by G. K. Parks
“What if the attorney’s death was an accident and someone else plotted and conspired to eliminate the other boxing coach?” Dennison asked.
“Then I’d say it’s your word against theirs, and whoever can prove the allegations will get the better deal,” Mark said. He looked into the hallway. “But I’m sure you want to wait for your attorney.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
Forty
“I don’t get it.” Lucca read through the transcript again. “Most of what we had was circumstantial. If Dennison kept his mouth shut, we might not have had enough for a jury to find him guilty of murder.”
“The prosecutor’s office would have tried anyway. Not to mention, we would have buried him with the gambling, and for the number of bets he took, he’d be facing decades in prison.”
“But two counts of murder will still lead to decades in prison.”
“Yeah, but he took Tim Coker down with him. Philip produced the recording he made the night Tim went to the apartment and offered to pay him to eliminate William Briscoe. After Hector’s death, Tim was scared shitless that Briscoe knew what happened to his fighter. Not to mention, Briscoe was coaching Hector for free, which flew in the face of Tim’s business. In exchange for Philip pulling the trigger, Tim promised to rig a dozen or more fights in order to ensure he and Dennison walked away with a ton of cash. The fifty thousand they hoped to extort from Jack Fletcher was just the tip of the iceberg.”
“I don’t understand why the prosecutor was willing to give Dennison immunity on the gambling charges when that was a slam dunk.”
“A murder confession is also a slam dunk, and it was about loyalty to their fallen comrade. It makes sense to me. They wanted the murderer caught with no doubt left in anyone’s mind. It sends a message. You can’t kill one of ours and get away with it. Plus, once we got a hold of Dennison’s credit card history, we were able to trace the illegal gun sale to an online entity, so we finally found our smoking gun. And this way, Tim gets charged with manslaughter and the illegal gambling, racking up the years on his potential sentence too.”
“The Greenwoods testimony wouldn’t have been enough to take Coker down since they had every reason to lie,” Lucca retorted, “but Philip Dennison didn’t know that. Apparently, it came out in the wash.”
“Be thankful. It got Will Briscoe Jr. off the hook for feeling guilty about his dad’s death. Maybe that family will finally find some peace.” I began pulling the printed glossies off the board. “Coker’s arrest will bring Brad some peace too. From what Detective O’Connell said, Brad’s hoping they’ll investigate his father’s death to determine if it was indeed an accident. I doubt they’ll prove otherwise, but Brad’s happy Tim’s finally getting what he deserves.”
“It’s a good thing Dennison had the foresight to make that recording as an insurance policy.” Lucca studied me for a moment, a question forming on his lips. “You were the only one who thought Brad was innocent,” Lucca began, helping to box up our files. “How’d you figure that out?”
“Despite the fact that he had owned up to his previous indiscretions, the anger never went away. If he killed someone, he wouldn’t have been angry.”
“That’s the most convoluted thought process ever.”
“When you kill someone, you feel guilty. You might feel remorse. Hell, maybe even relief. If you’re angry about the kill, it’s focused internally. He wasn’t our killer. He had no reason to be.”
“You scare me sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” I cocked an eyebrow in his direction. “I do think Elias Facini had more to do with this than we’ve discovered, but Philip didn’t implicate him. And he alibied out.” I sucked air in through my teeth. “Something just doesn’t sit right. He went to the gym with Philip to pick up the blackmail money.”
“He was the enabler,” Lucca said, closing the box. “He took Philip to the shooting range, taught him about sharpshooting, and introduced all the affected parties. Without him, Dennison wouldn’t have known how to conduct the murder, nor would he have met Will Briscoe Jr. and discovered where William Briscoe would be at a specific time and date. He might not have even gotten involved in the small-scale boxing scene or started the underground betting. Facini provided him the resources to do all of that, but it can’t be proven. The best we can hope for is that the accessory charges will stick.”
“The Briscoes could pursue damages against him in civil court.”
