Crisis of Conscience, page 7
part #11 of Alexis Parker Series
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Nick said. “That might explain why he rented the town car. He probably figured it wouldn’t look suspicious to approach the property that way.”
“How did it catch fire?” I asked.
“We know it was arson,” O’Connell said. “The ignition of the fire began in the front seat and continued from there. Gasoline was used as an accelerant. Other than that, there’s not much left of the car to analyze. Ballistics ran the slugs. They were 5.56s. Doyle isn’t a registered gun owner, but if I had to guess, I’d say they came from a modified AR-15.”
“Based on what?”
“The fact that it’s the most prevalent assault rifle in the country. It’s the freaking civilian version of the M-16,” O’Connell practically spat. “Clearly, what we need is the average Joe and Jane running around with military-grade tactical assault weapons.”
“Guns don’t kill people,” Thompson muttered. “It’s people with guns that kill people.”
“But we don’t know if Doyle was one of those people with guns,” I said, finding myself in the odd position of playing devil’s advocate. “He isn’t a registered gun owner. It’s easy to get an AR-15, so why wouldn’t he register the weapon? I mean he took out the insurance on the vehicle he lit up. That doesn’t add up.”
“Don’t try to make sense of it,” Thompson warned.
“I think there might be more than one person involved,” I said.
“Because of the two vehicles,” O’Connell said. “Yeah, I thought about that too. Assuming it was a heist gone wrong, Doyle might have driven the town car up to the property to see if anyone was home, and his accomplice followed in the truck to haul away the bars of gold or whatever treasure Martin keeps hidden inside.”
“No gold bars,” I said absently while considering the facts. “Where is Doyle now? Have you arrested him?”
“We sent officers to pick him up as soon as we got a name, but no one answered. We’re waiting on the warrant to come through, and once it does, we’ll take a ride down there. Care to join us?” O’Connell asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Are you back on the job?”
“As of this morning,” I assured him.
“Good. I didn’t want to deal with the paperwork for a civilian ride along,” O’Connell said.
“Have you ever filled out paperwork when I’ve been a civilian?” I asked.
“There’s a first time for everything,” O’Connell retorted. He leaned back in his chair and studied me for a moment. “You know, Parker, I’m not buying that act for a second. You come here pretending to be relaxed and cool as if this is just another case and you just want to spitball and shoot the shit, but you don’t have to keep up the pretense for me. I’m not Jablonsky. I know this is literally too close to home for you.”
“Who says the act is for you?” I queried.
Thompson cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the more serious nature of our exchange. “I’ll see if the warrant’s been signed.”
“You scared away your partner,” I said.
“Yeah, and Martin called this morning. What you’re doing is going to scare away your partner too.” His eyes drifted to my naked ring finger. “Did you call off the engagement already?”
“I told you to keep that quiet. I don’t want to hear the e or f word out of your mouth ever again.” I ran my thumb along the inside of my knuckle. “We had a discussion this morning. Martin wanted me to stay home and play the victim. I wanted to get some answers before things explode. He doesn’t get it.”
“He does, but he’s convinced whatever’s going on has nothing to do with you. So he wants you to steer clear and stay safe. It’s the same thing you want for him.”
“Except I’m in the unique position to actually do something about it. He isn’t, so it’s not the same.”
“At the risk of sounding like a Neanderthal who clubs his wife over the head and drags her back to the cave, I can’t imagine switching roles with Jen. Thankfully, we’ve never been in a situation quite like this, but the thought of anyone ever taking a shot at her makes me sick.”
“And you don’t think she worries about you every day?”
“I know she does, but lucky for me, I’m not the one doing the worrying. I don’t know how I’d handle it. Probably not well. Hell, I’d probably handle it about as well as you do.” He smiled. “Just think about that before you completely castrate the man in your life. That’s all I’m saying.” He held up his hands. “Now I’ll mind my fucking business.” He did his best to look innocent. “Was that the f word I wasn’t supposed to say?”
