Saboteur: A Novel (3 page)

“Look,” she whispered “they locked that
door behind you, I think, and I’m feeling kind of hot in here--bothered
really--no windows and we are completely alone. I’m newly single and if I
confess will y--”

The woman started to put her hand
inside her black, sheer blouse, almost panting. Sullivan’s face flushed as she
started to get up from her chair.

“Put me on that table,” she said
pointing “and I’ll tell you absolutely anything you want to know, detective.”

She put out her cigarette in an
empty cup, which sizzled and now she was practically on top of him, crawling
over the tiny desk that separated them. He had no idea what to do. He stumbled
backward in his chair, but fell instead, knocking frantically on the door. No
one was there. He pounded now as the woman’s hand reached inside his buttoned
shirt.

“I’ll sign anything you want me to,
stud,” she purred.

She was now pushing up against him
breasts and all. By the time the door finally flew open, he fell through to the
other side directly on his face. All around him was laughter. The bulldog
sergeant was giving high fives and people were doubled over in fits, even the
detectives, and now the suspect, who was re-buttoning her blouse, reached a
hand down to help him up.

“Name’s Rodriguez. Undercover
squad, Prostitution and Narcotics. Sorry man, they made me do it.”

Sullivan laughed the laugh of a man
taken by complete surprise.

“If you’re half as good a detective
as your boss says that will probably be the last time any of us will have
anything over on you. We couldn’t pass on the opportunity,” she shrugged,
smiling.

Tackett’s drill sergeant demeanor
suddenly evaporated; he sounded like someone’s sweet old uncle as he reached
out his hand to shake. Everyone was now lining up to shake hands and do a
proper introduction. The last in line was a guy near his age, who looked him
over closely, squinting as they shook hands.

“Okay, Ice Man,” he said imitating
the film, “we told you to knock twice. I’m Sheppard. I’ll be seein’ you
around,” he said. “Try not to solve all the cases ok, save some for us mere
mortals.”

His reputation had clearly preceded
him here. Dickson must have really wanted rid of him after all. Tackett threw
an arm around him bear hug style and pointed.

“The Chief’s office is all the way
in the back and don’t let that guy put you to sleep. He comes across dry as a
bone, but he’s a barrel of laughs after a couple of shots Jack Daniels.”

Actually for Sullivan, dry sounded
pretty good right about now. The morning had already been stressful
enough.
 

Rodriguez strolled by and without
looking, under her breath whispered, “meant what I said about that movie star
thing.”

He watched her walk away
admiringly.

“And the Botox,” she snickered.

Maybe San Diego wasn’t going to be
so boring after all.

Chapter
4

Incursion

She had never seen such a look of concern on Apollon’s face
in all the years she had known him.

“Please forgive the intrusion, he
said, “but it is your husband, he has left this house under very odd
circumstances. I fear something dreadful is afoot, madam. He was with his
nephew and another man. His face, the second man, stayed most conspicuously
hidden; but he looked like a relative, though one I never met. I have been with
him for twenty-four years and in that whole time he has never once departed
without explaining exactly when he would return.”

“I need no convincing,” the woman
said throwing on her clothing hurriedly, “my dreams have been full of great
terror these last few nights, as if the whole of the heavens is screaming out a
warning, but what man listens to a woman?”

The woman sped down the hallway
with Apollon following rapidly behind. He shouted instructions to their
messengers, who then scattered with great haste.

“Apollon, you must tell me
everything you saw.”

“Yes, I observed through the causeway,
madam, because there was something suspicious about the early hour of this
appointment and that…that other man wouldn’t let his face be seen, not
completely. Though, of course his nephew being family, I could not protest out
of respect. He sent me for drinks after greeting them, but I delayed so as to
see for myself what they wanted. They talked for only five minutes, no more.
They seemed in good humors and your husband laughed several times, therefore I
felt it safe to do as he asked. But when I returned they had vanished, leaving
only this.”

It was a piece of very old looking
parchment.

“I hope I have not failed him,
madam. I pray.”

“You have always served him well,
Apollon, always.”

The woman held the paper in her
hands and they began to shake uncontrollably.

“But this is his own writing” she
gasped.

“Yes, madam, it is most strange.”

She handed it back to Apollon. The
words written clearly:

Your murder
is planned this very day by those closest to you. I beg you to depart with us
immediately. You are safe nowhere else.

A.

“Is it a
forgery?”

Apollon stared at it intently.

“The ink has been on this parchment
for some time. It must be very old. But why bring it now if it is to be a
warning? If it is a warning, it is a very old one.”

“We won’t know until we find him.”

“I’m right behind you, madam.”

“Tell every guard to stand at the
ready. I fear they will be needed before the day is done.”

***

The man stood over the edge of the
bridge and vomit poured from him until only the bile from his stomach was left.
He continued to heave nevertheless.

