by Corey Brown
“Where’s your dad?”
Jamie stiffens, momentarily put off by Cody’s tone. But then she senses something about him.
“Dad went to get gas for the lawn mower,” Jamie says. “And my car is across the street, right where I parked it last night.”
She kisses him again but senses a distance between them. Stepping back, Jamie holds Cody at arm’s length and she notices his disheveled appearance.
“Everything’s okay?” Cody asks, pressing. “You’re okay? Todd? Gus and Marion?”
A nervous smile darts across her face. “I was just about to ask you the same thing. Yes, we’re all fine, honey.” She touches his cheek, looks into his eyes. “What about you, are you okay?”
Glancing away, Cody frowns. “I’m not sure,” he says. “I mean, I’m fine but something is wrong.”
“What do you mean, what’s wrong?”
“That’s just it,” Cody says, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Things are happening to me that I can’t explain, but I’m not sure what they are because I can’t remember them. I can feel them, I can feel these things but have no real memory of them.”
Cody turns away, taking a few steps toward the couch and Jamie sees his matted hair, caked with dried blood.
“Honey,” Jamie says, now genuinely worried. “What happened to your head?”
Cody looks back at her. “See?” he says, with a wave of his hand. “That’s what I’m talking about. I was following Eric Hansen but I lost him. I stopped the car to get out for a minute, to get my bearings. The next thing I know, I’m flat on my back and Eric is waking me up. Something happened to me between the time I got out of the car and the time Eric found me, something important happened, I know it, but for the life of me I can’t remember what it is. I can feel it, but I can’t remember it.”
Cody collapses onto the sofa and bends forward, putting his hand on his forehead. He sighs.
“Jamie, my mind is full of ideas and thoughts and feelings that sit just at the edge, just beyond my ability to see them.” He rubs his face. “I know they’re there but I can’t focus on them, I can’t understand them.”
Jamie kneels in front of Cody and takes his hand. “Honey, I---- ”
Cody pulls away, wringing both hands together. “I keep thinking of that Bible verse,” he says. “You know, John Three-sixteen, for God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son. I don’t know why, but it’s constantly in my head. Sometimes, I think I can even see the words. And Nick, I know how he died, but I can’t put it into words. I don’t understand how I know, but I do.”
Cody’s knuckles turn white as his hands work across each other. Jamie can see Cody’s body tensing, muscles flexing, each time his hands press together. He leans forward, his shoulders hunched, his eyes wandering.
“And remember how you told me someone was watching over you? After Julia was killed and you ran, do you remember?”
Jamie nods. “Yes, I remember.”
“That same guy saved me.”
“What do you mean?”
“He did, he saved my life.” Cody looks hard into Jamie’s eyes. “I spoke to him. I don’t know why I think that, but I know I spoke with him.”
Jamie retakes Cody’s hands and squeezes. “Honey, Cody, I think you need some time off.”
Cody sighs then says, “I know I sound like a crazy man, but I’m not. Jamie, I feel that way, I feel like a crazy man and at the very same time I know I’m completely in control. These thoughts I have are dead on. I know something is up, something is happening. I just can’t put my finger on what it is.”
“You’re scaring me a little.” Jamie glances around, looks away. “I’m sorry,” she says. “This is all kind of strange. I just don’t know what to say.”
Cody looks hard at his wife, more than anything he wants to take Jamie in his arms, wants to pull her close, to keep her. But he is scared, too. Given the circumstances, maybe Jamie ought to do the keeping; maybe she needs to save him.
An electronic trill, Cody’s cell is ringing.
“Don’t. Please,” Jamie says, holding Cody’s hand, keeping him from unclipping the phone from his belt. “Just let it go to voicemail.”
Cody hesitates, thinks about doing just that, but wrests free from Jamie’s grip and looks at the number showing on the display.
“It’s Laroche,” Cody says. “I have to take it.” Cody flips the phone open and says, “Briggs.”
