Thick Fog (Alexis Parker Book 18)
Page 6
“No, he just needs to rest. And he needs to know his loved ones are supporting him.” His pocket buzzed, and he stepped back. “I’ll have someone escort you to his room. Stay right here.”
“Brain damage,” I repeated, watching the doctor retreat down the hall. “Like a vegetable? Mark doesn’t even like vegetables.”
“No,” Martin said. “No. They don’t know anything yet.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll take care of this. He’s fine. He’s out of surgery. And he’s going to be fine.”
By the time we made it to Mark’s room, Martin was already in the midst of a conversation with the head of neuroscience at some research facility. I didn’t know how he got the number, and I didn’t care. Martin knew not to make promises he couldn’t keep. And he said Mark would be okay, so Mark would be okay.
The protection detail recognized us, and since I’d been cleared and Martin was on the list, we were allowed to enter Mark’s room. I went inside while Martin stayed in the hallway and spoke on the phone. The tubes and bandages tore at my heart and twisted my stomach in knots. I’d spent more than my fair share of time in hospital beds, but I would have traded places with Mark in an instant.
Leaning down, I reached for his hand but withdrew when I saw the IV tubes. “Don’t you dare die on me, Jablonsky. I swear to god I’ll never forgive you if you do. And I sure as hell won’t forgive myself. It’ll be Michael Carver all over again, and I won’t survive that. So you get better, and when you wake up, you damn well better be the pain in the ass I know and love.” I kissed him on the cheek and wiped at the annoying tears that started to fall again. “Now I’m going to find the asshole who did this and make sure he regrets every decision he’s ever made.”
Backing away from the bed, I slipped out of the room and took a few deep breaths. Martin hung up the phone and came over to me. But I backed away from him. I couldn’t stay here and waste more time. I had to go, and he knew it.
“Be careful,” Martin said.
“Always.”
He smiled sadly. “I love you. And in case you forgot, I can’t lose you. Not ever, but especially now. Stay safe.”
“I will.” I glanced at his wrist, but he left his watch at home. His watch contained a GPS tracker, just like the charm on my necklace. We weren’t the most functional of couples, but after abductions and close calls, it eased both of our minds to track the other’s whereabouts. And Lucien Cross promised this was more secure and reliable than any find-my-friend phone apps. “Are you staying with him?”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here.”
“Okay.” I walked out the door and updated the boys in blue. Then I got into my car and headed home. O’Connell followed in his unmarked cruiser. On the way, I dialed a number I hadn’t called since I left the OIO. When someone answered, I said, “I need to speak to Special Agent Eddie Lucca. It’s urgent.” The call was redirected, and three rings later, my former partner answered. “Jablonsky’s been shot. It’s bad. I need your help.”
Seven
“What do you want me to do?” Lucca asked. “What do we know so far?”
I gave Lucca the Cliff’s notes version of the last fifteen hours. “Kendall finally cleared me of suspicion, but no one from the Bureau will tell me much of anything. Davis said Jablonsky was investigating local cartel activity. The shooter could be a cartel hitman, but how would one of them get my number?”
“The Yellow Pages.”
“As a general rule, I try to steer clear of cartels and mob bosses. I learned my lesson when it comes to organized crime.”
“Have you made any other enemies lately?” But Lucca didn’t give me a chance to answer. “Never mind. I almost forgot who I was talking to.”
“Hardy har. And no, I haven’t made any recent enemies who would do something like this.”
“Sorry.” He entered search terms into the computer. “Jablonsky filed a recommendation to maintain surveillance on some federal judges. Any overlap there? Pending trials? Recent court appearances?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“All right. Hang on.” He looked up something else. “It appears the OIO is working under the assumption the shooting is related to an old case the two of you worked. Does that sound right?”
“Nothing sounds right.”
“But you recognized the voice.”
“I know it, but I can’t exactly place it.”
