Forgotten Place (16 page)

"I presume you're talking about Samantha
Wine."

"She's the one, though she like being called
Sam, and I suspect she enjoys strapping on a cock to make her feel
like the man she thinks she is."

"That's really an interesting thing to say,
Mr. Linder."  I perched on the cushion of an arm chair. 
"You like tough women.  What is it about Ms. Wine that you
don't like?"

The sound of grinding teeth
makes a distinct noise.  Not quite a squeak, not quite the
grit of bone rubbing against bone.  "If properly channeled,
she would make an outstanding dom. 
Ms.
Wine can't get out of the
driver's seat in any context, not for five seconds."

The attraction to Journey became
obvious.  "That's what you like the most, isn't it, Jim. 
You like women in specific roles, and the more antithetical they
are to the everyday persona of the woman, the more exciting you
find it.  Was that why Journey dumped you?  You wanted
her to take a dominant role, thought you'd ease her into it by
showing her how it's done?"

"You shrinks are all alike.  You hear
one innocent little statement, and suddenly you're masters of the
human psyche."

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"No, you're wrong.  I ended the affair
with Journey.  She was simply too young, too immature, too...
closed minded to finding mutual pleasure through fantasy."

"Where were you yesterday morning?"

"Tied to the bed
with
that
penis
gag shoved in my mouth while Mistress Mercy Divine flogged the shit
out of my backside.  I'm surprised you didn't notice the welts
before I sat down."

"What is Mistress Divine's legal
name?"  Ned pulled a notebook from his breast pocket and
poised his pen.

"I haven't the foggiest notion.  She's
in high demand down on Mercer Boulevard.  I've been waiting
for a weekend of her tender mercies for months."

I looked at Ned.  "Mercer
Boulevard?"

"That's right, detective.  I know who
you are.  You're new to our little version of Sodom in the
modern era, aren't you?" Linder leered at me.  "Mercer is what
you'd call Darkwater proper's red light district.  Every
sexual itch known to mankind can be scratched down there."

"I see you've been catching up on the news
while you wait for your next scratch session.  Did you happen
to read about what Journey Ireland survived yesterday morning?"

"Another personal tragedy to add to the long
list of life's grievances against the poor girl, or so says the
Sentinel.  Don't get me wrong.  I hold no ill will toward
her beyond contempt for her choice of friends."

"How did a shriveled up has-been like you
ever meet someone like Journey?" I asked.  "You look like a
cross between every abhorrent 1980s sexist stereotype and a poster
child for STD's, Mr. Linder."

Nicotine stained teeth bared.  "I'll
take that as a compliment.  As for how I met Journey, she was
a client."

"Insurance, or have you started selling your
flesh to support your fetish habit?"

"Auto insurance," he chuckled.  "God,
but you are spectacular.  You're a bit thin for my taste, but
you know what they say about the willowy girls."

"No, and I don't want to hear it.  Is
Danny Datello one of your clients too?"

"The casino guy?"  Linder
scowled.  "What's he got to do with anything?"

"Answer the question," Ned injected with
authority.  His tone said patience with Linder's antics was
growing thin.

"Honey, if I had an account as lucrative as
that, do you think I'd be living in a shit hole neighborhood like
this one?  Guess again."

"Even Datello would demand more
professionalism from an insurance agent than one who can't be
bothered to show up for work by Tuesday afternoon," I said. 
"Lets get out of here, Ned.  Linder doesn't have the intellect
or the ambition to involved in this case."

"Agreed."

"I'd be insulted if I gave a damn," Linder
sneered.

"Like I said, clueless."

He called after me on the way to the
door.  "If you change your mind about giving your frustrations
a healthy outlet, detective, you know where to find me."

Ned pulled the door shut and shook his
head.  "Disgusting.  What makes a sweet kid like Journey
Ireland fall for a piece of garbage like that?"

"I'm sure he can play the
role of a normal human if he believes the payoff will be worth
it.  Journey was a temptation he couldn't resist. 
Corrupting the good girl, releasing her inhibition, painting the
blank canvass with his twisted world view.  Pick your
preferred cliché, Ned.  Orion is right – in
this
instance at
least.  Linder is too much of a coward to step outside the
realm of role play and make a legitimate attempt on someone's
life.  All game, no guts."

