Outcomes and Perspective- The Complete Alexis Parker Prequel

by G. K. Parks

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Seven, maybe?” I blinked a few times to clear the blurriness from my vision. “Seven-fifteen,” I confirmed. “Shit. We’re supposed to be at work in forty-five minutes. Why didn’t you wake me last night?”

  “Oh sure, blame me. I’m not the one who fell asleep on your shoulder.” He walked to my bathroom and shut the door while I went into the kitchen, set the coffeemaker to brew, and then got changed in my bedroom. “Do you think anyone will notice I’m wearing the same clothes from yesterday?” he asked as he went past my room.

  “Lose the tie and keep your jacket on to hide some of the wrinkles.” I finished dressing and opened the door. “I am sorry. You should have woken me.” I went into the bathroom and shut the door.

  By the time I came out, Michael was halfway through a cup of coffee. He reholstered his gun and folded the blanket on my couch. He looked like he had been putting in some long hours with his one day’s worth of stubble and dark circles underneath his eyes, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for a federal agent.

  “You said you haven’t been sleeping lately, so I wasn’t about to sabotage your only opportunity to get some rest.” Sometimes, the jackass could be a sweet guy. “Thanks for the coffee.” He took a final sip. “I’ll see you at work.”

  Four

  Arriving twenty minutes late, Jablonsky didn’t say a word as I snuck into the back of the conference room and caught the tail-end of the briefing. The bomb-making materials had been tracked to two local hardware stores, and a purchase history of all store receipts for the entire month was being compiled. If the bomber paid with a credit card or check, we’d have some solid ground to stand on. The DA’s office sent over Haze’s employment records because he was currently our only person of interest. His caseload was being evaluated by our agents in the hope of determining if the ADA’s sudden disappearance had anything to do with those he was set to prosecute. The two most likely possibilities were Haze might be the bomber or someone he pissed off was.

  Right before everyone was dismissed, Carver spoke up. “Parker and I were reevaluating the circumstances surrounding the explosion, and it’s possible the intended target was actually the impound lot.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to check into that,” Agent Boyle suggested. Prior to their reassignment at the OIO, Boyle had been Carver’s supervisor at the LA field office.

  Jablonsky nodded, squinting as he processed through this unforeseen possibility. “Since it’s your idea, why don’t the two of you go make friends with the local LEOs and see what they have to say?”

  No one else wanted to go to the precinct and step on the police department’s toes. The PD didn’t like us, and this would probably make things worse. Pissing contest here we come, I thought bitterly as Carver and I were dismissed to determine if our theory held water.

  “This seemed like a much better idea last night,” I mumbled, signing a sedan out of the motor pool. “Do you have any cop friends you can ask for a favor?”

  “I don’t spend my time with cops,” he retorted, clearly illustrating exactly why two branches of law enforcement couldn’t get along. “But I’m sure they won’t have a problem. Bombings fall under federal jurisdiction.”

  “Wow, someone’s an optimist,” I commented, turning the key in the ignition.

  “Hey, maybe it’s because I got to sleep with you last night.” He chuckled, but I remained silent, driving out of the parking garage faster than necessary. “Y’know,” as he continued his diatribe, he began to sound more sincere, “we’re trained to be on alert all the time. Every minute of the day we might be expected to report in because of some crime or catastrophic event. The training and muscle memory become our default settings. Hell, back at Quantico, they knocked out our casual, relaxed attitudes, so it’s no surprise when everyone ends up wound tighter than a ball of yarn,” he let out a long exhale, “especially when we are led to believe another attack might be imminent.” I felt his eyes on me but kept mine trained on the road. “It’s that constant unease that was keeping you awake. Last night, you had the opportunity to let your guard down because someone was there, watching your back.” His words caught me by surprise, and I turned to look at him. “Confession time,” he admitted, “since we’ve been investigating this case, I haven’t slept more than four hours straight through. I bust your balls, Parker, but I get it.”

