by LS Sygnet
But. Here it comes. I'd heard it from the orthopod two weeks ago. "Call me Helen."
"All right, Helen. My concern is that these bones aren't healing as quickly or with the strength they should for someone your age. Heather mentioned that one of your friends downstairs said that you look like you've lost some weight since your injury."
Big mouth. Both of them. "It's nothing serious, Dr. Scott. I've been sleeping a lot and my appetite hasn't been what it was. I'm sure it's pain related. Dr. Malcolm wasn't concerned about it when I saw him a couple of weeks ago, beyond suggesting a better calcium and vitamin D supplement."
He cocked his head to one side. "Given the traumatic event you suffered, I'd say your symptoms sound more like depression or post-traumatic stress than an absorption issue."
Who was this guy? Moonlighting as a psychiatrist on the side? "Dr. Scott, I appreciate your concern, but I'm not –"
"You're a psychologist. Everyone knows this. Get a script for something to help your mood, Helen. You know better."
Shame and rebuke do not good bedfellows make.
"I'm not trying to offend you, but if these bones don't get stronger, you're looking at serious problems down the road. Dr. Malcolm is probably the best orthopedic surgeon in the city, but he's missing the boat here." He perched on the edge of his desk. "How bad are the nightmares?"
"I get plenty of sleep."
"Helen, how bad are they?"
"Disturbing but I sleep more now than I did before the accident."
"Do you always think about this attempted murder as an accident?"
Let me pause here to revise my first opinion. Dr. Scott had to be a psychiatrist moonlighting in radiology. "Sometimes it's easier to refer to it that way with people not intimately involved in the incident." I chose careful words this time. "I generally don't talk about cases when litigation is still pending."
"And a therapist is bound by confidentiality as you well know. These screws in your shoulder aren't going to hold if the healing bone isn't strong. If you're unable to eat enough to maintain what had to be a body mass index below normal to begin with, it's a problem."
He pulled open the drawer at his left hip and pulled out a prescription pad. "This is not a normal practice. I will be following up with you in a month to make sure you've scheduled an appointment with someone qualified to deal with your emotional issues, Helen. In the meantime, I'm writing a script for a low dose of Prozac. Do you have any medication allergies?"
"None."
"I want you to take 20 milligrams daily, in the morning starting this morning, and schedule an appointment with someone to start talking about what happened to you. It's your decision to blow this off, Helen, but I strongly discourage you from doing so. I don't have to explain how emotional health impacts physical healing. You're too young to face the chronic disability that's going to happen if you don't start taking better care of yourself."
In retrospect, his lecture was a lot easier to swallow than the one I would've gotten from Orion had he seen me at the depths of my misery that morning. I found it bizarre to have a script for an antidepressant written by a radiologist, but he was far more personable than Dr. Malcolm, and the impact sunk into my thick skull for a change.
He was right. I needed to be in top form sooner than ever. If a case against Datello was coming to a head, God only knew how long I had to make sure that justice was served this time. Whatever doubts I had over the past few months drifted far away from my conscience now. Datello's days were numbered – one way or another.
I popped the first pill at the pharmacy and washed it down with a gulp of water. The pain pill would have to wait until I got home. It wasn't planned that I'd be at physical therapy for hours instead of two including transit time. The dull ache numbed the fingers on my left hand by the time I pulled into the empty garage at home.
The answering machine light was blinking wildly, but I ignored it and shut off the ringers on the phones. One oxycontin later, and I was ready for a nap. I curled up in the unmade bed and let my eyes close. Questions about how the attack on Journey Ireland could possibly relate to her father's murder haunted my thoughts.
Chapter 5
Devlin Mackenzie sat in the conference room next to Lieutenant Finkelstein's office with stoic resolve. Shoving Dr. Eriksson at the crime scene surely would have consequences. He'd accept them. If it meant hightailing it back to Montgomery after only three short weeks in Darkwater Bay, so be it. It wasn't as though anyone had made a secret about how everyone felt about the absentee criminal profiler.
She simply wasn't what he expected.
