Marshall Law

by Paul Kilmartin

  ‘No damn way. But we need to get something, and quick. As soon as word gets around the precinct, that another Cop has been killed in the Park, they are going to come looking for us.’ Lindsay was referencing O’Riordan and the mob.

  ‘I know. We need answers and fast. You get to the Church and hook the caretaker and Sean, and pin them both down on their whereabouts for the past three days. Shake them down and turn them out. There are a lot of paths that lead to that church, and their names keep cropping up.’

  Lindsay pulled Marshall back by the sleeve.

  ‘And where are you going?’

  ‘I need to speak to James McIntosh, off the record and in private,’

  Lindsay bristled at the implications of where that conversation might lead.

  ‘But if I need to take him in, then I need to take him in.’

  Better left unsaid, the tension between the Detectives, could have been cut with a knife as they parted.

  Both were out for blood, and both were looking for justice.

  GOD IN THE DOCK

  In what was a break from the norm, or whatever that was becoming in a complex and very mysterious murder investigation, Lindsay Dawn was in no mood to ask filler questions. She walked with a straight edge, on the plinth of a knife after she had parked her Blue Subaru Impreza on the street across from the Church of The Angel of Mercy.

  Her walking gait, was a mix of ballet from the ages of five, to fifteen, while at the same time, she trained to wrestle alongside her three older brothers. She could dance, but she could also kill, and it was with her eyes now, where it blazed most ferociously.

  She pounded a fist on the big oak doors. Three loud booming thumps, angrier than anything Lance Marshall had ever thumped, which reassured the little priest beyond the gates, that at least he wasn't coming back.

  Father Sean opened the door, peering out, and then smiled, welcoming the attractive Detective inside. Lindsay pushed through the door and shoved the priest in the chest. She pushed him hard, and felt his soft pectoral muscles part and watched him go back very quickly. Lindsay rushed inside and closed the door behind her. Niceties were what Detective Marshall had engaged in, and she was all out of time for things like that.

  ‘I need proper answers from you Father O' Driscoll, or I will absolutely arrest you right now for obstructing an ongoing murder investigation.'

  The young priest gasped as he held his chest, and tried to contain his cheeks from getting any more flush with anger and embarrassment. In a time gone by, he could have excused himself and then placed a call to the Chief, but this Lindsay Dawn was a new breed of Police. He had never seen her at communion or even inside of the church, and therefore she was an unknown element and not one to whom the old rules applied.

  Lindsay stared the priest down and tried every trick she knew into intimidating the young man. She kept her right hand on her hip and made it be known, that if needed, she was prepared to draw a weapon in the house of God. This made Father Sean go very quiet indeed.

  ‘I need information on your housekeeper, Jose Dominguez, and I need you to be very truthful with me. Is he here right now?’

  A small man, with a thin moustache, came walking down the aisle with his palms outstretched. He appeared to be weeping and saying no, over and over again.

  ‘Are you Jose Dominguez?’ Lindsay asked, and turned face on to the Spanish man walking down the aisle towards her. She moved her right hand to the inside of her jacket but kept her sidearm holstered.

  ‘I will talk to you. But please, not like this.’

  He pleaded, which surprised Lindsay but also thrilled her. Both the priest and his housekeeper were taking her very seriously.

  ‘Come on down here and keep your hands where I can see them. Both of you.’

  She circled the aisle, towards the pews on the left side of the church, and pointed for the priest and his housekeeper to sit in the seats to the right. They accepted her demands and walking with palms outstretched, sat in the furthest two rows from the altar. Lindsay circled around, now facing the two men head on.

  ‘Hands up onto the row in front of you, both of you.’ She instructed an action and they both complied.

  ‘There is no need for such actions Detective. We are posing no threat to you, and you are being far too aggressive.’

  Father O' Driscoll spoke with care and peace and pleaded for mercy.

  ‘One or both of you have withheld vital information, that could have led to the capture of a wanted murderer. As a result, another person has been murdered, a Cop.’

