Suspicion of Murder Page 5

  I ran up the steps, across the narrow second floor walkway, and down the central staircase to the back doors, hoping to surprise the bastard. Sam was on the ground, a bullet through the center of his back. Biting my lip, torn between checking on him or stopping the shooter, I continued pursuit to the doors when I heard the gathered police presence exchanging information.

  I caught a glimpse of the back of the shooter, his clothing and jacket completely recognizable. He had his arms raised as the black and whites pulled in, and officers leapt from their vehicles with guns drawn. “I was in the neighborhood,” he bellowed, holding up his shield, and the officers lowered their weapons. Shit, only then did it dawn on me that who I thought was a police impersonator was actually a dirty cop. “The suspect is female and armed. She’s attacked the bartender and is keeping him hostage. Shots were fired, and I was just about to breach. We should consider her dangerous. Take her down hard, use extreme prejudice.”

  On instinct alone, I fled. Sprinting to the side door, I threw it open, expecting to find a tactical team, but no one was covering the side. Just the front and back. Zipping my jacket and shoving my gun inside my purse, I headed down the street as if I were merely taking a walk. When I made it to the end of the block, I reverted to a full out run for the next half mile until the pain in my side forced me to slow my progress. It was pouring rain and almost dawn. Remembering my phone, I pulled out the SIM card and battery and threw them in the nearest dumpster, knowing the 911 call would be easy to trace.

  Finally, I managed to find a cab and get home. Paying the man in cash with my tip money, I ran upstairs, keeping an eye on the time. Three detectives had seen me in the club, and none of Ernie’s employees owed me any loyalty. It wouldn’t take the police long to come looking for me. I unlocked my apartment and changed out of my wet clothes, noticing long pieces of splintered wood imbedded in my bleeding side, along with the bullet. There was no time to deal with this right now, so I poured some peroxide over the injury and wrapped gauze around my torso before throwing on a fitted tank top to hold everything in place.

  The police were searching for Sam’s killer. Hopefully, ballistics could prove I wasn’t the shooter, but the realization that a cop could manipulate the evidence to hide his own involvement was frightening. I knew I had to run. What other choice did I have in a corrupt system where I’d either be framed for murder or killed while in custody? It was the only way I could prove my innocence.

  Quickly, I went through my apartment, packing a messenger bag with the bare essentials and leaving everything out in the open that the police would search my house for – my club clothing, gun, and evidence related to Infinity. I laid my nine millimeter on the kitchen table, unloaded, with the partially used clip sitting next to it. Unlocking my gun safe, I removed my secondary weapon and stowed it in the bag and left the safe open so the investigators wouldn’t break the lock.

  Picking up my home phone, I dialed Mark. When he answered, I rapidly filled the empty air space with as much pertinent information as I could muster. “Mark, it’s a dirty cop. He was at Infinity. Get someone to check on Ernie Papadakis. He emptied the safe before leaving, but he can vouch for me, I hope. The bartender, Sam Harrigan, was inside the club when it all went down. He’s probably dead. He took a bullet to the back, but I didn’t get a chance to check his vitals.”

  “Alex, take a breath.” He was probably tracing the call. Other agents were in the background, asking questions. “You need to come in.”

  “I don’t know exactly what happened, but the cop shot Sam and then came gunning for me. When the police arrived, I ran. There was no other choice.”

  Remembering Martin being in my apartment on Thursday, my mind scattered in a hundred directions, and I wiped every flat surface and doorknob I could think of, hoping to avoid him becoming involved. There was no reason for the police to dust my apartment for prints, but in case they were looking for leads on my whereabouts, I couldn’t be too careful. Going to my desk, I pulled out the resignation letter I printed two months ago when we started dating and wrote last Thursday’s date at the top and signed the bottom. Martin Technologies didn’t need any more negative press than it already had in the last year, and the powers that be could insist I quit before going on a shooting rampage. I shoved the letter in my bag and emptied the drawer that housed my waitressing tips from the last few days. I had five hundred dollars in cash, but I needed more untraceable liquid resources.

