Forgotten Place

by LS Sygnet

  After a week of physical therapy, I had achieved 65 percent abduction of my left arm, abduction of course, meaning how far I could extend my arm away from the midline of my body. It was not fast enough for my liking.

  "Pushing yourself harder won't give you a faster result, Helen," Amy scolded (the nerve!) when my left shoulder joint was stiff as a board Monday morning. "I can tell that your range of motion is limited from overexertion and not lack of exercise this weekend, so don't even think of trying to tell me you took a couple of days off."

  "You can't possibly know that."

  She was fearless, that one. Instead of cowering away from my cold accusation, she merely smiled. "Sure I can. Don't you know that the change in your muscle mass is visible? You lifted free weights with your left arm. I can feel the stiff muscle when I do this." Her fingers dug into my bicep.

  It sucked a yelp from my gut. "Don't do that! Jesus, were you trained by Hitler?"

  "Remember when I told you that it was great that in five sessions you increased range of motion from 25 percent to 65 percent?"

  "Of course I remember."

  "You're back down to 50 percent now, Helen. Congratulations. You've probably tacked another week onto therapy. You're not trying to ease your way back onto the job early, are you?"

  "No." Truer words had not fallen from these fat lips all year. I scowled at her, and then nothing in particular when she returned my expression with one of her own.

  Don't blame me – you're the one who didn't follow directions.

  Such a simple but effective look. Amy might've been an intern, but she had the skill of a veteran already. I harrumphed and admitted my crime. "I figured if I achieved 40 percent in five days with you, maybe I could bump it up another fifteen or twenty on my own."

  "Your body needed the rest. Pick up the three pound weight and see if you can abduct to here." Her hand spanned a 30 degree arc away from my body. "Good. Now hold it and count to thirty."

  Numbers started ticking through my head.

  "Count out loud."

  I groaned and let the weight drag my arm down to my side. "It hurts. I should've taken that magic pill before I came over this morning."

  "You should've followed my directions. Let's get the infra red on you for awhile and try the whirlpool, see if we can't lure some of the stiffness out of the joint and muscles before we try the exercises again."

  I was about to comply when the cell phone on my belt clip chimed.

  "Don't even think about answering that."

  Too late. I looked at the caller ID. Something about my dream sparked renewed desire to hear the voice of whoever might be calling me. An unfamiliar local number only served to heighten curiosity, not dampen it.

  "Eriksson."

  "Helen, it's Zack Carpenter. Am I calling at a bad time?"

  My chest constricted. Zack was not pleased when the gunshot wound forced him to bring in a less compelling forensic psychologist to testify at Jerry Lowe's competency hearing. The end result was far from optimal. Nobody lost, but nobody won either. Lowe was currently placed under an involuntary commitment order at Dunhaven, the local psychiatric hospital, while a more in-depth evaluation of his fitness for standing trial was conducted.

  "I'm in physical therapy. Is this about –"

  "Nothing serious, Helen. I called about your plans for the weekend."

  Wine. Fireplace. Depression. Self-loathing. Nightmares. Urgent stuff. "Um..."

  "You should've received the invitation in the mail a few weeks ago."

  "Yeah, I haven't exactly been up to dealing with my personal correspondence."

  His frown was silent, but I heard it just the same. "How is the therapy progressing? Are you getting adequate help at home?"

  Fine, Carpenter. Blame my neglect of the United States Postal Service on a bum arm. "Yes, but I bank and pay bills electronically, so what little I get in the mailbox is usually junk. No offense to whoever invited me to something."

  "It's the annual Christmas party for law enforcement personnel. I suspected that you either weren't feeling up to attending –"

  Great excuse, thank you very much.

  "Or hadn't seen the invitation. It would mean so much to everyone if you could attend, Helen. I thought I'd call and see if... well, if you aren't planning to attend with someone already, perhaps you'd give me the honor of escorting you to the event."

  I dragged my lower lip through my teeth. "I'm not sure I'm up for a social event, Zack, least of all some police department Christmas party."