“For what? Some kind of tort with that ‘but for’ bullshit?”
I shrugged. “I just hate that he’s practically walking away unscathed.”
“He could be innocent.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Lucca scanned the room to make sure he had everything. We were alone, and the case was finally closed. “Alexis, sit down. I need a moment of your time, and I want you to listen to what I have to say.”
“You have one minute.” I dropped into a chair and studied my watch. Whatever he was about to say, I didn’t want to hear it.
“Jablonsky asked if I’d be willing to work with you in the future. I told him yes.”
“That was a mistake. Do I get a say in the matter?”
“Why is it a mistake?”
“You know why. Jablonsky let you read the report.” I blinked and looked away. “I told you when this case began that you should stay the hell away from me. Nothing’s changed.”
“You didn’t kill them. Those two agents died because of a booby trap, not because you made a bad call.”
“They’re dead. Don’t tell me that’s not on me.” I stormed toward the door, but Lucca blocked the exit.
“If you believed that, you wouldn’t be here right now. So what the hell are you afraid of?”
“I do believe it, but I’ve come to terms with it. I just don’t want it to happen again.”
“I remind you of him. Of Michael,” Lucca said softly.
“You’re nothing like him.” I squeezed my eyes shut. When I opened them, I hoped Lucca would be gone. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.
“You called me Michael.” He stared back at me, but I didn’t deem his comment worthy of a response. “Then why don’t you want to work together?” he asked, adopting a new tactic.
“It has nothing to do with you. I don’t want to work with anyone. I’ve lost enough. I can’t be responsible for losing someone else.”
“So you’re not a heartless bitch? Damn, you had me fooled.”
“And you’re a shitty liar. Now get out of my way so I can talk to Mark and correct your mistake.”
“I didn’t make a mistake. Today proved that we balance each other.” He leaned against the door and folded his arms across his chest. “You didn’t pursue any official recourse to taking friendly fire. Obviously, you would have done that if you wanted to keep me away from you.”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself, boy scout, but we’re not working together again. I work alone. And I don’t like you.” I pushed him out of the way. “If you ever bring up my past again, I’ll show you precisely what a stun gun is capable of doing to male genitalia.”
Stopping in the ladies’ room, I splashed some cold water on my face. Today was a win. The case was closed. Lucca’s little speech had sullied my otherwise good mood, but it was five o’clock. After I turned in my final report, I’d be on my way home. The thought of Martin and my living room furniture situated inside the second floor guest suite helped to combat the dark clouds that settled over me.
Knocking on Jablonsky’s door, I entered and dropped the file on his desk. He picked it up, gesturing to the chair. I sat while he skimmed it.
“That was a risky move you pulled with Dennison. It easily could have backfired,” Mark scolded.
“It was worth it, and honestly, we were out of options.”
“Next time, give me the heads up before you implement another doomsday scheme.”
“Sure, no problem.” I took a deep breath and fidgeted in the chair.
“Th
at was it.” Mark looked up. “Do I have to say dismissed? I thought that was just Lucca’s hang-up.”
“I don’t want to work with him again. I don’t want to work with anyone.”
“It doesn’t really matter. You’re not in charge, Parker. This is a hierarchy. It isn’t a democracy, and you aren’t your own boss anymore. You’re lucky I buried the stuff from Fletcher, or Director Kendall might have wanted to have a word with you.”
“Right, you’re saving me.” Martin’s words came back into my mind. “How come you didn’t suggest that I tell Martin I was getting reinstated?”
“We discussed that. You didn’t want to tell him, remember? It was a security issue for both of you. You and I agreed it’d be best to keep him out of the loop.” Mark dropped the folder back on his desk and blew out a breath. “I take it you spoke to Marty about this.”
“I can be overprotective. You know this, and as my friend, you’re supposed to tell me when what I’m doing is ridiculous. But you agreed with me instead.”
“We made the right call.”