  “Parker, listen to me,” Mark was calm but forceful, “you need to turn yourself in. We can get this sorted out. Running is not the answer. How many times have you said the guilty always run?”

  “If I turn myself in, the evidence could be influenced, and he could bury me.”

  “I’ll bring you in and keep you safe. What I’m seeing doesn’t read well. This is all over the wire. There’s a description of you, and from the preliminary radio chatter, you’re the only person of interest.”

  “Since it’s that bad, I’ll have to figure something else out.” I swallowed. “In case you’re tracing this, I’ll save you the trouble, it’s my home phone, but by the time you get here, I’ll be long gone. Just try not to trash my apartment too badly. I’ll leave as much for you as I can, and I’ll be in touch when I have more.” The lump returned to my throat. “Mark, buy me some time.” Pushing my fingertips against my side, I felt the painful protuberance. “I’ve got his bullet, and I will find a way to get it to you.” Leaving my phone off the hook, I grabbed my brown leather jacket and a baseball cap before fleeing my apartment.

  Seven

  Parker, you need a strategy. The words were ringing through my brain as I got into a cab and headed as far from my apartment as the driver was willing to go. It was six a.m. on a Sunday morning. The city was still asleep. Walking a few blocks, I found a twenty-four hour diner and went inside to get some coffee and sustenance. Staying in any one place for too long was going to be detrimental, so I needed to keep moving. I also needed cash, a few untraceable burner phones, and some solid leads. I ate quickly and left a decent tip, hoping not to be noticed.

  It would have been nice to have a car, but the police could track my plates and pinpoint my location too easily. Moving east, I found a convenience store and purchased four disposable phones with cash. The numbers couldn’t be tracked, and the phones themselves would remain anonymous. I’d have to use them sparingly because if I called Mark, he’d have the number, and I’d have to toss it. What was I doing?

  The rain was picking up again, and I sought shelter under the awning of a bus stop. I was running scared, and the constant fear and adrenaline were making it difficult to think clearly. Who was the dirty cop? Detectives O’Connell, Heathcliff, and Thompson had all been at Infinity, but it made me physically ill to think any of them could be dirty. Although, the only one I was certain of was Nick. We had a long history, and he had my back more times than I cared to admit. He wouldn’t do this. At least there was one cop I trusted. The problem was he was still duty-bound.

  My immediate goal was to get off the street and out of the rain. More importantly, I needed to cut the bullet out of my side and get it to Mark. My cash was dwindling after the cell phone purchases and cab rides. Where could I go for resources? My mind went to the only feasible option. There had to be ways to mitigate his involvement. Fortuitously, I spotted a bike messenger service across the street, and I scurried over as soon as someone unlocked the door. Most services didn’t run weekends or this early in the morning, but maybe one thing was actually going right today.

  “I need a package delivered,” I said, picking up a blank manila envelope from the counter and pulling out one of the cell phones. Inputting the number into a different phone, I slid the phone inside the envelope and addressed it to James Martin, CEO.

  “When do you want it delivered?” the guy asked, looking out into the storm. How long would it take the police to properly identify me, search my apartment, and then traipse down to the MT building? Although, the goo
d thing was it was a Sunday, and by all accounts, the building was shut down. No one knew Martin would be working, so they wouldn’t be monitoring building communications.

  “At eleven. Can you guarantee it will get to the right person?” I had never used a messenger service before, but I couldn’t afford to have my calls recorded or traced.

  “Sure, you can require a signature.” The guy handed me a clipboard to fill out with name and address, and I paid for the service and listed the sender as Lola Peters, my only undercover alias Martin would remember.

  “Make sure it’s there by eleven.”

  Leaving the bike messenger, I had four hours to get to Martin’s compound. Taking a taxi directly there wouldn’t be a good idea. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was not a criminal. I chased criminals. Sighing, I continued walking to try and get my bearings. Finding an open drug store, I stopped in to get out of the rain and scour the aisles for supplies. Unfortunately, they didn’t sell anything surgical.

