Suspicion of Murder Read online

  Suspicion of Murder

  G.K. Parks

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other concepts are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, establishments, events, and locations is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author.

  Copyright © 2014 G.K. Parks

  A Modus Operandi imprint

  All rights reserved.

  Print ISBN: 0989195848

  Print ISBN-13: 978-0-9891958-4-3

  For my loyal readers, this one’s for you

  Full-length Novels in the Alexis Parker Series:

  Likely Suspects

  The Warhol Incident

  Mimicry of Banshees

  Suspicion of Murder

  Racing Through Darkness

  Camels and Corpses

  Lack of Jurisdiction

  Dying for a Fix

  Intended Target

  Muffled Echoes

  Crisis of Conscience

  Misplaced Trust

  Whitewashed Lies

  On Tilt

  Prequel Alexis Parker Novellas:

  Outcomes and Perspective: The Complete Prequel Series

  Assignment Zero (Prequel series, #1)

  Agent Prerogative (Prequel series, #2)

  The Final Chapter (Prequel series, #3)

  Julian Mercer Novels

  Condemned

  Betrayal

  Subversion

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Now available, the next novel in the Alexis Parker series

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  One

  Tonight, even the steady patter of the rain couldn’t lull me to sleep. I rolled over on my side and sighed deeply. Sleep was being elusive yet again as ghosts from the past continued to haunt me. Giving up, I focused on the ceiling and began to run through the list of things I had to do in the morning. Martin’s slow breathing shifted, and he opened his eyes and squinted through the darkness.

  “You’re still awake?” he asked.

  “It’s raining.” It wasn’t the rain keeping me up, but he didn’t have to be a genius to realize it. He reached out and brushed his fingers against my arm, hoping I would welcome his affection. Instead, I turned away from him, beating my pillow into a preferable shape before settling down on the mattress. “Go back to sleep, we both have work in the morning.”

  “Alexis, what’s wrong this time?” He flipped on the lamp and sat up in bed. Sometimes, the darkness was suffocating, but it wasn’t the dark causing my insomnia. “We’re at your place, the last few cases you’ve worked have all been non-violent, and last time I checked, no one was gunning for either of us. Obviously, it isn’t one of the usual suspects.”

  I had no idea how Martin could be this talkative at five a.m., but had I known, I would have just snuggled against him for the next hour, instead of being annoyed by the conversation.

  “Turn off the light.” Pulling the blankets to my chin, I waited for the click of the switch. Once the lamp was off, I searched for his arm, wrapping it around my waist. “I’m thinking about Paris, dead models, and hired mercenaries. All the people I’ve killed,” my voice hitched in my throat, “all the people who have tried to kill me and you.”

  “I’m okay. We’re both okay,” he whispered in my ear. “You’re just anxious about meeting with your new client. It’s pre-job jitters, but you are a damn fine consultant. Mark still thinks you were one of the best agents he’s ever seen at the OIO.”

  My career began at the Office of International Operations, the FBI’s version of Interpol, but after spending four years training and tracking thieves and smugglers, I relinquished my badge after a mission went south and hoped to get a cushy job in the private sector. My first foray led to James Martin, and after a couple of near-death experiences, the two of us were alive, breathing, and somehow managing to juggle a private life and a professional relationship.

  “How’d you get to be so smart?” I teased, slowly relaxing as the minutes ticked by and sleep became a possibility.

  “Well, I am infuriatingly brilliant, or so I’ve been told.” Martin had a healthy self-image, probably too healthy. Rolling over, I rested my head against his chest, signifying my newfound intention. “Good night, Alex.”

  When I woke up, he was gone. Too many sleepless nights had taken their toll, and I didn’t hear his alarm go off, or the shower running full blast, or my front door opening and closing. Being dead to the world was never a good thing in my line of work because it could easily turn into more than just a euphemism for being a sound sleeper.

  After I completed my morning routine, I found a note on the counter next to the coffeemaker. “I’ll see you this weekend. Call if you need anything or just want to talk. – J.M.” What was I doing spending my weekends with a millionaire CEO? The entire situation was absurd. No one ever ends up in a relationship with the person they’re originally hired to protect, but somehow, fate didn’t get the memo when it came to the two of us. I probably didn’t need to look the proverbial gift-horse in the mouth, not after everything we endured just to get to this comfortable place.

  Deciding I needed to stop the pointless musing and get to work, I turned on my computer and began researching the news articles related to the recent string of heists. Last week, a fourth robbery had occurred at one of the most popular clubs in the city. The report provided only vague details. The police had no suspects, but all four of the crimes were thought to involve an inside man. I picked up my phone and dialed Detective Nick O’Connell’s personal line to see if he could shed any additional light on the situation.

  O’Connell and I had worked together numerous times, and despite his cynical attitude and penchant for merciless teasing, he was a good friend and, more importantly, a good cop. My consulting work for the major crimes division had resulted in a few friendships at the local precinct, and it was reassuring to know there were some guys with badges willing to watch my back or trade favors.

