IF I FAIL: A Jake Carrington Mystery

by Marian Lanouette

As they entered the lobby, their senses were assaulted with a combination of scents. The most prevalent was the distinct odor of pot, along with take-out Chinese, pizza, and unidentifiable home cooking; none smelled appetizing. The familiar scent of decay hung in the air; Jake guessed a dead mouse or other small animal. He wondered why these places always smelled of urine. Didn’t people have bathrooms?

  Their adrenaline surged in their veins. Taking the stairs, avoiding the elevator, they stopped and listened before opening the hallway door. The odors were stronger up here because everyone had left their garbage outside their doors. Tomorrow must be garbage day, Jake surmised.

  Louie thought he’d lose his dinner. He could never figure out how people accepted living this way. He’d kill himself trying to find a way out. It remained one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city, despite the administration’s campaign promises to clean the streets. Once elections were over, both the candidates and the neighborhood went back to business as usual. The area housed the local drug dealers and prostitutes, along with the city’s poor and downtrodden.

  They made sure they covered each other’s backs while they walked down the hall to apartment 3C. Louie nodded to Jake, while they examined the door, which was riddled with bullet holes. Their weapons drawn, radios in hand, Jake took a deep breath, pushed open the door. Dispatch said to speak with a Blanca Santos. She wasn’t a neighbor. The caller actually lived in the apartment where the shots were fired.

  Poised at the door, Louie heard a woman crying, he exchanged a look with Jake. They continued to scan the scene. On the floor, right inside the door, the body of a male lay; his style of dress suggested he was young. Half of his face had been blown away. Blood splatters decorated the floor, door, and walls. Blood also ran down his neck. The odor from a puddle where his body had released its contents at the moment of death filled the air—the stench of death, the rusty metallic odor of blood, urine, and intestinal fluids.

  The door, riddled with three bullet holes, needed both of them to push it open. The body prevented it from opening all the way. Louie swallowed hard. Pushing his dinner down, he pulled open the closet located by the door, while Jake covered him. From there they walked down a long hallway, back to back. The first room, the kitchen, opened into the living room, where they found a crying, pregnant young girl. Babies having babies, Louie thought. She looked to be no more than seventeen. Best guess, she was due any day now. She gripped the wastepaper basket, holding it to her face while she violently threw up in it. The girl appeared compact, with long, dark, black hair braided down her back. Her black eyes were red from crying. As though somehow making it worse, Louie discovered this was the apartment with the curtains. The apartment appeared clean, though it smelled of burnt meat.

  After a full search of the premises, Louie went back to the girl, helped her up while Jake walked to the body and called for the Crime Scene team. He and Jake had developed a rhythm over the years.

  He popped down the hall to inform Jake that he’d called for the medics and a female officer because the young girl just went into labor.

  “Great timing. Hey, we lucked out tonight. The ME on duty is Lang,” Jake said.

  “Nothing like the best.” Louie walked back to the girl.

  While Louie tried to calm the girl down to get her statement, Jake bagged the hands first, then the feet. He took pictures of the body in the apartment. Outside, in the hallway, he snapped more pictures, finding three shell casings there. The search of the body provided identification for the victim. Jake pulled the male’s wallet from the back left pocket. Removing the license, Jake studied his info, shook his head. The kid, Xavier Orlando of this address, was only nineteen years old. What a waste of life, he thought.

  The crime scene team arrived simultaneously with the ME, Dr. Lang. Ms. Santos let out a bloodcurdling scream, startling all of them. The baby must have decided tonight was a good night to make its entrance into this world.

  Louie was glad when the female officer arrived, relieving him of the care of the girl. He liked Stella Fisher, a veteran officer with ten years on the job. Efficient, tough, yet compassionate described Stella, he thought. She commanded your attention when she showed up on scene; at five-seven, weighing one-thirty—all of it solid muscle—she made you look twice. She surveyed the room, assessing the situation, while he took in all her details. Fisher took no shit from anyone. She could kick ass with the best of them. Louie had no qualms going through a door with her. Nodding to Louie, she walked over to Ms. Santos, taking charge of arranging her transport to the hospital.

