by LS Sygnet
"Have you heard something?"
"Shelly called. Sounds like they've moved the party from Hennessey over to University Hospital. He's still snoring like a baby, but Crevan talked to her about your demands."
"And?"
"She's good with it for now, but she said she needs to talk to you as soon as you have time for a break."
I was determined that wouldn't happen until I had what I needed to arrest Datello, but wisely didn't tell Ned. I cleared my throat. "I'm heading over to the morgue. I'd like to talk to Maya about the drugs she took into evidence."
"Where to after that, and what time can we expect to hear from you?"
I realized that Ned was parroting Shelly, who was little more than the mouthpiece of Tony Briscoe. "Back to division," I said. "I shouldn't be long at the morgue, and I'd like to take a run at Painless Carl."
"By take a run, you mean what exactly?"
Briscoe had a big mouth. I felt compelled to make good on my threat several months ago and slit his sack and staple it to his lower lip. "Question him, Ned. In the heat of the moment, I probably did look like I could've killed Southerby. I love Johnny. Can you blame me for getting emotional after what they did to him tonight?"
Ned grinned. "'Bout damn time you realized it. Get out of here, Helen. We'll take things slow with Carl so you get your crack at him."
The bits of the case swirled into a confused jumble in my head as I drove from Fielding through Darkwater proper to the west edge of Downey where Maya was hopefully about to give me good news on the lot number of the succinylcholine. Even if the best that came of this night of horrors was another nail in Lowe's coffin, I'd take it. It was better than going bust.
I couldn't fathom why Datello would choose this specific time to resurrect the search for evidence that had never been found sixteen years ago. David Levine's message mingled in with everything else. Sully Marcos wouldn't be around to protect Danny if the worst came to fruition. Why would Danny turn to a man he had virtually shunned for twenty plus years?
David's disk. Isabella's paranoia seemed like it was rooted in reality, in one that had terrified her so much that her mind was now trapped reliving the memory. I thought of nurse Brenda, and her description of the silver haired man who claimed to be Isabella's spouse. For three years, he was checking on her condition. I wondered if I showed Brenda a photograph of Mitch Southerby if the identity of the impostor husband would be known.
Her admonishment to honor my father echoed in my ringing ears. Dad, I wish you were here. You'd know how to scare the truth out of these men. Maybe you'd take Datello out of the equation for me, and put an end to this before anyone else gets hurt.
Johnny's anguished cries were on a continuous loop in my ears, a nightmarish background noise I feared would never abate. Would he tell me to leave? Had I crossed the line for the last time? What if he couldn't remember the past few days, or that I told him I love him? He'd probably remember all the nasty lies and manipulations and never believe me if I said it again.
Journey Ireland was still tucked safely away in my home, still ignorant to the secrets locked inside her head. I wanted her to remember. I needed her to open her mouth and show the courage of her parents and say the words. It sure would make life easier at this point. What had Southerby said to her that scared her into silence?
David's disk. David's disk. It kept coming back to that, to the elusive evidence everyone believed existed but no one could find. And what about my David? After my first and hopefully last encounter with Mitch Southerby, I had a hard time imagining a crisis of conscience that would ever prompt Southerby to rat out the boss. Did the FBI have all their facts wrong?
I parked in front of the morgue and dragged wearily into the lobby. Security gave me an aghast stare. I was no doubt a sight to behold, bloody and battered from my night in the psych hospital. Jason opened the secured doors to the interior of the morgue for me.
"Shouldn't you be at the hospital, Dr. Eriksson? You're bleeding all over the place."
"I'm fine," I insisted. "Where's Maya?"
"Billy's lab. She asked that I send you straight back if you showed up."
I pushed the double doors open and stepped inside.
Maya grinned at me. "Finally, you're here. I think we've got some good news."
Chapter 37
I sagged against the countertop. "Tell me. God knows, I need good news in the worst way right now."
"Did something happen with Johnny?"