  Amy Bigmouth piped up, "It would do you good to get out of the house, Helen. You've got enough range of motion for dinner and a little dancing. Go with the man already."

  She's lucky I'm impaired. The urge to drown her in the three foot deep aluminum whirlpool tub was strong.

  "Was that your physical therapist?"

  "She's an intern, so she barely qualifies to have an opinion." I glared at my tormenter and probably melted ten pounds off her stocky frame.

  "I'm sorry. I feel like I'm putting undue pressure on you, Helen. Besides, from what I've heard, if anybody should be inviting you to the law enforcement gala, it's Johnny Orion."

  I stood stock still. "Orion? What gave you the impression I'd go with him? I thought you said this thing was for law enforcement."

  Zack fell silent, but not for long. "He didn't tell you?"

  "Tell me what?"

  "When he saved your life... Helen, Johnny blew his cover. What I heard –"

  Oh Darkwater Bay, your infamous rumor mill never ceases to amaze me.

  "Was that when the paramedics showed up to take you to the hospital, that some of the Downey cops had to physically restrain him. One of them actually thought he would arrest Orion for shooting Kim Jackson and killing him. Johnny whipped out his badge and practically shoved it down the poor kid's throat. Weren't you curious about how Johnny shot Jackson without any repercussions?"

  Honestly, it was probably the only question that hadn't popped into my head. Then again, I elevated wallowing in despair to a high art form over the past couple of months. I couldn't be bothered to care what Johnny did to save my literal life after learning that he broke the law to get Mark Seleeby and the FBI off my case.

  "I've had other things going on."

  "Well, it's no secret anymore. The world knows Johnny is the guy behind the badge of power at OSI."

  I was sure Chris Darnell was thrilled to be publicly reduced to a puppet administrator. "I'm afraid I'll have to pass on Saturday night, Zack." Big law enforcement bash, Johnny's cover blown, no thank you. It was one thing to have heart shattering dreams about the man. Rubbing elbows with him in public after two months of active avoidance delved directly into the realm of very bad plan.

  "Right. I shouldn't have asked. Well, I should've realized that you'd rather attend with Johnny."

  Then again… "Zack, I'm not sure where you're getting your information, but Johnny Orion is not in the picture anymore."

  "He's not?"

  "No. I wouldn't even call it a picture when we were sort of... well, toying with the idea. It was more of a doodle on a cocktail napkin than a picture."

  "Oh."

  "How formal is this gala Saturday night?"

  "Black tie," Zack said. "Are you having second thoughts about attending?"

  Second, third, millionth. "What time will you pick me up?"

  "Five thirty," he said. "Cocktails at six followed by dinner at seven. After dinner, there's a brief awards ceremony, typically when Darkwater Bay decorates officers for outstanding service during the calendar year, and then dancing and socializing, but it's entirely understandable that you wouldn't want to stay past –"

  My brain heard cocktails, but Zack had something else in mind.

  "The awards."

  "We'll play that part by ear, I suppose."

  "I'm delighted."

  My voice dipped lower as I stepped away from the perked ears of my therapist. "Zack, this thing with Orion, how muc
h did it hamper the investigation he was working on for the past couple of years?"

  A slow breath blew over the connection. "It's tough to say, Helen. You'd have to talk to him about it, but I can tell you this. Danny Datello has been pretty vocal about the deceptive tactics of law enforcement of late. It's no secret that he had to realize Johnny was watching him in an official capacity now that word is out about his real position. Rumor has it that Datello is scouring the ranks of the state senate for someone to challenge Joe Collangelo in the next election."

  "So he can get rid of OSI no doubt." Stupid! Orion should've maintained his cover and let Darnell deal with the fallout from Kim Jackson's shooting. The idea of Danny Datello slipping through the cracks yet again gnawed at my gut, sparked a little bit of vendetta back to life within me. I'd been so wrapped up in running away, in the inability to run away immediately that everything else faded into obscurity.