“We found him,” Russell says, his voice sounding tense. “We found your shooter.”
“No shit? Who is it?”
“Some homeless woman found his parts in the warehouse district. Under I-Ten, where it intersects with Highway Ninety.”
“Parts?”
“As in many,” Russell says. “There were pieces of him everywhere. No hard evidence yet, but the crime scene guys say it looks as though the killer used some kind of bladed weapon, something big, like a sword. Can you believe it, a goddamned sword? What a mess.”
Russell sighs. “Jesus, who uses a sword to kill someone?”
“How do you know he’s the guy?”
“For starters, the car matches the description you gave. City tags, blown side window, all of it. Plus, we lifted several prints from the shotgun he conveniently left on the front seat. They matched his right hand perfectly, which happened to be thirty-seven yards away from his right arm. And that arm was thirteen feet from what was left of his torso.”
Still kneeling in front of Cody, Jamie turns her head, presses the side of her face into Cody’s thigh. Listening to him now, talking like a policeman, he does not sound so crazy. He seems like the same old Cody, he sounds like her husband. This thought gives Jamie a small measure of comfort. Cody seems to sense her feelings and touches her cheek, strokes her wet hair.
“Man, you weren’t kidding about the mess,” Cody says. “Who was he?”
Russell inhales, lets the air out slowly. “A cop. What the hell is going on around here?”
Somehow, Cody is not surprised.
“Who was he?”
“Hank Mitchell out of District Three. An old-timer, on the job for almost thirty-five years. Know him?”
“Not really. I met him a couple of times, outings, that kind of stuff. Didn’t he win some kind of award a while back? I seem to remember hearing he was solid.”
“Yeah, he was,” Russell says. “The mayor decorated him for crushing that big car theft operation about ten years ago. It was good work, he deserved the honors. And three years back Mitchell took first place in the annual shoot out. You believe it? Almost sixty and this old guy won the competition, beating the young Turks. Cody, you got lucky. This guy was more than a marksman, he should’ve plugged you.”
“Wait a minute,” Cody says. “This guy was a sharpshooter?
Russell starts to answer, holds his thought.
Then, after a few seconds, says, “Yeah, he ranked in the top five city-wide.”
“Since when does a marksman use a shotgun? This doesn’t make sense. I mean, I get it, I was a moving target and a scattergun requires less accuracy but under those circumstances it’s not as lethal. A guy who wins an NOPD shooting competition doesn’t need a shotgun, tagging me from eight feet away with a pistol would not be hard.”
“I know, I know,” Russell says. “But Mitchell is the guy, no doubt.”
“You can’t do ballistics on a shotgun. And why me, what’s his motive? Do you think he killed Julia and went for Jamie?”
At the mention of hers and Julia’s names, Jamie lifts her head, she looks at Cody. He doesn’t seem to notice her stare.
“No clue,” Russell says. “I have no idea why he tried to pop you or if you were really the target, and no idea why someone cut him up. I suspect he was involved with Julia’s murder, but who knows at this point? I was hoping you might be able to supply a motive once you knew his name.”
Cody shakes his head. “Sorry Russ, I’m drawing a blank, I just don’t know anything about him. But if
he killed Julia then you know he’s connected to Nick’s death and whatever Nick was working on.”
“No question about it,” Russell says. “I’d like you to come to the station so we can go over all of this. How soon can you get here?”
Cody shifts the phone to his other ear. “Does that mean I’m back on duty?” He says.
Jamie looks at him closely, now more worried than before.
“Not necessarily,” Russell says. He had anticipated this question. “You still need a physical exam and a psych evaluation. But we both know I never took you off duty, not really. I just wanted you to cool out.”
“Am I working again?”
“Not until you see a doctor. Goddamnit, what’re you saying? You won’t help me until I forget about your movie debut?”
Cody hesitates, drawing a deep breath. That is exactly what he wants to say, but he can’t. Besides, Russell is right, he is still working, more or less.
