by G. K. Parks
“Don’t bring up Paris. Stun guns are supposedly safe, so it’s not a problem.”
“If they’re so safe, why are you exempt from the qualification process? Are you sure you’re okay?” He had heard my outburst, but he didn’t mention it. At least getting zapped meant my neurosis had a free pass.
“I just need to shutdown and restart.” I closed my eyes and drifted on the edge of consciousness until the car stopped.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Mark said, parking near the garage entrance to Martin’s compound.
“I hate to break it to you, but the likelihood that I can make it up the steps on my own is pretty slim.” Noting the lack of town car, I added, “Martin’s not home yet.”
“Fine, but for the record, you’re the only reason I’m setting foot inside this house.” Mark helped me up the steps and into the living room. “Are you good?”
“Perfect.” I slumped sideways onto the sofa, barely aware of his departure.
I woke up a few hours later to the sound of Martin’s voice on the stairs. I was sore but far less twitchy. My hands had a slight tremor, and my arm ached from being the epicenter of the shockwave. Feeling in charge of my faculties, I no longer wanted to kill Lucca, but I did want to use him for taser practice.
“You’ll coordinate the deliveries tomorrow. You know what’s coming in and where it goes,” Martin said, opening the door to the second floor. “Thanks, Marcal. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Hey,” I said, knowing that the first thing Martin would notice was the blood on the back of my shirt, “today wasn’t one of my better days, but I’m okay.”
“Why are you lying on the couch in the dark?” Martin asked, flipping on the light.
“I took some friendly fire and went through a trophy case. Goddamn stun guns. So how was your day, darling?”
He stared at me for a long time. The muscles in his jaw clenched, and he pressed his lips together. He went to the wet bar, poured a scotch, and sat on the coffee table in front of me, not speaking while he drank. Then he put the empty glass down and kissed me.
“What do you need?” he finally asked.
“Nothing, just some sleep.”
* * *
“Parker, in my office,” Mark barked before I was even out of the elevator. I did as he commanded, closing the door behind me. “Before we get started, how are you?”
“A little sore and pissed at Lucca.”
“Are you planning to file a complaint against him?”
“I don’t know yet.” I blew out a breath and took a seat on the couch in the corner of the office instead of in front of Mark’s desk. “I have to write everything up first. I’m not entirely clear on what happened yesterday. A lot of things aren’t making sense, so I need more facts before I can give you an answer.”
“We need your account before you access everyone else’s report. You know how this works.”
“Yep.” I stood, heading for the door.
“There’s one more thing.” Jablonsky swallowed. “I told Eddie about what happened to you in Paris and why you reacted so harshly to the stun gun.”
“That was none of his business.”
“Probably not, but he deserved to know why you’re ready to use him for target practice, especially if he’s facing a reprimand because of it.”
“Stop making it sound like I’m the unreasonable one. He shot me.” I squeezed the bridge of my nose and reached for the door handle, sensing there was something else. “Did you tell him who Michael is…was?”
“He knows not to ask you about it again.”
“Damn you.” I spun, finding the look on Mark’s face sympathetic but not contrite. “You’ll have my report in an hour,” I spat.
“Good.”
I went to my desk and put my head in my hands. Weren’t there laws against hostile work environments? Getting shocked by your own teammate and having your dirty laundry aired by your boss seemed pretty damn hostile to me. Perhaps anger management wouldn’t be a bad idea. Instead, I pushed through, typing out my report from yesterday to include everything, but I put a nice PR spin on the stun gun incident since I wasn’t sure what to make of it yet. There was no reason why I couldn’t be professional while I determined if heads would roll. Then I printed a few copies, threw one of them into Jablonsky’s lap, and returned to my work area.
Lucca glanced up, offering an uncertain smile. “Good morning.”
“I want your report and the case file,” I said brusquely.
“Philip Dennison and Elias Facini are in holding cells. So far, they’ve only gone through some preliminary questioning. The state also has quite a few charges pending against them, but the police department is holding off until we finish our investigation. It’s a good thing you have some friends in blue.”
“Yeah.” I took the folders from him without making eye contact, but he continued to linger near my desk. “Is there something else?”
“Alex, I didn’t realize. You haven’t exactly shared many details from your past or your life. Anyway, I’m sorry.” He turned back toward his desk.
“Why are you sorry? I don’t want your pity, and you’ve been doing this long enough to know that apologizing is basically asking for official action to be taken against you. So why are you sorry?” Admittedly, I was looking for a fight. Self-destructive behavior was part of my charm, and the gloves had just come off. But Lucca didn’t take the bait.
“I just am. If you need something else, let me know.”
“Jackass,” I muttered under my breath. He wasn’t supposed to be nice.
After I calmed down, I read the official incident report and Lucca’s account. Approximately thirty minutes after Brad and I entered the gym, Philip Dennison and Elias Facini left the apartment. They walked the two blocks to the gym, unaware of the surveillance team watching their every move. They entered through the rear door, and two minutes later, the sensor inside the envelope was triggered.
