by Douglas Jern
Still, she did know things about me she couldn’t have gotten from anyone else, he thought. That was true. For instance, he was sure no one apart from his parents and Ulrike knew about his peanut allergy, and he couldn’t imagine that Laura Greenwood had ever been in contact with any of them. Not to mention, she had guessed right on what animal he had been thinking of straight away, and he had never met anyone before who even knew what an aardvark was.
If she was telling the truth about her own abilities, then perhaps she was telling the truth about the killer’s abilities too. Which would clear Zachary of any wrongdoing. But even if he believed her, there was not a snowball’s chance in hell that Caulfield and Mullin would.
It’s too risky to tell them the truth. Come up with a plausible explanation for now. Just don’t let them suspend you. Laura needs you.
“I found out who the victim was,” he said. “The owner of the Ferrari who died this morning.”
“You did?” Caulfield raised his eyebrows. “Who was he?”
“Vincent Morricone.”
The bombshell had been dropped. Gloria gasped, Mullin burst out “Bullshit!” and Caulfield sat up straighter in his chair.
“Are you sure about this, Zimmerman? Did you find something on the crime scene? Driver’s license, ID card, anything?”
“Not as such,” said Zachary. “I found a receipt from a restaurant, issued yesterday. I went there and questioned one of the regulars who said he’d seen Vincent last night.” He could tell from the expression on Caulfield’s face that he wasn’t buying it, but he went on regardless.
“I also found a note at the crime scene addressed to Vincent telling him to be at the scene of the crime at ten o’clock this morning. You know what happened next. I figured that if the beating this morning was a hired hit, and Jeffrey Greenwood the assassin, it might be best to move him to a more secure location just in case.”
He had to fight hard to stop himself from cringing. He had told the same lie to Leo, but at that time he had believed it. Not anymore, not after what Laura had told him. It just didn’t make sense no matter how you sliced it.
Jesus, it would be weird if Leo didn’t think I was crazy after hearing me say that, he thought.
Caulfield sighed. “Well, that was probably the dumbest excuse I’ve heard all month. Did it ever occur to you to let Mullin know about the evidence you found at the crime scene or the victim’s identity?”
“I…” Zachary hesitated for a moment. If he let this line of questioning continue any longer, even dull old Captain Caulfield would stumble across a damning inconsistency in Zachary’s story. He had to divert his attention from the facts and focus on emotions. Caulfield was a sucker for a good sob story.
Farewell, dear Dignity, thought Zachary. Nice knowing you.
“I’m sorry, Fred,” he said and turned to Mullin. “I should have called you first. The truth is, I wanted a chance to shine. Look good in front of the new guy. I thought if I could identify the victim before anyone else, he’d look up to me. Then one thing sort of led to another, and…” He sighed, wishing he were anywhere else but here. “I screwed up, and my actions led to consequences that can never be reversed. I am truly sorry.”
For a moment, Zachary worried that he might have laid it on a bit too thick. Neither Caulfield nor Mullin said a word. Then Caulfield cleared his throat.
“Well, Zimmerman, I must say I strongly condemn your actions, but I appreciate that you were having a weak moment. Besides, who could ever have predicted what happened to Doe and Chavez? It wouldn’t be fair to lay the blame for their deaths squarely at your feet.”
Mullin looked like he had swallowed a pomegranate whole. “You’re just going to let him off like that?”
“Now, now,” said Caulfield. “He did apologize, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but…”
“Well, there you have it,” said Caulfield. “I don’t want to waste any more time on this. Zimmerman, you’re off the case. From here on, you are not to interact with Laura Greenwood or interfere in any other way. Do I make myself clear?”
“Clear as day, sir,” muttered Zachary, looking at a point slightly to the left of Caulfield’s face. He curled one hand into a fist behind his back, feeling his fingernails dig into the flesh of his palm. He was relieved to be off the hook for now, but the humiliation of apologizing to Mullin bugged him.
