Outcomes and Perspective- The Complete Alexis Parker Prequel

by G. K. Parks

  “Parker,” Boyle called, and I went into his office, “Tim and John Farlow are hoping for immunity if they cooperate.” He sighed. “How much insight do you think they possess? You’re probably the best judge after your chat with their brother, Frank, this afternoon.”

  “Sam,” I wanted to rip my hair out as the day continued to weigh on me, “I have no idea. Farlow, Frank Farlow,” I specified, “seems to be the ringleader. From the things he said, he’s all about his doctrine and proving himself to be a real patriot. I’d say from what we witnessed today and the things he might have mentioned, he’s running the show. He sold the explosive. He explained to Cline how to use it, plant it, and detonate it. From their records, the three Farlow brothers reside together. They work at Bates Movers together. They probably masturbate together for all I know.”

  He waited for my rambling to ebb. “Okay. I’ll see if we can cut them a deal. The problem is they’re all accessories to an ADA’s murder. That tends to grate on the nerves of both the DA’s office and the US Attorney’s office. It might be a hard sell.”

  “Obviously, our jobs aren’t supposed to be easy.” I rubbed my eyes. “Do we have any idea who’s supplying Farlow with weapons and explosives?”

  “Tim and John are offering names if we deal.” Boyle studied me. “Alexis, you look like hell. Grab a hold of Carver and get out of here. He should have taken the rest of the day as a personal day instead of sitting at his desk being profoundly morbid.” I cocked an eyebrow up. “He’s spent all afternoon writing out specific instructions in the event of his demise.”

  “Goddammit. I’ll see what I can do.”

  I was ready to go home. My partner had almost been blown sky high, I had assaulted a handcuffed prisoner, and I wanted the party responsible to be executed by the state. At the moment, I was so far beyond cynical and jaded that I was bordering on apathetic with homicidal tendencies. Granted, I heard of agents burning out but never within a matter of sixteen hours. No, today we had to celebrate life. And tomorrow, whatever was left to be handled could be handled.

  “Alex?” Michael glanced up from whatever he was doing. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, and I need you to come with me.”

  “Just give me ten minutes.”

  He looked confused, but I wasn’t about to waver. Yes, I was a workaholic who could easily spend the entire night working this case, but it wouldn’t be good for my mental stability or Carver’s. Occasionally, I needed to prioritize.

  “Fine.” I went to my desk, turned off my computer, tacked every new lead and theory to the board in the conference room, and collected my belongings. Michael grabbed his coat and met me at the elevator. “Boyle’s sending us home for the night. Don’t argue. I’m starving, and I believe I promised you dinner.” I reached into my pocket and found a twenty, probably the same twenty he gave me. “Oh, and you were right. The box didn’t have Farlow’s laundry in it.”

  “You really shouldn’t bet against a surefire thing,” he chided. On the way down to the parking garage, his cell phone rang. He turned away and answered. “Hi, mom. I’m glad you called back.” He paused, and I wished we weren’t stuck in a tiny metal box so he could have some privacy. “No, everything’s fine. I just wanted to see how you are doing. How’s dad?” I fumbled through my purse, looking for my car keys. “I should go. A friend is taking me out to dinner.” He paused. “Yes, a lady friend. I love you too. Bye.” He disconnected and caught me looking at him. “Alexis, don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know like what. I’m fine.”

  “I’m glad.” I led him to my car and unlocked the doors. After both our doors were shut, I turned the key in the ignition. “I broke a guy’s nose today.”

  “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

  “It wouldn’t have helped. He didn’t know how to,” I stopped at the traffic light, waiting for it to change to green, pausing as I did in the hopes of figuring out what I wanted to say or what needed to be said, “deactivate it. He didn’t know anything about it.”

  “Alex…”

  “I’m sorry, Michael.” I turned to him. “I was supposed to have your back, and I couldn’t do anything to help you.”