“Shut up.” I glared at him. “Why are we sitting here having a discussion when we should be pulling Liam Doyle off the street and grilling him about yesterday?”
Sighing loudly, Nick stood and put his jacket on. “If the warrant’s not here yet, we’ll start looking for him. I have some idea where he might hang out. However, this will go a lot easier if we can take him at home.” He assessed me for a moment. “Is Martin safe, or should I send a few officers to keep him company?”
“You tell me. You spoke to him last.”
“He said he was remaining at the hotel with his team of bodyguards until you returned. I just didn’t know how truthful he was being. Oh, and I wasn’t supposed to tell you we spoke, so just pretend I didn’t mention any of this.”
“Bruiser will keep an eye on him, but I’d feel better with the shooter in custody or at least the shooter’s accomplice in custody.”
“You don’t think Doyle’s the gunman?” O’Connell asked as we made our way down the hall to see if Thompson had the warrant yet.
“No history of violence. No registered weapons. It seems strange someone like that would open fire.”
“You said he hesitated. Maybe he meant to fire a warning shot to scare you.”
“We were pinned down at the front of the car. It didn’t feel like those were warning shots.” I shook my head. “Doyle rented the car he torched. It doesn’t make sense. We’re missing some pieces.”
“Let’s see if Mr. Doyle can fill in the blanks,” Thompson said, joining us with paper in hand.
Electing to drive separately to Doyle’s apartment, I followed O’Connell’s unmarked cruiser through the tiny neighborhood streets. It was just an average working-class neighborhood. Bangers weren’t lingering on the corners, and there were no visible signs of drug dealers or hookers. It was a nice place to live. Hell, it had a similar feel to the neighborhood surrounding my apartment. For an opiate addict, he had good taste.
O’Connell parked in front of the building, and I found a spot near the side of the apartment complex. We met at the front door, and Thompson surveyed the building. A fire escape ran down the side, and it was possible there might be a rear entrance. If Doyle ran, it’d be a pain in the ass to chase him down.
“Let’s do this the easy way,” Thompson said, “and if it comes to following him down the fire escape, I’m telling you now, it won’t be me doing it.”
“We’ll make that Parker’s job,” O’Connell said, giving me a sideways glance. “It’s obvious she won’t mind the workout.”
“Ha ha.” I followed them inside the building, taking a deep breath and unzipping my jacket in order to have better access to my gun. It was probably just stage fright from being out of touch for so long or the fact that the man we were about to see might have fired on me twenty-four hours ago, but I wanted to be prepared. “What’s the plan?”
“We knock on the door and see if he answers,” O’Connell said, leading the way up the stairs to the third floor apartment. “Then we’ll take it from there.” He turned and looked at me. “Hang back. This is official police business.”
I waited at the end of the hallway, closest to the stairwell, while O’Connell and Thompson went to the door. They knocked and waited. A minute later, O’Connell tried again, this time announcing himself. Still, no answer.
“Dammit, it looks like we have to do this the hard way,” O’Connell muttered. He gave the doorknob a twist, knocked, announced again, and turned to his partner. “Loud or quiet?”
“I’ll get the building manager to let us inside,” Thompson said, turning and heading for the stairs.
After making my way down the hall, I stood next to O’Connell, straining to hear the slightest sounds coming from inside. Either these were really thick walls, or no one was home, unless he was in a drug-induced euphoria.
“You said you might have some idea where he’d be if he wasn’t here,” I said, broaching the possibility of having to hunt down the druggie arsonist shooter.
“Liam Doyle,” Nick sighed, “Irish. He grew up on the east side. The old neighborhood. I might know some people who know some people who know where he hangs out.”
“You think he’s connected?”
“Given this neighborhood and his career choice, probably not. We would have brought him in on something at one point or another if he was, but I don’t think you can grow up where he did without at least knowing a couple of guys who are connected.”
“Are you admitting something to me?”
