by G. K. Parks
“Sounds like Heathcliff.” I picked up the stack of reports on the four burglaries and skimmed to see who the responding officer and detective in charge was. “Hoskins is primary on two. Metz and Fisher are primary on one each, and Packard is included because…” My voice trailed off as I stared at an evidence photo from the second heist.
“He assisted on all of them.”
I skimmed through the other three files; all the clubs had a VIP lounge near the office. This reminded me of working Saturday night at Infinity and pondering if the safes were emptied out before the club closed for the night. “Do you have surveillance footage from all four clubs?”
“Yes, it’s at the precinct. The Bureau has a copy, but nothing’s caught on tape. Remember, the footage was wiped. After hours, the clubs were empty, and the footage just blanks out to static.”
“What if the heists were orchestrated during business hours and then made to look like they happened later?”
“You need to go back to sleep because you’re dreaming up some pretty crazy things.” He threw out his empty lunch wrappers. “I have to get back to work. Jablonsky, Heathcliff, and I will be here after five to make sure you’re caught up and to work out a better game plan. In the meantime,” he went to his jacket and pulled out a radio, “you might want to stay in communication with the agents out front. They’ll let you know when you have friendlies entering so you don’t accidentally shoot someone.”
“When have I ever accidentally shot anyone?”
“There’s a first time for everything,” he replied, leaving me to ponder the intricacies of the robberies and the influence a dirty cop could have on the investigations. This gave all the conspiracy theories I normally locked away plenty of time to run rampant through my subconscious mind.
After I finished picking at my lunch, I settled on the couch with a notepad and started over on my own list of leads. Everyone working at Infinity should be interviewed again. Gretchen said there was a police cruiser outside. This could be something worth checking out. Maybe starting at Infinity and working backward would lead to an unforeseen discovery. Could there be a stray shell casing our dirty cop forgot to recover or a footprint left behind?
I was scribbling notes furiously on the paper when the radio chirped. Martin and his driver were approaching the house. It was only a little after two; something was up. A few minutes later, the door opened, and Martin stepped into the living room. Marcal and Bruiser remained downstairs.
“You’re home early.” I continued working on my list.
“Alex,” he distractedly greeted, before heading up the steps and mumbling about incompetent idiots. Twenty minutes later, he was back, speaking into his phone to make sure his itinerary had arrived and double-checking the flight plan was filed. When he concluded the call, he studied me. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”
I gave him a suspicious look. “Are you planning on smuggling me out of the country in order to harvest my organs? Because if you are, then I’m feeling absolutely horrible, and my kidneys aren’t viable.” He snorted, amused.
“The conference has been extended, and my presence is requested. I’m flying out in a couple of hours.”
“Have a safe trip.” I went back to reading my notes.
“Are you sure you’re okay by yourself? I can stay if–” I cut him off midsentence.
“Go. I am fine. Work first, remember? You should have left Friday like you were supposed to. I’ll figure out how to use the coffeemaker, and there are armed guards out front. What more does a girl need?” Not to mention, I’d feel better knowing he was thousands of miles away from this.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but I’ll call and let you know. Try not to get shot while I’m gone.”
“Try to stay out of trouble while you’re gone,” I retorted. Neither of us had a very good track record. “Make sure Bruiser goes with you everywhere. I have too much to handle as it is.” He smirked and went upstairs to finish packing. When he returned, he had a garment bag and a rolling suitcase.
“Before I forget, you might want this back.” He handed me the resignation letter I shoved at him last week. Across the page, he had written in bright red letters ‘Denied’. “You can’t just quit your one stable job that easily, particularly now that you don’t have your waitressing income to fall back on.”
“In that case, make sure you call before you return. I’m going to need the warning in order to finish stealing all your fine art and priceless possessions.” I hesitated. “Are you sure it’s okay I’m staying here?”
“Of course.” He rubbed his thumb across my cheek and leaned in for a kiss. “Plus, now you have the perfect opportunity to rob me blind. It’s okay. My homeowner’s insurance will cover it.”
“My god, you might just be a genius.” I kissed him excitedly and hurried back to my file folders. “Oh, and have a safe flight.”
Thirteen
Martin had uttered a few magical words, sending me spiraling back on track. Insurance – what types of protection would the clubs have established as reimbursement for theft and damages? There were a lot of avenues to consider, but insurance companies needed official reports. If a cop was on the take, the reports could be fabricated, the investigations could be completely bogus, and everyone could be walking away with thousands without any real robbery ever having been committed.
The large, glaringly obvious hole in my theory was noted in my aching side. Some things were a pain in the ass; this was a pain in the side. Our unknown subject had gone to Infinity and attempted to silence everyone still inside. There would be no reason to do this unless an actual physical robbery was taking place.
“Goddammit,” I cursed, throwing my notepad across the expanse of the empty living room. Focus on the facts, Parker. No supposition or testimony by anyone, including Ernie Papadakis, counted as fact. I needed to come up with the truth on my own. The only certainty was our unsub had attempted to kill Harrigan and frame me. He had entered through the double doors in the back where deliveries occurred, and when he claimed to be responding to a call, he had left through the same set of doors. The police vehicles were out back, waiting for him.