“What does your gut say, Parker? You have instincts that defy science and reason. Is this someone you’ve recently tangled with?”
“No.” But I wasn’t sure.
“Okay, think back to your old cases. Make a list. When you get it narrowed down to a few possibilities, send it to me and I’ll see what I can find on Jablonsky’s end. He might be working on something related or recently crossed paths with someone from your joint past. I’ll keep an eye on internal memos and track the progress Kendall makes. If I see something worrisome, I’ll give you a call. With everything digitized, it shouldn’t matter that I’m in D.C. I can still help.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You piss off a lot of people, but hopefully, one of them will stick out. Maybe it’ll ring a bell, and you’ll identify the late night caller.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for.”
“Good luck.” He paused. “And call me as soon as you get an update on Jablonsky’s condition. I’ll be thinking about him.”
“Thanks, Eddie. I will.”
I spread everything out across the floor. Years of investigations resulted in enough case notes to paper Martin’s entire estate and then some. It would take forever to get through every potential, and the worst part was I wasn’t even positive the shooter was hidden in this mess. But it was something, and I had to do something.
O’Connell waited for me to get organized before diving in. While I scanned the pages, I told him what Lucca said. “Do you remember anyone in particular having a beef with you or Jablonsky?” O’Connell asked from his seat in my chair.
“I don’t know. The assholes who killed Carver are always in the back of my mind.”
“Do you remember their voices clearly?”
“Yes.”
“So it isn’t them,” O’Connell surmised. “See, this isn’t so hard.”
I stared daggers at him. “That’s one case out of hundreds.”
“It’s one less. Keep going.” He picked up a file. “Tell me about Gale Barton.”
“Money laundering, white collar crimes mostly.”
“History of violence?” O’Connell asked.
“Not that I recall.”
“Did he ever attempt to buy a judge?”
“No.”
O’Connell put the file down, and we moved on to the next one. It took hours, but by the end, we made a list of the messier cases Jablonsky and I worked. O’Connell reread the notes he made. “Shouldn’t these people still be incarcerated?”
“One would hope.” I chuckled, but it wasn’t funny. “Unless, of course, they paid off a judge.”
“And the judge hired a hitman to take out Jablonsky rather than face the scary prospect of serving time with hardened criminals he sentenced to hard labor for decades. That tracks.”
“Maybe, but what does that have to do with me?”
O’Connell threw down the pen and rubbed his brow. “Absolutely nothing.”
“And we’re back to square one.”
“Hang on,” he wasn’t ready to give up yet, “even though you’re no longer an active agent, do you still receive notifications when someone you arrested is released from prison?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t gotten one of those calls in ages.”
“All right.” O’Connell had a thought, but he didn’t share it. “Moretti said he’d check with Kendall and review Jablonsky’s phone records to see if he’s gotten any calls like that recently. I’m gonna check in at the precinct and run these through the database and narrow it down a bit. If you want, tell Lucca to do the same. Once t
hat’s done, I’ll see what kind of recorded material the FBI and the prosecutor’s office still have. Tomorrow, you can listen to whatever we find.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“IDing the shooter shouldn’t be hard,” O’Connell said, “but finding him might be.”
“Do you want me to come with you? I’m great at database searches. Three heads are better than two, right?”
“I appreciate it, but I need you to do something else.”
“Sure, name it.”
“Get some sleep.”
“C’mon, Nick. I’m fine. I probably got as much sleep as you did last night.”
He stared at me. “I’m serious. The next few days will undoubtedly be rough. And I know you. You’ll divide your time between the precinct and the hospital. Please, get some sleep. Clear your mind. Everything depends on you remembering this asshole’s voice. Without that, we’ve got nothing.”
“Okay.”
After he left, I shot a text to Lucca, slumped onto the sofa, and stared at the floor. Twenty minutes passed before I moved again. And for those twenty minutes, not a single thought popped into my head. Apparently, I’d mastered the art of meditation without even trying. O’Connell was right. Sleep would help, but I feared the nightmares.
