Suspicion of Murder

by G. K. Parks

  “We’re working on details,” O’Connell interjected. “It’s need to know, and you don’t.”

  “Last time I checked, we’re all on the same team,” Hoskins began, but O’Connell fixed him with a hard stare. “Are you guys done asking about the intruder today? Because I’d like a chance to discuss the heists and Infinity.” Heathcliff and O’Connell exchanged a look.

  “We can finish up afterward,” Heathcliff offered. They needed an excuse to stay in my apartment.

  “I’m supposed to discuss my investigation in front of you two, but you can’t talk in front of me?” Hoskins was annoyed. Every time he opened his mouth, he painted himself a deeper shade of guilty.

  “Gentlemen,” I interjected, “oddly enough, there’s plenty to go around.” The whorish reference was not lost on me, and I feared Martin’s adolescent sense of humor was catching. “Like you said, you are on the same team. Carl, we’ll go ahead and get the burglary stuff out of the way because I’m sure I’m going to be here all night, looking through mug shots.” Carefully choosing my words and limiting all details, I gave Hoskins a very basic recollection of my first and only Saturday at Infinity. “The thing is, as far as I know, the place wasn’t robbed, so why do you care what happened?”

  “If you weren’t there to stop it, I’m guessing it would have been. The two weeks is going to be up this weekend, and another place might be hit. So I need clues.” Narrowing my eyes, I looked away, hoping to avoid giving him my suspicious glare. “Weren’t the two of you at the club earlier that evening?” Hoskins scrutinized Heathcliff and then O’Connell.

  “Where’d you hear that?” Heathcliff asked.

  “Scuttlebutt around the precinct. One of my guys said he heard some of the detectives in major crimes talking about backing Parker up. You did a real fine job there,” Hoskins commented. O’Connell was getting pissed, but Heathcliff remained his usual stoic self.

  “Well, when she called burglary, no one gave a shit. Unfortunately, the man pushed in front of the train required our attention instead,” Heathcliff neutrally stated, despite the intended dig of his words.

  “Shame really,” O’Connell continued where Heathcliff left off, “I would have loved to get my hands on the burglar turned shooter.”

  “Me too,” Hoskins offered, getting up from the table. “Glad you’re still breathing. Try to keep it that way,” he offered a smile and headed for my front door. “If you come up with any theories on the next club to be hit, let me know. The clock’s ticking.”

  Sixteen

  After the debrief concerning Papadakis, the FBI was reconsidering the identity of the corrupt officers. Given Ernie’s insistence that there was more than one merciless bastard in his bedroom, everything was being reassessed as a joint venture between at least two, if not more, dirty police officers. Our only solid assumption was a detective from burglary was intimately involved and most likely the shooter. When Det. Carl Hoskins showed up at my place in response to the call today, all eyes were focused on him.

  “We’ve got opportunity and motive.” SAC Cooper blew out a breath. “Too bad we don’t have any hard evidence.”

  “What about the bullet fragment?” Mark asked.

  Sullivan, Webster, and Darli had been sent to analyze the data Moretti passed along concerning the whereabouts of the burglary detectives during the times of the heists. This left the three of us alone in the large conference room. Heathcliff and O’Connell phoned earlier and were on their way to a second debrief concerning the attempt at my apartment.

  “Tough sell, but with opportunity and motive, we might be able to get a warrant for Hoskins’ service piece,” Cooper clarified.

  “And if he’s not the guy, then we’re tipping off the entire department that we’re on to them,” I muttered.

  “Let’s see what Moretti’s sent us and if the detectives from major crimes have anything to add before we show our hand,” Cooper concluded. The waiting game was beginning all over again.

  When the FBI trio returned, Mark and I waited patiently for their assessment. Detective Packard was the only one of the four original suspects cleared from our pool of corrupt candidates since he had been teaching a class on nighttime weapons and tactics at the academy during one of the Saturday heists. Additionally, he had been alibied out for the night of the shooting by a few members of vice who needed additional UCs to impersonate gigolos. One down, three more to go.