“Good,” said Caulfield. “I’ll have to discuss further action with the Chief. You should consider yourself lucky you aren’t already suspended without pay.”
Zachary’s fist tensed further, his nails nearly puncturing the skin. He considered the consequences of laying out both Mullin and Caulfield right then and there. He could do it; he might not be an extraordinary athlete, but he’d lived through his fair share of street fights, and two pudgy, middle-aged suits in a cramped office would be a walk in the park. Two or three swift punches and they’d be picking their teeth out of the tasteless Turkish carpet adorning the floor. But no, he was in enough trouble already.
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, Zimmerman?” said Caulfield, tenting his fingers in front of his whiskered face. “You look like you could use it.”
He smiled, clearly moved by his own magnanimity. Pompous asshole. Zachary forced himself to return the smile. It made his cheeks hurt.
“Thank you, sir. I’m sorry for causing trouble.” He turned to Gloria. “I’m sorry Gloria. I must be getting pretty stressed out lately.”
“Go get some rest, Zachary,” said Gloria and stood up. “I’ll get back to work now, Captain, if that’s all right with you.”
“Oh yes, of course,” said Caulfield. Gloria walked out with one last look at Zachary. He wasn’t sure if the look in her eyes was one of scorn or one of pity, or which would be worse.
“You may leave too, Zimmerman,” said Caulfield.
“Thank you, sir.”
He walked out of Caulfield’s office and closed the door behind him. The little voice in his head piped up once again, urging him to act.
This is your chance to get Laura out of here. Hurry!
That was true. He could go down to the holding cells right now and bust her out. If he did that, though, he’d be facing far more serious consequences than suspension. He wanted to believe Laura was innocent, and that by helping her he might be able to make some sense of this whole mess. But no matter how much the voice in his head implored him, he wanted solid proof before he did anything stupid. In the present situation, there was only one place he could think of where such proof might be found.
The records room was in the basement, not far from the holding cells where Laura was. If his voice were on the recording, he would know for sure that he had made the phone call himself. If not, then all bets were off. He could access the server from his own desk, but his instincts told him it would be best to do this away from prying eyes. Hardly anyone ever went to the records room.
As he walked past the office where his desk was, Leo popped his head out through the doorway.
“Everything okay, sir? With the captain and all that?”
“Well, at least I’m not suspended yet,” Zachary replied.
Leo’s face brightened. “I’m glad to hear that, sir.”
“I’m taking the rest of the day off. You find something useful to do in the meantime, okay?”
He started walking down the corridor towards the stairwell. Leo called out:
“Aren’t you going to get your stuff at your desk?”
“In a minute,” Zachary said over his shoulder. “Just going to check something in the records room.”
He hurried along the corridor and through the door to the stairwell, turning a deaf ear to any further questions from Leo.
The door to the records room was sealed by an electromagnetic lock, and only opened to those with the appropriate security clearance. Zachary swiped his keycard and the red light above the lock turned green. It was dark in the room; the fluorescents in the ceiling were switche
d off, and the only light came from a row of computer screens displaying the police insignia screensaver. A bank of servers lined the far wall, humming and whirring as computers throughout the building accessed the data they contained.
He walked up to one of the computer terminals and tapped the spacebar on the keyboard. The screen lit up, asking for his username and password. When the desktop appeared on the screen, he clicked his way to the phone records. Today’s list of calls was short, and he soon found the entry he was looking for. The recording was timestamped 11:30 and was just short of two minutes long. He double-clicked the audio file with trembling fingers—once again they betrayed him—and the file began to play. There was a sharp click at the beginning, and then nothing but static. He tried replaying the file a few more times with the same result.
