Singularity (9 page)

Barry finished speaking with the guard at the front desk and began walking toward him. When he was a few feet away, he held out a manila folder.

“Reports from yesterday’s disturbance between Alvarez and
Fairbend
.
An Officer Bundy was working that shift, same asshole with the goatee who took over for Hunt. The whole thing’s there. After a little reluctance, she also agreed to have our friend Benny send us the footage of the fight via email.”

“Why’d she give you grief? You weren’t hitting on her, were you? You shouldn’t be doing that while we’re working, Jenny will not be impressed.” Sullivan cocked his head at his friend and moved deftly away when the other man threw a mock punch at him.

“No, I wasn’t hitting on her. I told her you wanted her number.”

“That’s not even a good comeback, my friend. Fail.”

Barry smiled and shook his head. “Not sure why she didn’t want to give up the footage. Maybe she just didn’t want to do the legwork. She kept saying the warden would have to approve it first. I politely informed her that this was our case now, and the warden was giving us full access to the prison information. Everyone here got up on the wrong side of the fucking bed this morning, if you ask me.”

“Especially Alvarez,” Sullivan quipped. “Maybe it’s the beautiful weather.”

“Either way, she’s having it sent to each of our
emails,
we can watch it on our phones.”

“Good. Did you find out which way the infirmary was?” Sullivan asked.

“Yeah, it’s off the main holding area to the right.”

Sullivan began walking in that direction and Barry followed. “Let’s go have a sit-down with
Fairbend
. See why his cellmate suddenly decided to try to kill him last night.”

==

The infirmary was behind a door that led off the main holding area prior to the commons. It was a square room with wide windows set high in one wall, the glass interlaced with steel mesh. Several humming fluorescents shone down on the immaculately white tile floor. A few locked cabinets stood against the right wall, and a desk, decorated with strewn papers, held a position beneath the windows across the room. A lone guard sat in a chair just inside the doorway, his head tilted back against the wall behind him, his mouth open to the world. Soft snores issued from his nose every few seconds. Sullivan narrowed his eyes at the guard as he stepped into the infirmary, and saw Barry motioning if he should wake him. Sullivan shook his head.
Let him sleep, we’re not here to see him.

Instead, they proceeded across the tile to the two medical beds that hugged the left wall. The closer of the two was unoccupied, with blankets stacked neatly in its center. The other held a skinny dark-haired man with a sheet drawn up just below his scruffy chin. He had blue eyes and they followed the two agents as Sullivan and Barry made their way closer.
Fairbend
was slender, almost alarmingly thin, as if he were battling something worse than bruises and minor abrasions
.
Sullivan stopped beside the bed and smiled as he pulled out his wallet and flipped open his ID.

“I’m Special Agent Shale with the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, and this is Agent Stevens. Are you Mr.
Fairbend
?”

The supine man’s eyes squinted at Sullivan, and after a moment
Fairbend’s
head nodded slightly.

“We’d like to speak with you about what happened concerning Mr. Alvarez, if that’s okay with you.” Sullivan watched the skinny man lick his lips and then strain to swallow.

“Choked the fuck
outta
me, that’s what happened.”
Fairbend’s
voice sounded like sandpaper on a concrete floor, and gradually the prisoner drew the sheet down below his neck, revealing a collection of mottled bruises ranging from purple to green.

Sullivan could make out individual finger marks on the edges of the mass.
Fairbend
had been accurate; Alvarez had choked the fuck out of him. “I see that.
Looks really painful.
Could you tell me what happened, maybe why Alvarez decided to do this to you?”

Fairbend
shrugged, which caused the bruises in his neck to ripple like a black-and-purple pond in a breeze.
“Crazy Mexican.”

Sullivan ran his tongue over his front teeth and turned to look at Barry who made a face that said,
well, isn’t that something.
Sullivan looked back at
Fairbend
and leaned in closer to the man. He noticed a scent as he neared him.
Something organic.
Not really human waste, but close to it. Sullivan grimaced but didn’t relinquish his hold on the edge of the bed as he closed the distance between his and
Fairbend’s
faces.

