G&K01 - The Last Witness

by KT Roberts

  Max tried to remember if she’d told him she was going to be out, but he was certain she hadn’t said anything. He rolled his eyes, annoyed she wasn’t there to greet him when he walked into the house, but then that wasn’t anything new. She was rarely home these days.

  He dropped his backpack on the floor, opened the dishwasher to remove a clean glass and balked when he realized he hadn’t run the washer the night before. He’d been avoiding his parents—his father in particular, especially after lying to him, but the constant bickering between his parents was getting to him. He was particularly tired of hearing his mother’s accusations toward his father. Initially, he’d been on her side, but now he was beginning to understand how his father was feeling. He was a good man, and it made him feel sick to his stomach every time she started in on him. He exhaled, grateful he had his own little world behind the closed door of his bedroom so he could play detective.

  He checked the clock on the wall and noticed it was 3:20 PM. If he ran the dishwasher now, they’d be done in plenty of time for dinner, and then he could put them away in the cupboard before he got chastised for not doing his chores. Otherwise, he’d have to wash them by hand, and that wasn’t happening.

  He reached down under the sink, removed a detergent packet and shoved it into the soap dispenser. Another freshly baked cherry pie sat on the counter, and his mouth watered. He felt the pie plate and it was slightly warm. His mother must have made the pie before she left for God knows where. These days, her pie was all he had to look forward to at home.

  He leaned on the counter and retrieved a plate from the cabinet. The smell of the cherries and buttery crust made his stomach growl. He reached inside the drawer for a knife and cut a huge wedge. The cherries oozed out the sides when he transferred the pie to his plate. Unable to contain his urge, he licked the thick red syrup from the plate and headed upstairs to his bedroom.

  After he’d gobbled down the pie, he felt like having another slice, but figured he’d only upset his mother if he didn’t eat his dinner. The cassette came to mind. He walked to his closet, removed the panel to his secret hiding place and reached inside. With the cassette in his hand, he checked the clock again.

  If his mother followed her normal routine, she wouldn’t be home until at least five-thirty or later. And for sure, his dad wouldn’t come home until much later. His dad had brought the surveillance equipment and recorder home again to review some evidence, and Max knew it was sitting on the table downstairs; that is, if his father hadn’t taken it with him today. What better time to listen to the cassette than right now?

  He practically galloped down the two flights of stairs, taking them two at a time, and was pleased to see the equipment still in the same place his father had left it. He shoved the cassette inside the recorder, adjusted the headset on his ears, and pressed the play button.

  The cassette began to spin. He heard someone clear their throat, then the muffled sound of a vacuum in the background, and a woman speaking in Spanish to someone else. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me I didn’t get anything.” He released a hefty sigh. “Cripes. I lied to Dad about having the cassette when all I have is a vacuum cleaner? Wait until Ritchie hears this.”

  Max shook his head until he heard the familiar sound of the shuttered window sliding across the aluminum track play out. His pulse quickened. Now he was getting somewhere. He visualized the darkened room containing only a kneeling bench in front of the window where the priest sat, and for a second he felt as though he was in the booth confessing his sins.

  In the name of the Father, and of the son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

  Bless me, Father, for I have sinned, a young boy whispered in a low voice. It’s been one week since my last confession.

  Max wondered where this boy had been. He knew the priests were in the Sanctuary while Father McKinley vested. But then, maybe he was an altar boy who’d stopped in to talk to Father McKinley and decided to confess his sins. Max shrugged and hoped the kid had something exciting to confess.

  And, what are your sins? Father McKinley asked.

  I stole a cookie from Dawson’s Market, and then lied about it when she asked.

  Disgusted, Max shook his head and fast-forwarded the tape. “Great, just great! Who cares buddy?” He gave an annoyed sigh knowing he’d have to go back to the drawing board. So, his first attempt failed. They wouldn’t all be like that. Ready to erase the tape, he reached over and accidentally pushed the wrong tab. Annoyed, he was just about ready to push the erase tab when a man’s voice came sailing through the speaker. His excitement kicked up again—he had more than he thought on this tape. He pumped his fist in the air. “All right, Maxie. Way to go!” he said, excited he had another recording. He backed the tape up again and eased himself down on the floor sitting cross-legged and listened. A sudden recognition of the man’s voice gave him pause. He knew that voice. It was the man who’d entered the church after he’d planted the microphone in the booth, but more importantly, he knew he’d heard this voice before. But when? He hadn’t recognized the man when he walked past their hiding place, or at least he didn’t think so. Maybe he was so scared he wasn’t paying attention. He tried to focus on the tape and not try to figure out who the man was. If he didn’t hurry, his mother would be home soon and he’d never hear it.

  Bless me Father, for I have sinned,” the man said, releasing a heavy sigh.

  How can I help you my son?

  I killed my wife.

  There was a noticeable silence. Max’s eyes were wide with fear waiting for the details.

  Are you listening to me, Father? More silence. Why aren’t you speaking? The man growled. “Is this some sort of ploy of yours to trick me?

  No. I’m trying to absorb the magnitude of what you’ve just told me. Why would you do such a horrific thing?