  The two men blessed themselves quickly and replaced their hands on the row in front. Lindsay sat, two rows up, but sat on the row, and kept her feet up on the seats.

  ‘I am leaving here with one of you in cuffs, so you better both start talking. One at a time, or both together, I really don’t care.’

  The two men looked at one another, and finding that Father Sean was nodding, Jose allowed him to speak first.

  ‘I can assure you that a priests alibi is the strongest that a man can have, and as such, my alibi was that I was visiting a friend in dire need of counsel. Before that, the last day that I was inside this church, I was being spoken to, in much the same manner by your colleague, Detective Lance Marshall.’

  ‘And your friend’s name? Can they corroborate this alibi?’

  ‘They can, and if needed, they will.’

  Father Sean hadn’t given a name, and then Jose Dominguez spoke.

  ‘I was tending to church affairs, inside of the building. Cleaning mostly.’

  ‘What about the outside of the building? In the laneway, between here and the Park, more specifically?’

  Jose looked at Father Sean and then spoke.

  ‘I don’t understand Detective.’

  ‘Like hell you don’t, either of you.’

  Lindsay narrowed her eyes and looked at each man, and then back again, left and right, left and right. Father Sean pleaded for clemency. ‘Detective, maybe if we knew, what you wanted from us? It would make it a lot easier to answer your questions. From what I gather, you think that we have somehow withheld information? Am I correct in that assumption?’

  Father Sean sat back, and draped his right arm across the pew, turning his body sideways, and shifting uncomfortably on the wooden stalls.

  ‘Lied.’

  ‘I’m sorry Detective?’ The priest stumbled and shifted around again.

  ‘You lied. So, yes, you are correct that you have withheld information. You entered an active crime scene a few days ago, and you lied, because you told Detective Marshall that you would help, but you haven’t helped. So you are a liar.’

  The priest stumbled all over his words and went very red in the face. He choked out some sorry's and begged your pardon before he went reticent and began to think carefully.

  ‘I just go with Father Sean. I don’t know anything.’ Jose spoke up.

  ‘Nice try. But unless one of you starts talking, then I will arrest both of you,’

  Lindsay let that sit for a while, as she took a pair of handcuffs from the inside of her jacket and let them lay on the bench beside her.

  ‘You first Father. Yesterday afternoon, you were spotted in the Park, walking with Jose and speaking with another man. Firstly, how did you get into the Park?’

  Father Sean clammed up.

  ‘I don't remember. And actually, I think that I should call the Mayor and ask about getting some representation.’ He said while standing up and sidestepping to get out of the pew.

  ‘He won't be able to take your call, Father.’

  ‘Of course, he will. The Mayor is a dear friend of mine. Why wouldn't he take my call?'

  ‘He hasn't been named yet, but the Mayor's nephew was the man who died last night.'

  Father Sean went ashen and sank to the seat as if someone had let all of the air out from inside of him.

  ‘His nephew,’ The words came out, but his face was a void of surprise.

  ‘Are you sure?' He
looked into the eyes of Lindsay Dawn and realized that she believed indeed of what she said, so this truly must be the truth. She wasn't playing any games.

  ‘You are.’ He held his head in his hands and began to take in great belly full’s of air.

  Lindsay heard her mobile phone begin to ring, and placed her hand on her pocket, hoping to hook it off and to get some answers from the man in front of her. Instead, she enabled a vibration feature that got stronger, the longer it wasn’t answered.

  ‘Who were you in the park with yesterday Father Sean? This is important. A young man has been murdered.’

  ‘Tomlinson.’ He said, before raising his head and sitting back.

  Lindsay pulled the phone and answered it. It was Detective Marshall.

  ‘Marshall, yeah, just listen. Brian Tomlinson met with Father Sean, in the park on the afternoon before we were murdered,’

  Jose tapped Lindsay on the shoulder and said something, light and barely above the sound of a whisper. He was relaying a message via Father Sean.

  Lindsay continued on her call.