How many ways could I possibly convey the guilt I felt? Even if Johnny's prognosis was storybook perfect, he woke up asking for me, and accepted my apology and told me it didn't matter, I would still feel wracked with guilt over my stupid and impulsive actions. This is precisely why I'm better off alone.
"Johnny is fine as far as I know. Sleeping off a huge dose of lorazepam. Tell me what this great news is."
"Lowe's batch of succinylcholine matched the current one in use at Dunhaven. Apparently, they don't do a ton of conscious sedation. I called the pharmacist out there, and you'll never guess what."
"Riley Storm wrote the script and Lowe picked it up."
"Nope."
My ears perked. "Then who?"
"Riley wrote the script, and Administrator Sykes picked it up. It was apparently issued under the guise of demand at Riley's new medical clinic, an outpatient organization that treats something called major depressive disorder, which the pharmacist out there says is a persistent form of depression lasting years that is typically unresponsive to traditional medication therapy."
I knew what it was. "These folks are the candidates for electroconvulsive therapy."
"Guess what else this gal said?"
"Riley's had his clinic for longer than he's been retired from the ME's office?"
"Clever girl," Maya chuckled. "Our happy little drug dispenser says that she's been at Dunhaven for nearly twenty-five years, and for at least the last ten, Riley's notoriously unreliable supplier could be counted upon to leave him short a vial of succinylcholine at least once a year. Since he had the proper DEA license, and always faxed his emergent request to have the drug filled on this non-existent clinic's letterhead, she never gave it a second thought."
"And Southerby aka Sykes always delivered it?"
"Ah, we are twin brains, Helen. I asked her the same thing. She said no, that the last time it was ordered by Riley was late September. After Lowe was committed to Dunhaven."
"Wait a minute. His competency hearing was in October."
"Yep."
"He thought he was going to get out of jail free, that he'd be back in business in no time at all."
"So it would appear. The pharmacist apparently used to ship the drug to the address on Riley's letterhead."
"Tell me the news gets better, not that I'm upset about this news. Storm can be charged as an accessory to Lowe's other crimes even if only to give us more leverage."
"They were shipped to his home address, but it certainly puts Storm and Lowe in bed together, Helen. Get this. According to my new pal, not many people liked Administrator Sykes."
"How long have they known him?" I felt breath hang in my lungs.
"He arrived exactly one week after Jerry Lowe."
"And the previous administrator?"
"He abruptly resigned without notice," Maya said. "Did I do good, cupcake?"
"Minus the cupcake, you did great. Now if only I can find something that links Datello to all of this, I can hop on a flight to Hawaii and arrest public enemy number one for murder."
"It'll happen, Helen. Try to be patient and remember that a lot of people have been working this case for more than a decade. Be careful. Datello has no respect for anyone. He'd dishonor anybody who got in his way, including his sainted wife I'm sure."
Honor the father. The newspaper clippings jumped to my forebrain along with the cryptic code, EX2012. "Oh no. It can't be that simple, can it? Surely not..."
"What can't be that simple? Helen, I swear if you run off again without
–"
I tuned her out and rushed to the computer on Billy's desk. A few keystrokes later, and I found what I needed, the elusive code that had stumped me and promised to unlock the case. "Gotta get to Downey," I said as I rushed past her. I didn't care if she saw what her innocent commentary sparked. I glimpsed her staring at the computer before the door swung shut behind me.
The screen said it all: Exodus 20:12. Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the lord thy God giveth thee.
Isabella kept saying it. Those were the only words she could still form in her advanced Pick's disease. David Ireland had left the biblical reference smattered all over old clippings about the death of Danny's father.
David's theory washed away all doubt. The fog lifted and everything made sense to me. Well, almost everything. I still didn't understand how an ADA dealing with fraud cases had stumbled upon Datello's revenge on the man he blamed for his father's murder. Oddly, I couldn't fault his loyalty to Antonio Datello. I'd do the same for my father.
The irony was, in seeking vengeance against Uncle Sully for Danny's murdered father, he had orphaned another child the same way he had been. I ignored the niggling doubt, the one that tried to tell me something about that didn't seem to fit.