  "I'm afraid Datello might have the connections to pull it off too, Helen. Like I said, I'm not aware of the details of Johnny's current investigation, but I do know that he's been working almost around the clock for the past few weeks. No doubt he's feeling the pressure from Collangelo's end of the hierarchy too."

  "Because if someone isn't arrested on a charge that will stick, Joe stands to lose a great deal. I can't tell you how much that disturbs me."

  "Downey Division, all of Darkwater Bay for that matter, could sure use you back at a hundred percent, Helen. It feels like we're taking a giant step backward after some very promising progress."

  Amy's foot tapping intruded on something I would've rather continued to discuss. "My tormenter is losing her patience, Zack. Perhaps we can discuss this more at dinner Saturday night."

  "I look forward to it."

  We disconnected and Amy huffed, "'Bout damn time. Shut the phone off, Helen. Our time is finite. If you want to put those dancing shoes on Saturday night, we've got a lot of work to do."

  I was a little surprised at how much the idea appealed to me. Well, not the dancing part, but getting my head into something outside pity. Danny Datello, my nemesis and the only living part of the equation that ruined my life, did the trick. I spent the next forty-five minutes focused on being obedient and following Amy's directions to the point that it roused her suspicions.

  "I thought you weren't really interested in this party Saturday night."

  "Hmm?"

  "Sure sounded like your friend had to twist your good arm to talk you into it. Why the sudden change of heart?"

  "You were persuasive that it would be good for me."

  "Ha!" she barked. "You don't listen to a thing I say or follow a single direction because I ask you to do it. What's the real motivation here?"

  "Can you keep a secret?" That was a joke. Darkwater Bay, for the level of corruption it has and its dirty underbelly, is filled with people who couldn't hold a confidence to save their lives. Exhibit A, Batshit Crazy, drug dealer of massive moron caliber who died because he admitted that a dead undercover cop frequented Uncle Nooky's bar.

  "Sure!"

  "I've got to get back to work."

  The twinkle in her eyes died, the shoulders deflated. "Is that all? Here I thought there was some great romance about to bud."

  I couldn't remember the last time I laughed and meant it. As it turned out, Amy's dark humor lifted my spirits and became a turning point in therapy. I felt better than I had in weeks, goals meant something to me again. Goals that didn't involve erasing my identity.

  With high spirits, I left therapy with a sincere promise not to overdo at home and continue to give my best effort through the duration of physical therapy.

  "This may come back to bite me in the butt, Helen, but I think I believe you meant that."

  I wasn't sure how I felt about giving off an aura of dishonesty no matter what I said, no matter how long the audience had known me. It was a conscious decision to chalk it up to her smart ass sense of humor.

  The Expedition was parked on the sixth level of the hospital garage. My brain was on Datello, a little bit on Orion and how much he probably hated me for being the reason his cover was blown. After all, it was one thing to come out of the undercover cop closet with a payoff being the undying love of the woman whose life you saved. It was another to be unceremoniously thrown out on your ass.

  Suddenly it made sense. His absence had nothing to do with respecting my wishes. Johnny found himself in the unenviable position of having no choice but keep his mouth shut and walk away. To do otherwise would incriminate him in a crime as felonious as mine had been.

  Tiny pangs of regret pricked my heart, not just for another shot at putting Datello behind bars slipping away. Guilt almost propelled my cell phone into my hand, tempted me to dial a familiar number and offer an apology for inadvertently screwing up Orion's cover. If I had waited for backup that night... if I hadn't been so reticent with Briscoe and Conall and made a stupid decision to sneak off and close the case my way... if, if, if.

  At the door of the Exposition, I found the iPhone in hand instead of the car keys. If I were a religious girl, I'd have seen it as a sign that it was time show a little bit of the empathy I recently discovered.

  Or, not.

  Voices tickled the periphery of my awareness. Sweet and feminine preceded low and deep. Then the shriek bounced through the concrete structure.

  Chapter 3

  For ten years, I carried a semi-automatic pistol on my left hip. Even though I denied working in the field as an agent on a regular basis, the habit of reaching for the gun was ingrained as much as waking in the morning and trudging into the shower for the morning routine.