  I was getting a cup of coffee when Thompson emerged from the elevator. He was carrying a copy paper box full of files. He spotted me and smiled.

  “Those for us?” I asked.

  “Yup, where am I going with these?” Leading the way, I opened the door to the conference room, so he could enter and set the box down. “Mail’s here.” Pulling four stacks from the box, he placed them on the conference table as the FBI agents gawked in amazement. “IAD files on Packard, Hoskins, Metz, and Fisher. Every complaint, every report, everything.”

  “Put Packard back in the box. We cleared him five minutes ago,” Mark announced, scooping up the Fisher files.

  Everyone divvied up the work, and I was left standing near the doorway unsure of my current role. Thompson raised a questioning eyebrow as if to say ‘now what’.

  “I’ll get everyone some coffee.” Turning, I left the room, Thompson right behind me. Once the door shut, I faced him. “Did Heathcliff and O’Connell fill you in?”

  “Yes. O’Connell’s on his way. He got held up by a personal call. Moretti’s talking to IAD, and they’re keeping a tail on Hoskins. It’s all hush-hush, but we want surveillance on him just in case.”

  “Better safe than sorry.”

  Countless hours later, our suspect pool was still at three. Hoskins looked guilty as sin for showing up at my apartment before the unsub had been identified as positively leaving my building. The forensics team was going over every inch of surveillance cam footage to see if the subject could be seen leaving the building, but so far, nothing turned up. My apartment building had shoddy equipment, and only the lobby and my floor had working cameras. He easily could have disappeared, changed, and walked out without a hitch.

  O’Connell and Thompson carefully doled out their rendition of the facts, the situation, and their leads. The FBI agents present hid their scoffs masterfully, and the potential pissing contest was avoided for today. By the time we decided when to reconvene, there was an obvious feel of progress in the air. One, two, or all three remaining suspects could be involved in the heists and the attempted frame-up job. We were monitoring Hoskins, but unless we had solid evidence pointing to either of the other two, we didn’t have enough for a warrant. Honestly, I doubted we had enough to convince a judge to let us test the ballistics from Hoskins’ gun, but the others seemed so hopeful, I didn’t want to rain on their parade.

  O’Connell offered a lift back to Martin’s, and the two of us began discussing things more fully in the privacy afforded by the plastic and steel box with wheels. Unfortunately, even though we were both trained investigators, we didn’t have much insight on the matter.

  “How long has the corruption case been going on?”

  “Two months,” O’Connell supplied, his eyes constantly moving as he watched for tails and other traffic.

  “It started before the first burglary?”

  “A week before. There were two anonymous calls made. The first was to internal affairs and the second to the Bureau. Whoever it was wanted to make sure we took notice.”

  My suspicion rested on Vito being the tipster. More than likely, Stoltz liquor supplier was a front company for him, and who knew how many clubs he had in his back pocket. He might have heard rumors about a renegade cop and wanted to put a stop to things before they got blown out of proportion and messed with his business.

  “How was the investigation going before I got roped into it?”

  “It could have been better. Almost everything we had pointed to corruption in burglary, but we had no hard evidence. Just like now. You poi
nted out the detective shield, and at least we have a bullet fragment whenever we get enough to run comparisons.” Nick sighed deeply. He didn’t have to say it. I already knew; he didn’t like investigating others in the brotherhood.

  “You think it’s Hoskins.” I wasn’t asking a question.

  “Don’t you? There is something wrong with him. He reeks of it. And why show up now? You’ve allegedly been home for the last four days. If he was so concerned about your well-being or tracking potential leads, he should have been banging down the door three days ago. He never showed up at the hospital either. Nothing.” Nick’s anger was stronger than I would have thought.

  “Is something wrong?” Thinking back, Thompson mentioned O’Connell being held up by a personal call.