His mind chastised him for thinking something that even felt uncomplimentary in his conscience, but the truth was, Dr. Helen Eriksson looked more like the cancer survivor he recently discovered the chief medical examiner was. Dr. Winslow on the other hand, appeared robust, even while she grinned and ribbed his new partner Ned Williams that her hair wasn't falling out, it was getting thicker with every chemo treatment.
Strange city. He'd been warned by his former partner in Montgomery. "Darkwater Bay is like an alternate universe," Andy Gillette told him. "Up is sideways, down is diagonal. Heaven is hell, and hell as most understand it, is Central Division."
Dev liked Johnny Orion, though it was Chris Darnell that recruited him out of the relative sanity of the political center of the state to work in Darkwater Bay. Chris had been Devlin's commanding officer in the Marines over 20 years ago. The move to Darkwater Bay invoked all the insecurities Devlin felt as a private in the Marines.
Step up, Mackenzie. You're not some rookie detective. Start acting like it. It's not like Eriksson identified herself at the crime scene. Ned didn't even have the decency to give me a heads up. Our victim is alive, maybe because I acted quickly and got her down to the emergency room.
"Devlin?"
His eyes snapped into focus on the lieutenant. "We're all here now."
Dev nodded curtly at Orion who was the latecomer to the meeting.
"I understand Ms. Ireland owes you a serious debt of gratitude," Orion said. "Crevan said the doctors were very optimistic that the damage to her jugular vein could be repaired and that she'll make a full recovery."
"Thank you, sir."
"Johnny will do fine," he smiled and cocked his head to one side.
"I only hope that Detective Eriksson wasn't seriously injured, sir."
Clouds flitted over the recently friendly expression in Orion's eyes. "Yes, well, I'm sure she's in good hands. Crevan said that she went home to rest after all the excitement."
"Right, John," Ned said. "She saw the attack and gave me her statement at the scene. I think she also pointed Devlin in the direction of one of Ireland's close friends."
"Amy Peterson," Devlin offered. "Apparently she's Detective Eriksson's physical therapist. She was in the emergency department when I brought the victim in for treatment. Detective Eriksson spoke with her and encouraged her to cooperate with an interview. Peterson seemed certain that only one person felt any ill will toward Ms. Ireland, a man by the name of James Linder. I checked to see if the guy's got a record before I came in here."
"And?"
Devlin shook his head. "Minor stuff. Solicitation a couple of times when he was in his forties –"
"Wait a second. Journey can't be more than what, twenty-five?" Johnny interrupted. "Exactly how old is Linder?"
"Fifty-two, sir. Ms. Ireland is twenty-six years old."
Orion dragged one hand over his face. "Jesus. Daddy issues anyone?"
Mackenzie had picked up on the fact that there was a serious chunk of ancient history missing from what he'd learned so far. "I think someone should tell me why this isn't a simple mugging interrupted by an off duty cop."
"Is that what it looks like to you, Devlin?" Shelly asked.
A guarded mask dropped into place. "I don't know the full story, so I'm pretty sure I'm not qualified to say what this looks like, lieutenant."
"Nonsense," Johnny said. "If
we've learned anything around here in the past six months it's that sometimes fresh eyes are exactly what we need. Give us your impression, Devlin."
"Well, Commander Orion, it looked like Detective Eriksson interrupted a robbery. When she identified herself as a police officer, the perp slashed his victim's throat to buy time for an escape, knowing that her first duty would be to render assistance to the injured victim."
Johnny nodded. "On the surface, that's exactly what it looks like. What would you think if I told you that sixteen years ago, Journey's father was assassinated?"
"It's an unfortunate truth that the world is a violent place, commander, but it doesn't seem to be compelling evidence in this case."
Crevan Conall tapped his ink pen on the table. "Her father was an assistant district attorney, assassinated in the parking garage that Central Division shares with the District Courthouse, Devlin."
"I see. Still, it could be a horrific coincidence," Devlin said, still unconvinced.
"Sixteen years ago today," Shelly added the final bit of evidence, "and it was widely believed that the assassin was hired to kill her father by Danny Datello."