He closed the file. With the audio recording busted, there was no way to prove whether he’d made that phone call. But Doe wouldn’t have carried out an order unless someone like Zachary had given it to him in the first place. The missing entry in the call history on Zachary’s phone meant nothing. He could have deleted it himself in a half-assed attempt to cover his tracks. He’d have liked to think himself above such sloppy subterfuge, but then again, he supposed he thought himself above a lot of things of which he was guilty.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Don’t really know what I was expecting to…”
He trailed off as he looked at the phone number next to the audio file again. It wasn’t his number. How could he have missed that? Gloria and Caulfield may not have his cell number memorized, but he himself sure as hell had, and it was not the one on the computer screen in front of him.
The call had not been made from Zachary’s phone.
“Whose freaking phone is it, then?”
He thought back to the events of the morning. He had found the wallet under the driver’s seat and discovered the receipt and the typewritten note inside. Leo had insisted on another thorough search of the car, and while he was at it, Zachary had walked off and… There was a gap in his memory here. The next thing he remembered was standing in front of a wall, a phone pressed to his ear, calling the station. Doe had picked up and he had said…
You feeling okay, sir? Your voice sounds kind of funny.
Must’ve caught a cold or something. Anyway, you know the suspect they just brought in? The sidewalk slugger?
Jeffrey Greenwood? What about him?
Then he’d told Doe that Jeffrey Greenwood was a gangster and must be moved to the Bunker as soon as possible. He had hung up the phone, turned around, and… And then what? He was back at the crime scene, watching Leo going through Vincent’s car with a fine-toothed comb. How far away had he gone? What had he done with the phone? Where had he gotten it in the first place?
The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. His head was starting to hurt. The little voice was back, and it was shouting at him with redoubled intensity.
Laura was right. Someone has been messing with your head in ways you can’t even begin to understand. You’ve got to get her out of here. It’s your only hope!
But he still hadn’t found any proof…
This shit goes beyond physical proof! You have to trust Laura!
But…
The door behind him flew open, cutting his inner turmoil short. He whirled around. It was Mullin.
“Well, well, well,” said Mullin as he crossed his arms, standing in the doorway like a nightclub bouncer. “Caught you with the hand in the cookie jar, eh Zimmerman? I heard you tell Hudson you were heading down here. Thought I’d check in on you. Just what do you think you’re doing? Interfering with the case?”
“None of your business, Mullin.” Zachary cursed himself inwardly. He should have known better than to tell Leo where he was going.
“My case, my business,” said Mullin, and sidled past Zachary to look at the computer screen. “Oh? Isn’t that the record of your phone call? The one that got Doe and Chavez killed? Whatever could you be doing with that?”
Zachary said nothing. He was too shaken up to think of anything to say. If he started babbling about distorted memories and unknown phones now, he might end up in a psych ward. He wanted to get out of there, right now.
“We all checked the record,” said Mullin. “Gloria showed it to me and the captain as soon as I heard about it.”
“Then you know my voice isn’t on there.”
Mullin shrugged.
“So what? A glitch in the system, that’s all. The IT guys say it happens sometimes.” He brushed past Zachary and walked toward the door. “I’m going to report this to the captain. Enjoy your suspension, Zimmerman!”
He left the room chuckling.
Zachary watched as the door closed, his brain a beehive of activity. Mullin was no doubt going to head straight for Caulfield’s office and rat him out. Then he’d gather a bunch of officers and kick Zachary out of the station—suspended without pay, effective immediately—probably with everyone watching too. It was the kind of thing a petty bastard like Mullin would do, and it would destroy any chance Zachary had of getting Laura out of the station. He must not let that happen. He was certain now that she was innocent, and that the real killer was still on the loose. If he didn’t act fast, he’d miss the last opportunity he had to set things right.
You have to get her out of there for your own sake as much as for hers.
Zachary rushed out of the records room and headed for the holding cells.