  Entering the restroom, I flipped the lock and unbandaged my side to assess the splinters and obviously lodged bullet in the mirror. It wasn’t at a good angle to remove it myself, especially since the bullet needed to stay as pristine as possible for a proper identification to be made. Goddammit, I slammed my palm on the sink, rewrapped the gauze, and pulled my soaking wet shirt down. When I emerged, a uniformed officer was standing at the register, chatting with the cashier. My heart pounded in my chest, and I ducked my head as I hurried past him. It took two blocks before I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Being out in the open was asking to get caught or worse. Reading street names, I did some quick calculations and took out one of the phones. Although three of the four were the most basic model available, the fourth had a few nicer features, like internet capabilities. Bringing up a map, in another mile and a half, I’d be at a small secluded shopping center, and if I headed through the wooded area behind it, I should happen upon the back of Martin’s compound in another two miles. There was a vague recollection careening through my mind of Bruiser mentioning he had used that method to arrive at Martin’s when the media hounds had been circling the front. Too bad I didn’t wear hiking boots.

  * * *

  Trudging through the woods between Martin’s compound and the shopping mall, I had a renewed admiration for Bruiser. Soaking wet, I shivered uncontrollably as I searched for a clearing. Thank god. It was five after eleven, and it had taken hours to navigate the dense woods. I had gotten turned off course twice and had to retrace my steps. The outdoors weren’t meant for me. Roughing it would be a cheap ass motel, not camping in the forest. I leaned against a tree. My gaze darted around the back of Martin’s compound as I made sure there were no flashing lights or signs of activity.

  Dialing the only saved number in the phone, I waited. With any luck, the messenger delivered the package promptly to Martin himself. After four rings, I was ready to give up when the ringing abruptly stopped. I held my breath and waited for a confused hello.

  “Don’t say my name. You do know who this is, right?” My voice shook, and my teeth chattered.

  “Are you okay? Why did–” Martin sounded anxious.

  “Listen to me carefully. Are you alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. You’re going to call the security office and say you have a teleconference or something and cannot be disturbed for the next few hours. Then,” I ran through the advanced security system and cameras I had installed in the office, “take the elevator down to the twelfth floor, get out, and go to your left. Get on the freight elevator, and when it opens, immediately go to your right and out the emergency exit. The alarm isn’t rigged to sound. Walk two blocks, heading east on Forty-Ninth. Keep your head down, and once you get to Rolston, catch a cab and meet me at the castle. Use cash to pay the cabbie. Do you understand?”

  “Not in the least,” he replied. “Are you there now?”

  “Don’t let anyone know we spoke. Please hurry.” I hung up before he could ask any more questions. Making him go to such extreme measures would hopefully thwart any eyes that might be on him, and if he was stopped, at least there was no solid information he could provide.

  Pulling my jacket tighter around my body, I left the slight protection the trees afforded and walked briskly across his yard, past the pool, and up the steps to the back deck. His security camera caught me, and I reached into my bag and pulled out my gun in sight of the camera. Eventually, the cops would come here, so I had to make it look good.

  * * *

  Waiting in the alcove near the back door, I turned my collar up and pressed my body against the brick, trying to shield myself from the cold, stinging rain. Where was he? He should be home by now. Did he get caught or detained? I shouldn’t even be here, but I had nowhere else to go. The security camera was still monitoring my presence on the back deck in the freezing rain. I held my jacket closed with only my left hand because my gun was in my right, down at my thigh.

  What felt like hours later, the inside lights turned on, and footsteps could be heard coming from inside the house. Using my gun hand, I rapped my knuckles against the door and waited for him to answer. My heart pounded loudly as he approached the door. The constant adrenaline rush wasn’t helping matters. He pushed the curtains ever so slightly to the side, and then as the lock slid out of place and the doorknob began to twist, I brought my gun up.

  Martin opened the door to find my gun leveled at his chest. Stepping into the door so he couldn’t shut out my intrusion, I tried to look as threatening as possible. His face reflected confusion, and he stepped back. “Alex, what are you doing?”