  My jaw clenched tightly, and I faced forward again. Hitting the accelerator the moment the light changed. Carver remained silent. Maybe he blamed me, or maybe I was just adding my own fears to his.

  After the silence became unbearable, I cleared my throat. “So, where did you want to eat?”

  Ten

  Carver and I had lobster tail and steak for dinner. It was the surf and turf he wanted, and I didn’t begrudge him the price. After we finished eating, we ended up at a dive bar a few blocks from his apartment. It was where he’d go occasionally to have a drink and seek out some non-OIO company. Allowing me to join him was probably sacrilege, but I was buying tonight.

  Michael was a bourbon guy, and it seemed easier to order the rounds in twos, even if I didn’t particularly care for the stuff. Although we spent the last two hours alone together, I couldn’t remember who spoke last or what was said. Talking wasn’t one of my strong suits, and he shut himself off from the world. He finished his third drink and flipped the glass upside down. Mine had barely been touched.

  “You have to know it wasn’t your fault,” he said out of the blue. “You and I have been through a lot.” He snorted. “Goddamn, if that’s not an understatement. Right now,” he shook his head, “I don’t even know what I’m doing.” He looked lost. “Can we get out of here?”

  “Yeah.” I tossed some cash on the bar. “Whatever you want.”

  “I just want to go home.”

  We left the bar. My car was parked almost halfway between the bar and his apartment building, so as we got closer to my vehicle, I slowed my pace.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Come with me. I could use a friend,” he insisted.

  “Michael, I don’t want to see your plushie suit.” I smiled and gave him a friendly nudge.

  The silence returned for the next two blocks as we made our way to his apartment. He unlocked the door and ushered me inside. He had a small two bedroom apartment. There was a good chance that my one bedroom apartment had more square feet than his, but I couldn’t be sure. The extra bedroom was a working office space, and Carver led me inside.

  “Like I mentioned earlier, my personal case files are in my bedroom closet, but this computer has copies of all the reports I’ve compiled for the OIO. Inside the locked drawer is a list of passwords. The key to that drawer is on my key ring.” He reached into his pocket and brought out his keys. “It’s this one.” He had five keys on the ring. “This goes to my car. These two are for the apartment. I just showed you the one for the desk. And this is for the lockbox in my closet.”

  “Michael, stop,” I begged. “We are not doing this. You’re okay. Today was just a bad day.”

  “And what if one day it’s more than a bad day?” He looked away. “Someone needs to know what to do just in case.”

  “I don’t want to be that someone.” He ignored me and continued listing where things were and what to do. “Please, stop.”

  “I’ve written out specific instructions in case anyone has questions. They’re in my bottom drawer at work.” He was scared, and this was the only way he could try to take back control. “It’s just in case. Don’t worry about it, but just know it’s there.”

  “All I want is for you to be there.” I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I hugged him, holding him tightly.

  At first, he stood completely rigid, but eventually, he caved in my arms. One of his hands got tangled in my hair, and the other forced me closer. There was no telling how long we stayed in that embrace. Neither of us was willing to let go or pull away. At some point, our grips loosened, and we both withdrew. Leaning forward, I kissed him. It was gentle and meaningful, and then I stepped back.

  “It was one bad day. Do not let it get inside you
r head. We deal with shit all the time. This is nothing new.” Even I didn’t believe it.

  Everything Carver was doing felt like tying up loose ends and putting his affairs in order. His foundation had shifted, and it frightened me to think what that could mean.

  * * *

  The next day at the office was business as usual. Maybe a good night’s sleep gave Carver some perspective. He returned to his normal workload and routine habits instead of spending his day writing out worst case scenario instruction manuals. I compartmentalized and stuck everything from yesterday into a neat little box at the periphery of my psyche. It didn’t matter that I assaulted Frank Farlow or didn’t make as much progress on the case yesterday as I should have; I was chalking it up to a bad day. It was over now. It was tomorrow, and my energy needed to be focused on locating Cline and following up on our new leads.