  “Don’t you dare start saying crap like that,” I teased. “I’d hate to have to like you. You’ve been the bane of my existence for so long.” I pretended to shudder. “My god, are you trying to make hell freeze over?”

  He laughed, and for the first time in days, the job didn’t seem quite as burdensome and isolating.

  I pulled to a stop at the crime scene tape surrounding what was left of the impound lot and got out of the car. Finesse. The plan was finesse. Carver was two steps behind me as we approached the uniformed officer stationed to keep the looky-loos away. Displaying my credentials, I paired the federal agent badge with a warm smile.

  “That was quick,” Officer Molitao said as his eyes shifted from my photo identification to my face. “We only called your office ten minutes ago.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” maybe I was overdoing the politeness, but it couldn’t hurt, “but what are you talking about?”

  “The body. Homicide’s been here all night. But they just got the results back on the dental records.”

  “Officer,” Carver stepped forward, reading the man’s nametag but not attempting a pronunciation, “can you direct us to one of the detectives in charge?” Molitao pointed his finger to a man standing in the midst of the rubble, and Carver lifted the crime scene tape. “After you,” he said to me.

  “Thanks,” I said to the cop as I ducked under the tape. Grabbing Carver’s arm, I whispered in his ear, “Did you hear anything about a body at this morning’s briefing?”

  “No, but if they just called, it’s probably running around the circuit board at the office. I’ll bet you twenty we end up getting a call before we finish talking to the detective.”

  “You’re on.”

  Detective Jacobs of homicide was in charge of the scene. The impound lot looked like a junkyard after a massive fire. There were dozens of scorched vehicles. The initial blast had set off a few additional explosions as shrapnel and flames pierced the gas tanks of nearby cars and trucks. Honestly, the remnants looked like a scene out of an action movie. I stood, staring at the destruction, amazed that the damage had been reasonably contained.

  Carver and Jacobs were discussing the scene while I tuned the world out. When I returned to reality, Jacobs was gesturing to a nearby van. “I guess you can understand why it took us so long to locate the body.” He attempted a smile, but it didn’t make it any further than his lips. “One of the clean-up crew found him yesterday afternoon when they attempted to move that derelict. The ME had to run dental records because he was too well-done for anything else.” Resisting the urge to cringe at the crude comparison, I remained silent so he could finish the summation. “We’ve scoured the rest of the area and tore everything else apart. There was just one body. Preliminary suggests he was dead long before the explosion since he had a bullet lodged in his chest.”

  “Who is he?” Carver asked.

  Jacobs flipped open his notepad and skimmed the sheets before answering, “ADA Douglas Haze.” He looked angry. “Goddammit if someone on our side didn’t get killed for fighting the good fight.”

  “This is an elaborate way to conceal a murder,” I suggested. “We need records on the van, when it was brought in, who it’s registered to, everything you have.”

  Jacobs looked annoyed. “My guys are already running down leads. I’d be happy to pass along our results.”

  “Look,” nice was quickly going out the window, “the explosion is federal jurisdiction, and your DB is in the center of our crime scene. Don’t you think it might be in everyone’s best interest to share? We can work con
jointly.”

  “You want to catch a murderer,” Carver chimed in since we were taking turns playing nice. “We want to stop a bomber. Our goals might not lead to the same person, but it’d be foolish to think they were completely unrelated.” He spun in a circle to ensure a panoramic view of the lot. “The most important thing is that this doesn’t happen again.”

  Jacobs nodded. “I’ll make sure you get copies of everything we’ve found. Photographs, preliminary reports,” he narrowed his eyes at me, “we’ll share. But make sure you extend us the same courtesy if you make any headway on identifying the murderer.”

  “Thanks, pal,” Carver said, extending his hand. “You got it.”

  “Detective.” I nodded once, acknowledging his request and handing him my card. “I hope you’ll be in touch.”