Why would the police be out back? When I made the 911 call, I gave the address but little else. Sure, surrounding all exits and entrances was sound practice, but to have even more black and whites stationed out back than in the front made no sense. The son of a bitch must have been in a police cruiser and already parked out back. When the rest of the cavalry rode in to save the day, they followed his lead.
“Do we have surveillance footage from outside the club?” I asked as soon as Mark answered the phone.
“Cameras were all disconnected. No footage. What are you thinking?” Filling him in on my current theory, he remained silent as he mulled over the information. “He must have been planning it for a few days. The last time the cameras held any data was the Thursday before.”
Thursday had also been my first day working at the club. The uneasy feeling returned to the pit of my stomach. Were my conspiracy theories running away with me, or did one of the boys in burglary who knew the details of my work with Ernie devise the plan to set me up to take the fall?
My memory was a total blur. After spending the past week on the run and drugged to the point of unconsciousness, my recollection of the previous week was somewhat shoddy. The only detective I had been in contact with was Hoskins, but this didn’t mean he hadn’t shared the information with someone else in his department. No matter what angle I explored, it always led back to a giant question mark; anyone could be involved. With any luck, we’d make some progress tonight, and by tomorrow, I would be pounding the pavement, looking for answers.
Like clockwork, by a quarter to six, the guys were assembled around the table with a six pack and a few pizza pies between us. Everything in the files and casework left too many holes to be helpful. Mark gave another briefing over the FBI’s assumptions and leads, and Heathcliff updated me on the IAD investiga
tion. The only conclusion both teams had drawn was our unsub was a burglary detective.
“Hoskins?” I asked the room. Heathcliff and O’Connell exchanged a brief glance before shrugging their shoulders in unison. At least they had their Patty Duke routine down. “Okay, Patty and Kathy, is anyone more obvious than Hoskins?”
“Like I told you this afternoon, it could be anyone. Or any combination,” O’Connell replied.
“We’d love to bring the entire department in for questioning,” Mark added. “Any way your union reps are going to be willing to let it happen?”
“Dragging the names of good men through the mud isn’t going to help anything.” Heathcliff was a cop, and sometimes, I wondered if he was capable of being anything else. Then again, he had kicked protocol to the curb when it came to driving me to the hospital. Mark was getting impatient, and before it turned into us versus them, I intervened.
“I agree. The look of impropriety is almost as bad as a conviction. We don’t want to risk slandering the wrong person, especially when it’s a fellow crime fighter.” I added the last part for Mark’s benefit, and he sunk back in his chair. Even though we were equally matched, federal agent to police detective, my allegiances were fickle, and I was stuck acting as the go-between. “Can Moretti do anything behind closed doors?”
“He’s trying, but no one wants to say anything,” O’Connell offered. Mark muttered something under his breath about the whole lot being dirty. “Like I was telling Alex, how did we come to the conclusion it’s just one bad apple acting alone?” No one offered an explanation, and our meeting was turning into a witch hunt. I got up to clear the table, and Heathcliff offered to help while Mark and O’Connell continued to throw friendly jabs over the other’s incompetence.
“You doing okay?” Heathcliff asked quietly. We were standing near the sink, avoiding the crossfire.
“Yes. Thank you for not slapping on the cuffs and tossing me into holding.”
“I can’t make any guarantees for next time, but I’m glad you’re feeling better. Where’s James?”
“Out of town at a conference.” Narrowing my eyes, I was curious to see where this conversation was going.
He nodded thoughtfully and put down the dish towel. “He’s a good guy.” Apparently, Martin had made quite the impression. Without another word, Heathcliff went back to the table and commandeered the attention of our two co-workers. “There’s at least one dirty cop, maybe more. Are you two planning on throwing insults all night, or shall we figure out a better way to handle this situation?”
The four of us worked until the early a.m. hours. Beginning with the shootout at Infinity, we were narrowing down potential suspects. As soon as Heathcliff and O’Connell reported in at the precinct, they were going to start running records of everyone in burglary to see who could be accounted for. It was a time-consuming task, but it would yield the best results possible. From there, our police counterparts would work backward through the other heists until a reasonable suspect list was compiled.
In the morning, Jablonsky and I were going to the FBI offices, and I was getting introduced to our federal agent leadership. The Bureau was busy sifting through phone records, radio calls, and surveillance footage in order to identify anyone suspicious at the time of the heists. The feds were also re-examining all of the evidence and crime scenes to ensure everything matched up, and there were no obvious signs of tampering. Neither side had a particularly glamorous job.
Until we had a list of possible leads, my role in all of this was to keep a low profile and stay out of the limelight. It had already been decided, once again without my consent, the misinformation circulating around my involvement in this case was that I was currently a cooperating witness in the identification of our shooter. This didn’t seem reasonable since I didn’t believe our perp had gotten a clear view of me either, but it might be enough to scare him off. It was still a widely held belief that Harrigan was unresponsive and not assisting in a more usable sketch of his assailant.
“Can you get me cleared to talk to him?” I asked Mark after O’Connell and Heathcliff left for the night.