“No, we were wrong. He should have known. If our positions were reversed, I would have wanted to know. I would have wanted my best friend to tell me. You should apologize to him.”
“Why? He’s not always right. He’s being a stubborn jackass.”
“Perhaps. But he made quite a few valid points, and there is no reason in the world why it should have taken as long as it did for the background check to clear once I decided that I wanted to tell him. We’re the fucking FBI. We run background checks on a daily basis, but his was stuck in limbo for weeks. Regardless of who’s right, just say you’re sorry and fix this. It’s hard enough to be here every day without having to worry about my boss getting along with my boyfriend, particularly when the two of you were friends before I even came into the picture.”
“Fine, but I’m only doing this for you, Alex.”
“And I’m only back here because of you, so I guess that makes us even.” I walked out of his office, even more confused as to whether Martin’s assessment held any truth.
On my way home, Jack Fletcher phoned. He wanted to thank me for keeping his name out of the investigation. Apparently, it was no longer necessary that he testify, and since the blackmailer was caught, he felt safe and protected. However, in a strange turn of events, he was called into a meeting this afternoon and offered a position as senior partner.
“Last week, you wanted to resign. It’s a good thing someone talked you out of that,” I said.
“Thank you, Ms. Parker.” He lowered his voice. “Do you think they knew about the blackmail?”
“I don’t know. Why would they offer you the position if they thought you posed a danger to their good name?”
“Maybe it was a test of my loyalty or my ethical code.”
“Well, you must have passed. Congratulations on the promotion. I just have one request.”
“Name it.”
“Don’t do anything illegal again. I don’t even want to hear that you got a speeding ticket, okay?”
“Yes.” He laughed. “I’ll be a straight shooter from here on out.”
“Excellent. Good night, Mr. Fletcher.”
“Good night.”
“Oh, and don’t turn into a pompous douche bag either.”
“I’ll do my best, but that might be a requirement to getting my name on the door.”
We disconnected just as I pulled my car into the garage. Martin’s town car was parked on the end, and I went up the stairs, glad to see him. It was nice to be home.
Muffled Echoes is now available for purchase. Please enjoy this excerpt:
My ears were ringing, and the world spun in dizzying circles. I rolled onto my side, gasping at the sharp pain that suddenly replaced the constant throbbing. Blood ran into my eyes, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand. A burning sensation ran from my fingers to my wrist. Where was I? Grey and green, those were the only two colors I could make out. One was sky and the other ground. I was outside. A vibration shot through my hip, sending a jolt of adrenaline into my system. My phone. It took three tries before my fingers slipped inside my pocket, scraping against the fabric that felt like jagged pieces of glass against my fingertips. I bit back a whimper and blindly hit answer.
“It would have been nice if you called to say you were running late,” Agent Eddie Lucca, my new partner at the OIO, said. “Are you even planning to show up at work today?”
“Lucca,” I managed to sit up, nearly blacking out in the process, “I need you to come get me.”
“Seriously, Parker, I’m not your chauffeur. It’s not my job to pick you up and take you to work.”
“No, you don’t understand.” I blinked a few times, hoping to steady the world. “Ping my phone.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No. I don’t know where I am or how I got here.” I tried to swallow, but my throat was devoid of moisture, causing me to gag and choke.
He must have heard the pain in my voice. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve been better.” I tried to get my legs under me, falling face first to the ground. Black bubbles clouded my vision, and I decided not to try that again. When they cleared, I was staring at a concrete curb.
“Parker, are you still there? Come on, Alexis, answer me.”
“I’m here,” I looked around, not seeing anything except a retaining wall or maybe it was a concrete structure, “wherever here is.”
Muffled words came over the line, and Lucca thanked someone. “Alex, what do you see? Describe what’s around you.”
“A fucking concrete wall. The ground is wet.” A stabbing pain shot through my back, taking my breath with it. “It might be blood.”
“Shit,” he yelled something to someone in the background, “I’m on my way, just keep talking.”
