Suspicion of Murder

by G. K. Parks

  “I’m aware of the current predicament plaguing our fine police force, particularly the nearest precinct. The gentlemen who are supposed to be protecting this city might just be doing it the most harm.” His accent was classic mafia don, and I wondered if he watched the Godfather to get the gestures correct. “Needless to say, I feel there is a debt owed to you. I am prepared to take care of your current problem.”

  “Sorry, but I think working within the system is better than superseding it.”

  “You handle things your way, Ms. Parker, and we handle them ours. Most of the time, our way is faster.”

  “Doesn’t make it better.”

  “Not much goes on in this city without word getting back to me. To express my gratitude, a surveillance tape is being delivered to Detective O’Connell as we speak. The footage is from a hidden camera used to ensure Mr. Papadakis wasn’t skimming off the top. Although your crooked cop,” his eyes lit up a little, “can’t be recognized, a man can be seen shooting the bartender. This should clear your name and get you back on the job.”

  “Why are you helping me?”

  “I make good on my debts. After this, we will be even, and our business will be concluded. Shall we cross paths again in the future, I hope you will remember this kindness I have extended to you.” The car slowed to a stop.

  “Thanks, but I can’t make any promises,” I replied.

  Carmine opened the rear door. Our meeting was over. He bowed his head slightly, and I stepped out of the car. Carmine shut the door, got back in front, and the limo drove away. Turning around, we were a few blocks from my motel. Could it be a coincidence? Maybe Vito wasn’t kidding when he said he was aware of everything going on in this city. A shiver traveled down my spine, and I wasn’t sure if it was from my constant paranoia or if it was the fever returning.

  * * *

  The security cam footage was being delivered to O’Connell today. After the AV department ran it through to ensure its legitimacy, there would be more questions, but it would cast aspersions on my involvement in the near-fatal shooting of Sam Harrigan. In the morning, I would call Mark and ask for verification before surrendering myself to the boys in major crimes. Only one more night as a fugitive and then maybe I would be free to return to the world of the not guilty.

  On my way up to my room, I stopped at the vending machines and bought a few things to eat. It was slim pickings between chocolate candy bars or salty snacks, so I settled for both. If Vito had offered a hot meal, I might have agreed to more than just letting his involvement at Infinity go unnoticed.

  My room was still a safe haven, and the paranoid parts of my brain wondered if that had anything to do with Vito’s influence. Stop it, Parker. After my dinner of chips, cheese puffs, and some chocolate peanut butter thing, I made a pot of decaf coffee and drank it as I wrapped the blankets tightly around my body. It was barely six p.m., and I was exhausted. Dragging myself to the bathroom, I repeated the process of trying to clean the incision and punctures in my side and back, but the area was inflamed. The flesh was red, puffy, and painful. After doing all I could, I returned to the main room and pulled the blankets off the second bed and got underneath the double layer of covers.

  Waking in the middle of the night, I was dizzy and parched. I surfaced from under the covers; the air was frigid against my skin. It felt like I was walking across Antarctica in a bikini. I got a glass of water from the bathroom sink and squinted against the harsh, blinding lights. Going back into the main room, I took a few ibuprofens since I finished the acetaminophen the day before and pulled myself into the fetal position to conserve warmth. Slipping in and out of consciousness until daybreak, I welcomed the prospect of turning myself in.

  I gathered everything inside my messenger bag and dialed Mark on the last remaining unused burner phone. White-knuckling the banister, I made my way slowly down the stairs. My head pounded. The world was hazy, and my body ached from the uncontrollable shivers that had wracked my body all night.

  “Jablonsky,” he answered.

  “Don’t bother tracing this. I’m on my way to the precinct to surrender. Can you verify new surveillance footage has surfaced, making my involvement in Sam’s shooting less likely?”

  “Parker,” I knew the trace was being conducted, “we’ll send some agents to meet you there. You no longer look good for this, but until it’s all sorted, we can’t recall the warrant for your arrest. There are still other charges pending.”