 
“I told you I should not take off my
hood,” said the man in the cloak to the boy. “You can’t imagine what a shock it
is for him to see my face.”

The man collapsed now onto his
knees, too weak to stand. He could vomit no more.

“We can’t stay out here for very
long, I’m afraid. I need you to get back inside, both of you,” said the man in
the cloak.

In a weakened voice, the man
muttered in response, “I cannot.”

They lifted him to his feet and put
him back under the cover of the carriage.

“Ey’e but you will. We will need
some time in the country. The fresh air will serve you well my friend. Time is
no enemy to us, but being seen even on the city’s edge is very dangerous to our
cause.”

“This is some trick of the gods,
the black arts,” groaned the man as he heaved yet again.

The boy suddenly spoke, though his
voice quivered.

“I’m sorry, sir, but this is the
only way to save you. You won’t understand any of this for some time, but later
it will be a tremendous relief, I assure you. You know that I love you as my
own true father, sir. You must trust me and trust the gods.”

“You deceive me, boy, with some
sorcery,” he replied, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I’ll have your
head on a pi--.”

The man’s eyes fluttered like loose
marbles in their sockets and then he lost consciousness yet again.

“It’s much better this way,” the
man in the cloak said consoling the young boy. “He may sleep for days now. The
shock is tremendous. Many die from it alone, or never fully recover their wits.
He will though. Trust me, trust me,” the man said laughing. “Now put him in the
back quickly,” he demanded of the boy.

There was much noise in the city behind them, more than
usual, but nothing but empty countryside ahead. Above them the last vestiges of
the storm clouds that had been brewing since early morning sped past. To the
man in the cloak they looked like ragged soldiers marching off to war, an army
of ghosts. He pulled the hood of his tunic up just slightly to see them better.
The boy sitting in the carriage looked out to him and thought he saw a fresh
tear suddenly race down the man’s cheek, and then another.

“Are you injured, sir?” the boy
inquired. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m not injured, but I am hurt. I
will survive as I always do. It is you I rather worry about, my son.”

And with that the man in the cloak
wrapped his hands around the boy’s throat, almost lovingly, and in one sudden
spasm snapped him at the nape of his neck. The boy’s eyes rolled back in his
head as a gush of blood poured from his mouth and nose. The man squeezed with
all his might, until the last of the air escaped the lungs and the boy’s frail
body went limp. It had taken no more than a few seconds. The man walked to the
back of the carriage pulling out a large rug, which he methodically unrolled.
The boy’s body fit perfectly and once rolled, you would never guess anything or
anyone was inside. Leaning over the edge of the bridge, he thrust it over,
where it smacked against the slow moving water below. He looked to his left and
to his right again slowly. An old woman sat perched in filth very near to the
bridge’s edge. He hadn’t noticed her before.

She yelled in his direction, “I
seen what ya’ done. I
knows
what yer up to.”

The man simply ignored her and
stared out instead across the point on the horizon where the river disappeared.
The sun blazed a crimson red, but a razor thin slice of moon could be seen low
in the sky.

“No, I doubt you do, old woman,” he
muttered. “I doubt you do.”

Chapter 5

Case 1032

Sullivan walked into the office, which had “Chief of Police,
Robert P. Tierney” inscribed in gold lettering on the door.

“Detective Sullivan, welcome to
SDPD,” came a voice from across the room. “Have a seat. I’m Bob Tierney.” He
began to sit, but Tierney extended a handshake bringing him to his feet again.
“I hope they weren’t too rough on you out there. A little hazing is good for
everybodys’ morale around here from time to time. That Rodriguez is a piece of
work, isn’t she?”

Sullivan managed an awkward smile.

“One of the best we have, to be
honest.”

Tierney slid a pair of bifocals up
the bridge of his nose and pulled at a stack of papers, which he had clearly
been reading on his desk.

“Says here and I quote, ‘you have
been the most decorated officer on the force and your skills as a detective,
your intuition are unrivaled.’ Now I have to ask myself what would compel a
curmudgeon like Carl Dickson to say such a thing if it wasn’t true? And yet
here you are. Page two is brief, but far more telling if you ask me,” Tierney
said raising his eyebrows and tilting his head. “I’m quoting again, ‘has
self-control issues, and though they haven’t had direct bearing on his work
with the force, risks seriously compromising the moral and civic values
expected of all officers in the city of Richmond.’ Tierney chuckled. “Sounds
like a pretty personal beef to me, especially if I know Carl like I think I do.
I’ll bet you got into his cookie jar and stole some sweets huh?” An awkward
pause followed. He started to speak but Tierney cut him off.

“Have you read your Emerson
detective?” Tierney shifted in his seat, looked up and pointed to a framed
picture on the wall. It was one of those ancient and faded frames filled in
with old yarn cross-stitching, which read, “A man must never be too moral, lest
he miss out on the finer things in life.”

“I don’t know, sir, I don’t read
much to be honest,” he answered.