“Listen, bud, I’m not new to this and neither are you, so let’s just cut the shit, shall we? I want to know what happened in that cell. I want to know what Alvarez said and what you said in return to make him want to squeeze the life out of you. I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, being in the state that you’re in, but your cellmate got torn apart last night. There wasn’t much left of him. I’m guessing you already knew that, but what I want is a name.”

Fairbend
remained unmoved by Sullivan’s speech, and his eyelids had even drifted closed while Sullivan spoke. The thin man shifted in the bed and steel clinked just below Sullivan’s grip. When he looked down, he saw that
Fairbend’s
hand was cuffed to the bed’s rail.

“
Ain’t
gonna
get me to talk no matter what you throw at me, buddy. He was a crazy spic and no one’s
gonna
miss him. So just trot along and leave me to heal up.”

Sullivan resisted the urge to reach out and grasp the other man’s throat where Alvarez had less than a day ago. He was about to try another angle on the prisoner when he heard the door open and close behind them and a voice speak with authority that woke the sleeping guard.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Sullivan turned and saw that the voice belonged to a woman striding across the floor toward the beds. Sullivan guessed her age to be within a year of his own and he noticed that she walked confidently; this room seemed to be her territory. She wore a white coat over blue scrubs and her auburn hair flowed out behind her, held up by a black band. The brown eyes, which normally would have been appealing, were half lidded in fury. Her face was angular, with high cheekbones, and as she came closer Sullivan couldn’t see any hint of lipstick. He quickly decided she would have been attractive if the anger that currently contorted her face would have been absent. The resident doctor, he presumed.

Sullivan and Barry both smiled and Barry beat him to an introduction as the older agent stepped forward and stuck out his hand. “Hello, I’m Senior Special Agent Stevens, and this is Special Agent Shale. We’re here investigating the homicide.”

“I don’t care if the president was killed last night, you can’t come in here and question an injured patient. This man almost died, you need to give him some time to rest. And who told you it was okay to come barging in anyway?”

A revelation bloomed in her dark eyes and she turned to the guard, who hovered behind her, his face locked in an accusatory glare, but nowhere near the vehemence of the doctor’s.

A finger shot out toward the guard and suddenly the doctor’s rage was turned to him. “Did you let them in?”

“I … no … I was just over there and—” the guard stammered.

“You were sleeping, weren’t you?” she asked in awe. Her finger dropped to her side and she turned back to the agents. “Gentlemen, if I could ask you to exit the infirmary so that I can attend to my patient here, that would be great.” She smiled without warmth and pointed toward the door.

Sullivan rubbed his brow.
“Doctor?”
She nodded impatiently and resumed glaring at him. “A man was killed here last night. He won’t be able to sit in one of your cozy beds in this nice, sterile room. What’s left of him is going to be dissected and examined in a morgue of some kind. Our job right now is to find out who killed him, because whoever it was is running free, most likely somewhere nearby.”

The doctor’s face softened somewhat and she glanced over at
Fairbend
, who was watching the exchange with interest. Finally, her eyes blinked and she nodded. “I’m
sorry,
it’s just been crazy for the last twelve hours. I’ve been up for quite a while. I apologize. My name is Dr. Amanda
Erling
.” She reached out and Barry shook with her. When Sullivan grasped her hand, he felt how cold her flesh was. It was like shaking with a bag of ice.

“No problem, we understand. We just wanted to ask Mr.
Fairbend
a few questions, but I suppose he does need his rest,” Sullivan said as he looked at the prisoner.
Fairbend’s
eyes met his for a moment and then slid away to examine a patch of wall at the other end of the room. Sullivan thought he saw something, just a fleeting look of victory and then gone.

“Perhaps later this evening you could stop by when he’s more rested?” Dr.
Erling
asked.