“I can be there in an hour or so,” Cody says, exhaling slowly.
“Good. I’ll be waiting.”
Holding the phone away from his ear for a moment, Cody looks at it, snaps it shut.
“What’s going on?” Jamie asks. “Did they catch the man who killed Julia?”
Cody starts to get up from the couch, but Jamie holds him back. “Cody, don’t go in to work today.” She touches his face. “Honey, you look so tired. Stay home, rest up.”
“I have to go. They found the man who took a shot at us. He was butchered, chopped into pieces.”
“Oh my God,” Jamie says, covering her mouth. “Who would do something like that?”
Strangely, Cody thinks he knows the answer to Jamie’s question. But like so many other thoughts roaming his mind, Cody cannot quite understand why he knows.
He shrugs and says, “I have to go. Laroche needs my help.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
In his heart Cody feels a stab of anxiety, a sliver of dread. So much will happen in the next twenty-four hours, he is certain of it. Cody cups Jamie’s face in his hands and kisses her. Her skin, her lips are like silk. He makes it last, holding her mouth to his for several moments, savoring it, somehow knowing this will be their last real kiss.
“No, it can’t wait,” Cody whispers in Jamie’s ear, breaking the intimacy. He presses his cheek against hers. “Make sure Todd is home tonight,” he says. “Don’t let him out of your sight and don’t let him leave again. Not by himself or with anyone you don’t know, but especially not with Lucas. Honey, Todd is in trouble. I don’t know why or what kind of trouble but I’m certain Lucas is the cause of it.”
Cody pulls away, looks hard at Jamie and says, “Promise me you’ll keep him.”
Jamie swallows hard. She has never seen Cody like this and it scares her. Jamie nods then says, hoarsely, “I promise.”
Chapter 24
On a straight-backed chair Suzanne sits alone with David. She stares, thinking about him, about his life.
“Ten minutes,” Suzanne had said, almost begging. “Just ten minutes. Please?”
Doctor Robiere had resisted at first. This was not normally allowed, but Suzanne had been persuasive and Robiere had acquiesced. The doctor made arrangements for Suzanne and Sawyer to spend a few minutes with David.
“I’d give you as much time as you need, if it were up to me,” Robiere had said, as she opened the door to a small room where David had been placed. “But I can get into some trouble over this.”
“I’ll keep it short,” Suzanne had said. “I promise.”
Sawyer had declined the final farewell. She had a flight to work but more importantly she knew Suzanne needed time alone with her brother. Besides, Sawyer wanted her last memories of David to be filled with life, not a corpse lying on a table.
The two women hugged and said goodbye. In a way, they were friends now. Maybe not close, more than likely they would never see each other again. But they were connected.
Doctor Robiere leaves, silently closing the door. Sitting in a grey, metal folding chair, Suzanne is alone with David. She doesn’t cry at the sight of her brother’s lifeless body, Suzanne is spent and there are simply no more tears.
No tears, but there are memories. Waves of memories, both happy and sad, spill through Suzanne’s mind. Riverboat rides on the Mississippi, family vacations to Utah, the day her parents brought home a beautiful baby. Suzanne remembers how this adopted boy loved her more than any natural brother ever could.
Suzanne recalls how, as children, the two of them would play hide and seek. Invariably, instead of hiding, David would sneak up and scare the shit out of her.
“Who knew?” Suzanne says, smiling weakly. “Who knew you’d make a living by scaring people?” She shrugs, a meaningless gesture, intended for no one. “I guess, maybe, it should’ve been obvious. Maybe I knew all along.”
Hospital personnel have cleaned up David. No traces of blood or trauma show on his face, although Suzanne has half a mind to look for the cracks both Doctor Robiere and Sawyer had talked about. Covered to his shoulders with a white sheet, he looks peaceful, as though he is just sleeping.