13:48 – Laura
Detective Zimmerman’s mental aura preceded him. The layers of his thoughts were like an ice cream parfait, their boundaries bleeding into each other here and there. At the bottom lay his subconscious, which looked and felt pretty much the same in all people. Above that, peeking above the surface of consciousness, she could sense his addiction as a droning, low-pitched command, endlessly repeating itself in sweet, reassuring tones. That too was familiar; she had come across many addicts throughout her life, and while they may be hooked on different things, the urge in their brains often felt the same. “Come on,” it whispered softly, like a lover. “You deserve to treat yourself. You’ll feel so much better.” The further up the layers she went, the more urgent Zimmerman’s thoughts became, some of them standing out with particular clarity, like colorful sprinkles against a vanilla backdrop. The killer’s influence on his mind was like a twisted streak of caramel, swirling and zigzagging around his brain in a chaotic pattern. In the middle of it all, like a big cherry on top, Laura recognized the imprint of her own thoughts, more prominent than before.
Laura had never been able to feel a mind’s presence so strongly before. Maybe she was particularly attuned to him, the way she had been to Jeffrey, due to the urgency of her situation—Zimmerman was her only ticket out of here, after all. She was already on her feet by the time Zimmerman threw the door open and rushed into the room.
Zimmerman steadied himself with a hand against the concrete wall. He took a few deep breaths before he hurried over to Laura’s cell. She’d never imagined her mental cry for help would affect him so strongly. Nevertheless, she needed his help to escape and hunt down her brother’s killer and would do whatever it took to get it.
“We have a problem,” said Zimmerman. “Mullin’s on to me. He’s going to report me to the captain, and then I’ll be suspended. Once that happens, it’s all over. It’s now or never, Laura. Are you ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. What’s the plan?”
“I’m going to set off the fire alarm. We’ll slip out in the confusion and get to my car. Then we get the hell out of Dodge. Got it?”
“Got it. Just say the word.”
“Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”
She didn’t have to wait long; less than a minute after Zimmerman left, the loud ringing of the fire alarm told her he’d been successful, and when the door was flung open and he rushed in, using his keycard to unlock her cell, Laura opened the cell door and stepped out into the corridor without missing a bea
t.
“Would you mind putting these on?” Zimmerman asked her, holding out a pair of handcuffs. “For the look of the thing, you know?”
She held out her hands and let him snap the handcuffs on her wrists. Then he stood behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“We’re going straight out that door there, then left to the stairwell, and up to the parking lot. Just keep your head down and stay quiet. Anyone stops us, I’ll handle it. Let’s go!”
The corridor past the metal door was wider than the one in the cell block, lined with doors on the left-hand side. They passed by three doors and went through the fourth, above which was an emergency exit sign. Zimmerman let go of her shoulder as they walked up the stairs. They emerged on the ground floor and walked past the glass door leading to the reception hall. Laura caught a glimpse of people leaving the building through the front door. Then they went through another metal door, this one marked with a big blue “P,” which took them to the garage. Zimmerman produced a set of car keys from his pocket and pushed a button on the fob. The lights of a car parked three spaces away blinked twice. Laura hurried towards the car, eager to get away from the police station.
“Sir!”
A voice called out from behind them as Zimmerman reached for the driver’s side handle. A young black man dressed in a neat suit and tie was standing in the open doorway they had come through. She remembered that his name was Leo Hudson and that he’d searched her at the crime scene. Zimmerman groaned at the sight of him.
“Sir, what are you doing? Where are you taking her?” Hudson was all but shouting to make himself heard over the ringing of the fire alarm. He walked towards them, his gaze shifting between Laura and Zimmerman.
“I’m taking her away, kid. That’s all you need to know.”
Zimmerman was staring at the ground at Hudson’s feet. Laura could feel shame radiating from him in hot waves. He did not want to be seen doing this, least of all by Hudson.
“Were you the one who set off the fire alarm, sir?” Hudson’s voice was shaking. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
“Leo, you have to understand!” Zimmerman looked up from the ground at Hudson. “This woman is innocent. I have to help her find the real killer!”