  “It’s just late, and I’m sick of this shit.” He pulled up to Martin’s and flashed his badge at the surveillance van. They ran through the checklist of approved police personnel and let him proceed.

  “Is Jen working late? I can offer you dinner or coffee or something.” He shook his head and stared out the windshield, waiting for me to exit. “See you soon. Get some sleep.” Entering the security code, I walked through Martin’s front door and re-engaged the security system. There were a lot of things to think about. Why did everything always have to happen at once?

  * * *

  The ringing phone startled me awake, and I jumped up from the couch, scattering papers everywhere. My narcoleptic habits and unnatural attachment to Martin’s sofa had resurfaced after being forced to once again spend my nights at his place while dealing with a particularly daunting case. Old habits die hard, I suppose. Getting up, I grabbed the handset from the wall and held it against my ear.

  “Martin’s residence.” I stifled a yawn.

  “Did I wake you?” Martin asked, amusement in his voice. “It’s three hours earlier here, so I didn’t realize this would be an issue, especially on a Thursday. Did you invite a dozen of your girlfriends over for a slumber party and lingerie pillow fight last night? I hope it was in front of the security cameras, so I can watch when I get home.” Squinting, I noted the microwave’s illuminated nine a.m. I should have been at the office an hour ago. Shit.

  “Damn couch.” I heard a distinct chuckle before he returned to the matter at hand.

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Upstairs,” he began, and I swallowed. The shootout on the fourth floor had occurred almost a year ago, but I hadn’t set foot up there since. My heart raced at the nightmarish thought, but I pushed it away. I had to get out of my own head sometimes. “There’s a USB drive on my dresser. If you can e-mail me the contents, I’d appreciate it. In all the rushing around, I must have forgotten it.”

  “No problem. I’ll send the information to your corporate account. If you don’t get the files within the next ten minutes, call back. Then I have to get to work.” Why didn’t anyone pick me up this morning or at least bother to call? Something was up.

  “Alex,” he stopped mid-hang up, “I miss you.” It was our pathetic attempt at an inside joke. Honestly, it made little sense, but most things which amused him made little sense.

  “Jerk,” I teased before rallying my nerves for the walk upstairs.

  It was anticlimactic. After the initial adrenaline rush hit on the third floor landing, the next flight made little impact. The hallway was carpeted now, instead of hardwood, and the bedroom remained the same. The office down the hall, where Martin had lain bleeding, had been walled up and a new room created. Not having time to take a full tour, I ducked into his bedroom and located the USB drive on the dresser next to a set of car keys. My lack of a ride might have been remedied by this little trip. Two birds, one stone; maybe things were looking up.

  Back down the stairs, I turned on the computer and e-mailed the files. Then I got ready, and grabbing the keys to one of the vehicles in Martin’s extensive sports car collection, I drove to the OIO offices.

  Walking through the conference room doors, Mark and Cooper both turned with confusion evident on their faces. They were in the midst of listening to Agent Sullivan give her account of the debriefing she had been given by my clone, Agent Maureen Navate.

  “Glad you didn’t start without me,” I said pointedly, taking a seat. Luckily, neither Mark nor Cooper wanted to make a scene, and they both turned their attention back to Sullivan.

  Agent Navate hasn’t seen or heard anything during the last few days of her undercover assignment. Frankly, she was bored and wanted to go home. So did I. The suspicious man hadn’t made it to my apartment or resurfaced since yesterday. The debate continued as Sullivan pointed out the possibilities of his return compared to better alternative uses of federal manpower.

  “Why don’t you just let me play the part of Agent Parker?” I whined, annoyance in my voice. “I’ve been told I’m a dead ringer for her. Same height, weight, hair, need I continue?”

  “Same smartass attitude too,” Mark growled. “Are you even cleared for field work yet?”

  “I haven’t checked, but I’m pretty much healed. Want to make sure? I’ll take my shirt off right here, if you want.”

