Forgotten Place (5 page)

"I ache.  And we're keeping Detective
Mackenzie from taking a statement from Dr. Ireland's best friend
over there."

"Ouch.  Yeah, Shelly mentioned the link
to the closed case."

"What closed case?" Devlin's curiosity was
understandable.  I'd have been in just as dark a closet if I
hadn't twisted Briscoe's arm and demanded a history lesson right
out of the gate six months ago.

"Fill him in. 
I'm
walking
to the
x-ray department to have this shoulder examined, and then I'm going
home."

"Seriously?"  Crevan's eyebrows
arched.  Though I'm not sure if it was suspicion I saw, it was
reasonable to believe he didn't trust a word I said after my
behavior in both the investigations I took an active role in with
the police. 

"Yes, I promise."  Words that seldom
fell from my lips had an impact.  "The great thing about
adrenalin is that it gives you a boost when you need it the
most.  The bad thing about it is when it's spent, you're wiped
out.  That's where I am right now.  Wiped out.  And
since I'm not on active duty yet, I figured it would be wise to bow
out of this as soon as Ned took my statement."

"I'm not sure Shelly's gonna be happy about
that, Helen."

My right shoulder rolled upward. 
"Doctor's orders are doctor's orders.  I'm not slamming the
door on consulting on this one, but honestly, if witnessing one
little attempted murder wears me out like this, I know I'm not
capable of a proper investigation, Crevan.  Besides, it's like
you said.  Downey closed the old Ireland case.  I have
every reason to believe you'll close this one too."

Before I could step away, Crevan clasped my
hand and trailed along behind me.  "Helen, you can't be
serious.  That case was only technically closed, and you know
it.  The man most directly responsible for David Ireland's
murder is still walking around like he owns the city.  Now
that the cat is out of the bag regarding Johnny's position, it's
only made Datello rabid.  I think it makes perfect sense that
this happened now."

"Crevan, you said it yourself.  There's
a good reason I look like shit.  I'm not well yet."

"I meant you look like you lost twenty
pounds you couldn't afford to dump.  You'd better hurry up to
x-ray before Johnny gets here and sees you.  We've got enough
to deal with already without him going ballistic about starvation
and vitamin deficiencies."

The pin-pricks of fear stabbed into my heart
for a second time today.  "Right.  Call me later. 
Like afternoon later.  I wasn't kidding, Crevan.  I'm
exhausted."  Hung-over.  Depressed.  Yeah, even
malnourished, though I had no idea it showed so much.  It
couldn't be twenty pounds.  Maybe eight or ten. 

"You won't be able to avoid him forever,
Helen."

Him.  Nice code word for he who stayed
away when I asked.  I wasn't as worried about it as Crevan
was.  "You're wrong, but thanks for the concern.  Let Ned
know that I couldn't endure more excitement, would you?"

I walked up to the x-ray department. 
Heather, the kind little nurse with the wheelchair, accompanied
me.  I'm not sure, but I suspect she thought I might faint
from pain or something, because she kept one of my arms hooked
through hers.

It's good to have friends in high
places.  That's one benefit of breaking Dad's notoriety
rule.  I was in and out of x-ray before I could say boo. 
Stand, face one direction, hold breath, shoot.  Repeat for the
alternate views.  It's called anterior, posterior and lateral
and gives the radiologist the best view of any damage my boneheaded
fellow detective might've caused when he pushed me out of the
way.

They let me wash my hands while the
radiologist took a quick look at the films.  When I came back,
Heather was waiting with Dr. Scott (his first name – apparently
radiologists aren't stick-up-the-butt physicians like my orthopedic
surgeon is). 

"Dr. Eriksson, please, step into my
office."

It was more of a cubby that would've made a
pathetic closet, but I stepped inside with Heather and Dr. Scott –
Chesney, as his surname turned out to be from the degrees on the
walls.  He popped the recently taken x-rays onto the wall
light and pointed to the areas where hardware still affixed bone
together.

"I don't see any new damage, Dr.
Eriksson."

But.  Here it comes.  I'd heard it
from the orthopod two weeks ago.  "Call me Helen."