  “Alexis Parker, as I live and breathe.” O’Connell was in a good mood. “What pray tell are you calling about on this fine morning?”

  “Did your wife make you watch Gone with the Wind again?” I retorted. “Your impression needs some work.”

  “Fine, what’s going on?”

  “Taylor from vice called the other day. She knows the guy who runs Club Infinity. He’s spooked about the recent string of robberies and thinks some of his employees might be planning something. Can you tell me anything that wasn’t in the papers?”

  O’Connell chuckled. “You n
ever call just to see how I am. Some friend you are.” I ignored the comment, waiting for actual information. “In case you haven’t realized this yet, I don’t work burglary, but I can pull the case files if you want to read them yourself.”

  “Thank god. I was afraid you were going to read them to me while trying to perfect your Rhett Butler.” We agreed on a time to meet before hanging up.

  On the way to the precinct, I stopped by my office to check the mail and answering machine. Nothing but flyers and telemarketers, but it was a nice change of pace from the hectic month I had. Business had picked up lately. Besides my usual security consulting work for Martin Technologies, which was James Martin’s company, there were a few insurance scams I had been asked to investigate and a couple of cheating husbands to follow. Nothing intricate or earth-shattering, but a paycheck was a paycheck.

  Even though I hoped for humdrum private sector work, the federal agent in me wasn’t satisfied unless I was investigating a serious crime. Damn you, Mark Jablonsky, and all the training you shoved down my throat for four years at the OIO. At least I could get my fix by consulting every once in a while for the local authorities.

  Upon entering the precinct, I took a deep breath. The stale air was permeated with sweat, coffee, and frustration. It smelled just like a police station should. I sauntered into the bullpen, and as usual, Lt. Moretti’s office door was closed. Most of the desks in the squad room were empty as the police personnel bustled about. O’Connell’s chair was vacant, but his partner, Det. Thompson, looked up and smiled.

  “Parker,” he nodded, “he’s conducting an interview. He should be back in ten.”

  I sat down in O’Connell’s chair and fished a notebook and pen out of my purse. While I was waiting, another familiar face surfaced at a nearby desk.

  “Are you sure you aren’t fed turned cop?” Det. Heathcliff quipped. We had been partnered together two months ago on a murder case. “Are you working for us again?”

  “Not this time.” I spun to face him. “I’m calling in some favors since you guys still owe me. I don’t put on heels and a fancy dress for just anyone.” I had gone undercover as a model in order to help identify a killer.

  Heathcliff shook his head slightly and returned to work. Stoic didn’t even begin to describe his ingrained no-nonsense, always a cop demeanor, but at least he didn’t hold a grudge when I turned him down for a date.

  A few minutes later, O’Connell emerged, carrying a stack of file folders. He placed them at an empty desk and waited for me to surrender his chair.

  “It took you long enough,” I teased.

  “Some of us have actual work to do,” O’Connell replied, sitting down and clicking away at his keyboard. “Not everyone can spend their nights clubbing and call it a job.” He caught my eye and winked.

  After sorting through the files and reading each one carefully, I was convinced the heists must have been conducted by a ghost. There were no obvious signs of a break-in and no evidence of tampering. Not even a single tool mark was identified. Whoever was behind this must be a long lost relative of Harry Houdini.

  “Any leads?” I asked, shutting the last folder.

  “I talked to a couple of the detectives working this. They got nothing. Security cameras were always disabled. The alarms weren’t tripped. The owners showed up the next morning and found everything cleaned out. Initially, it looked like a scam, but it keeps happening.” I glanced at the dates on the folders. Just like clockwork, every two weeks and another place is hit.

  “Why doesn’t Moretti make this string of robberies a major crime?”

  “Don’t even,” he warned. “We’ve got more than enough going on right now.” He had a serious expression and gave me a pointed look. I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out what he meant to convey, but he shook his head and went back to studying his computer monitor.

  “Thanks for this.” I stood up, hoping I wouldn’t be late for the meeting with my client. “In case I have to spend my nights working in a club, can I count on you for a quick course in bartending?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “See you boys around.” I smiled at O’Connell and Thompson and threw a quick head nod to Heathcliff before leaving the precinct.

  * * *

  It took almost an hour to maneuver the afternoon traffic from the precinct to the upscale club my new client, Ernesto “Ernie” Papadakis, owned. Ernie was half-Greek and half-Cuban and embraced both sides of his heritage. I found him sitting at the bar, eating arroz con pollo and a piece of baklava.

  “Mr. Papadakis, I’m Alexis Parker.” I remained standing, unsure of how to act in this unfamiliar setting.

  “Alexis,” Papadakis wiped his palms on a napkin before extending his hand, “call me Ernie. Has Officer Taylor told you what’s been going on? Please, please, take a seat.” He brushed off the barstool with his dirty napkin, and I fought the urge to cringe as I sat next to him.