The PD had decided to share with our team, unbeknownst to me, and since we had eyes in the vicinity, they decided we could monitor the blackmail drop ourselves. Lucca was in the surveillance van, and when Dennison and Facini entered, Lucca made his approach. For some reason, Agent Lucca had the misguided belief that I needed his help. Clearly, he didn’t understand that I was not some damsel in distress.
Facini was speaking to Brad outside the gym, and when Lucca appeared, neither man wanted to let him inside. Facini must have recognized Lucca because he took off; one of the other agents from the surveillance van apprehended him a block from the gym. Brad surrendered on-site. However, their involvement in the blackmail scheme was questionable at best. Currently, they could both be considered accessories, and Facini could be charged with resisting arrest.
Philip Dennison was a different story. He was carrying an unregistered firearm. He assaulted a federal agent, and he was caught red-handed with the blackmail money. Plus, Jack Fletcher had already identified him as taking bets, so Mr. Accountant probably wouldn’t be getting his CPA in this lifetime. Perhaps if he was really lucky, he could manage his fellow convicts’ prison wages.
“Where the hell did you leave your white horse?” I asked, swiveling to face Lucca’s desk. His brow furrowed, confused. “Since you rode in to save the day, where’d you leave your horse?”
“Funny.” He went back to whatever he was doing.
“So we’ve solved the police department’s blackmail case. Hurray for us. What about the double homicide? Is anyone talking?” I stood up, tapping the folders into a neat stack on the edge of the desk. “Where did Dennison get his unregistered handgun? Did Facini teach him how to shoot? Oh, and before I forget, you were completely off the mark about Brad Bellows. Have we discovered anything that even puts him near the courthouse or the extortion scheme?”
“Nothing conclusive yet. We have a warrant to search their apartment and offices at work. We’re going through their life histories with a fine tooth comb. Jablonsky said once we have somethi
ng solid, we’ll go at them with both barrels in the interrogation rooms and hopefully put this to bed. Until then, we’re keeping them on ice.”
“I want to talk to Brad.”
“That’s not a good idea, Parker.”
“We’ll see.” I scooped up the files and went to Mark’s office to ask permission.
Thirty-four
“That was the worst first date I’ve ever been on.” Brad laughed and ran a hand through his hair awkwardly.
“Don’t blame yourself. I’m an awful date. Last night doesn’t even make it onto my top ten list.” I sat sideways, scooting closer to the table and pulling my knees to my chest on the small folding chair. “You can ask for a lawyer at any time.”
“I don’t need one. I didn’t do anything wrong.” He leaned back. “Weren’t you wearing that yesterday?”
“No, that shirt has bloodstains on it.”
“Because of Philip?” he asked, and I nodded. “Asshole.” He white-knuckled the edge of the table in order to keep his anger in check. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. So you mean to tell me you’ve never hit a woman? Or hurt anyone?” I slid his file across the table, opened to his rap sheet. “Why’d you change your name, Brad?”
“I wanted to make a clean break and start fresh. Haven’t you ever wanted that?”
“Yes, but it didn’t work out the way I planned.” He saw the sincerity in my eyes. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“First, I want you to know that I didn’t hit her.” He poked the paper. “I shoved her and smashed a few dozen glasses with a baseball bat. I’m not denying I was wrong to do it, but you already know I have anger issues.” He read through the rest, but he didn’t refute any other details from his record. “This is the reason I changed my name. As you know, I’ve been going to therapy, but that doesn’t mean anyone wants to hire a guy with a record, recovering or not. This was my chance at a fresh start. A new name. A new place. A new beginning.”
“Then why’d you go looking for Tim Coker?”
“I needed to face him. Originally, I hoped to forgive him and let him make amends for the things he did, but there’s a lot of shit going on at that gym.”
“I need you to elaborate.” I picked up a pen. “We went there last night because you were looking for something. What was it? Why were you there?” I didn’t believe it was the cash, but the evidence was inconclusive.
“I don’t know. I just wanted to see what Tim’s hiding. You know what he did to my dad, and that fucker has it framed in his office. Just imagine what else he’s done. I just needed to see for myself. Tim is nothing but a two-faced snake. He acts like he’s doing me some huge favor by apologizing, but he has shit like that on the wall.”
Brad pushed away from the table and stormed toward the corner of the room. I expected him to lash out and break his hand on the cinderblock, but instead, he huffed and puffed for a few moments before returning to the table. I didn’t think he was dangerous and had removed his handcuffs in order to make him more comfortable. He didn’t harbor any animosity toward me nor did he fight back when he was arrested last night, so I had a hunch he was innocent.
Lucca opened the door and glanced inside. “Do you want me to sit in, Parker?” he asked.
I knew damn well he had been watching from the other side of the two-way mirror, and I glared at him. “It’s under control. Why don’t you get us some water?”
When the door closed, Brad asked, “Is he the reason you have so many bad days at work?”
“Mostly.” It didn’t hurt to have a friendly conversation. This rapport that we had was keeping Brad talking, and the more he said, the better off we’d be. “Do you know why Philip and Elias crashed our date?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t even know they were there.” He cocked his head to the side. “You believe me, right? I mean you were there. We were in Coker’s office talking, and then,” he licked his lips, seeing a flaw in his logic, “I broke the picture frame.”