  Before Blanca headed to the hospital, she told Louie they were watching television when someone knocked on the door. Xavier got up to answer it. He always looked through the peep hole before opening up. She heard gun shots; she pushed off the couch, and ran to see what had happened. She found Xavier on the floor, bleeding. Not able to find a pulse, she dialed 9-1-1.

  “Did Xavier open the door, Blanca?”

  “No, I did.” Leaning over suddenly, grabbing the chair with one hand, she wrapped her other arms around her belly as she took a deep breath.

  “Why?”

  “Because my next door neighbor, Annie, called out, asked if I was all right. I let her in; she saw Xavier, and screamed, and ran back to her apartment. She’s in 3D…” She yelled out in pain when another contraction came.

  Blanca grabbed a hold of Louie’s arm. “You need to call my mother. I need my mother with me in the delivery room. She promised she’d be there.”

  “Louie, we need to get her to the hospital. I’ll stay with her,” Stella told him. “Blanca, give me your mother’s number. I’ll give her a call.”

  With no other choice, he let his witness go. He’d question her once she delivered. He walked back to Jake.

  “Crazy night,” Louie said to Jake.

  “Sure is. How is she?”

  “She’s in good hands. Stella will take care of her.”

  “Yeah, she will.”

  “What have you got so far?”

  “Shot three times through the door. He probably never saw the shooter. Blanca opens the door to a neighbor, has to pull him out of the way first. That’s probably what brings on her labor. So this isn’t exactly where the body originally landed. Make a note to question her—how far did she move the body? Why don’t you start the door to door with apartment 3D? See what this Annie person has to say. Make sure you take a uniform with you, Louie. I’ll stay with the CSI’s.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you shortly.”

  “Be careful. We don’t know if the shooter’s still in the building.”

  “Okay, Mom,” Louie said, leaving the apartment.

  “So Doc, what do you think?”

  “Well, Jake, I think he’s dead.” Doc Lang motioned for the team to take the body away.

  “Good one, Doc.”

  “I’ll let you know after I post him. Don’t come around until after eleven tomorrow morning. I have a full house right now. I pulled in two shootings from the Hartford area, now this one makes the seventh one I have in house. The natives are on a rampage. Check in before you drive out to make sure I’m still on schedule tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  Louie came back as Doc Lang waved good-bye.

  “I got the uniforms going door to door. 3D’s Annie Darcy. She didn’t want to speak with us. She’s sorry she knocked on the door. She doesn’t want to get involved. She feels bad she couldn’t stay to help Blanca. Her kids were in the apartment alone; she didn’t want them coming out to look for her or see Xavier. She heard someone knock really loud before she heard the shots. She looked out her peephole, but she saw no one in the hallway. Next, she heard three loud shots. They sounded like fire crackers going off. She raced to her bedroom and grabbed her kids to protect them. Right after that, she heard Blanca scream and ran over to see if she could help. This is a direct quote from her. ‘That is all I know.’ Unquote.”

  “Okay, let’s finish our search. Doc said
to see him tomorrow morning after eleven, not before. He hopes to have something for us. I just spoke with Stella. The doctor believes Blanca will deliver within the hour, so we could probably interview her tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, the doctor thinks…I got three kids. The doctor said Sophia would go fast for each one, remember? She was in labor for fifteen hours for one, ten for another, eight for the last one. What does the doctor know?”

  The next morning Jake held a departmental meeting to review everyone’s case load. He looked his over the night before, decided to hand off the Wiggins Street shooting to Al Burke and Gunner Kraus.

  “Burke, Kraus, where do you stand on the Rubino case?” Jake asked.

  “We have it wrapped, except for a few loose ends. We’re waiting on the D.A. for a warrant,” Burke answered.

  “Who’s going to be the lucky guest of the state?” Jake inquired.

  “One Julianna Rubino, the wife. Seems Mr. Rubino stuck his zucchini where it didn’t belong once too often.” Kraus laughed, shaking his index finger at Jake, imitating Mrs. Rubino. “She warned him, but did he listen?”