  “Turn off your security system, now,” I barked, looking up at the camera and knowing the damage was already done. He hesitated uncertainly. “Do it now, and make sure you shut off the cameras too. I know they’re on a separate system.” I jerked my gun toward the control panel on his wall. Since I had worked private security for him, it made everything that much easier, but Martin wasn’t making a very good hostage as he slowly turned to the panel.

  “Why are you doing this?” His tone held nothing but confusion. After he hit a few buttons and the green light flipped to red and then went blank, I shut the back door and went to the wet bar, dropping my gun on the countertop, and attempted to take a seat on the barstool. In my drenched state, my shoes lost traction, and I slid from the stool. He reached out and grabbed me before I could unceremoniously land on my ass. “You’re ice cold and soaking wet.” He pulled his hand away from my side to find his palm covered in crimson. “And you’re bleeding.”

  “Unfortunate side effect of getting shot.” I headed for the bathroom. “I don’t have much time. You got any towels?”

  “Alex,” he was at my heels, and before I made it past the kitchen, he blocked my path, “come on, I’ll take you to the emergency room.”

  “I’m fine. It’s just a graze, sort of. I caught a ricochet, or I don’t know.” I pressed my lips together, knowing everything I said would either implicate him or be used against me. “I didn’t want to drag you into this, but I didn’t know where else to go. Mark, Nick, and everyone in law enforcement is gunning for me. I’m wanted for murder. The less you know, the better.” Stepping past him, I continued to the bathroom.

  Once inside, I stripped off my jacket and tank top. “You’re drenched.” He was behind me, pulling towels from the cabinet. “You must be freezing. How long have you been out in the rain?”

  “I don’t know. Hours.” Pulling the dripping, pinkish-red gauze away from my body, I twisted in front of the mirror to assess the damage. “Do you have tweezers and a paring knife?” He put his warm hands on my shoulders and spun me, so he could examine the extent of my injuries. Watching his reflection in the mirror, I saw his face grow ashen. “It’s okay. I can do this myself. Oh, and a zippered sandwich bag would be good too. I didn’t think to grab evidence bags on my way out. Shit, I have to find a way to get the bullet to Mark.”

  “You’re not cutting into y
our own flesh. This is insane. How can you be so matter-of-fact about all of this?” He began pulling supplies from the cabinet in the vanity. “A bullet and half a tree are projecting from your back. You’re ice cold and wanted for murder. And you’re just going to stand here and ask for a goddamn sandwich bag?”

  “It could be worse.” Another shiver wracked my body, and he draped a towel around my shoulders.

  “Go sit in the kitchen. I’ll grab whatever you need, and we’ll figure something out.”

  Unwilling to argue and unable to remove the evidence myself, I wasn’t left with much of a choice. For the first time today, I did as I was told and flipped the chair around, leaning my chest against the backrest. Even my bra was saturated. He came into the kitchen with tweezers, first-aid supplies, and a book of matches. He sterilized the tweezers and began to remove the wood shards from my side.

  “Fuck,” I growled as my nails dug into the chair.

  “You’re bleeding,” his voice was neutral, but he wasn’t prepared to deal with any of this. “Are you sure I should pull them out. Wasn’t there some kind of thing about if you are impaled, not to remove the object or you could bleed to death?” Clearly, his knowledge of field medicine came from watching too many doctor shows on television.

  “I’m not impaled. They’re just splinters.” Looking down at the one he removed, I felt a little woozy. “You know what, they’re not bothering me. I just need you to get the bullet out.”

  “How?”

  Remembering the way it felt and looked in the mirror, I tried to describe the process. “Sterilize the paring knife and slice horizontally below where it’s lodged, then you’ll be able to dig it out.”

  “Hang on.” He went to the basement door. Was he abandoning me? “Jones, I need your expertise.”

  “Bruiser’s here?” I had no idea Martin’s bodyguard was at home, and I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t implicate me. “I can’t involve anyone else in this.”