"All right, Helen.  My concern is that
these bones aren't healing as quickly or with the strength they
should for someone your age.  Heather mentioned that one of
your friends downstairs said that you look like you've lost some
weight since your injury."

Big mouth.  Both of them.  "It's
nothing serious, Dr. Scott.  I've been sleeping a lot and my
appetite hasn't been what it was.  I'm sure it's pain
related.  Dr. Malcolm wasn't concerned about it when I saw him
a couple of weeks ago, beyond suggesting a better calcium and
vitamin D supplement."

He cocked his head to one side.  "Given
the traumatic event you suffered, I'd say your symptoms sound more
like depression or post-traumatic stress than an absorption
issue."

Who was this guy?  Moonlighting as a
psychiatrist on the side?  "Dr. Scott, I appreciate your
concern, but I'm not –"

"You're a psychologist.  Everyone knows
this.  Get a script for something to help your mood,
Helen.  You know better."

Shame and rebuke do not good bedfellows
make.

"I'm not trying to offend you, but if these
bones don't get stronger, you're looking at serious problems down
the road.  Dr. Malcolm is probably the best orthopedic surgeon
in the city, but he's missing the boat here."  He perched on
the edge of his desk.  "How bad are the nightmares?"

"I get plenty of sleep."

"Helen, how bad are they?"

"Disturbing but I sleep more now than I did
before the accident."

"Do you always think about this attempted
murder as an accident?"

Let me pause here to revise my first
opinion.  Dr. Scott had to be a psychiatrist moonlighting in
radiology.  "Sometimes it's easier to refer to it that way
with people not intimately involved in the incident."  I chose
careful words this time.  "I generally don't talk about cases
when litigation is still pending."

"And a therapist is bound by confidentiality
as you well know.  These screws in your shoulder aren't going
to hold if the healing bone isn't strong.  If you're unable to
eat enough to maintain what had to be a body mass index below
normal to begin with, it's a problem."

He pulled open the drawer at his left hip
and pulled out a prescription pad.  "This is not a normal
practice.  I will be following up with you in a month to make
sure you've scheduled an appointment with someone qualified to deal
with your emotional issues, Helen.  In the meantime, I'm
writing a script for a low dose of Prozac.  Do you have any
medication allergies?"

"None."

"I want you to take 20 milligrams daily, in
the morning starting this morning, and schedule an appointment with
someone to start talking about what happened to you.  It's
your decision to blow this off, Helen, but I strongly discourage
you from doing so.  I don't have to explain how emotional
health impacts physical healing.  You're too young to face the
chronic disability that's going to happen if you don't start taking
better care of yourself."

In retrospect, his lecture was a lot easier
to swallow than the one I would've gotten from Orion had he seen me
at the depths of my misery that morning.  I found it bizarre
to have a script for an antidepressant written by a radiologist,
but he was far more personable than Dr. Malcolm, and the impact
sunk into my thick skull for a change.

He was right.  I needed to be in top
form sooner than ever.  If a case against Datello was coming
to a head, God only knew how long I had to make sure that justice
was served this time.  Whatever doubts I had over the past few
months drifted far away from my conscience now.  Datello's
days were numbered – one way or another.

I popped the first pill at the pharmacy and
washed it down with a gulp of water.  The pain pill would have
to wait until I got home.  It wasn't planned that I'd be at
physical therapy for hours instead of two including transit
time.  The dull ache numbed the fingers on my left hand by the
time I pulled into the empty garage at home. 

The answering machine light was blinking
wildly, but I ignored it and shut off the ringers on the
phones.  One oxycontin later, and I was ready for a nap. 
I curled up in the unmade bed and let my eyes close. Questions
about how the attack on Journey Ireland could possibly relate to
her father's murder haunted my thoughts.

Chapter 5

Devlin Mackenzie sat in the conference room
next to Lieutenant Finkelstein's office with stoic resolve. 
Shoving Dr. Eriksson at the crime scene surely would have
consequences.  He'd accept them.  If it meant hightailing
it back to Montgomery after only three short weeks in Darkwater
Bay, so be it.  It wasn't as though anyone had made a secret
about how everyone felt about the absentee criminal profiler.

She simply wasn't what he expected.