“That’s too goddamned bad. A man who
won’t read is a fool. Reading improves the soul and teaches refinement.”
Tierney seemed to reconsider for a moment and then waived his hands through the
air with a groan. “I never read Emerson either to be honest. My mother had a
thing for sewing and for making sure I remembered to have some fun is all.
Look, let me level with you, I don’t care much about your past--not any of it.
You make for an interesting read on paper and I’ll bet you are what this
recommendation says you are, more or less. Out here in Southern California we
have just two threats to police work: criminals and the press. Both are equally
dangerous. If you make me, or the force look bad, I’ll make it hurt for you in
ways you can’t imagine. I know every police chief from here to Kalamazoo and if
you think this job was a demotion, just you try me.” Tierney finally looked up
from his papers. “A cop has to be disciplined to be effective and I can tell
just by looking at that goddamn suit, not to mention that piece of shit car of
yours that was sitting in the lot, that you have very little of either.”

He thought the car would go
unnoticed.
Damn
. Tierney sat up in
his seat.

“Tell me something detective. What
could you tell an investigator about Bob Tierney after only one meeting?
Please, you have permission to speak freely.”

Sullivan’s gaze suddenly hardened,
losing its boyish playfulness. He went into the almost primal state, the trance
that overtook him when he was keenly observing.
It was a test then.
He brought his fingertips together to a point
before speaking, his pupils appearing to almost dilate.

“Well, go on,” Tierney said chiding
him.

“Frankly sir, Bob Tierney is a true
professional, but he plays his cards very, very close to his chest. He uses his
eye glasses as a prop to imply thoughtfulness, not from necessity, and shitty
wall art to distract people from his real motives. He claims the art was made
by his mother, but this is very doubtful since it still has the Salvation Army
price tag still clearly visible, from underneath, on the back. Probably his
mother is still alive, though his use of the past tense suggests he has a poor
relationship with her.” Sullivan pulled his hands together behind his head and
leaned back in his seat. “He has family working in the department, and based on
a strong physical resemblance is related to one Detective--Sheppard whose name
was changed to his mother’s maiden name to avoid any suggestion of nepotism.
Sheppard is subpar since talent would erase the need for subterfuge and
endlessly seeks the approval of his father, causing him to take needless risks
on the job. Bob Tierney feels guilt over both of these issues, naturally, but
he genuinely respects cops, which suggests he used to be one, so he’s worked
his way up through the ranks. This is why he doesn’t make eye contact when
hurling threats against them, because he knows they are empty. He is actually
very well read, though he likes to pretend to be more superficial than he is,
probably to preserve the sense that he is still just one of the gang, though in
his current position as chief he knows he most certainly is not.” Sullivan
suddenly looked up, stopping himself. Tierney’s face was unmistakably flushed,
drawn, but he did not seem angry exactly.

“I can see why Carl Dickson didn’t
want you around. That’s remarkable.”

He had been right on everything it
seemed. Tierney sat back down and picked up a large manila folder from his
desk.

“Here is your first case,” Tierney
said holding it out with a chilly look in his eye, “It’s from the basement, a
cold case, eleven years ice cold. This should keep your self-control issues at
bay for at least, oh I don’t know, the next year or two or so, but do take your
time.”

He grimaced as he took the folder
from Tierney’s hand. “With all due respect, sir, I think my abilities clearly
demonstrate that I can handle something mo--”

“More what?” Tierney snapped. “Take
every case I give you seriously Detective Sullivan.”

 
“You were right about my reading habits
though,” he said without looking up. “Tell me, have your read your Sherlock
Holmes detective?”

“No sir, but I saw the movie--I
think.”

“You know, there is no such person
actually,” Tierney said ruefully. “He’s only a figment of Conan Doyle’s
imagination.”

“Ok sir, if you say so,” he said
sheepishly.

“Holmes says when you have
eliminated all the possibilities whatever remains, however unlikely, must be
the truth. I would think a man like you would have read some of it--your powers
of analysis being what they are. Every man has a blind spot, detective, try not
to forget that.”

“I won’t forget it” he said
dryly.
 

“One last thing. How could you see
the resemblance after meeting my son just the once? That’s incredible.”

“There’s a picture of you two
playing golf together right over there on the wall,” he said pointing. “It
says,
Father Son Golf Tournament
.”

Tierney sniffed, “So it does.”
Tierney’s patience had clearly run out and he rose from his chair escorting him
to the door.

“Enjoy the city. This town can be a
lot of fun for a young guy like yourself.”

“Sir, if I may ask?”

“Yes?”

“Earlier you said my car
was
parked in the lot? That’s an unusual
shift in tense.”

“Yeah, I had it towed, you were in
my spot. You can pick it up at impound for about four hundred and fifty bucks,
I think. It will give you a chance to learn your way around, meet people. Think
of it as a self-guided orientation,” Tierney said laughing out loud. “And don’t
forget to close the door behind you.”