"Journey must hold the key," I murmured. "I know it's locked up in that brain of hers."
Bay County Medical Examiner's Office was less than three miles from Downey Division. I took the stairs up to the second floor where the homicide murder room was located two at a time. The frailty that plagued me a short week ago was gone. Adrenalin was my drug of choice.
I ran through the squad room and about flattened Ned in the hallway outside the interview rooms. "Where's Painless Carl?"
"Who?"
I didn't remember his surname. I'd heard it once at the crime scene. His threats on the other hand, rooted in a twisted nickname, would haunt me for years, I was certain. "Painless Carl, Painless Carl who whacked me over the head with his gun. Where is he?"
"Interview three. Dev's in there with him right now. He's reading his rights."
I flew through the door. Ned was right behind me.
No time to waste. I charged the warped mental health worker and grabbed two fistfuls of scrub top and yanked him out of the chair. He sailed across the room and hit the wall in the corner. Carl shrieked, cowered into the corner and stayed down.
"Helen, what the hell?" Devlin jumped up from his seat, tipped it over in his haste.
I advanced on Carl slowly, like a hungry lioness who found the weakest member of the herd. "We're going to have a little chat, Painless Carl." The low snarl sent chills down my spine, and I knew how far I planned to take this charade.
"Keep her away from me!" Carl screamed. "Crazy bitch! If this is some twisted version of good cop-bad cop-crazy cop, I'll take the normal way." He protected his head by curling one arm over it.
"Have you lost your mind?" Devlin grabbed me from behind. It was the end of polite behavior from me.
I spun around, charged him as my arm bisected his waist and flopped him onto the tabletop. Chairs flew from the impact of the heavy body displacing the table.
"Jesus Christ! Somebody shoot her! She's gonna kill me!"
My jujitsu wasn't as rusty as I feared. Over my shoulder, I heard Devlin wheezing to catch his breath. Ned yelled, but was too shocked to try to stop me. I grabbed Carl and dragged him out of the corner. He was flung into one of the chairs now distant from the table.
"Shoot her! Somebody shoot her!"
I saw Devlin's gun appear out of the corner of my eye an instant before Ned pushed it down. "Dammit, Dev! Have you lost your mind? You don't aim at one of us."
"Do it!" Carl shrieked.
I lifted the point of my boot heel to his windpipe and applied only a threat of pressure. "You're gonna level with me, Carl, or we're gonna take this outside and settle this one on one. Man to man. Fists only. You're tough with a gun, aren't you? I think I know why. If you don't have one, any girl on the planet can kick your ass."
"Get away from me!" Still, he sat frozen in the chair as if it was a switchblade to his jugular instead of a boot heel.
"Your choice, Carl. Either we talk, or we fight. Personally, I'm kinda hoping you're dumb enough to think you can take me. Oh, don't worry about my bum shoulder. I could take you out with a thumb."
"What do you want from me?"
"Where's the former administrator of Dunhaven?"
"What? How should I –"
"Done fucking around, Carl," I snarled. "Where is he?"
"I don't know!"
"Is he dead too?"
"No!" he rasped. "All I know was that someone suggested it was time for him to retire."
"And that was when Southerby took over?"
"Yes. Yes! Jesus get that thing away from my throat."
I lowered my boot to the floor and crossed my arms. "We go back to my way if I get the slightest hint that you're lying to me, Carl. Mean it. No more lies from you people."
He nodded quickly.
"Why did Southerby show up after Jerry Lowe was committed?"
I watched the mountainous Adam's apple hitch and slide in Carl's throat. "It was the disk."
"They thought Lowe had it?"
He nodded again. "Jerry said he found it when they were investigating Ireland's murder, that it was in a safe place, but if anything ever happened to him, he'd make sure everybody knew what was on it."
"So when Jerry was arrested..."
"Mitch showed up, determined to find the damn thing. I said we should leave well enough alone, but Mitch said the job wasn't done, and he wasn't taking the risk that... that..."