  She wouldn’t give me what I wanted.

  And what was that?” It doesn’t matter now. She wouldn’t give it to me, and because of it, she forced my hand and now she’s paid the price. He laughed. You should have seen how scared she was when she ran and jumped into a car in the middle of the road. But I followed her in my car. And the stupid bitch drove right into Central Park at that hour. He laughed again. She made it easy for me. The park was closed, and that’s when I nailed her up against Bow Bridge. The way I rammed into the back of the car she’d stolen, well, let’s just say it’s over for her. Talk about a lucky break. Goodbye, bitch was all I could say before I pulled away.

  Shaking, Max shut down the recorder. This wasn’t something he could hide from his father. His fingers fumbled as he tried to remove the cassette from the recorder. If only he’d listened to the recording sooner, and now because of his stupidity, a killer was walking around the streets of New York. He shoved the cassette into his pocket and rushed up the stairs taking two at a time.

  When he reached his bedroom, it was like a bell went off in his head. He finally remembered the man’s voice. He’d seen this guy all right—on billboards, and television—advertising the cars from his Mercedes Benz dealership. His pulse raced faster when he realized this man was Gabrielle Sawyer’s father.

  “Oh God. I’ve got to get down to the precinct to see Dad.”

  He reached for his backpack and hustled down the stairs again just as his mother walked into the hallway.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said, bolting for the door.

  “And where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’ll be back later,” he said, running out the door. She stood with her hand on her hip, but he couldn’t worry about her; he’d already wasted too much time. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him to the train station, hanging onto his backpack for fear the cassette would disappear before he reached his father.

  23

  Max took the train and two subways to get to the precinct. He hoped his father was in his office. When he got off at the last stop, he ran down the block and inside the building. Sgt. Thompson, who was on desk duty, looked up surprised to see Max standin
g in front of the precinct desk.

  “Max, how are you?” His brows furrowed in a frown. “Hey, what are you doing here at this hour?”

  “I need to see my dad right away. I have something important to tell him.”

  He chuckled. “Is this official police business, or are you here for money?” he teased.

  “Can you just tell him I’m here, please?”

  Thompson must have sensed the urgency of Max’s request. He keyed in Pauline’s number right away.

  “Pauline, Sgt. Thompson here. Max Harwell is standing at my desk and says he needs to see the Lieutenant right away.” Sgt. Thompson was nodding his head in response to what the secretary was saying. When he was done, he terminated the call and turned to the boy. “Max, your dad is out playing bad cop this evening. Pauline said you should wait in his office. She thinks he should be back soon.”

  “Okay Sarge, thanks.” Max headed down the hall to his dad’s office. With every step, his knees felt weaker. He tried to focus his attention on the tiled floor’s black and white squares until he reached the door. Pauline was standing by the office door.

  “Hi Max,” she said with a frown, and flipped on the light in the lieutenant’s office. “It’s awfully late for you to be traveling by yourself. Is your mom with you?”

  “No. I’m here alone.”

  Pauline gave him a puzzled look. “Is everything okay? Is there something I can do for you?”

  “No. I need to see my dad,” he said, his foot tapping on the floor.

  “Okay. He should be here shortly.” She shut the door leaving Max all alone.

  He paced back and forth, checking out the commendations he’d seen a million times, and how he’d vowed to have just as many when he became an officer. But that was before he’d withheld information about a murder. He sat down on the sofa and sighed, wringing his hands together trying to stop the shaking. “I am dead meat when Dad finds out. He’s going to kill me.”

  Pauline stuck her head back inside the door, “Did you say something to me?” She gave him a questioning look apparently noticing his panicked expression. “Hey, are you all right, Max?”

  “Yes. I’m just anxious to see dad. Do you know how soon he’ll be here?”

  She laughed. “Pretty soon. He just called a while ago and said he was heading back to the precinct. Want a soda?”

  “Yes, please.” Max watched as she walked away. He’d always liked Pauline. She was like the grandmother he’d never known.

  A few minutes later, she returned with the can of soda and a bag of chips and handed them to him. “Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be in my office.”

  “Thanks.” Max popped the tab and took a long swig. He hadn’t realized he was so thirsty and managed to guzzle down the contents of the can within minutes. Now that he was here in his father’s office, he needed to figure out how to gently approach the subject. Using the wrong opening line could be problematic for him with his father’s lack of patience or his tendency to blow up before Max even finished his explanation. His pulse shot up. He was nervous about how his father would react to the news that he’d withheld important information from him, and more importantly, that he had lied. A sharp pain attacked his stomach. He crossed his arms tightly across his stomach and pressed them against his body hoping it would help.

  Max knew he was in a lot of trouble. An image of the orange jumpsuits the prisoners wore blasted through his mind, and he shuddered. It was way too late for regrets. He’d have to take whatever came his way as a result of his deceit.

  Fidgeting in his seat, he stood and began to pace again, but that only served to intensify his tension. Sweat ran down his cheeks. He dried them with his shoulder, and wondered if what he’d done would prevent him from enrolling in the Police Academy.