  “Parker,” Cooper interjected sharply. Being unfamiliar with my quirkier personality traits, he had yet to figure out when I was serious and when I was using exaggeration as a technique to reinforce my point. “Regardless of your field readiness, Director Kendall doesn’t want a temporarily deputized agent placed in a position to take lead on an arrest. Therefore,” he turned back to Sullivan, “Agent Navate will continue to remain in Parker’s apartment until further notice. However, please inform her we’ll find a relief agent so she won’t be expected to live there. Just housesit for twelve and then switch off.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  After she was gone, I did my best to deflect the accusatory and semi-angry stares I was receiving from Cooper and Mark. “Any reason I didn’t get picked up this morning?” Shifting my gaze from one to the other, I saw a dark cloud settle over them. “What’s happened now?”

  Seventeen

  “But she’s okay?” I asked for the third time, and Mark nodded.

  O’Connell’s wife was accosted in the hospital parking lot by a few uniformed officers the night before. They suggested she ought to be more careful, and her husband needs to mind his own business and watch out for his family, instead of spying on his brothers in blue. The threat was obvious, but thankfully, it was all bark and no bite.

  “Were the bastards from burglary?” I couldn’t get my mind to wrap around the details.

  “From what O’Connell said, they were just some rookie uniforms who were told by their TO that screwing with your own kind is sacrilege. They wanted to send a message and make a point.” Mark looked pensive. “Honestly, everyone not involved in the investigation wants to make the same point. The scandal is in the open now, and the cops know who’s looking into departmental corruption.”

  “Always have your partner’s back.” I sighed. It was the code all law enforcement lived by. If you couldn’t trust the person next to you, then you didn’t have anything. The only problem with this ethical code was how to deal with a scumbag who got confused which side of the line he was on.

  “O’Connell’s not backing down,” Cooper added. In his monotone voice, it sounded like he was reading the stock market report. I understood Nick’s aversion to rolling over, but some things weren’t worth it. Although, I would dig my heels in too. “He’s going to try to keep a lower profile, and Moretti’s sending him to work the ongoing subway homicide case. It’ll be fine.”

  “Let’s get back to business,” Mark encouraged, producing a notepad with the day’s itinerary.

  With the long hours I was keeping and my still recovering physical condition, my days were blending together. A part of me feared it wasn’t just days, but weeks, months, or even years, that were turning into an unending blur, broken only by monotone dialogue and changing images on the screens. If there had ever been any do
ubt in my mind why I hadn’t returned to the job I walked away from a year and a half ago, I now had my answer. Being human, I bumbled around a bit, got into trouble, and typically pissed off anyone who happened to be in the vicinity, but things were ultimately figured out without sitting in a windowless conference room and staring at the same reports.

  “Agent Jablonsky,” I could be formal when necessary, “I’m not coming in tomorrow. In fact, I might not be back the rest of the week.”

  Mark assessed my words. “That’s not the deal you made with Kendall.”

  Resisting the urge to say Kendall can shove it up his ass, I chose to be diplomatic. “I’m no good here. Pushing papers isn’t solving the problem. Give me some time to let the facts ruminate, and if something pops, I’ll let you know.”

  “Everything from your office is in evidence storage. Don’t go back there.” He knew I wouldn’t listen to being ordered to come to work, so he saved his breath. “Stay away from your apartment too. Other than that, if you have the overwhelming need to chat with someone, particularly a witness or suspect, take an agent as back-up. Understand?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  By the time I pulled my borrowed car out of the garage, it was dark outside. The stars were invisible through the thick blanket of foreboding clouds, indicative of the impending downpour. April showers were supposed to bring May flowers, but it was early March. Goddamn global warming. Driving through traffic, I was cognizant of police vehicles in the area, traffic cams, and other motorists. The old adage, “you break it, you buy it,” worried me because I couldn’t afford to replace Martin’s car or even pay the insurance deductible. Luckily, I arrived at his compound unimpeded and without incident.

  “Aren’t you guys bored?” I asked the federal agents acting as guards.