“Don’t bother stopping to pick up breakfast. I’m not hungry.”
“Are you the only one that counts? Talk about selfish.” A static burst erupted from my phone. Lucca must have entered the elevator. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”
My pulse pounded loudly in my ears, and I closed my eyes. The panic was rising, bubbling to the surface. “Bring some forensic experts along. They’ll need to protect the evidence before I’m moved.”
“Parker, that’s not important right now.”
“Yes, it is. I don’t know what happened, but we need to find out.” The phone slipped from my hand, but it landed close enough that I could still hear Lucca’s voice. “Do you have my location?”
“Yeah, we’re close.”
My eyes closed, and for a time, there was nothing but the sound of my heartbeat in my ears. It came with pained exhales, and then a cacophony of sirens broke the rhythm. Doors slammed, and I winced. More sirens. Voices. Someone was close.
“My god,” Lucca cursed. “Alex, I’m here. Paramedics are a minute out, just relax.” He eased me onto my side. “It’s not so bad. You’ll be fine.” He reached for my wrist, stopping when he saw the condition of my right hand.
“Maintain the crime scene,” I hissed. “And no drugs. Don’t let them give me anything. I want a tox screening.”
He let out an uneasy snort. “Wow, and I thought your cognitive functions might be impaired. Are you sure I can’t go grab a cup of coffee while you call the shots?” He brushed my hair away, examining the gash on my forehead, and I grit my teeth. “We’ll figure out what happened and find whoever did this, but for right now, why don’t you let me take over?”
“Okay.” I swallowed, staring at the area around me as numerous people trooped past. Lucca barked orders, and from the frequent flashes going off in the distance, I suspected the area was being photographed. The paramedics arrived, and then everything began to blur. They took my vitals, assessed my injuries, and lifted me onto a stretcher. “Lucca?” I whispered, hoping that he had my back, even though I’d made his life a living hell since the moment I’d been reinstated at the Office of International Operations, a br
anch of the FBI.
“You’re okay. I’m sticking with you,” he assured.
The doors slammed on the back of the ambulance, causing me to jump. One of the paramedics reached around to secure the belt on the stretcher, and I panicked. Immediately, my sympathetic nervous system went into overdrive, and the monitors hooked to my chest beeped a staccato rhythm, quickly approaching a crescendo. The paramedic checked the monitor and picked up a syringe. Practically bringing myself to the brink of unconsciousness, I fought against the few buckles that were holding me on the gurney, somehow managing to slip out of them and backing myself into the corner, like a wounded animal searching for a defensible position.
The paramedic moved closer, and I freaked out. Intellectually, I knew he was here to help, but I couldn’t override my instincts. A scream ripped past my lips, and the paramedic took a step back.
“Parker, easy,” Lucca said. “No one’s going to hurt you.” He slowly approached, holding his hands up in surrender. I nodded and collapsed against the seat. “Let’s get her to the hospital. Now.”
“Sir, it’s policy to have the injured strapped down. We don’t know how extensive her injuries are. She could—”
“Then light ‘em up and roll.” Lucca’s voice left no room for argument. It was the last thing I heard before falling back into the abyss.
* * *
“Thanks for disregarding the rulebook today, boy scout,” I mused, struggling to keep my eyes open.
Lucca nodded and bit his lip. He had taken a position in the far corner of the room while I had been scanned, poked, prodded, photographed, and otherwise analyzed. My clothing and other belongings had been taken to the crime lab, and every piece of trace evidence had been collected from my body. Frankly, that was one experience I never wanted to repeat.
One of the few benefits of being a federal agent was that this was being handled internally. At least I didn’t have to answer a million questions that some overzealous cop would surely ask. I’d been in and out of consciousness since the ambulance. The medical staff was still determining the extent of my injuries, but I could tell something wasn’t right. There was a huge gap in my memory, and I had no idea what happened or how I ended up on the side of the street.