  On the way back to the car, Carver dialed our technical team and informed them of the incoming information. They could decide if they wanted to evaluate the scene themselves or if the PD did a decent job of cataloging everything. After he hung up, I glanced at him.

  “You owe me twenty.”

  “Dammit.” He smirked. “I shouldn’t have believed a word that officer said.” Despite our banter, the reality of the situation was setting in. “At least we found Haze.”

  “He’s dead.” The words came out a whisper. “We have no suspects. No leads. And all the work we’ve done on finding Haze in the hopes he was our bomber was a total waste of time and resources. Fuck.” I slammed my palm against the steering wheel. “Now what are we supposed to do?”

  “It’s a start,” he insisted. “Relax. If the intent of the bomber was to disguise the murder, then maybe there won’t be any more bombings. This might be a single isolated incident.”

  “From your lips to god’s ears,” I sighed.

  Five

  Our priorities concerning the investigation shifted. There was no reason to focus on locating Haze. He was cooling his heels in the morgue. We were still trying to determine if Haze drove his car to the courthouse or if he could have conceivably planted the bomb himself. Although, that seemed completely convoluted given that he was dead and the threat was issued postmortem. Then again, we had to explore all avenues.

  The purchase histories from the hardware stores resulted in a dead end. The items were bought almost three weeks ago with cash from one of the two stores. When we requested security footage from the store’s CCTV, it became apparent they only maintained a digital copy for fourteen days before the files were deleted and new space was allocated for current surveillance. One of our windows of opportunity just slammed shut.

  “Carver and I are going back to the DA’s office,” Boyle announced, entering the conference room where we were camped out. “We’ll question Haze’s co-workers and see if they have alibis for when his car was left in front of the courthouse. With any luck, maybe someone will have something useful to say, particularly now that he’s dead.”

  Jablonsky looked up and nodded. We should have been more thorough, but we didn’t know that at the time.

  “All right,” I went to the whiteboard we were using to diagram the progress we were making on the investigation, “where are we on identifying the car’s driver?”

  “We’ve input what we have into the facial rec software, but it’s not much. There weren’t enough points of reference. We’ve requested the data from the DOT cams. Backtracking, we might be able to determine where the car came from. It might be the only way to identify the driver,” one of my fellow agents said.

  Selecting a marker, I began scribbling questions on the board. We needed to identify Haze’s killer, the car’s driver, the bomb maker, and a possible next target. As I leaned against the table, I absently chewed on the marker cap while I studied the post-explosion photos.

  “Here, Parker,” Mark said, shoving a file box in my direction. “That’s what the police department sent over. I know you’ve been itching to dissect it, so have at it.”

  “Thanks,” I responded absently as I began perusing the information inside.

  The rest of the world blurred into nothingness as I separated the information into relevant categories such as crime scene, bomb materials, Haze’s remains, and miscellaneous items. By the time I finished sorting and updating the board, I was the only person left in the room. Enjoying the solitude, I sat on top of the table and examined my handiwork. Haze’s time of death was estimated to be between Sunday morning and Tuesday afternoon. The explosion occurred Thursday at noon, and the car was left in front of the courthouse on Monday. The TOD window needed to be narrowed if we wanted to pinpoint motive and clear Haze as the bomber.

  The rest of the scene was a mess of twisted metal and charred materials. Upon a secondary analysis, the bomb might not have been as powerful as we originally thought. The gasoline in the car combined with the gas tanks from surrounding impounded vehicles made the blast grow exponentially. It was a wonder the entire lot didn’t go up in a destructive blaze.

  Focusing on the courthouse parking lot, I noticed the vehicles were spaced farther apart and the parallel spots limited the chances of setting other cars asunder. If the car had not been moved, the explosion would have been smaller, but innocent bystanders might have been killed or maimed. Either way, it seemed like a lose-lose, and since this line of thought was neither here nor there, I returned my focus to our current theory. The explosion may have been designed to conceal Haze’s murder, but why?