“Hey, I’m a cop. I don’t have a family connection, but I got a last name that would make some people think otherwise. Detective Heathcliff actually has quite a few CIs in that neighborhood from his narcotics days. I’d say if Doyle’s as clean as he seems and needed a fix, he might use some of his childhood connections to get it.”
“Great,” I responded, nonplussed. Before I could add anything else, Thompson returned with the building manager and a key to Liam’s apartment. “Let’s hope Liam left some clue as to where he might be.”
The manager unlocked the door, and Thompson politely asked him to step away. O’Connell took point, announcing himself as he entered the apartment. Thompson followed, and I gave the manager a quick glance. But the man was already halfway down the hall. Taking a deep breath, I palmed my gun and followed the detectives inside the apartment.
“Clear,” O’Connell called from an adjacent room.
“Call for back-up,” Thompson said, holstering his weapon. “I found Doyle.”
Nine
“Apparent suicide,” Thompson said, hovering over the body. “It’s not pretty.”
“Did he leave a note?” I asked.
“It’s on the computer.” Thompson jerked his head at the desk and laptop in the corner of the room. “The ME should be able to give us a time of death, but based on the automatic document save feature, Doyle probably offed himself six hours ago.”
“Jesus.” I tore my eyes away from the bloody remains. The handgun was gripped in Doyle’s right hand. Muzzle burns were etched against his temple, and stippling from the powder burns surrounded the wound. His eyes were open, clouded but haunting. “Where’d he get the gun?”
“We’ll figure it out,” O’Connell promised. “As soon as the scene is secure, I want to question Martin again. If he knew Doyle, maybe he can tell us what this is about.” Frowning, O’Connell crouched down near the computer, reading the message. “The suicide note’s odd. Only about a third actually leave notes, and this is impersonal.”
Carefully, I moved across the room to the screen and read the words. I can’t do this anymore. My life is out of control. Yesterday, I thought I hit rock bottom, but this morning wasn’t any better. I can’t keep going on like this. Eventually, the desperation will become too much. I have to stop myself while I can. I’m sorry for the pain I caused.
“No details, just vague, cryptic musings,” I remarked. “Make sure someone prints the keyboard.” I turned around, narrowing my eyes at one of the crime scene techs. She nodded and continued to photograph the room.
Two officers were stationed at the door, but O’Connell wasn’t willing to abandon his crime scene until the medical examiner arrived to remove the body. I didn’t blame him. It was his case. He didn’t want to risk compromising it. However, I wanted to tear the apartment apart for answers. Finding Doyle dead was a shock. I only learned of his identity an hour ago, and now I had literally hit a dead end.
“I found a rifle,” a second tech announced. “It’s an AR-15 with a mounted laser sight. Serial number appears to be filed off.”
“Told you,” O’Connell said, leaving the bedroom and heading toward the newly discovered weapon. “On the bright side, this probably means Doyle was the shooter, which means the threat to you and Martin has passed.”
“When the hell did you become so optimistic?” I asked.
He shrugged but didn’t respond. For the next forty-five minutes, we searched the rest of the apartment. No other weapons were found, and the only drugs inside were an expired, nearly empty bottle of antibiotics and aspirin. That didn’t jibe with the supposition Doyle was an addict.
“Maybe he sold drugs,” Thompson said, joining us when the coroner arrived. “He could have been stealing the excess pills from his deathbed charges and selling them on the street. A single pill can bring in a c-note in some places.” He glanced around the room. “It’s not the Taj Mahal, but it’s not bad for a guy earning the pittance LPNs are paid.”
“We’ll need access to his financials,” O’Connell said, dialing a number and passing along the information. When he disconnected, he turned to me. “I should have realized anything relating to you always turns into a lot of work for me.”
“Face it, you love that about me. You’d be bored otherwise,” I teased, pretending to be much more lighthearted than I felt.
I didn’t like bodies, and suicides were the worst. I wasn’t a particularly religious person, but something didn’t sit well with me when it came to ending one’s own existence. Then again, I couldn’t exactly hide the slight feeling of relief I felt at the prospect that maybe this was over. If Doyle didn’t have an accomplice, Martin was safe. The threat had been removed permanently, and a part of me was grateful.