  “You have such a grasp of the English language, Kraus,” Jake commented, unable to hide his grin. “Okay, last night’s shooting on Wiggins Street. A young Hispanic male, age nineteen, shot in the face through his door. He lived there with his girlfriend, Blanca Santos. She’s in the delivery room at St. Mary’s hospital as we speak. No witnesses. Burke, you and Kraus take this one. Girlfriend claims they don’t do drugs or anything illegal. Here are the preliminary interviews; one from first on scene, and one from Louie and me. I’ve also included a report of my observations on scene. Doc Lang said he’d have something for you after eleven today. Any questions?”

  “Yeah. Overworked, Lieutenant? It’s not like you to hand off a case,” Kraus commented.

  “Ah, the complexity of command. Seriously, we’re bogged down with the Adams case, and we’re still working the Wagner case. So, this one’s yours. You have any questions, Kraus?”

  “No, sir,” Kraus answered.

  “Now, let’s move along. Brown, what’s the status on the hit and run? Also, do you have anything new on the high school shooting? Do you have any suspects or solid leads?” Jake rapidly shot his questions at his team.

  “Not yet. The victim of the hit and run’s still in a coma. The eyewitnesses didn’t get a license number, though we do have the make and color. The wits are pretty sure the driver was a kid. The high school shooting—the principal and the teachers are cooperating, the students aren’t. I think the kids know who did it, but no one’s talking. It’s obvious to me they’re afraid. Right, Armand?” Brown asked.

  “Yeah, Kirk, those kids are definitely afraid. The weird part is the victim, Tony DeSalle, didn’t belong to any group or gang, maintained straight A’s, didn’t do drugs, nothing. It doesn’t make any sense,” Armand Lanoue stated.

  Kirk Brown and Armand Lanoue had been partnered since last year, when Joe Smith retired. Armand got promoted to detective. Brown’s partner, Kraus, moved over to partner with Burke. Both were in their thirties. Kirk Brown matched his name—brown/brown, height five-eleven. Armand Lanoue—blond, thin hair, brown eyes—stood a gangly six-three. Their partnership seemed to be working. Both were fastidious about the way they dressed.

  “Do you need any help on either one, Kirk?” Jake asked.

  “No, we’re still in the early stages. What do you think if we grab a couple of uniforms for the door to door on the hit and run, to narrow down the list?”

  “Do what you need to. If you need more, come see me. Al, you and Gunner go over to the hospital, interview the live-in girlfriend after she delivers.”

  “We get all the choice assignments, don’t we? She couldn’t be a stripper now, could she?” Burke shook his head.

  Jake stared Burke down until he turned away. Gunner and Burke were the original odd couple. Gunner’s suits, shirts, even his ties were carefully matched and pressed. Though married, he thought of himself as a ladies’ man. Jake thought of him as a snake; he hated cheaters.

  Married three times, Burke had a large child support/alimony bill, after producing five children with his ex-wives. Though he never complained about it, from what Jake heard his child support remained current with each family. He could always tell what Burke ate for lunch because he wore it on his shirt, which covered his pot belly. His nose was red from the alcohol he favored. Jake estimated Al only had a couple of years left dealing with what other human beings did to each other. A good cop, Jake thought, though he’d seen too much in his years on the force. Years before, as the lead cop, Burke had worked the murders of seven children and their mother. It never let go of him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jake organized his notes from the meeting, typing them into his computer. Once done, he sent an email updating his captain on each case. For a city of this size, he thought, we certainly get our share of crime. We could almost compete with New York or LA. His other detectives were in the field. He’d review their caseload later, when he caught up with them. He stared at the department’s expense chits sitting on his desk, deciding that was a task for later too.