  ‘He has just admitted it. I am going to take him in now.’

  Marshall spoke and said something that made Lindsay go very still.

  ‘We can leave McIntosh out of it.’ She replied.

  Marshall replied two words.

  ‘I can’t.’

  The taps continued on Lindsay’s shoulder. It was Father Sean.

  ‘Edgbaston, Detective. I met my good friend, The Mayor, Edgbaston Tomlinson, not Brian Tomlinson.

  Lindsay lowered the phone, pressed the off button, and ended the call.

  GHOST IN THE PARK

  Marshall walked with Lindsay to the door of the Precinct and watched her stroll towards her blue Subaru and drive around to the Church. The Church was close by, but for a visual effect, the sound of the engine of a Subaru Impreza, being driven by an angry woman, was a good start, for what promised to be an intimidating interview.

  Lindsay Dawn was passionate and fiery, and that made for results-driven performance, but if the ire of her focus, was on matters elsewhere, it could make for a dangerous cocktail, so that's why Lindsay was there, and Marshall was here.

  He walked towards the Hospital, where he knew McIntosh would be. Having received the call from Ed Brandt, James McIntosh would have begun to divert some man-power and move to where he was needed. That meant, being away from the park and going to the roof of the hospital. It was a destination, he had hoped that James McIntosh was making for the first time in his life, but things were stacking up, that meant it was not the case.

  Metro City designated a crime scene investigator for every five-mile block in the entire city. You had a patch, and for the most part, you exclusively stayed in your district, unless circumstances forced you to work alongside another CSI for some time. For the most part, you were contracted to the City, and could be moved around, as needs depended. James McIntosh had been in Westlake for two years, and in those two years, had never served even a blemish on his work. Which made what Lance Marshall was about to do, even more ludicrous.

  Marshall took the elevator up to the top floor and met Police all along the way. Ed was doing a good job, and the hospital had been sealed up tight. He came towards the chute and noticed that it was open, but he could hear voices on the rooftop. He climbed up the chute and feeling the breeze on his face, stayed low. A view called to him from the small hut in the center of the roof.

  ‘Detective. Over here,’

  It was McIntosh, standing beside an assistant. She was tall and slender and took notes on an iPad, tapping quickly with a thin finger.

  ‘Alison, this is Detective Marshall. I don’t think that you both have met.’

  Marshall shook Alison's hand and noticed her fulsome lips and intense green eyes. She was very attractive, and she seemed to be standing close to McIntosh.

  ‘Detective, we have completed an initial scan of the area, but I have to say, the idea of pulling fibers or even prints from such a hostile environment, is beyond the realms of possibility.'

  Marshall held the intense focus of James McIntosh for a moment longer than necessary.

  ‘Any more information on the body?’

  McIntosh nodded, no.

  ‘I think I know how he got down there. But it’s going to mean that you and your assistant will have to get dirty on the ground.’

  Marshall saw that both McIntosh and Alison were whistle stop clean, and unlike his own top, theirs carried no stains from crawling around on the gravel.

  ‘Where?’ McIntosh asked, looking none too happy with the stares or the getting dirty comment.

  ‘Over the side, that way,’ Marshall pointed to where the cable had been whipping away by the side of the building.

  ‘You crawl over there Alison and hook that cable up. It's just over the edge of the building. The wind has died down a little. It should be easier to do it now.’

  She looked at McIntosh with big eyes, and again at Marshall. McIntosh relented and asked his assistant to do as the Detective was asking.

  ‘Crawl across from here, Alison and get close. Just stay low, and listen for my calls. Ok? You can do it.’

  She waited for a kiss, or applause, and getting neither, crouched low and stooped across for a few feet before getting down onto her belly. Away from earshot, McIntosh came in close by to Marshall.

  ‘You the jealous type now?’

  ‘Get your head out of your ass and start doing your job, McIntosh.’

  He felt affronted and squared up to the Detective, nose to nose.

  ‘What exactly is on your mind Marshall? Spit it out.’

