Fragmented

by Colleen Connally

  “So, boys, what do we have? Where are we?”

  Brophy shrugged. “Don’t know if we have anything. I can honestly say I think we could rule people in, only to rule them out. Then rule them back in again. Someone looks good, and then have Dr. Levy say he doesn’t think it could be him. I’ve never been on a case like this. Basically, we have absolutely zip, nada, nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Centrello asked. “Just got off the phone with Breton. The FBI hasn’t had any luck with the kid’s computer. Even after taking every precaution they could think of, the virus corrupted most of the files. Been over a week and they are still working on it, trying to salvage what they can. Now tell me about this girl. Where are we with her?”

  “I don’t see how this girl will help us. The FBI thinks she’s the link, but we have absolutely nothing solid to base it on. For all we know, she could be the mastermind behind some diabolic scheme, nothing more than an innocent bystander, or she could be a link to a psychotic mind.”

  Brophy breathed out heavily. His frustration needed an outlet. Then, as if a thought crossed his mind, he gestured with his hand to continue. “Okay, I’ll backtrack a little. The girl is the only link we feel we have, but we don’t know what kinda link that is. We have round-the-clock detail on her. The FBI has linked up to her computer, to catch any further communication that may come from our suspected killer. It just feels like we’re spinning our wheels.”

  Waters spoke up. “The FBI has background on everyone who has known contact with her. There are no red flags. We are looking for what they consider to be a man between twenty-five to thirty-five, of above average intelligence. That’s about every male she’s around between work, doctors, nurses, old boyfriend, and roommates. No police record, nothing to draw off of.”

  “She doesn’t recall any abnormal occurrences before the night of the Caputo murder,” Brophy added.

  “What does Dr. Levy say about the killer? Do we or don’t we have any suspects?” Centrello asked as he picked up a notepad and immediately threw it back down. “Where do we stand? Do we wait until he kills again?”

  “Working with Dedham, Cambridge, and the FBI, we have come to the conclusion that we don’t think that the victims knew the killer personally before the meeting. The only connection is the Facebook conversation that wasn’t corrupted with Caputo, which brings us back to Zach Quinn. And that leads us to his sister,” Brophy said.

  Waters interrupted. “We have the good Dr. Halliday, who claims he is trying to protect the girl. And his friend, Nevy, who we discovered is a double agent. He double-crossed the good doctor. He took five thousand from our good doctor, and another twenty from the good doctor’s mother.”

  “I thought the FBI’s suspect is Caucasian and lived in Virginia a few years ago?”

  Brophy nodded. “Theirs is. Doesn’t mean this is the same guy. It would mean this killer stopped killing for four years. Then started up again here in Boston. Or, it could mean our killer Googled unsolved killings, and copycatted the Virginia suspect.

  “The problem is we don’t have anything to physically connect anyone to the scenes. The issue I have is that nothing fits. The puzzle pieces don’t fit in any direction.”

  “Then you have to make it fit, Brophy. You need to think outside the box,” Centrello said. “I told you from the beginning I want this. This is ours. You both need to figure it out. You don’t have a choice.”

  “How the hell am I supposed to have any fucking idea? We have three sadistic murders, two without any evidence, one that could have been a setup, and an attempted abduction of a girl? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Then you better come up with an idea, Brophy. We’re missing something.”

  “So we need to go along with the FBI’s plan. You realize that to implement it, the killer needs to contact the girl again. Dr. Levy firmly believes he will. He believes he has a psychological need for the girl,” Brophy said. He felt a vibration on his belt buckle. Raising his hand, he paused the conversation immediately when he saw the text.

  “Well,” Brophy said, standing. “The wheels might be turning again. The kid’s car has been found.”

  “Where?”

  “Right outside Beth Israel. The psycho menace parked it right out front of the West Campus door.”

  * * * *

  Cameron slammed her cell phone down. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to Meghan scold her for using her garage or her veiled threats.