"Go on," I ground the heel of my boot against the floor.
"He didn't want to take the risk that you'd find it. God only knows how many places Lowe has shit stashed, man. Plus there were other concerns."
"Such as?"
"I don't have a death wish," Carl whispered. "I'll tell you what I know to a point, but I'd rather have you drive that boot through my neck than–"
"You wussy little coward," I spat on the floor. "Why wouldn't Lowe divulge the location of this disk?"
"He wanted his freedom in exchange for it. We were supposed to arrange for him to disappear from the hospital, to get out of the country and get him set up somewhere else. As in no extradition treaty somewhere else."
"And Southerby wouldn't agree?"
"He wanted to, man, but it was out of our hands. A lot of people hate Lowe's guts. They thought that if we used enough drugs, enough sessions in the treatment room that Lowe would eventually crack, but the guy had lawyers crawling all over the place about his competency. We couldn't move fast enough."
Cold laughter burst from frigid lungs. "I can't believe how stupid you all were. He played you."
"We figured it was a possibility," Carl muttered. "I mean, that Lowe had been bluffing all along."
"Was that when Southerby decided to see if Journey Ireland had something to add to the story?"
"I don't know why he slashed her throat."
It was beginning to get clearer to me than it ever had been. If Journey didn't talk to Southerby, he wanted her too terrified to talk to anyone else. Apparently he picked up a lot of psychology during his tenure as administrator of Dunhaven Hospital. I turned to Ned.
"Get it in writing. All of it. Make sure Zack knows he wasn't entirely cooperative. Apparently tough guy Painless Carl is afraid of the boogeyman after all."
Devlin was on my heels in the hallway outside the interrogation room. "What the hell were you thinking, assaulting him like that? Do you want this case dismissed if it ever gets to court?"
"Calm down. I didn't hurt him, or you either for that matter. Carl needed to believe I'd kill him, Dev. He needed to believe I'd go exactly as far as Southerby would. My money's on that foot in the back at Dunhaven by the uniformed officer did more damage to Carl than my little sideshow did."
He gripped my arm and jerked
me backward before I could leave. "And what about what you did to me, Helen? We're supposed to be on the same side."
I stared at where his fingers strangled my arm. He let go quickly. "You heard him. Good cop, bad cop, crazy cop. It was far more convincing when you decided it was a good idea to pull your gun on me."
"You're lucky Ned stopped me. You won't get the drop on me again, Helen."
I grinned. "Wanna bet?" The challenge was thrown over a numb-to-pain left shoulder. Endorphins flooded my body as I marched toward the squad room.
"Where are you going now?" he called after me.
I turned and walked backward. "Home."
"What for?"
I grinned. "Time for a little psychotherapy. You coming or not?"
Chapter 38
Miraculously, the house was unchanged, still standing, still guarded by Johnny's guys from OSI when I pulled the Expedition around the circle drive and stopped. There was no time for the garage. Besides, we wouldn't be staying that long.
Journey Ireland knew something, and I wasn't leaving until she found her damned words and told me exactly what it was. The clock on the mantle chimed twelve times while Devlin and I trekked upstairs to the room where Journey slept.
"Merry Christmas Eve," he said.
"We can only hope. You have to promise that you won't interfere in what has to happen tonight, Dev. I get it that she's sweet on you, and maybe the feeling is a little bit mutual, but this is no time for kid gloves."
"Do I want to know what that means?"
"We're going to have a little session of come to Jesus therapy. Fitting, considering today's date, don't you think?"
"Helen, you're not gonna go in there and traumatize that poor girl."
"That poor girl is the only thing standing between me and the evidence I need to finally figure out why her father was murdered and why Datello is hell bent on making sure nobody knows the truth."
"There will be no martial arts involved in the conversation," he said sternly. "I draw the line there. Understood?"
"A pushy move ripped right out of the Johnny Orion playbook. Relax. I don't plan on beating some sense into her. I simply plan to make her understand that suppressing this memory is the one thing that keeps her and her mother in danger."