  The ballistics report insisted the bullet came from a .38 caliber handgun. From the trajectory of the shot, it was fired from above. Perhaps the shooter was standing at the top of some steps or on a balcony when he shot Haze, or Haze was lying on the ground when he was killed. The striations were being run through the databases for a match to other crimes, but as of yet, there weren’t any hits on identifying the weapon.

  “You’re still here?” Carver asked, coming into the conference room.

  “Where else would I be?” I spun on the table to face him. “Any leads on identifying Haze’s killer?”

  “One of his most recent cases, a murder charge against Forrester Cline, got thrown out for improper procedure,” Michael said, taking a seat on top of the table next to me and studying the whiteboard. “Haze had the files and evidence locked in one of his desk drawers. He also hired a private investigator to tail the guy.”

  “That seems like stalker behavior instead of due diligence,” I retorted.

  “Sam’s checking into it now. I’d say the bastard that walked seems like a good bet. Speaking of which,” he reached into his pocket and fished out a twenty, “here.” I took the offered money and shoved it in my pocket. “Why would an ADA still be investigating a closed case? Do you think they were gathering additional evidence to bring the guy up on other charges or in conjunction with another case?” Michael posed the questions as he thought through the potential ramifications each answer held. He squinted into the distance and got off the table, flipping through the box of pending casework the DA’s office gave us. Finding whatever he was searching for, he smiled brightly. “I gotta talk to Boyle.”

  Again, I was alone in the conference room. “I’ll just wait here and continue to feel useless,” I announced to the empty room. Normally, I was on the ball, but this case left me flummoxed. Being stumped wasn’t something I enjoyed. Shaking it off, I climbed down from the table, scribbled a few final notations on the board, and went to my desk to wait for Carver or Boyle to come back with something definitive.

  “Okay, everyone, listen up,” Boyle announced, entering the room, “it seems our man, Haze, was working on something off the record. Right now, we don’t have any hard proof that this is what led to his demise, but dimes to dollars, I’d say it’s a reasonable assumption. Until it’s proven otherwise or something else occurs, we’re keeping tabs on Forrester Cline. I’ve forwarded copies of his arrest record and Haze’s investigation to your inboxes. Get familiar with Cline, and tomorrow morning, we’ll work out an assignment schedule to maintain round t
he clock surveillance on our newest person of interest. Until then,” he glanced into the empty conference room, “continue what you’re doing. We need to identify and locate the bomber before anything else goes up in flames.” A chorus of affirmatives traveled through the air as we each checked our inboxes for the information.

  Forrester Cline had been arrested on a first degree murder charge but was released because the search warrant wasn’t properly filled out and signed. Everything the police recovered, including the murder weapon, was fruit from the poisonous tree and thereby inadmissible in court. Shit like this happens more often than it should, but it was the only way to attempt to create a fair judicial system. The theory was men like Cline would commit another offense, and as long as protocol and procedure were followed, the system would eventually win out. As the old adage goes, you don’t bet against the house. After the charges against Cline were thrown out of court, ADA Haze began investigating Cline in conjunction with some conspiracy charges.

  As I continued to read through the scanned pdfs of Haze’s files, I realized the district attorney’s office was in the process of compiling an extensive case against a homegrown militia group thought to have a stockpile of illegal weapons. Although incredibly small, comprised of only three brothers, Tim, John, and Frank Farlow, each was an outspoken anarchist, opposed to the government and everything it represented. The alleged gun that Cline used in the commission of his crime traced back to being privately sold by this group of men.

  The rest of the file detailed the selling and trading of weapons and munitions by the Farlow brothers. From Haze’s records, it was obvious the DA was hoping to add conspiracy and accessory charges before bringing a case against the Farlows. The state didn’t want to have to dismiss another case without solid, irrefutable evidence. That read as motive to me.