  “Go ahead, Meghan, have Joel prosecute me for using your garage. Go ahead. Explain how I had access to it in the first place. Don’t try to use you were trying to help a friend in need out. God forbid! I don’t know, he might think you were some kind of friend or something. I can’t deal with this at the moment. Do you have any idea what I’m going through?”

  “I can’t believe you dragged me into this mess.” Meghan’s voice echoed through the phone. “Did you know the FBI came and interviewed us about you and Zach? Joel is furious about our association. As soon as the car’s back, I can’t have any more contact with you.”

  Cameron couldn’t take anymore. She didn’t want to hear Meghan’s voice anymore. She clicked off without so much as a good-bye. She put her phone back in her pocket. Her phone rang again: a text. She ignored it—probably Meghan trying to confirm she would still take care of the car.

  Fifteen more minutes, and then she would be off. Another day she lived through. Work had been a safe haven for her, but even here an underlying tension had developed. No one knew exactly what was happening. Everyone had been interviewed and re-interviewed by the FBI, Boston Police Department, or both. Her supervisor had asked her to come in her office after she got off. The walls felt as if they were closing in around her.

  She walked in the office. Before she even had time to sit down, Margaret Sullivan began. “Look, Cameron, you know how much I think of you. This has absolutely nothing to do with your performance, but the administration has requested that you take an extended leave until this matter gets settled.”

  Speechless, Cameron hadn’t been prepared for this. “Why? What have I done?”

  Margaret shook her head. “Cameron, it’s not you. It’s your situation. They said requested, but you don’t have a choice in the matter. The hospital is concerned about patient safety. Although the administration has been understanding, having a police detail constantly in the hallways, waiting rooms, and the cafeteria is a source of concern. Patients feel uneasy; visitors—even your peers—have expressed concern about their own safety. Given the situation, they think this extended leave is the best course of action. As soon as the police and FBI give their clearance, you are free to come back to work. I hope you understand.”

  “Until when?” Cameron asked, taken aback. “There may be no end soon. I have no control.”

  “I’m sorry, Cameron. It’s not my decision. Since this is our request, at least for the first week, it will be a paid leave. You don’t have to use your earned time. You need to think about your patients and peers. Think of it as a paid vacation.”

  Cameron contained her emotions, although they raged within her. She wanted to say: isn’t that what I always do? Think of others? But she said nothing.

  She cleaned out her locker. Her co-workers seemed to ignore her, as if she didn’t exist. Comprehension sank deep into her. They knew. They knew before she did. Don’t think about it. Just leave. She grabbed her purse, and coat, and walked out of the unit.

  The uniformed officer assigned to her jumped off his chair as she swept by. He chased behind her while she ran down the stairs. She glanced back once at the sound of the young officer stumbling. He regained his footing, and she pushed out the door into the lobby. Sighing, she slowed her pace.

  The weather visible through the open glass wall showed the fog and drizzle of the evening. She nodded toward Todd, the security guard, at the front desk. Under the overhead cover, she hesitated momentarily, waiting for her escort, who bumped into her as he raced out the door.

  She s
topped in her tracks, staring straight in front of her. Across the street, parked illegally to the side of the walk-in garden, was a blue Escape, shining through the gray fog. The Eastern University sticker on the bumper left no doubt.

  “Call Detective Brophy,” she said.

  * * * *

  Deaconess Road was blocked off. Brophy would have liked to have closed Joslin Road, but access to the emergency room would have been affected. No cars were allowed to leave. Longwood Avenue had been further backed up, due to all the law enforcement responding to the call. The bomb squad had been dispatched to clear the vehicle. As soon as they gave their okay, the SUV was pulled up on the flat top, and transported downtown to be processed out of the elements.

  “The car’s immaculate. Looks brand new, Brophy,” Waters said. He watched while the street reopened. “What do you have? Where’s the girl?”