“Send your request through Kendall. It’ll be your best bet. Although, I doubt the marshals will risk their star witness when we still don’t know who we’re protecting him from.” True, we’d need more concrete evidence in the meantime.
“How am I supposed to visit the scenes or talk to anyone from Infinity if I’m assumed to be a witness?”
“Parker, we’ll figure all of this out tomorrow when you run your cockamamie ideas around the FBI agents in charge. In the meantime, do you care if I crash here? It’s almost three a.m., and we’re supposed to be at work by eight.”
“Take the couch. I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.”
Calling it a night, I went to the guestroom and ignored the confused look on Mark’s face. He didn’t understand why I wasn’t sleeping upstairs in Martin’s room, but after surviving a firefight on the fourth floor almost a year ago, it shouldn’t be that hard to put two and two together. It was another of the things I needed to work on. I had gotten over the uneasiness of being in Martin’s house; maybe one day I would conquer my anxiety over the indelible images of him being shot in his fourth story office.
Morning came all too soon, and I fought bitterly with the coffeemaker from hell. What was the point of brewing a single cup at a time? Obviously, the inventor didn’t understand the need for a constant supply of caffeine.
“Are you sure you’re doing that right?” Mark teased, coming into the kitchen. The creases across his dress shirt made it obvious he slept in his clothes, but then again, he always looked like he slept in his clothes.
“No, it’s a torture device meant to be the bane of my existence. On the way back, we’re stopping at the store to buy an actual coffeepot, unless I’m allowed to go home.”
Mornings typically annoyed me, and going back to work in an official capacity made me even bitchier. He kept his mouth shut, and after more cursing and my obvious defeat, he produced two cups of coffee from the infernal machine. Searching the cabinets, I found a few to-go cups, and we were on our way.
Fourteen
“Agent Parker,” Special Agent in Charge Steve Cooper extended his hand, “it’s a pleasure. I’ve heard excellent things about your work.” Cooper was head of the joint task force and looked like a cross between a varsity jock and an accountant. His features were boyish, but he lacked the liveliness or vivacity of someone in their mid-thirties. Dull would accurately describe his monotone expressions and voice.
“Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“Back to business then.” Cooper gestured to a seat at the conference table. By the time I sat down, he had turned on the Smartboard, mounted to the wall behind him, and was flipping through crime scene photos. “You’ve already been briefed on our current findings, but I thought emphasizing some of the more obvious facts would be helpful.” Glancing at Mark, I stifled a yawn, and he shot a warning look my way. “The security cam footage was scrubbed for signs of tampering, but nothing has been recovered. Each location relied on digital surveillance, and the hard drives were wiped. Our forensic IT team is working on it, but it doesn’t look promising. Moving on,” Cooper flipped to some different photos, “no tool marks or other signs of tampering were evident at any of the clubs.” Next slide. “With the exception of Infinity, there was no apparent property damage, no gunshots, and no vandalism aside from the actual thievery.”
The monotony continued as I contemplated the benefits of a ten cup coffeemaker compared to a four cup. The prices probably weren’t too dissimilar, so there was no reason not to indulge in the ten cup. In Martin’s house, there was plenty of room to keep it. Plus, if I had to work with SAC Comatose, I’d need the extra six cups.
“Do you want to add anything I might have missed?” Cooper asked. Dammit, I always zoned out at the wrong times. Assessing the photo array, I tried to wing it.
“The slugs you p
ulled out of the back wall of Infinity were mine. The casings on the floor behind the bar, also mine. When I pursued the shooter to the back door, he didn’t have time to stop and pick up his spent casings. Then again, when I was forced to flee in order to evade capture, I don’t recall seeing anyone digging through Mr. Harrigan to retrieve bullet fragments either.”
“Any idea how long the unsub was alone in the club before reinforcements arrived?”
“He wasn’t. Our shooter was outside, speaking with the responding officers, when I fled the scene. Any evidence tampering occurred after uniforms were on site,” I clarified as Mark leaned back in his chair and bit absently at a hangnail. From past experience, this meant he had a thought.
“Bring in the rest of our crack team of investigators,” Mark told Cooper, “and we’ll start breaking things down since we’re all up to speed.” Cooper wasn’t used to being told what to do, but Mark had seniority, even if it wasn’t in this office. “Parker, you saw the guy’s reflection in the club, and you saw him speaking to the officers outside. Why can’t you identify him?”
“You all look the same from the chest down and from the back,” I replied, annoyed.
Mark snickered, enjoying riling my feathers. “The bastard must have found time to send the rest of the reinforcements away while he retrieved the damning evidence, or he’s got others working with him.”
“Agent Parker,” Cooper returned with three other agents, “meet Agents Sullivan, Webster, and Darli.”
Corinne Sullivan had auburn hair and a freckled face. She had worked bank robberies in the past and been made the poster girl for a recruitment campaign a couple years ago, but Nate Webster and Andrew Darli were a mystery. The three of them all looked uneasy, and I wondered if it had anything to do with my questionable status or how often I had been shot or otherwise injured in the past year.