“All right, I think we’ve done all we can. Once CSU has a chance to dissect the apartment and the ME gets around to doing the same to Doyle, we’ll know more, but for now, we should backtrack to what we do know,” O’Connell said. “I’ve watched Martin’s security cam footage, but the only person on the tape is Doyle. We saw him park the car in front of Martin’s house. Then he disappears, and the next time we see him, he’s driving the truck off the property. Unfortunately, we don’t actually see the truck when it enters, so we can’t completely rule out an accomplice. But since he had a rifle in the closet with a partially empty box of 5.56 rounds, I’ll assume it’s the same gun. That makes Doyle the shooter.”
“And he had a handgun, so his squeaky clean record was misleading,” Thompson added. “Two unregistered, illegal firearms in the house speaks volumes, not to mention his boss’s insistence that pills had disappeared from various patients’ homes that were under Doyle’s care. Are you sure you don’t know this guy, Parker?”
“No.”
“Then we need to ask Martin about him. There must be a reason he showed up outside Martin’s yesterday, and given the fact he went to the trouble of renting a car and possibly stealing a truck, we need to find out what the connection is,” O’Connell said.
“Do you have an all points out on the truck?” I asked.
“Yep.” Nick put his hand on my back, gently urging me to vacate the apartment. “How about we follow you to the hotel?”
“Okay,” I replied while my mind ran through various possibilities but was unable to make sense of the things that were happening. “I should call Jablonsky and update him on the progress you’ve made. Maybe he knows something I don’t.”
O’Connell nodded, but I found the gesture patronizing. Sure, this wasn’t my case. It was a police matter, and they were the police. But this was personal, and I didn’t go through the trouble of getting taken off of medical leave just to find out the asshole who fired at me yesterday had killed himself. It was too easy. Something didn’t feel right. The pieces just didn’t fit.
Getting inside my car, I put my cell phone on speaker and phoned Jablonsky. After updating him on the situation and asking that he pass the intel along to anyone at the OIO who might be in a position to assist, I disconnected. While driving, the little voice inside my head kept nagging at me that Martin was right. I was overreacting and had jumped the gun. If I had just stayed in bed with him instead of getting up and going to work, the police would have found Doyle’s body and would have come knocking with their own questions and answers.
“Dammit, I hate it when Martin’s right,” I hissed, slowing to a stop in front of the valet stand. Grabbing my belongings out of the car, I smiled warmly at the valet who looked utterly confused by the unmarked police cruiser that pulled up behind me. “They want their car left out front. You can just hide mine in the back with the employees if you don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea about the types of guests you let into this fine establishment.” The valet looked at me like I was insane, rolled his eyes, and drove my car toward the lot.
“I thought you were above adopting the hoity-toity lifestyle,” O’Connell remarked, busting my nonexistent balls. “Next, you’ll be telling me you had champagne and caviar for breakfast.”
“I didn’t get breakfast.”
“No wonder you’re bitchy.” O’Connell winked. “If you’re nice and don’t make my job difficult, maybe I’ll grab you a snack out of the vending machine.”
“They don’t have vending machines in a place like this,” Thompson said. “They probably only have room service and overpriced mini-bar items.”
“In that case, I guess you might just have to go hungry,” O’Connell said.
“Seriously, boys, I’m in no mood for this. I haven’t slept. You just reminded me that I didn’t get a chance to eat, and I spent the morning in hell and the afternoon next to a dead body. For your own safety, you need to cut the crap and stop being cute.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Thompson said, earning a death glare.
The trek to Martin’s suite was in complete silence. I used the room key to let myself in and nodded to Bruiser, who appeared to be a moment away from pulling the trigger. On the plus side, it’d mean I didn’t have to put up with the comic stylings of O’Connell and Thompson or the told you so from Martin that was yet to come.