  “I have her waiting in the security office. The hospital’s lead officer, Lieutenant Ferria, is going over the security tapes. You remember Ferria. He retired from the force and started here at the hospital police department.”

  “Excuse me,” a voice called from behind Brophy. “Excuse me. I’m looking for a Detective Brophy. Lieutenant Ferria sent me to find a Detective Brophy.”

  Brophy turned. An older gentleman stood in front of him, short with a head full of gray hair, an unbuttoned light jacket, and blue dress shirt, dark pants, and trench coat loose around him.

  “I’m Chris Liebman.”

  “I’m Detective Brophy,” Brophy said. “You have something to tell me?”

  “You are in charge? I need to tell this to who’s in charge. Lieutenant Ferria, you are aware, is in charge of our police department here at BI . I saw something he thought would be of interest to you.”

  “Go ahead.” Brophy motioned. “I’m listening.”

  “I didn’t think much of it at the time. This area is widely known for the traffic. Cars block up the street. Stopping in the middle of a one-way or park to one side, waiting for patients to be discharged. Sometimes it’s someone giving an employee a ride. I was walking from the East Campus crossing through the gardens, when I ran into the driver of a blue Escape. I’m not sure if it was the same one you are interested in.”

  “What time was it?”

  “Around six p.m. I remember because I’ve been working on a project.”

  “That’s fine, Mr. Liebman. The car?” Brophy redirected.

  “It almost hit me pulling into the spot. Spots aren’t easy to find. I almost fell backwards. A kid sprang out. Didn’t say anything at first. I yelled at him that he almost hit me.”

  “He replied to you?”

  “He turned back. Something on the line that he had been driving around for forty-five minutes for the spot. Then he jumped in a garage truck, a tow truck.”

  “Tow truck? What did the driver look like?”

  “Like a mechanic. Had overalls on. I believe blue. Baseball cap. A little taller than I am, slim. O’Reilly’s was on the side. Does that help?”

  Brophy nodded. “Anything else?”

  Mr. Liebman buttoned up his trench coat as the wind picked up. He shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

  Brophy wrote down the information in his pad. “Appreciate it.”

  Brophy turned around to Waters. “Get Simmons and Altman on that. I’m going back to security.”

  * * * *

  The weather made another turn for the worse with rain bearing down in another downpour. He was drenched as he made his way into the Farr building. He walked by the gift store across from the security desk. The security office sat down the hall on the right. He said nothing, passing quickly by the front desk to Lieutenant Fierra’s office. He opened the last door to find Cameron sitting on a chair by herself in the lieutenant’s office.

  Brophy entered a room barely big enough to be called a room; it was more like a closet. Cameron stood as he entered. She looked up at him apprehensively. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

  Thoughts quickly ran through his mind: whether she was as innocent as they believed; the next, whether she could be connected in some insane, twisted plot. One look at her said no, but with women, there was always more there than met the eyes.

  He grabbed the only other chair in the room. He straddled the hard backed straight wooden chair. He stared at her intensely, watching for any telltale sign. He motioned for her to have a seat. She hesitated but complied.

  “I want you to understand where we stand so there’s no misunderstanding here. The car that you claim to have hidden in your friend’s garage disappeared, and now has shown up at your work.”

  She nodded ever so slightly.

  “For no reason that you are aware of.”

  “None,” she answered in a voice not much higher than a whisper.

  “I know you probably feel you have gone over this, over and over, but there is nobody you feel is capable of these acts? First, before you answer, I want to state that I find your loyalty to the ones you love commendable, Miss Quinn. While it’s commendable, there is no room for anything other than the truth, now. If the suspect can’t be stopped, someone else is going to die. Do you want that?”

  “Of course not,” she indignantly answered.

  “There will be no blurring the legality issue, like the timing of the car or computer. You have used all the mulligans I’m giving out.”

  “Why are you doing this? I haven’t done anything to harm anyone. The things I did were to protect my brother. Somebody had to protect him.”