  “It’ll be nice to get out of the cold.” Discarding the battery, I tossed the phone into a dumpster and hailed a cab.

  * * *

  The precinct was abuzz with crimes, cases, and newly discovered evidence. As I entered the front doors, I expected to be tackled to the ground or held at gunpoint. Instead, not a single person paid any attention as I took the stairwell up to the major crimes division. Exiting the double doors into the bullpen, a few officers and detectives rushed around, but still, no one tried to stop me. Had I known this, I would have gone upstairs, talked to Nick, and left without having to body-check a car to get away from an overzealous beat cop.

  Wincing, I went to O’Connell’s desk and sat down. I could wait for someone to return before begging to be arrested. It’s not like I had anywhere else to be. Maybe while I waited, Mark and some federal agents would show up and take credit for collaring a notorious criminal genius.

  “Parker?” Heathcliff’s voice was full of surprise and awe. “Goddammit.” He sighed audibly. “Are you armed?”

  “Right jacket pocket.” I placed my purse and bag on top of the desk, but I couldn’t be bothered to reach into my pocket because that would have involved unwrapping my arms from around my body, and right now, they were the only things holding in the warmth. Heathcliff reached into my pocket and removed my handgun and started reading my Mirandas. “Yeah, I know. Silent, counsel, uh-huh. Can we skip all that and just say I surrender?”

  O’Connell, Thompson, and Moretti came down the hallway, and O’Connell and I locked eyes. He had missed the perfect opportunity to throw me in the slammer. Heathcliff was still slightly confused. He was a cop first, and by walking in off the street and surrendering, I had thrown him off his game. He held out his handcuffs, waiting for me to unfold my arms in order to be cuffed, but I wasn’t cooperating. In the meantime, Thompson rummaged through my bags, and Moretti went to make a call.

  “You look like shit,” O’Connell offered.

  My teeth chattered, and Heathcliff touched my cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re burning up. What’s going on?”

  “Bullet hole in my side seems to be infected. You don’t happen to have a blanket by chance, do you?” The hazy harshness of the lights was pulsing with the pounding in my head.

  “Should I call for a bus?” Thompson asked. I was no longer part of the conversation; instead, I was relegated to the position of silent observer.

  O’Connell took his jacket off and wrapped it around me. “We’re not waiting. She’s one of us. Let’s get her in the car. I’ll drive convoy, and we’ll figure out how to process and report this after the fact.”

  Heathcliff lifted me out of the chair, and he and O’Connell headed down the steps and out of the precinct. After strapping me in the passenger’s seat, Heathcliff turned on the siren and flew through red lights. O’Connell drove his own cruiser at our flank. “It’s nice getting celebrity treatment,” I murmured.

  In the emergency room, my police escort got me bumped to the top of the waiting list, and the nurse took my temperature which was dangerously high at nearly a hundred and five. Typically, I liked being considered an overachiever but not in this instance. So many things and people were shuffling around that I lost track of it all after the I.V. was painfully inserted in the back of my hand. A few minutes later, things began to dim, and then everything faded to black.

  Eleven

  Time lost all meaning in my drug-induced fog. One minute, there were people around, and the next, I was alone in a room with my wris
t cuffed to the bedrail. My heart was racing, and my chest felt tight and heavy. I coughed but couldn’t catch my breath. Someone in a white lab coat entered the room and disconnected the tubing from the back of my hand and injected something else into my arm as I struggled against my bindings. Then my airways opened, the pressure eased, and the world went dark.

  When consciousness returned, the shackle was removed, and it felt like I swallowed sand. Everything was numb, and I wasn’t sure I could feel my face. O’Connell was sitting in a chair, filling out paperwork.

  “Nick,” I croaked. He glanced up from the file folder in his lap and smiled before focusing his gaze behind me. I tried to shift off of my right side in order to turn around, but something was blocking my movement.