  ‘I will tell you. You are dropping the ball on this murder investigation,’

  McIntosh looked confused.

  ‘Missed evidence, sloppy procedure. I have known you for a while Mc, and this isn’t like you,’

  McIntosh gave it away, for the briefest of moments, feigning like he was hurt, before he acted like he was insulted beyond all measure.

  ‘Save it. I spoke to that kid, Simon. Cocky little shit, but he made out as if he was trumping you on evidence gathering.’

  ‘I’m sure that Lindsay is leading the charge on this one. Let me guess, she thinks that I should be taken off the case, or worse, arrested? Typical.’

  ‘The opposite. She charged into the interview room and dropped kicked Simon, from the far side of the room,'

  McIntosh was wide-eyed.

  ‘Jumped over the desk, to kick him out of his chair. It was incredible, actually.’

  McIntosh looked away, into the past, when a brief dalliance with Lindsay Dawn had promised so much but ended so badly.

  ‘Aye, she trusted in me, even after all of that.’

  Marshall looked out towards Alison's rear end that crawled towards the edge and remembered Lindsay describing the girl that broke them apart. She looked like Alison, but it wasn't her. Same dimensions, different world.

  ‘You and her then?’

  Marshall jutted out his chin towards Alison, as she neared the edge of the building. It was slow progress, but she was safe.

  ‘Maybe, I’m not sure. I,’

  McIntosh trailed off, as he, half-finished his sentence with a shrug. He didn't know what he was doing or wasn't prepared to tell the Detective what it was, that he was actually doing.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  McIntosh rubbed his brow and looked at his feet, and thought about trying to move the conversation along, but as he looked back up, he saw that Detective Marshall had taken a step back.

  ‘Look at it from where I’m standing,’ Marshall explained.

  ‘You’re either so in love, that your head isn’t in the game, or you are actively trying to disrupt this murder investigation,’

  James McIntosh changed his face and started to look forlornly at Alison as she reached for the cable over the side of the building. Ninety-nine percent of her body was anchored and safe, as she reached out.

  ‘It’s too late to lo
ok at her like that Mc. Your body language gives it away. You got the look of a guilty man.’

  McIntosh tried to think of some critical piece of evidence, to try and distract the Detective, to throw him from his train of thought, but he couldn't. It had been easy when they were in the Park when there was a body nearby, but now, on the roof and when they were alone, he had nothing.

  ‘All I was told, was to slow the pace of the work down, that’s all. Slow it down and flesh it out,’

  Marshall moved his right hand right on up to his hip and made sure that McIntosh saw him do it.

  ‘Ok, Ok, Ok. I was told that I needed to make it easier for one person, and harder for someone else. Not to disrupt the investigation, but to give someone else a win.’

  ‘Let me guess, to make it harder for me to do my job,’

  McIntosh nodded in the affirmative.

  ‘And who was to get the leg up? Ed Brandt? Or Pete Johnson maybe?

  Marshall wondered if that's why Detective’s Brandt and Johnson had been so poor on communicating anything of late.

  McIntosh nodded a big fat no.

  ‘It was Tomlinson,’

  That didn't make any sense. Tomlinson was probably lying on a gurney in the morgue, with most of his head missing. This was no leg up. Marshall tried to process it but felt only a dense fog beginning to cloud his judgment.

  ‘I was told that he would be on scene, and I was too accommodate him.’ Marshall thought that had made some sense. It had been strange that McIntosh would have been surprised that a suspicious man was walking around the park, while he was investigating a crime scene.

  Alison was walking towards them now, carrying a small plastic bag, with something black inside of it. Marshall felt the dull vibration of his mobile phone ringing, as she came closer, and made it apparent that what she was carrying, was not what either man had been expecting her to find.

  Marshall leaned in close to the shack and tried to answer the call and hear what was being said. It was Dr. Randall, in the mortuary. McIntosh leaned in and tried to listen, but could only hear Marshall and his replies.