  “Well, Miss Quinn, this is the problem I have. This killer looks like a serial killer. There is no doubt he holds deep frustration, anger, and resentment inside him. He stabs them. It’s personal to him. He wants to feel the life leave their bodies.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. “I understand that. It doesn’t have anything to do with me!”

  “It doesn’t, Miss Quinn?” Brophy asked. He stood, placing his foot on the seat of the chair; his elbow rested on his knee. “Then why is the only connection we have to this serial killer, a killer of young innocent men, the same age as your brother, you? Do you hate your brother? Did he get more attention from your father? Have you manipulated the killer to satisfy your own desires? Are you seeking attention? Do you want to be in the news? Are you an attention seeker?”

  Immediately upon the last word, she jumped up. “I don’t have to listen to this. I don’t know what has happened or why!” she screamed at him. “I’m out of here.”

  With his two hands, he roughly shoved her shoulders back down in her chair. “Sit down. I’m not finished. Your roommate’s not here, either. It’s just you and me.”

  He took a deep breath in. “Tell me about today, Miss Quinn. Who did you talk to? Did you run into anyone who might be suspicious?”

  “Detective Brophy, this hasn’t been one of the best days I’ve ever had,” she shot at him. Her voice cooled with a layer of disdain beneath it. “Let’s see, the highlights of my day. My supervisor called me in and suspended me for the safety of the patients. They were feeling uncomfortable, as well as my peers. They put me on leave, Detective, because it’s not fair to everyone, not with the police presence and a possible threat looming that could endanger others. I need to start thinking about others.”

  Her anger cooled, replaced by a stoic attitude. “Let’s see. It got better when I ended up arguing with my friend I betrayed, by using her garage to hide Zach’s car—dragging her into a mess that she didn’t need.”

  Her sarcasm wasn’t wasted upon him. He didn’t relent. He pressed on. “Phone. The work phone? Cell phone? ADA Kennedy said he tried to call you. There wasn’t an answer.”

  She rubbed both hands over her face. “I turned it over to vibrate after I hung up on Meghan. I didn’t want to talk to anyone then, or now.”

  She reached into her jacket pocket for her cell phone. The phone lit up. She looked down at it. Brophy grabbed it. She shrugged as he looked through the phone. He paused. He stared at an unread
text message. He looked back at her. He almost smiled but caught himself.

  An abrupt knock on the slightly open door forced Brophy to turn his attention away from the girl. He gave her a stern look and said, “Stay put. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  * * * *

  Darren stood in the doorway, having only arrived. Raindrops rolled off his trench coat. He had caught enough of the interview. From the looks of it, Cameron hadn’t gotten the best of the battle. Tears fell from her eyes when Brophy left the room, as if the wall that she had erected fell upon his departure.

  “I came as soon as I could. I had a brief to complete,” Darren said as Brophy secured the door behind him. “Status?”

  Brophy nodded. He held up her cell phone in the palm of his hand. “He sent her a text message before she found the car. My God, she hadn’t even realized it. She turned her phone to vibrate.”

  Darren quickly read over it:

  Everything I am you help make me. Just knowing you are there

  A clean car Your brother has nothing to worry about U don’t have to

  Worry no more police anymore YLB

  “Do you know what it means?”

  “Not exactly, but I have a hunch. In his mind, he’s undone the damage he did to Zach. I don’t believe he got the response he wanted. We have swarmed Cameron. He thinks by undoing the damage, we are going to let go of her, giving him a free shot for his little plan to work.”

  Darren eyed Brophy carefully. “This means she’s in even more danger then.”

  Brophy nodded. “But now we may have some leads to work on. Where he got the car done. And the phone. I’m going to take it down to the FBI now. Dunn’s been foaming at the mouth to get hold of her,” Brophy said crisply.

  “What about Cameron?”

  “Guess that leaves you to take care of her situation, Darren. Go be her knight in shining armor.”

  “What the hell does that mean? For that matter, what the hell were you grilling her for?”