"Was he stabbed to death?" Devlin started asking the right questions.
"Shot in the back of the head," Johnny replied. "His office was ransacked and nobody could determine that anything was actually removed."
"Was the assassin apprehended?"
"By Tony and Johnny," Crevan said. "He suffered a fatal heart attack while he was confessing to the murder."
"Let me guess," Devlin said. "He never got around to fingering the guy who hired him to do the deed before he died."
"Yeah," Orion's fists clenched on top of the table. "So in the technical sense, we solved the case. We arrested the killer and got a confession out of him before he died."
"Half solved," Devlin spoke brave, but obvious words. "The man who set the ball in motion is still out there, scot free."
Johnny pounded the table lightly. "That's the long and short of it."
"I still think we need to investigate this case as a distinct and separate crime," Devlin said. "If it is related to ADA Ireland's murder, the facts will bear that out, but if it isn't..."
"We run the risk of another would-be killer getting away with the crime," Shelly said. "I agree, Devlin. Did you get any other useful information out of Ms. Peterson this morning?"
"The usual stuff, names of friends and living family members. It seems there's only one in the latter category, and it doesn't sound like she'll be of any help in the case. Peterson said that Ireland's mother has been in a convalescent home for the past few years with something called –" he paused to flip through his notes, "Pick's disease. It's some kind of dementia I guess, and her mother doesn't even speak anymore. Ireland has a couple of local ex-boyfriends, Linder and a Timothy Evans. A third is some sort of attaché to an ambassador overseas, Trevor Kent. Other than Linder, Peterson swears that Ms. Ireland doesn't have an enemy in the world."
"Clearly that's not true," Johnny muttered. He cleared his throat and glanced at Shelly. "What do you think, Shelly?"
"We rule out the usual suspects and see where it leads us. Ned?"
"I guess I'll take the old guy," he said. "Maybe he'll let his guard down with a fellow geezer. Dev, why don't you talk to the other local guy, and I guess Crevan can try to figure out how to find this attaché guy, but if he's overseas –"
"Doesn't mean he's automatically ruled out, Ned. Sometimes a bitter man can reach out from the grave and continue to wreak havoc," Johnny said.
"Maybe Helen could help me with the overseas guy," Crevan suggested. "I'm sure she's still better connected with the bureaucrats in Washington than any of us are. We might need the State Department to find this guy."
Shelly stared at the table and Devlin got the weird vibe even stronger. "I thought she told you that she doesn't feel up to working this one, Crevan. I'd rather not push her to return too early, not that she's been cleared for active duty anyway. There's a process for that. If I could get her to return my phone calls, perhaps I'd know if she's feeling well enough to discuss what happens before she can return to the job."
Orion sort of squirmed in his chair a little bit. Devlin realized that there was a lot more going on in Darkwater Bay than he ever imagined, most of it brewing within the ranks of law enforcement. "She did look... well, may I be frank here?"
"Wish you wouldn't," Crevan muttered.
"Please do, Devlin." Orion's fingers clenched into fists again.
"She didn't look much like a cop," he said. "In fact, she looked pretty sick."
"Like she isn't recovering?"
Devlin shook his head. "That's not what I meant, sir. I guess I was just expecting someone a little more... sturdy. I've seen more meat on cattle in India. She looked tired. Haggard. I didn't really notice it until she came down to the ER this morning. She tried to shake my hand when she introduced herself. It was covered with the victim's blood, but I thought for a second that she'd scraped the skin clean off when she fell over in the garage."
Orion pressed a fist to his lips.
"I'll stop by to see her later today," Crevan said. "This morning was traumatic, Johnny. It's like Devlin said. He'd never met her before, and while I agree that she looked tired, I didn't think she looked quite as bad as all that."
Johnny pushed away from the table. "Let me know if OSI can assist in any way. If this case starts looking like it's related to David Ireland's murder, I need to know immediately. Shelly, thanks for the heads up on the investigation. We'll talk soon."
"What the hell did I walk into?" Devlin breathed softly after Orion left the room.