"Speaking of clichés, I thought that saying
was no guts, no glory."

"Regardless, after we verify his alibi with
the Mistress Mercy Divine, I'm sure he'll be completely eliminated
as a suspect.  I'd offer to help you scour this Mercer
Boulevard, but I have a feeling I won't be allowed to burn a single
calorie without executive consent."

At least Ned had the decency to keep his
mouth shut instead of defending Johnny.

"If he's no longer a suspect, where does
that leave us?  We've got nothing."

"We have the link to David Ireland's
assassination.  I haven't had the opportunity to review the
file on his murder yet, but Lord Orion assured me that Crevan is
bringing it over tonight.  I'd like to have another chat with
Journey Ireland in the meantime.  I don't suppose I could talk
you into swinging by MSUH before I'm deposited into the custody of
the ball and chain."

"I keep thinking about what he said to you
last night, Helen.  That thing about not having the energy to
walk from here to there."

"A gross exaggeration, I can assure
you.  Did I seem so frail to you yesterday in the hospital
garage?"

"Frankly, yes, you did.  I don't think
you've miraculously recovered over night either.  A little
color in your cheeks is a good sign, but I don't blame Johnny for
intervening, Helen.  If he hadn't done it, Lou would've, and I
can promise you this.  You would not be recovering from the
comfort of your home.  You'd be back in the hospital being fed
through a tube.  Maybe you should think about that before you
start bashing Johnny."

"Perhaps I'm not as frail as I look."

Ned rolled his eyes.  "Your bones poke
through your clothes, Helen.  I can practically count the ribs
from twenty paces."

"I've always been lean.  Is it my fault
you people never noticed before?"

"Lean, yes.  Emaciated, no.  Take
an honest look at this from our perspective, Helen.  What if
we were talking about Maya?  Wouldn't you be concerned enough
to step in and intervene if she were the one floundering?"

"I am
not
floundering."

"Fair enough, but you went through hell and
made matters worse but cutting off everybody who wanted to be there
for you.  Be thankful that Johnny stepped in before Briscoe
comes home.  I'm not sure what he'd do first, paddle your
backside for such foolishness or deposit you out at Dunhaven to
have your head examined."

"Briscoe?" I couldn't keep the scoff out of
my voice if I tried.  "Why would it matter to him?"

"Because he's that fond of you, Helen. 
A lot of people are."

They needed to get over it.  I chanted
my new escape mantra in my head while Ned drove back to
division.  Johnny was waiting in the Expedition when we
arrived.

"How did it go?"

"You'll hear about it with everyone else
tonight at dinner."  I shot Ned a warning glare and climbed
into the front seat.

"Guess we'll talk at dinner, Johnny," Ned's
voice floated through the open driver's door.  "Apparently
I've got an alibi to confirm."

Johnny drove in silence for several
blocks.  Finally, "Did you rest this morning while I was
talking to Samantha Wine?"

"Define rest."

"Nap.  Sleep.  Let your body have
a chance to heal."

I stared out the window in sullen
silence.  Johnny sighed.  "I picked up the file on the
Ireland murder while you and Ned were talking to Linder.  If
you're not exhausted, I thought you could take a look at it this
afternoon.  Linder was a dead end, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"So we're turning our attention to the only
obvious link."

"I have no say in the matter,
apparently.  Do whatever you want, Orion.  It's obvious
OSI is willing to stoop to any low to maintain control of
everything in Darkwater Bay."

He signaled and turned into the parking lot
of a drive-thru coffee house and parked at the speaker.  "One
tall dark roast, one tall decaf cinnamon latte with extra whipped
cream."

"Decaf?" I groaned.

"You don't need a stimulant revving up your
metabolism, Doc.  And the extra calories are a no
brainer.  Relax.  You might like the fat and sugar in
your coffee."

"Hell, why not order a bucket of whipped
cream to go?  If it gets rid of you faster, I'm all for
it."