  “Sir,” I called, knocking on Boyle’s open office door, “what happened with Tim and John Farlow?”

  “They got immunity,” he said, nonplussed. “I just sent two agents to bring in their supplier. The police department is canvassing the area and checking for eyewitness accounts on Haze’s murder.” He cautioned a glance at Carver, who had just gone into the conference room where most of the team was working. “He seems to have pulled himself together. How is he?”

  “Honestly,” I inhaled and sighed, “I have no idea.”

  Boyle assessed me. “And how are you?”

  “I’m ready to close this case.”

  He jerked his chin toward the conference room, and I went back to work. Inside, everything had been updated or modified, and our theory board was in practical working order. Most of what we knew was no longer unsubstantiated conjecture; it was simply what happened.

  Frank Farlow posted his anti-government rhetoric all over the internet. He designed websites, blogs, and social media pages that shouted what he interpreted true patriotism to be. He chastised the government for taking control of our lives, illegally monitoring us, and requiring licensure for what he dubbed every aspect of our civil rights. Like I determined upon my first encounter with the man, he was a nutbag. Even if any of the arguments he made were solid, there was a right way and a wrong way to go about doing things, and clearly, his way was the wrong way.

  His outlandish claims filled every part of his life. His brothers did his bidding, but as far as we could determine, they weren’t the instigators. They seemed passive and possibly even in denial about the lengths Frank would go for his cause. From the interviews conducted, even his co-workers at Bates Movers didn’t realize how unhinged and destructive he was. They simply thought he just took every opportunity to spout nonsense from atop his soapbox. It reminded me of the Edmund Burke quote, “the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,” and briefly, I wondered if Farlow was a fan. It was easy to find justification by spinning words to fit any set of goals.

  Forrester Cline somehow came across Farlow’s ramblings, and given his current plight, the two men quickly hit it off. Forrester Cline might have been acquitted of the initial murder on a technicality, but his insistence on seeking revenge and threatening ADA Douglas Haze made the attorney dig in his heels. After receiving some less than pleasant voicemail messages, Haze was dead set on finding something that would stick to Cline. My mind scowled at the inappropriate pun as I continued to read through the information on the board.

  The more Haze tried to make a case, the faster Cline developed his plan for revenge. Although some details concerning the exact times and dates Frank Farlow met with Forrester Cline were still cloudy, Tim and John insisted on half a dozen different meets in which Cline and Farlow discussed ways of getting payback. Farlow’s main concern was making a political statement. He encouraged Cline to plant the explosive devices outside the courthouse and at the restaurant near the municipal building. Both places were frequented and trafficked by government officials, judges, law enforcement officers, legislatures, and Haze himself. Farlow believed he found the perfect delivery system for his message, and Cline would make the ideal patsy. At least now, we had verification that the threat we received concerning future bombings had been made by Frank Farlow.

  However, Forrester Cline didn’t care about making a statement. The only thing he cared about was silencing Haze. The dozens of menacing voicemail messages began almost a month ago. After Haze received the death threat, he decided to take a leave of absence from work and lay low until the state had an undeniable case. It was what prompted him to buy the bus ticket and disseminate some misinformation about leaving town, except he didn’t leave. He continued to work with the private investigator on finding additional evidence against Farlow and Cline.

  But since Farlow was willing to take the heat on the bombings, Cline decided there was no reason to wait before silencing the nosy ADA. From what was revealed during the follow-up interview with Farlow, Cline had gotten impatient, went to Haze’s apartment, and killed him. It was a game of cat and mouse, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Haze had just let Cline’s acquittal go, if any of this ever would have happened.

  “Parker,” Michael said my name, and I looked up at him, “since it seems we have a handle on Haze’s murder, Jablonsky wants us to go through the files once more and then drop them off at the precinct. I could use some help.”