  “I’ll go find a doctor,” he offered, leaving the room.

  “Alex?” Martin was still out of visual range, but that soon changed as he knelt next to the bed. “Hey, beautiful.”

  “You look like hell.” He was unshaven with dark circles under his eyes.

  “I’m too kind to say the same to you,” he quipped.

  “What?” To say I was confused would be a complete understatement. I looked at the tubes taped to the back of my hand and tried unsuccessfully to shift onto my back as Martin stroked my hair. “What’s going on?”

  “Easy, you’re not supposed to lie on your back. But it looks like I’m your emergency contact.” He grinned.

  “No. Well, yeah.” I was still disconcerted, and my brain was foggy.

  “From what I’ve been told, you checked in with a serious infection. They gave you some intravenous antibiotics which triggered a pretty bad reaction.” He got off the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been out for a few days, but you’re fine.”

  “Days?” Oh god, how much time had I lost. Did they identify the crooked cop? Was I still under arrest, or were they waiting to make sure I didn’t drop dead to save on the paperwork?

  “It’s Saturday,” he supplied. My gaze followed the intravenous line to the two hanging bags, and he glanced up to see what had caught my attention. “Some pain meds, fluids, and a final round of antibiotics.”

  “Good, then I won’t be needing this much longer.” Before I could unhook myself, a doctor entered the room.

  “Ms. Parker, glad to see you’re finally awake,” he said, checking my chart.

  After insisting on having everything nonessential removed and getting a general update on my condition, a nurse came in to implement all of my requests. With the exception of completing the antibiotics, medically speaking, I was almost free to go. The doctors had inserted a drain into my side to remove excess fluid that had built up, but it had been removed yesterday. At least I had an explanation for why I was lying on my right side with a pillow keeping me propped uncomfortably in place.

  I had the dire need to move around after being prone for days; getting up on a numb leg and hobbling on unused muscles to the bathroom was an ordeal in itself. By the time I returned to my hospital bed, Nick and Martin had come back from their brief exile in the hallway. Nick gave the nurse a quick peck as she left, and I watched him suspiciously.

  “That’s Jen,” Martin informed me, “Nick’s wife.” He fell silent as I tried to untangle myself from the I.V. tube before lying flat on my back, most certainly against medical advice.

  “Don’t worry. You’re no longer under arrest. Harrigan regained consciousness and corroborated the security cam footage that was delivered,” O’Connell offered, approaching the bed and giving my hand a squeeze. “I’m going to wait in the hallway for Jablonsky to relieve me. You gave us all quite a scare, but I’m glad you’re okay, Parker.”

  “Me, too. Tell Heathcliff thanks.”

  “You can tell him yourself when he fills in. Until further notice, you’re in protective custody.” O’Connell didn’t wait for questions or protest before he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him.

  “Do you want to get some rest?” Martin asked, returning to his spot on the bed.

  “According to you, I’ve been resting for three fucking days. Please just tell me what’s going on. I turned myself in Wednesday, and now it’s Saturday. How long have you even been here?”

  “The hospital called Thursday night.” His features darkened. “You were cleared of the murder charge, and since the members of your protection detail were more than willing to vouch for me, I came to keep you company. You had a negative reaction to the first set of antibiotics, and whatever they administered to counteract it knocked you for a loop. Some emergency contact I am. When I arrived, they kept asking what medications you were allergic to, and I had no idea what to tell them.”

  “Sorry, I should have given you the heads up. It just made sense since we’ve been together for a while. Although, I never expected I’d be in need of an emergency contact. Mark was always my emergency contact.” I tried to get more comfortable, shifting onto my stomach, but this was making conversation difficult. He sensed my discomfort and repositioned himself, so I could lean against his shoulder.

  “O’Connell, Heathcliff, and Mark have been taking turns keeping an eye on you. Bruiser’s outside, just in case they need some assistance.”

  “Why?” My thinking was still garbled.

