judging by the time, his mother was several minutes into her nightly love affair with Trebek.

  “Ma, I’m home. I brought you something.” Kelly always made a point of announcing his presence, and had done so for many years, ever since his mother’s hearing started to fade.

  “Is it ice cream?” she yelled back.

  “Something sweeter.”

  Embry ran into the living room at full speed. “Nana!”

  “Oh my sweet baby girl!” She opened her arms wide.

  “Embry, be careful of Nana’s hip.”

  “Now don’t you go worrying about me. Get over here and give me a hug.”

  Embry navigated the injured leg and snuggled up into the recliner. She laid her head on her grandmother’s chest and gave a gentle hug.

  “And to what do I owe this honor, my dear? Are you back from sacking the castles and laying waste to dragons?”

  Kelly always laughed at the imaginary world his mother and daughter spent much of their time in.

  “I rescued the prince from the evil queen.” Embry beamed.

  “I’m sure you did, my love.” His mother gave Embry a peck on the cheek. Kelly noticed a light smudge of lipstick and wondered if his mother had gone through the efforts of putting on makeup to impress her favorite talk show host.

  “Can we make popcorn?” Embry asked.

  “I’m on it.” Kelly disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later with an oversized Tupperware bowl filled with salty, buttery goodness.

  Kelly’s mother clicked the button on the remote, switching the television’s input to DVD mode and cutting Alex off in mid-sentence.

  “Ma, I’m shocked. What will your boyfriend do?”

  She laughed with a childlike sweetness. “He can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, we have a special guest.”

  Kelly set the popcorn down and slid the DVD into the player. He took a position on the couch, and Embry whispered something in his mother’s ear. Kelly didn’t hear the question, but heard the response. “Of course, dear. Go sit with your father. My leg could use a rest anyway.”

  Embry scrambled up onto the loveseat and tucked herself under his arm. There was no place he’d rather be. He settled in with the bucket now between them as the movie began. Just then his cell vibrated. The caller ID said the incoming call was from Art “Brush” Devers. Embry stirred and gave him sad eyes.

  “Dad, please don’t leave. We never get to do date nights anymore.”

  It wasn’t so much the words but the way she said it. His new life in Homicide was consuming him and he knew it. Worse, he was honest enough with himself to know that he allowed it. Ever since Samantha left him, he’d been putting more time into the job. An unhealthy position.

  “Not tonight, my sweet.” Kelly reached over and shut off his phone. “Tonight it’s just us.”

  24

  She’d just got back from her nightly run around the Charles River. She ran the seven-mile loop from her one-bedroom apartment on Gainsborough Street, darting through the crowded sidewalks until she found her rhythm on the trail that shadowed Storrow Drive, over the Harvard Bridge, around MIT, and returning back along Memorial. She moved at a smooth seven-minute and thirty-second pace, nowhere near the pacing of her college years, but strong enough to get in a good burn while taking in the sights. Running was a fun way to people watch, one of Barnes’s favorite pastimes aside from solving crimes.

  Barnes shed her damp clothes and tossed them in her hamper. She was about to hop in the shower when her work cell rang. Barnes looked down at the number. She didn’t recognize it. Not a name in her contact list.

  She answered it just before it went to voicemail. “Barnes.”

  “Detective?” the male voice asked cautiously.

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Art Devers. Kelly told me to call if I had something. I tried to reach him, but he didn’t answer.”

  Barnes knew Kelly was spending some much-needed time with his daughter. “What you got?”

  “He told me to call if I found anything about those girls.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “I saw her. The girl from the picture.”

  “Where?”

  “At a hotel party. Um…somebody ordered up. They had me come into the room to make the exchange. It was quick but I saw her sitting on a bed with another girl.”

  “You sure it was the same girl?”

  “Like I said, I never forget a face.”

  “How long ago was this that you saw her?”

  “Maybe a half hour. Sixth floor. Room 612. The guy I sold to is no joke. Do whatever you got to, but leave my name out of it.”

  Barnes jotted down more information from the informant. She often thought it strange to turn a blind eye to the fact the man had openly admitted to a cop that he’d just dealt drugs. But the lifeblood of a detective was information, and the source of it wasn’t as much an issue as its veracity.

  She stepped into the shower long enough to rinse away the salty layer of sweat. Barnes decided against calling Kelly. She figured if he didn’t answer for Devers, it was for good reason. Plus, she’d learned long ago never to trust information without verifying it first. Having only met Devers earlier that day, her need to check his claim before wasting Kelly’s time felt important.

  Barnes dressed and slipped her compact Glock 23 into the concealed holster in the small of her back. She set out for the hotel.

  She sat in the parking lot of the Bayside Hotel. A few people came and went, but no sign of the girl. Barnes decided
to get a closer look.

  Stepping out of the car and into the cold night air, Barnes shuddered, and tucked her hands into her fleece-lined jacket pockets. She stepped quickly toward the main entrance. Her legs quivered, still tingling from her earlier run.

  The lobby broke the wind, immediately raising the temperature ten degrees. She shook off the chill as she took a moment to scan the area. An older man sat in a lounge chair reading the newspaper. A couple was checking in at the main desk. To the right of the elevators was a stairwell.

  Barnes ascended the stairs. There were two flights between each floor. She stepped out on the fifth floor and walked along the corridor. Even numbers were on the right, odds on the left, with the doors facing directly across from each other. Six rooms down from the stairwell’s access was room 512. Barnes wanted to have an idea where the room above was situated.

  She returned to the stairwell and climbed the remaining flight to her destination. Barnes waited by the closed-door entrance to the hallway. She listened for any signs of movement.

  It wasn’t long before she heard the ding of the elevator and the voices of two men as they exited. Barnes heard their voices drift away from her and down the hall. She opened the door and peered out through the gap. She watched them stop at the target room. The men knocked, a sign they were not the ones who’d rented it. She exited and began her approach.

  Barnes had spent plenty of nights during her time in SAU posing as someone else to move among criminals undetected. One of the best cloaks of invisibility was the cell phone. Barnes withdrew her phone as she closed the distance between the two men. She flicked the screen open and began scrolling through her old text messages.

  The door to room 612 opened when she was one room away. The two men said nothing and stepped in. Barnes felt their eyes upon her as she approached. She didn’t look up.