I flipped on the TV. Within minutes, my eyes closed, and I slept like a brick. And then the phone rang.
Bleary-eyed, I read the display. No name. Just a number. It looked familiar. “Hello?”
“I’m surprised you got to him so fast. I thought by now he’d be dead. But I’m sure nature will take its course, and if not, I’ll circle back and finish him off when I’m done.”
“Who is this?” I ran down the hall and into the office, grabbing the landline only to put it down and turn on the computer instead. I needed the number traced, and I needed it done now.
“You don’t know?” the voice asked, annoyance and anger boiling to the surface. “You should have been thinking about me because I’ve spent every damn day thinking about you. About what you took from me. How you deceived me. How you destroyed everything I had. Even after all that shit, after everything you did, you haven’t given me a second thought, have you? From now on, I’ll be the only thing you think about. And I’ll be the last thought on your mind before I finally put you out of your misery. By the end, you’ll be begging me to pull the trigger.”
Plugging in my phone, I switched the call to speaker and hit record on the computer. The quality would probably be shit, but it’d be better than nothing. “Since that’s what you want, let’s cut the bullshit and fast track this. Who are you? What do you want?”
He ignored my questions. “You should know I’m just getting started. Since you’re in such a rush, come find me. I’m ready to play.”
Abruptly, the call ended. I cursed and stopped the recording. The phone number belonged to Steve Cooper. “Oh god.” Grabbing the desk phone, I called Kendall’s private number.
“Parker, what’s wrong?” Kendall asked, knowing I wouldn’t call his personal line unless it was an emergency.
“The shooter is at Steve Cooper’s apartment.”
“Shit.” Kendall barked orders. “I’ll mobilize units immediately.” He hung up before I could say another word.
I’d only been to Cooper’s apartment once, back when he carried a badge. We hadn’t been in touch since that fateful day, and I never knew exactly what became of him. At the time, he’d been staring down several serious criminal charges. We’d both dug ourselves into deep, dark holes, but unlike me, Cooper never crawled out. Cooper had done some bad things, compromised the OIO, federal agents, and open cases, but deep down, he wasn’t a bad guy. He’d just made bad decisions due to the circumstances. Truthfully, so had I.
Running down the steps, I got into my car and peeled out of the garage. With any luck, Cooper had a new home with an orange jumpsuit. Who would have thought the safest place for a former federal agent would be behind bars?
One thing was for sure. The caller wasn’t Steve Cooper. I would have recognized his voice. But that left a million new questions in my mind. Just like I had done last night, I called 9-1-1 and had units dispatched to the caller’s location. Then I called O’Connell, who promised to inform Moretti before getting his ass across town to Cooper’s.
Horns blared as I jutted around slow moving traffic. I gripped the steering wheel hard as I took a turn too fast and heard the back tires squeal and bump. Unlike last night, I called Lucien Cross. “The shooter made contact again.” I gave my boss details on the call, including the time, duration, and location.
“It’s a second data point,” Cross said. “We’ll compare pings and cross-reference the names. We had thousands of hits on last night’s location, so the more times he communicates, the better off we’ll be.”
“He doesn’t use a cell phone,” I said.
“I bet my ass he has one, though,” Cross said. “I’ll send a team to meet you.”
“FBI and police are already en route.”
“Let’s see who gets there first.”
Even though I violated every traffic law known to man, I was the last to arrive. Martin’s compound was on the outskirts of the city, and with the addition of rush-hour traffic, which I’d done my best to avoid, it still took too long.
Two members of HRT stood outside the front door, shifty-eyed, as they watched everyone and everything. The rest of their team might be inside or scouting the area. I didn’t know what they found, but since they weren’t inside, I knew the man who shot Jablonsky wasn’t here. A patrol car and ambulance had parked in the fire lane. No sirens or lights.