  “All right.”

  Following him to his desk, I pulled up a chair, and we began going through the information and making some final notations. Neither of us mentioned yesterday or last night, and as I watched Michael work, I was relieved that things seemed to be back to normal.

  Eleven

  Carver carried the boxes into the precinct, and I asked for directions to Det. Jacobs’ desk. Arriving at his cubicle in the major crimes unit, we watched as most of the squad rushed around in a hurry over the latest call.

  “And I thought things at the OIO were hectic,” Carver whispered in my ear.

  “Detective Jacobs,” I called, making the man swivel in his chair, “we’ve brought the information back to you.”

  “Amazing,” he shifted his gaze from me to Michael, “there must be a first time for everything.” He stood and took the boxes from Carver. “Agents, walk with me.”

  We followed Jacobs down the hallway to evidence storage. He handed the boxes across the counter to an officer on duty, signed the chain of custody form Carver produced, and then handed the officer the same form to sign. Handing the duplicate copy back to Carver, he took to leaning against the counter.

  “Since you’ve been forthcoming in your investigation, it’s only fair for me to tell you we’ve got eyes on Forrester Cline. Uniforms in the area are keeping tabs on him, and we’ve sent a couple of black and whites to bring him in.”

  “How’d you find him?” I asked.

  “We’ve been canvassing the neighborhood where his mother lives. A neighbor spotted him entering her house. When he left this morning, we tailed him.” Jacobs looked smug. “You mean to tell me the federal government can’t locate a suspect?” He couldn’t resist the dig, but I let it go.

  “Do you mind if we hang around until he’s brought in?” Carver asked, swallowing and looking sullen. There was a score that needed to be settled, but this was not the time or place for it.

  “Suit yourself. But it’s our collar.” Jacobs faced me. “After all, the state’s got the death penalty.”

  He winked, and I couldn’t help the tiny smile that crept onto my face. It was sick and twisted and made me feel disgusted with myself, and yet, there it was. Apparently, I needed a vacation. We went into the hallway, and Jacobs left us alone.

  “Once we get verification that he’s in custody, we should get out of here,” I insisted. Carver was wound tight, like a coiled spring, and he didn’t need to stick around. “I know why you want to be here, and it’s not worth it.”

  He met my eyes, blinking back whatever he was feeling. “You’re right, Alex. He’s not worth it, but I am. I deserve to know that this is over a
nd that fucking asshole is behind bars.”

  Silently, we waited in a few empty chairs near booking for Cline and his escorts. I phoned Jablonsky and gave him the update. All he said was be careful. There wasn’t much else to say.

  Almost two hours later, Cline was dragged into the precinct in handcuffs. I couldn’t imagine what Michael must be feeling. But as Cline was shoved past us, Carver remained motionless, watching with a level of disinterest usually reserved for particularly tedious infomercials. That sight worried me more than anything else ever did.

  “Let’s go,” he said, standing up. “It’s done.”

  “Why aren’t you celebrating? Why aren’t you fighting to go bash his skull in? What the hell is going on, Michael?” I asked as soon as we exited the double doors.

  “Nothing’s going on. It just feels different. Maybe I feel different.” He opened the car door and got inside. “C’mon, we’re wasting daylight.”

  There was no point in arguing. We had a job to do. Since the police had Cline and we had the Farlow brothers, the only one left was the supplier. Boyle said he was being brought in, so with any luck, this case really would conclude by the end of the day. Hopefully, all we needed was a fresh start and a new beginning on a different case.

  * * *

  It had been a week since Forrester Cline’s arrest. The OIO had conducted numerous interrogations with Cline, the three Farlows, and the bomb supplier. The police department had a solid case against Cline for the murder of ADA Douglas Haze. They had eyewitness accounts of Cline entering Haze’s apartment building and sounds of an argument. The building’s security cam footage and Haze’s phone records were the icing on the cake.