  “Okay, kid,” Harwell, said to Ryan, “let’s get out of here.” The lieutenant got behind the steering wheel and started the engine, becoming more impatient with the time Ryan was taking to get into the car. He sighed. “For chrissake, can you move any slower?” he shouted out his opened window.

  “Sorry, Lieutenant. I didn’t realize we were in such a hurry.”

  Harwell shot him a look as he slid across the seat. “For the record, kid, whenever you’re with me, we’re in a hurry.”

  “Yes sir.” Ryan snapped his seat belt in place just as Harwell backed out of the parking space into the ongoing traffic and headed toward the precinct.

  Harwell’s thoughts turned to Jessie and the two vases of black roses that had been set out on her balcony. He hoped she was all right. He’d just missed her by the time he arrived at her apartment. He smiled to himself. Gerard must have had one heck of a time getting her to leave the scene but he was glad she had listened to her partner because she sure as hell hadn’t been listening to him. Concern plagued him. Things had escalated in recent weeks going from threatening notes to dead black roses. What was next? He had to start pushing harder to get to the bottom of the matter, and he wasn’t going to let Jessie drag her feet any more. He’d suspend her if that’s what it took to stop her from wasting any more time.

  Harwell looked over at Ryan who was staring out his window watching the hustle bustle of the crowds on the sidewalks. He really liked this drive-along young man and felt certain he’d make a good cop.

  “How you making out over there, Ryan?”

  “Good, sir.” He returned his attention to the crowds, and then turned back to Harwell. “Lieutenant. Can I ask you a question?”

  “What is it, Ryan?”

  “What’s up with this Jackson guy?”

  “Why?” Harwell asked. “Do you know him well?”

  “I’ve only been around him twice. My first day at the precinct . . . then a couple of days ago, I was having a few drinks with the guys over at the Sidebar, and he was there. I was really surprised when he pulled out a wad of cash and paid for my drink. He said it was in honor of me being a student at the Academy.” Ryan shrugged. “Otherwise, he seemed okay to me. He sure does have a bit of an ego, though. He brags a lot about himself.”

  “Oh yeah?” Harwell snickered, “What was he bragging about?”

  “Oh, you know. Things like an arrest he’d made, how he’s so much better at his job than most of the guys. You know, crap like that.”

  Harwell remained silent as he made a mental note of the information he’d just been given and wondered where Jackson was getting all this money from. He knew Jackson was a bragger—but what didn’t he know? Of course, this so-called wad could have been a roll of dollar bills for all he knew, but it was definitely something to check out. Edging the car out of the traffic, he made a right turn into the parking lot behind the precinct and parked the car. Together, they entered the building to a loud commotion that was taking place at the far end of the precinct. There was a line-up of hookers being escorted to a communal cell, to wait for their pimps to show up and bail them out. One of the ladies, a woman of color, was shouting at the officer in charge.

  “I ain’t making no damn money wasting time in this place, Charlie. I got a kid to feed, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know all about it. And, just for the record, Lola, I’m Officer Gertz to you, not Charlie.”

  “What’s the matter, handsome, am I turning you on or something?” she said in a sexy voice.

  “Not a chance, sweetheart. Why would I need a hooker when I have the crown jewels at home?”

  Harwell grinned and headed past the women when the desk sergeant called out to him. “Hey Lieutenant, did anyone tell you Max is here?”

  “No,” he said with a frown. “What’s he doing here?”

  Sgt. Thompson shrugged. “I asked him the same question.”

  “And, what’d he say?”

  “Only that he had something important to tell you.”

  He wondered if Max’s appearance had anything to do with the cassette. “Where is he?”

  “In your office,” Thompson said, then made an about face and walked toward the kitch
en.

  “Lieutenant,” Detective Santori called out to him. Harwell stopped in his tracks. “The lab put a rush on the DNA sample from Jane Doe’s dress and it’s a ninety-seven percent match to the Milligan’s.

  “Did you tell Kensington and Gerard?”

  “I spoke to Gerard a while ago.”

  “Okay, good.” Harwell entered his office, a smirk on his face. He found Max pacing back and forth.

  “Max? Hey.”

  “Oh, Dad,” Max said, nervous tension strumming through his veins.

  “What are you doing here at dinner time? And, more importantly, how did you get here?”

  Max ignored his questions, anxious to get the ordeal over with and face his punishment. “Dad, I have something important to tell you.”

  “What is it, son? You look scared,” he asked.

  “I know you’re going to be really mad at me, and I don’t blame you, but this is more important than being punished. And I’ll take any punishment you want to give me.”

  “Okay, go ahead.” Harwell’s eyebrows rose, but he held his patience. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” He pulled a chair close to the sofa and urged Max to sit down facing him. Max didn’t answer right away. “It’s okay, Max. Talk to me.”

  “I . . . I’ve been lying to you.”

  “Uh huh. About what?”

  “I did use your equipment. I was playing detective. I wanted to celebrate being finished with summer school and having two weeks to myself to hang out with my friends . . . and so . . . I used the surveillance equipment and wanted to record someone’s confession—just for fun, though.”

  “Geez, Max, I thought I raised you better than that. What the hell’s the matter with you, son?”