  I cursed softly and ducked. Since the shooting, I was no longer in the habit of leaving the house, let alone wearing the gun. I ducked beside the Expedition and dug through the purse for the .38 snub nose revolver I carried since moving to the land of lax gun control. Cell phone was already out. I dialed 9-1-1.

  "This is Detective Eriksson from Downey Division, badge number 48125. I'm in the parking garage at MSUH on level six. A woman is screaming. Send backup, I'm going to render aid."

  I shoved the phone back into my purse and left it tucked under the car. Carefully, I dodged from vehicle to vehicle. Voices continued in urgent tones. His carried menace. Hers dripped pleading.

  I darted to the concrete pylon that separated this row of parking from the center aisle. Pressed against the cold surface, I wondered if my range of motion would permit me to raise the gun high enough to fire safely.

  A grunt of pain, a low snarl of bitch conveyed that I didn't have time to debate my skills at the moment. I stepped out from my cover and took aim while my brain processed what the eyes saw. Head to toe in black, a man with a wicked blade hissed into the ear of the girl he held against him.

  "Darkwater Bay police! Drop the knife!"

  He didn't of course. Instead, his right hand slashed, blood spurted and my victim crumpled to the concrete. Sirens in the parking garage signaled the rapid approach of backup while my perpetrator took off at a dead run.

  "Dammit!" I shoved the gun in the waist of my jeans and rushed to the girl on the garage floor. Blood pooled around her head. I tore off my jacket and applied pressure to the left side of her neck. An unmarked car save for flashing lights in the front window screeched to a halt only a few feet away.

  MSUH is perhaps a mile, maybe two from Downey Division. During my brief tenure in the city, even I knew that the approaching assistance was from the division I technically called home. "She's got a knife wound to the left side of her neck."

  "Ma'am, step back and let us do our job."

  I looked up, stunned that someone from Downey hadn't recognized me. "I'm –"

  "Goddammit, get out of my way!" The swarthy detective who immediately reminded me of a pirate (without the gold earring) shoved me aside.

  I lost my balance and teetered left, caught myself with the bad arm and groaned.

  "Get her statement, Ned." Rude guy scooped the victim
off the floor and ran for the elevator.

  Ned Williams offered a hand up. "Hey, Eriksson. Sorry about that. Are you all right?"

  I flinched and rubbed my shoulder. "Who was that jerk?"

  He grinned. "New guy that Darnell and Orion recruited from Montgomery. His name is Devlin Mackenzie."

  "Great," I muttered. "The Neanderthal squad grows. What's his problem?"

  "You've avoided your brothers and sisters in blue for so long, he knows the name but not the face." He looked at the pool of blood on the concrete and shook his head. "Does trouble naturally find you like this, or are you seriously that unlucky?"

  For a moment, the pain in my shoulder and my irritation at being shoved aside obscured the crime I witnessed. "I was leaving physical therapy."

  "This early in the morning?"

  "I apparently was mistaken thinking that the earliest possible appointment would allow me to avoid the public. I was about to leave when I heard that woman scream. I called it in and came to render aid. When I stepped out from that pylon," I pointed behind me, "the perp had a knife to her throat. When I identified myself and ordered him to drop the weapon, he slit her throat. I didn't give chase."

  "Good," Williams' eyes scanned the area. "Looks like he kept the knife on him. I'd hate to see stabbed added to the tally of injuries you've received in our fair city."

  "I'm armed, Ned. I think my gun trumps his knife."

  "Let me get some gloves and we'll see if we can put a name on our victim."

  I frowned. "Aren't you calling Crime Scene Division to process the scene?"

  "Hmm. A mugging in a parking garage. My victim is alive and transported to the emergency room. I've got a puddle of blood and a handbag. I think Forsythe would rip me a new one for asking them to show up for this, Helen. We've got a digital camera in the kit. Don't worry. I'll take pictures. And while I do, you can tell me what this mugger looked like."

  My mind zoomed into focus on what I recalled seeing. "He was wearing black."