  “I’d prefer to hear things firsthand from you.”

  “So you know about the string of burglaries. They’ve all happened on the main strip, and I think I’m going to be next.” Ernie had a strange accent, but then again, everything about him seemed a little strange. He was pudgy with dark features offset by a bright Hawaiian print shirt and light-colored chinos. His watch spoke expensive taste, and the sunglasses hanging from his collar were stylish and sophisticated. “Where are my manners?” he chided. “Would you care for some baklava?”

  “No, thank you.” After watching him eat, I might not have an appetite for a few weeks. “Why do you think Infinity is the next target?”

  “The other night,” he reconsidered the facts, “no, it was Tuesday, I came down the steps from my office, and I heard a couple of the wait-staff talking. They’re plotting together. All those other burglaries were inside jobs, and they’re on the inside.”

  “Ernie, have you hired anyone new? If the other jobs were all on the inside, then I’m sure your old, trusted employees aren’t planning a heist.”

  “Turnover around here happens quickly. I’m one of the premiere hotspots, and I can’t keep anyone who has grown complacent. Most are just kids looking for a quick buck or finding a hook-up. Hey, whaddya know, I’m a poet.” I wasn’t amused, but he didn’t notice. “I hired two new waitresses and a bartender last Monday. That was all after the fourth heist hit the news. I didn’t even think about it until I heard them talking the next day.”

  “What exactly did you hear?” I glanced around the room, spotting a couple of security cameras and wondering what the rest of the place looked like.

  “I can’t remember precisely, but it was something like ‘uh, we could make bank here in one night. Check out the till at the bar.’ Y’know, something like that.”

  “Did you notify the police?” Overstepping my boundaries wasn’t something I wanted to do. If the police wanted to work this angle, I’d be happy letting them do just that.

  “They didn’t think it sounded very solid. That’s when I went to Officer Taylor. She removed a few unsavory girls from my club a few months ago. Hookers,” he cringed, “don’t want the likes of them in here. I’m trying to be uptown not downtown, if you know what I mean. She said I should call a private dick…er, detective, and she gave me your name.”

  “Mr. Papadakis, how can I help?”

  Two

  Ernie’s worries ran on the dramatic side. After all, some people talking about making bank or cleaning up didn’t necessarily translate into casing the joint. If Infinity was as upscale as Ernie insisted, then the running commentary among his employees could be legitimate. However, for everyone’s sake, I agreed to check it out. After my meeting with Mr. Papadakis, I returned to the precinct and convinced Heathcliff to introduce me to the detective in charge of investigating the string of burglaries, Carl Hoskins.

  Hoskins had been working burglary for a decade and seemed to know the business well, but he found this case particularly daunting and had no solid leads. Four robberies should
result in enough commonalities to profile a potential suspect, but he insisted there weren’t any. Following some coaxing and shooting the shit, Hoskins agreed to provide photocopies of the four open case files in exchange for being kept in the loop.

  After ordering a pizza, I stood in my office and stared at the blank whiteboard. The files were opened and scattered at my feet as I tried to list the similarities. They all occurred in nightclubs after close. The video feeds were disconnected, and prior to that, no one suspicious could be identified on screen. The cash register at the bar was emptied, as was the safe. No prints were left, and no alarms were set off during the commission of the crimes.

  To further complicate matters, each of the club owners had an alibi for the night in question. The burglaries read like a team effort since it didn’t seem possible one person could break in to the club, disable the security systems and cameras, rob the safe, open the cash drawer at the bar, and escape undetected. No single person was that good.

  Nibbling on a slice of pizza, I began running through the employee manifests. A couple of names overlapped, but according to Hoskins’ notes, they all alibied out. If Hoskins had done a decent job, then it didn’t seem likely it could be an employee. Who else had access to the inner workings of nightclubs? Maintenance, liquor delivery, frequenters, the list could go on and on. I scribbled the possibilities on my board. Logically, the police were already working these angles, but it never hurt to double-check. Possible suspects were plentiful at this point in the game.

  I pulled out the blueprints for all of the burglarized venues. Each location was set up differently, and there was no way of determining what the interior would look like from the schematics alone. Tonight, a field trip was in order. Folding the pizza box in half, I barely managed to shove it inside my office mini-fridge before locking the files in my drawer and heading home to change.

  In skintight jeans, killer heels, and a halter top, I wanted to see what I could discover on my own. When I arrived at the first club, it was early enough in the evening to get in without having to wait in line. I noted the location of the bar, the dance floor, any obvious security measures in place, and the private offices. According to the files, there were different types of safes and locks at each venue. Two of the clubs used key code technology. One had a regular lock and key, and the last utilized a key card mechanism on the office door. The guilty party had to be technologically savvy and skilled in old school B&E methodology. After finding nothing particularly helpful, I left the first club and ventured to the next.