  “No one’s been apprehended yet. There’s still a cop gunning for you.”

  All the other questions I had were about the investigation and what happened to my apartment and office. I would wait to ask Mark about this, instead of Martin. Shutting my eyes, I knew I wasn’t going to be much use until the remaining drugs worked their way out of my system. Being a lightweight when it came to medication had its downfall.

  “You’ve been here since Thursday?” my foggy brain mumbled.

  “Thursday night. It provided the perfect opportunity to get to know your cop buddies and meet Jen.” He was putting a positive spin on things.

  “What about work?”

  “Work can wait.” Even in my impaired state, I picked up on the hesitation of his next question. “Alex, we don’t talk about our pasts too often, but why am I the only one here worried about you?”

  “Someone has to do it, but if you don’t want to, Mark can.” I found resting my eyes made it easier to focus on the conversation.

  “No, I meant family.”

  “I don’t have any.” He stopped speaking and traced random patterns on my upper back as I drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  When I came to, the lights were off, and Martin was asleep beside me. Falling asleep on his shoulder didn’t leave him any other option but to stay. I shifted off my hip, which was aching, and squinted at the clock. It was almost five a.m. My brain felt clear, and my hand was bandaged. The I.V. had been removed. With any luck, I’d be discharged in a few hours.

  I did my best to remain still, trying to let him sleep. Running through our previous conversation, I suspected he hadn’t left my side since Thursday night. He was failing to hold up his end of our agreement to put work first, and I would have to remember to ask about the Los Angeles conference which he must be missing. When my new position proved to be even less comfortable, I leaned back, and Martin’s hand, which was resting on my hipbone, tightened to keep me from rolling onto my back. His constant concern, even when he was unconscious, could be irritating. Reaching down, I eased his hand off of my hip and lay flat against the mattress. Anything was better than staying on my numb, uninjured side for another second.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Go back to sleep.” I stared at the ceiling in the dimly lit room, replaying everything I remembered and had been told about the past week.

  “You’re still awake.”

  “All I’ve been doing is sleeping. It’s physically impossible to sleep any longer.” He carefully snuggled against me but didn’t go back to sleep either. “What happened with your conference?”

  “I sent Luc. There will be other conferences.”

  “You didn’t need to stay here. I have friends
with guns to keep me company.”

  “It’s about time I get to do more than practice my surgical skills on you. Surprisingly, it’s kind of nice to be included in your life and hang out with your friends,” he joked. “Nick’s not so bad. I might have misjudged him. But Heathcliff’s a bit stiff, not much for the small talk. Oh, and I told Mark we’re dating.”

  “Lovely.” My old friend, sarcasm, was back.

  We were silent for a time until another stray thought entered his mind. “Maybe I’m prying,” he apparently decided in my current state I would be more forthcoming about who I was and where I came from, “but why are you so opposed to medications and doctors?”

  Sighing audibly, I turned to face him. “When I was fourteen, I found out I was adopted. For all I know, my birth mother may be a drug addict. There is only so much nature versus nurture to consider once you start running the statistics, and I’ve always been afraid I’m genetically predisposed to turn into a substance abuser.” Even though this was how I felt, the words sounded silly coming out of my mouth. Smiling sadly, he rubbed his thumb across my cheek.

  “You won’t. It’s not in you. You’re too much of a control freak.” I laughed at the absurdity of our early morning conversations. Something about hospitals and near-death experiences always turned me into a talker. “Is that why you said you didn’t have any family?”

  “The people who claimed to be my family lied my entire life, and once I turned eighteen, we parted ways. It was a mutual thing. They paid my tuition, but all other communication ceased. They still have bragging rights for taking in a charity case and making a difference, but they made it perfectly clear their job was done. And so was I.” My tone was bitter and cold. It wasn’t a topic I ever talked about and the first he had heard of it. Unsure of what to say, he enveloped me in his arms, and we remained silent until daybreak when the medical professionals examined my back and brought my discharge papers.