Calm down, I thought. This wasn’t an emergency. If it was, the lights would be on. I spotted a Cross Security company car and a four-man tactical team, which Lucien used mainly for bodyguard work, lingering on the sidewalk across the street. They had no official role in this, but Cross sent them in case I needed backup. I waved them off and headed for the front door.
Surprisingly, the HRT members had been waiting for me. They escorted me upstairs to Cooper’s floor. Kendall stood in the doorway. His skin gray and clammy. I’d never seen Kendall look like that, not even at agents’ funerals or that one time he had the stomach flu. He mopped his brow and upper lip with a folded handkerchief and shoved it back into his pocket. Turning, he nodded to the agents, and they retreated back into the elevator.
My stomach dropped, fear and anger fighting for control of my psyche. I moved forward, unsure if I wanted to run or drag my feet. Kendall moved away from the door and stepped into my path, blocking me from seeing inside.
“Were we too late?” I asked.
“Unfortunately.” Kendall put his hands on my shoulders to stop me from maneuvering around him.
“Cooper?”
Kendall swallowed uncomfortably.
“I don’t understand. Why is he even here? I thought he was facing hard time.”
Kendall let out a breath. “Given the circumstances and Agent Cooper’s performance record, he’d been granted leniency. Jablonsky spoke on his behalf. So did I. Cooper received a reduced sentence, but three months in, he was attacked in the shower. His attorney convinced the judge to let him serve out the rest of his sentence under house arrest. He’s been here ever since.” I pushed past Kendall, but he grabbed my arm. “Parker, you don’t want to see him like that. You’ll never get that image out of your head.”
Despite the warning, I moved to the open door. Cooper’s body lay spread eagle on the floor. A once white plastic bag covered his face, secured tightly around his neck by duct tape. The interior of the bag was filled with blood, obscuring his boyish features. He’d been stabbed so many times I could see bone and guts. But the Marine Corps tattoo on his arm gave away his identity.
The bile rose, even as my chin quivered. I slapped a palm over my mouth, afraid I wouldn’t be able to contain myself. For a few moments, my vision dimmed, the edges disappearing until I could only see pinpricks of light straight ahead.
I’d seen several gruesome crime scenes, but this was the worst. Not even Jablonsky’s bedroom contained this much carnage.
A patrol officer stood just inside the doorway. Agent Davis and several other suits stood nearby, doing their best to assess the situation without moving or disturbing anything. But this wasn’t just any crime scene. This was personal. And none of them could bring themselves to even look at Cooper.
“Parker,” Kendall said, “let’s talk outside. I could use some air.”
I followed Kendall out of the building and into the back seat of his sedan. Instead of looking him in the eye, I stared over his shoulder and out the window, watching as evidence collection and the medical examiner arrived. I told him about the caller, and we listened to the recording I made.
“What else did he say to you?” Kendall asked. “Did he tell you what this is about?”
“Not really.” Unlike the first call, I remembered this one verbatim.
“All right, we already have a trap and trace set up on your phone, but he hasn’t attempted to hide his location. He calls from his victims’ homes. He wants us to know where he is, so it’s pointless.”
“He wants us to see his handiwork. He wants to play, that’s what he said.” I didn’t remember any background noise. No screams. No sounds of a struggle. Cooper must have already been dead when the killer phoned. The asshole didn’t want to repeat the same mistake he made with Mark only hours earlier. “He said he’d finish off Jablonsky if nature doesn’t take its course.”
“Son of a bitch,” Kendall cursed. “I won’t let that happen. I already assigned agents to remain stationed at the hospital around the clock, and Lt. Moretti assigned police officers to assist. No one’s getting near Mark without my authorization. Our next step should be getting you into protective custody.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I said.
“Parker, he threatened you. As far as I can tell, this is about revenge. You don’t stab someone that many times unless you’re harboring some serious rage.”
“Do you think Cooper tried to fend him off? Did you notice any defensive wounds?”