"It's a personal matter unrelated to the investigation, detective," Shelly said. "You have your springboard in the case, gentlemen. Keep me posted on your progress."
Devlin turned to Crevan. "Okay, I get it that there's something else going on here, but why did you lie to Commander Orion about Dr. Eriksson? You told her she looked like shit, that she must've lost 20 pounds. I heard you say it."
Ned cleared his throat. "Dev, it's like Lou said. Personal thing. Orion and Eriksson had some sort of relationship until after she was shot, and suddenly Orion is stomping around town with only one thing on his mind – arresting every criminal he can find –"
"And Helen turned into a recluse who only returns calls from friends when she knows we aren't home to answer the phone," Crevan said. "When I saw her today, I realized that it was a huge mistake to let her get away with that sort of behavior, but we did."
Ned snorted softly. "Helen has been getting away with pretty much whatever she wants to since the day she got to Darkwater Bay, Crevan. Don't get me wrong. Her methods were pretty darn impressive before she got shot. But I agree with you. Hell, I had no idea who she was at first today. She looked nothing like the Helen I remembered from two months ago."
"Let me get this straight. She really does look like a starving Hindu cow... but we're lying to Commander Orion because...?"
"Johnny will go ballistic," Crevan said. "Then again, he seemed as determined to avoid her as she has to avoid everybody."
"So he still has feelings for her?"
"After what I just saw?" Ned shook his head. "I wouldn't bet the farm, as Briscoe would say. Speaking of which, this thing with Ireland was his case sixteen years ago. Do you think Lou might want to call him home early?"
"He'll be back Saturday," Crevan said. "No sense in ruining his holiday with the kid."
Devlin glanced at his watch. "I think I'll see if I can find this Timothy Evans and find out what his opinion of Journey Ireland is."
"Yeah," Ned agreed. "And Linder is on my immediate agenda. If he feels as much animosity toward the victim as her friend suggested, I don't know how cooperative he's gonna be."
"Let's talk later this afternoon and compare notes," Crevan said. "Helen's had a few hours to rest. I think I'll head over there first and see if she can point me to the least amount of red tape with the State Depart
ment."
~
It took Devlin less than an hour to find Timothy Evans.
The Cock and Bull Restaurant, paradoxically, was a seafood place out on Hennessey Island. Timothy Evans was the manager. It was late afternoon when Devlin sat down and ordered grilled marinated swordfish. The second his late lunch or early dinner was in front of him, he demanded to speak with the manager.
"Is there a problem sir?"
"I'd like to speak with Mr. Evans," he flashed his badge and gave the waitress a stern stare. "Right away, please."
While she scurried off, Devlin sliced into the juicy chunk of swordfish on his plate. The tender morsel, which was unusual in his experience, had a deep flavor of ginger and something else he couldn't quite identify. It melted in his mouth.
"Is there a problem sir?"
Devlin looked up at a wide-eyed young man. News of the badge traveled fast. "Delicious swordfish," he mumbled. "Best I've had, actually. Have a seat, Mr. Evans."
He waited, continued to eat for another moment while Evans sat stiffly in the booth across from him. "Tell me where you were this morning at about quarter to eight, Mr. Evans."
"I was at home with my wife. We got up around seven. I showered, dressed, helped her get the baby ready for daycare, and left for the restaurant at about eight thirty. Why?"
"When was the last time you spoke to Journey Ireland?"
Evans started tearing bits off the edge of an unused paper napkin on the table. "A couple of weekends ago Elizabeth and I had a barbecue. Everyone came over."
"Everyone including Journey?"
"Is something wrong? Is Journey all right?"
"Can anyone other than your wife verify your alibi this morning?"
Evans paled to a shade lighter than the white napkin. "What happened to her? You've got to tell me if she's all right, officer. Journey and I have been friends forever and –"
"How does Mrs. Evans feel about this close friendship you maintain with an ex-girlfriend?"
"Elizabeth adores Journey. They were friends before I met my wife. In fact, Journey introduced us. She thought we'd hit it off."