“So?”
“It wasn’t a distraction. I didn’t take you into the office so they could sneak in.” He was starting to panic.
“I know, Brad.” I reached for his hand, running my thumb along the bandage covering his knuckles. “It’s okay. No one said you were involved. I just wondered if they mentioned that they’d be stopping by the gym. You guys are roommates. Hell, Philip borrowed your baseball cap, so clearly, you’re friendly with them.”
“I didn’t know. Elias never mentioned that Coker let him go after hours, and Philip wasn’t a fighter. He just liked to watch the fights.”
“Is that all he did?” I asked, but Brad looked torn. “Whatever you say to me can only help you. Do you trust me?” He asked me the same thing last night.
“Philip was taking bets. He has an entire system worked out. The guy is a numbers genius. I don’t even understand it, but he’d come home every week with thousands of dollars. I did my best to ignore it.” He looked down at his record. “I’ve been involved in enough crap to last a lifetime. Plus, they were nice enough to let me room with them, despite my record and shitty job, so I didn’t want to cause trouble.”
“How’d you meet them?”
“I met Elias at the gym when I first came to town. I had been trying to track down Tim, and when I found his gym, I started hanging around there. At the time, I was living out of a motel room, looking for work and a place to live. Elias said they had an extra room, and for a couple hundred dollars, it was mine for the taking.”
“Before that, you never met Elias Facini or Philip Dennison?”
“No.”
“What about Will Briscoe Jr.?”
“He started at the gym around the same time I did. A little after, I think. He’s a friendly kid. He was taking some classes at the same college as Philip, except he was a freshman or sophomore and Philip’s a grad student. He stayed on our couch a few times and came to parties at our house. He and Elias seemed to hit it off. They’d hang out a lot after our training sessions and on the weekends.” Brad chuckled. “I always figured if I moved out, Will would be the first one they’d ask to move in with them.”
“Did you ever meet Will’s father?”
“No, but I heard stories that he was another coach. Tim didn’t like him. I’d hear him griping to Ron that their best fighters were being snatched away, and if it kept up, the gym would be forced to raise rates, cut the contingency training, and possibly shut down. Frankly, it couldn’t happen to a nicer person.”
Before I could ask anything else, the door opened, and Lucca came in with a bottle of water for Brad. “Jablonsky wants to see you,” Lucca insisted, but I didn’t budge. “Now, Parker.”
“I’m not finished. Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a conversation?”
“That wasn’t a request.” Lucca jerked his chin at the door. It was obvious I was getting pulled for some reason. “I’ll take it from here.”
“I’ll see you later,” I said to Brad. Moving toward the door, I brushed against Lucca and whispered, “Don’t ruin this. He’ll talk to me.”
Jablonsky was waiting outside the interrogation room. “We’re sweeping their apartment now. You ought to be there.” He saw the uncertain look on my face. “What? You’d rather stay here and play with your new boy toy?”
“He was opening up. If I leave now, I’ll have to start over from the beginning in order to get him comfortable enough to talk to me again.”
“Are you sure you’re playing him? Because it seems to me that he could be playing you.”
“Maybe we’re just having an honest conversation.”
Mark snorted. “Since when do you take a suspect at face value, particularly one with a questionable history, fake name, ties to other known criminals, and our best bet for two murders?”
“That doesn’t mean he’s a liar.”
“And right now, your distaste for Lucca is clouding your judgment. You need to take a step back. Go check the apartment and oversee the evid
ence collection. You must have a theory, so go find the smoking gun.”
“Why don’t you send Lucca?”
“Because he might be a liability.”
I sighed. “I’m not pursuing any official action against him, but the next time he has to re-qualify on that damn stun gun, I’m volunteering to help.” I turned on my heel and headed down the corridor. “And until then, he owes me,” I called, stepping into the elevator. “Make sure he doesn’t screw up my interrogation. Brad better be talking when I get back.”
When I arrived at the apartment, a team had already begun cataloging evidence. I flashed my credentials at the man in charge and made it clear that each room in the apartment was to be treated as a separate unit. No one was pleased by that instruction, but it was my investigation. And I didn’t want evidence from one room contaminating the entire apartment.
I circled through the living room, kitchen, and bathroom, giving everything a quick sweep. The bong from the window sill had already been bagged and tagged, but so far, no other drugs or drug paraphernalia had been discovered. The weaponry that decorated the walls was being dismantled with notations to test for blood.
Not seeing any need to hover over the team that was diligently doing their jobs, I went into Brad’s bedroom. It looked just like it did a few days ago. The bed was made, and everything was neat and tidy. I performed a much slower, methodical search and worked from corner to corner. Tucked in the bottom of his closet was a shoebox, and inside were newspaper articles, photos, and other keepsakes concerning his dad. Other than that, the personal effects were few and far between.
“Who lives like this?” one of the crime scene guys asked from the doorway. “No photographs or mementos to clutter the place. He’s gotta be hiding something.”
“Take extra care with the contents of this box and make it a priority. As soon as you’re through cataloging it, I want it sent to my desk. Understood?”