Sullivan nodded.
“Of course.”

The group moved away from the bed and Sullivan looked one last time at
Fairbend
. The prisoner yawned and rolled onto his side. Sullivan blinked and stopped as the others walked toward the door. It had looked like the inside of
Fairbend’s
mouth was coated in a grayish hue. Sullivan stared at the man for a beat, waiting for a convulsion or the onset of a seizure.
Fairbend
merely closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep.

“Sully?
You
coming?”
Barry asked from the doorway. The group watched him from the hall outside the room.

“Yeah,” Sullivan said. Without another look back, he followed them into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

“I think maybe you should stand instead of sit out here, what do you think?” Dr.
Erling
said to the uniformed guard. The guard merely nodded and stepped back to the side of the door, his hands clasped behind him. The doctor motioned toward the lobby and began walking.

Sullivan and Barry fell into stride behind her. Amanda walked at a brisk pace until they’d cleared the security doors and stepped into the open space of the lobby. Sullivan glanced at the front entrance and saw nothing but a sheet of falling rain outside.

Amanda turned to both of them and sighed. “I want to apologize again. I’m just not myself today. I shouldn’t have interrupted your investigation, but thank you for complying.”

“It’s not a problem, Doctor. We just need to ask Mr.
Fairbend
a few questions to clear some things up about the altercation last night,” Sullivan said.

Amanda’s eyes darkened and she looked at the floor. “Is it as bad as they’re saying? Was he … was he beaten to death?”

“We’re really not at liberty to say at the moment, I’m sure you understand,” Sullivan replied, glancing at Barry.

“Of course.
Well, if there’s any assistance that I can provide, please let me know.”

Both agents nodded and watched as the doctor walked away. Sullivan noted the slight swing of her hips as she moved and the way her hair contrasted with her white coat. As the door slammed shut behind her, Barry backhanded Sullivan’s shoulder with a loud slap.

“The fuck was that for?” Sullivan said, rubbing the spot through his shirt and glaring at his friend.

Barry grinned slyly.
“Really?
I’ve never seen you look at a woman that way before.”

Sullivan blew air noisily between his lips and shoved Barry as he walked by. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do, buddy.”

“Oh, yeah, whatever.
Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You’re lying,” Barry goaded as he followed Sullivan across the floor toward the front doors. “When’s the last time you were on a date?”

Sullivan stopped, and for a moment all he could see were red tablecloths and candles in crystal holders. A fireplace blazed somewhere nearby, and he felt a ring between his fingers, the sharp edges of the diamond cutting into his skin but feeling so right. He could smell steak and wine and he could taste something on his lips. He could taste her.

“Sully?”
Barry gripped his shoulder, and the vaulted ceiling along with the hard floors beneath his feet came rushing back. Sullivan breathed deeply and rubbed his face. “You okay, man?” Barry asked.

Sullivan dropped his hand from his cheek and swallowed the faint taste of Cabernet Sauvignon.
“Yeah, just fine.”
He feigned a weak smile before walking toward the front doors again. When he stopped at the double glass and peered out into the downpour, he noticed the line of the scar above his eyebrow glowing in the reflection. Soon, Barry was standing behind him, rummaging nervously in his pockets.

“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to bring anything up.”

“I know,” Sullivan said. “It’s not your fault.”

Lightning flashed just outside the canopy of the prison entrance, followed almost immediately by thunder that vibrated the windows and doors in their frames.

The entrance to the main holding area buzzed open, and when the agents turned they saw Don Anderson leading the rest of the crime-scene team into the room. Even from a distance Sullivan could see Don’s face was beyond haggard. His normally merry eyes drooped behind his glasses. One of the other techs carried a black evidence bag in one hand. The bag bulged near the bottom, as if a rotted cantaloupe sat in its recesses. Don spotted them by the door and walked over, his head down and chin tucked tight to his chest like a prizefighter.