Suzanne checks that thought: not really sleeping but not really dead, either. No doubt his color is gone, the pallid skin making David look like the corpse he is, but there is something about his expression, it is almost a look of anticipation, as if David is lying in wait.
This is silly, Suzanne decides, wishful thinking. She utters another prayer, asking for strength.
A knock at the door then Suzanne hears the soft click of the latch. She rises, turning to see who is coming in.
“Ms. Carlson?” The orderly says. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s time.”
She looks at the man. He is about her age with round, wire frame glasses. His dark hair is wild and unkempt, and his broad shoulders accent his confident frame. He holds a clipboard in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his white lab coat. Suzanne remains motionless, not speaking.
“Ma’am, is everything all right?”
Suzanne nods. “Yes, everything’s fine. I just didn’t expect…” She takes him in again.
“Pardon? Didn’t expect what?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect you so soon.”
The orderly glances at his watch. “Doctor Robiere was very clear, only ten minutes. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay, I understand. Where will you take him?”
“Down to the morgue.” The orderly rechecks the paperwork on his clipboard and says, “In the morning there’ll be an autopsy.”
“Yes, I know.” Suzanne looks once more at David and draws a deep breath, steeling herself. “All right, he’s all yours.”
The orderly walks to the gurney, glances at Suzanne as if to say here you go, take one last look, then covers David’s head. Gurney in tow, he backs out of the door then turns, pushing the cart, feet first, down the hall. Suzanne watches the orderly walk away, watches as her brother rounds a corner and disappears.
Suzanne stares after them. She frowns. Something is unusual about the man. She considers what she is thinking then presses her fingertips to her forehead and rubs.
“Oh wow,” Suzanne says to herself. “This day has been way too long. Now I’m wondering about people I’ve never met.”
She starts toward the main elevator that will take her up to the hospital lobby. A hot bath is in order. Maybe that will help, she thinks. Maybe then I can relax and fall asleep. But after a couple of steps, Suzanne stops and turns back. No, she thinks, not unusual, not different. Familiar. There is something very familiar about that orderly. But what?
Walking slowly at first then more quickly, Suzanne follows after him. Turning left down the same deserted hallway as the orderly, Suzanne sees the orderly and her brother disappear into a service elevator at the end of the corridor.
Jogging to the elevator, Suzanne stares at the closed doors. Unlike in the movies, this elevator gives no indication which way the car is goi
ng. No fancy illuminated numbers above the door, not even the call buttons are lit. Suzanne stares at the service elevator a moment longer then shakes off her paranoia.
“This is silly,” she says. “What am I doing?”
She walks back to the main elevator and presses the up button. Waiting, standing there Suzanne hears a door open and looks in the direction of the sound. Some distance away, at the far end of the hall, a janitor emerges from a maintenance closet. His stooped body is swimming in baggy service cover-alls. In his hand, a red handled mop soaking in a dark gray bucket. The man pulls the closet door shut then starts to walk away from Suzanne.
Without really knowing why, she calls out. “Um, excuse me. Sir?”
The man stops, looks back at Suzanne.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Suzanne says, closing the gap between them. “But can I ask you a question?”
The man just stares at her, whisker-ringed lips parted. Suzanne can’t tell if the guy is annoyed or if he is simply waiting for her to ask the question. When she doesn’t actually ask a question the janitor says, “Yeah, okay, what’d you want to know?”
Still walking toward him but slowing her pace, Suzanne says, “Where is the morgue?”
“The morgue?”
“Yes, where is it?”
The man gestures, points someplace behind her. “You just passed it.”
Suzanne turns and looks back. Then she faces the janitor. “Where?”
The man lets go of the mop and walks toward her. “Right there, says morgue over the door.”
Suzanne follows the imaginary line created by his pointing finger and says, “Oh, now I see it.”
The janitor is standing next to her now, Suzanne can smell a mix of tobacco and after-shave. “Uh-huh,” he says. “Yup, right there.”