Johnny stared ahead, the only telltale sign
that my words hit a raw nerve were clenched fingers around the
steering wheel.  I imagined he'd have preferred them wrapped
around my bony neck.

Chapter 14

Johnny deposited me on the leather chaise in
the study with little more than a pointed stare when we got back to
my house.  He turned over custody of the Ireland murder book
to me and left my super-fat, decaf, sugar-fest in a cup within
reach and disappeared for parts unknown.  The urgency of the
day's events left me little choice.  Rebellion against
Johnny's wishes had to take a back seat to closing the
investigation into the murder attempts on Journey Ireland.

Everything was inextricably linked to
everything else.  Journey, her father, Mitch Southerby, Danny
Datello.  Datello, Rick Hamilton, Sully Marcos, some compost
heap in New York, and now possibly my home-brewed terrorists that
tried to kill me two months ago.  What a can of worms my
foolish hero had opened.

I blocked out the deafening silence and
started reading the case file.  Other than Orion's relentless
pursuit of Southerby, the investigation seemed pretty cut and
dried.  There was no overt link between Southerby and
Datello.  Southerby and Marcos on the other hand, were alleged
associates.  Good old Mitch was a suspect in several crimes
back home, most relating to union disputes and the sudden
disappearance of the squeaky wheels challenging the status
quo. 

Dad's wisdom flooded my thoughts.  That
rootless existence, the one time job, being your own boss –
inevitably, ignoring it had led to the downfall of a lot of men in
Dad's line of work.  Southerby put down roots with Marcos,
much like Franchetta had.  Stupid mistake.  Even though
Dad was in prison, he wasn't dead like Southerby.

I flipped to the last notation in Johnny's
file, the details on what happened after Southerby collapsed in the
interrogation room.

At approximately 14:18, suspect requested
water.  Detective Briscoe left the room to retrieve it. 
Suspect then requested a new ink pen to sign his confession. 
Detective Orion stepped out of the interrogation for no more than
one minute at approximately 14:20 hours.  Upon returning,
suspect was found lying on the floor, barely breathing. 
Resuscitation initiated by Detective Orion while Detective Briscoe
summoned EMS to the scene with care transferred at 14:22
hours.  Suspect Mitch Southerby pronounced dead by EMS en
route to Metro State University Hospital and diverted to Bay County
Medical Examiner's Office for autopsy.

I dropped the file to the floor and shot off
the chaise.  "Orion!"

Johnny flew through the door between the
study and the sitting room outside the master bedroom. 
"What's wrong?"

"Since when do paramedics pronounce
death?"

Johnny frowned.  "All the time,
Doc.  They don't deliver dead bodies to the hospital for a
doctor to certify death.  They pronounce, and the ME's office
takes over."

"How long did they work on him before they
left Downey?"

"A few minutes.  It felt like
forever.  Why all the questions about Southerby's death?"

"I'm not sure.  Something doesn't sit
right with me about it."  I started pacing.  "He wasn't
old, correct?"

"Late thirties."

"Stupid Riley Storm.  I wish we had his
actual cause of death."

"You think somebody murdered him before he
could spill his guts about Datello?"

"Don't tell me it never occurred to
you.  Christ, Johnny, even Shelly went nuts when another
detainee died at division.  It was shades of Southerby all
over again.  If you didn't think the cause of death was
suspicious, why did you file a motion to force Dr. Storm to perform
additional toxicology testing?"

"Because it was inconceivable to me that the
little weasel died of natural causes."

"He was alone when he collapsed.  Were
you taping interviews at the time?  Videotaping, I mean."

Johnny shook his head.  "We had a
battery operated tape recorder on the table.  That was
it.  Chief McNamara had big plans for modernizing the
division's equipment, but at that time, the only place he got
upgraded was the new facility out on Hennessey Island.  Big
surprise, huh?  Rich folks got the best building in the city
and the divisions that needed the equipment the most were left out
in the cold."

"How long ago did that change?"

"I don't know for sure.  I think the
lieutenants finally got together a few years ago and got some kid
from Metro State to help write a grant application for the
money.  God knows Jerry Lowe had no interest in bringing law
enforcement to a higher standard.  I guess God and the rest of
us know why now."