His mind chastised him for thinking
something that even felt uncomplimentary in his conscience, but the
truth was, Dr. Helen Eriksson looked more like the cancer survivor
he recently discovered the chief medical examiner was.  Dr.
Winslow on the other hand, appeared robust, even while she grinned
and ribbed his new partner Ned Williams that her hair wasn't
falling out, it was getting thicker with every chemo treatment.

Strange city.  He'd been warned by his
former partner in Montgomery.  "Darkwater Bay is like an
alternate universe," Andy Gillette told him.  "Up is sideways,
down is diagonal.  Heaven is hell, and hell as most understand
it, is Central Division."

Dev liked Johnny Orion, though it was Chris
Darnell that recruited him out of the relative sanity of the
political center of the state to work in Darkwater Bay.  Chris
had been Devlin's commanding officer in the Marines over 20 years
ago.  The move to Darkwater Bay invoked all the insecurities
Devlin felt as a private in the Marines. 

Step up, Mackenzie.  You're not some
rookie detective.  Start acting like it.  It's not like
Eriksson identified herself at the crime scene.  Ned didn't
even have the decency to give me a heads up.  Our victim is
alive, maybe because I acted quickly and got her down to the
emergency room.

"Devlin?"

His eyes snapped into focus on the
lieutenant.  "We're all here now."

Dev nodded curtly at Orion who was the
latecomer to the meeting.

"I understand Ms. Ireland owes you a serious
debt of gratitude," Orion said.  "Crevan said the doctors were
very optimistic that the damage to her jugular vein could be
repaired and that she'll make a full recovery."

"Thank you, sir."

"Johnny will do fine," he smiled and cocked
his head to one side.

"I only hope that Detective Eriksson wasn't
seriously injured, sir."

Clouds flitted over the recently friendly
expression in Orion's eyes.  "Yes, well, I'm sure she's in
good hands.  Crevan said that she went home to rest after all
the excitement."

"Right, John," Ned said.  "She saw the
attack and gave me her statement at the scene.  I think she
also pointed Devlin in the direction of one of Ireland's close
friends."

"Amy Peterson," Devlin offered. 
"Apparently she's Detective Eriksson's physical therapist. 
She was in the emergency department when I brought the victim in
for treatment.  Detective Eriksson spoke with her and
encouraged her to cooperate with an interview.  Peterson
seemed certain that only one person felt any ill will toward Ms.
Ireland, a man by the name of James Linder.  I checked to see
if the guy's got a record before I came in here."

"And?"

Devlin shook his head.  "Minor
stuff.  Solicitation a couple of times when he was in his
forties –"

"Wait a second.  Journey can't be more
than what, twenty-five?" Johnny interrupted.  "Exactly how old
is Linder?"

"Fifty-two, sir.  Ms. Ireland is
twenty-six years old."

Orion dragged one hand over his face. 
"Jesus.  Daddy issues anyone?"

Mackenzie had picked up on the fact that
there was a serious chunk of ancient history missing from what he'd
learned so far.  "I think someone should tell me why this
isn't a simple mugging interrupted by an off duty cop."

"Is that what it looks like to you, Devlin?"
Shelly asked.

A guarded mask dropped into place.  "I
don't know the full story, so I'm pretty sure I'm not qualified to
say what this looks like, lieutenant."

"Nonsense," Johnny said.  "If we've
learned anything around here in the past six months it's that
sometimes fresh eyes are exactly what we need.  Give us your
impression, Devlin."

"Well, Commander Orion, it looked like
Detective Eriksson interrupted a robbery.  When she identified
herself as a police officer, the perp slashed his victim's throat
to buy time for an escape, knowing that her first duty would be to
render assistance to the injured victim."

Johnny nodded.  "On the surface, that's
exactly what it looks like.  What would you think if I told
you that sixteen years ago, Journey's father was assassinated?"

"It's an unfortunate truth that the world is
a violent place, commander, but it doesn't seem to be compelling
evidence in this case."

Crevan Conall tapped his ink pen on the
table.  "Her father was an assistant district attorney,
assassinated in the parking garage that Central Division shares
with the District Courthouse, Devlin."