  The murder book on each crime never left the station. So Jake organized his notes on a large posterboard to follow his evidence; giving him a quick overview of each case if he wanted to take the material home for review. This way they were always on his mind. He set up Chelsea Adams’ board first; the ongoing board for Wagner, he updated. He didn’t bother to set one up for Washington’s case; steps away from being closed, it didn’t require one. He was waiting on the final lab reports to officially close the file. Jake tried to maintain a normal life, leaving work at work. Most times he succeeded, though some cases grabbed him—didn’t let go. Shanna’s case was one of those. He lifted the canvas, uncovering the Adams’ womans board first, reviewed their steps. Louie had come back into his office by the time he completed his review.

  “She was a good looking woman,” he said thoughtfully.

  “What have you got, Louie?”

  “We need to update the information on the second wife. She left on Thursday from JAX and landed in Bermuda. Here’s where it gets interesting. She immediately gets on a plane for New York, using her maiden name. She stayed at the Radisson in Southbury on Thursday night, checked in about nine-thirty.”

  “Wonderful, Louie. Did you get the subpoena for Lola’s cell records?”

  “I’m waiting on Judge Warner.”

  “Okay, I’m going to check to see what the holdup is. We put the request in two days ago. I bet you she called the first Mrs. Adams on her phone.” Jake’s intercom buzzed. “Yes, Katrina?”

  “There’s a Cara Adams on line two for you.”

  “Thanks.” Jake picked up. “This is Lieutenant Carrington.”

  “Hi, Lieutenant, I’m sorry to bother you…is there anything new on my mother’s case? We’re burying her tomorrow. I wondered…”

  “I’m sorry, Cara, it’s ongoing. If something turns up, I’ll let you know. Is your father coming in for the funeral?”

  “He planned on it, but I told him to stay home. Seth’s mad at me. He wanted him there. What do you think I should’ve done?” Cara cried hard, trying to speak at the same time.

  “That’s between you and your brother.” Jake paused. “I’ll call you with any new developments, Cara, I promise.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Lieutenant.”

  Jake turned to Louie. “She told her father not to come for the funeral. I wish she’d checked with me first. It would’ve been nice to question him ourselves. I understand her feelings, though.”

  “Yeah, it would’ve been nice.”

  “Okay, let’s get back to this. I’m going to call Lola’s mobile company, see what’s holding them up. They have the damned subpoena.” Jake pushed the numbers on his phone a little too hard.

  “Some of the lab reports came in. I’ll look them over while you’re on the phone.” Louie left the office, heading back to hi
s desk.

  Though he wouldn’t admit it, even to himself, he missed Jake being across from him. Louie looked through the reports, highlighted the pertinent information. He got up and made copies for Jake. Next, he put the original reports in the murder book with his notes. They were still waiting on the DNA results to be sure all the blood belonged to Chelsea Adams. Next, Louie read the ballistics report. The ME pulled a .40 caliber bullet from Chelsea’s head. Probably from a Glock 26 hand gun; good for a range of twenty to twenty-five yards. It was a small gun; lightweight, easy to conceal, a good fit for a woman, though it kicked a little. He checked his email next. The phone company had finally sent over the cell records for Lola Adams. He decided to get another cup of coffee before he started in on them. Reading while walking, he plowed right into Jake.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Louie asked.

  “I should have Chelsea’s cell phone records in a few minutes. Anything new on your end?”

  “Yeah, I got copies here for you on the lab reports, including ballistics, still no DNA results. I also just got Lola’s cell phone records, which I’m going to look over after I grab a cup of joe. You want any?”

  “I could use a cup.” Jake walked with Louie to the coffee machine. “Do you think Mia can handle me being a cop?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, we never got to dinner last night. The call on Wiggins came in. After I left Wiggins Street last night, I gave her a call to apologize—she didn’t pick up, so I left her a voice message. She hasn’t called back.”

  “I don’t know what she thinks, Jake. She seemed okay with it yesterday. Do you want Sophia to give her a call? You know, chat her up?”

  “Thanks, but no thanks, Louie. I’ll take care of it. I’m going to check the fax machine. Chelsea’s records should be here by now. Come in when you’re ready. We’ll spread out on my conference table. It’ll be easier to compare Lola’s records to Chelsea’s there.”

  “I’ll be right in.”