Checkmate (Caitlin Calloway Mystery Book 2) (41 page)

“I’d let it go.” CC didn’t feel the need to inform him that Jamie was her wife. Based on the grin he was sporting, Captain Rousseau approved of her suggestion. “We’ve agreed to cooperate fully. Are you going to do the same? It’ll give you the freedom to investigate without everyone knowing he’s a cop.”

“Fine. Fine.” Palmucci was already barking into his cell phone, trying to locate the two doctors Jamie had mentioned. “I’ll be in touch,” he added with a triumphant smirk, dismissing CC and her boss.

“He thinks he’s won something.” CC led the captain around the corner.

“Palmucci is always thinking he’s hit the case that will make him famous.”

“He should just try doing his job.”

“I know, and I’m trusting you on this one.”

“You don’t think Max is dirty, do you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I trust both of you.”

CC cast a glance at her boss. The poor guy had been dragged out of a party because one of his people had been found with his head bashed in and a stash of drugs in his pocket. She was willing to bet this wasn’t the way he had planned on spending the long weekend.

“Give me two days,” CC said as they approached Jamie’s office. “Then all of us, including Palmucci, will sit down, and I’ll tell you everything. If you still think I’m a lunatic, then so be it. Personally, I’d love to be proven wrong.”

“That is never good,” Rousseau grumbled while CC knocked on the door. “Whenever you don’t want to be right, usually everything goes to hell.”

“Have a seat.” Jamie waved at the chairs when they entered her office.

“Jamie, good to see you again. Just wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Me, too. Okay, so now that Detective Smart Mouth is busy trying to get in touch with two of the most prestigious doctors in the country, I can fill you in. Max suffered a severe subdermal laceration and another laceration that led to extreme blood loss.”

“Someone hit him in the head, which cut him, so he bled a lot.” CC ran her fingers through her hair as she translated what Jamie was saying.

“Before that,” Jamie said, “he received an electrical shock. In addition to his head injury, he suffered cuts and abrasions.”

“Someone zapped him with a stun gun and tossed him down a flight of stairs. I saw the burn marks.”

“He struck his cranium on a hard surface.”

“Smacked his forehead on the cement floor.”

“Then someone used a blunt object and struck him in the back of the head,” Jamie said. “He seems to be doing well. He knows his name, what year it is, and his wife’s name. However he has no recall of this afternoon’s events. With this type of trauma, it’s not surprising that he’s blocked out what happened. His short-term memory should return soon, but nothing is certain. His doctor, who literally wrote the book on the subject, is very optimistic. We should know more in the morning. Given recent events, I assumed that you wanted him kept somewhere safe. So, he’s in the private ward under an alias.”

“How private?” Rousseau asked.

“You have to be buzzed in. He’s on the floor where rock stars go to dry out and the Kennedys go for whatever they need. Very secure, and the staff is well versed in keeping their mouths shut. Shirley is up there with him now. The two of you can wait to see him in the morning.”

“James…” CC began to protest.

“Caitlin, let him catch his breath. He’s in good hands. I wasn’t kidding, Dr. Zuckerman wrote the book on this subject. The hospital wooed him away from the National Head Injury Institute.”

“Thank you.” CC felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“Don’t thank me. Dr. Bradford arranged everything.”

“Isn’t that the guy you’re always referring to as God?”

“Around here, that’s exactly who he is. He seems fond of you and Max. So, it wasn’t hard twisting his arm.”

“Really?”

“Hamilton Bradford,” Rousseau repeated the name slowly. He smiled when the answers came to him. “The Ivy League murder. Of course. He’s one of those Bradfords.”

“Whitney Cabot,” Jamie said.

“That’s right. He’s her second uncle or something like that,” CC suddenly recalled. “That poor girl.”

“Murdered?” Jamie cringed.

“By her boyfriend.” CC clenched her jaw as the image hit her of Whitney Cabot’s remains scattered in a dumpster. The horrific memory still made her sick. The body had been mutilated so badly, it took almost a month to identify her. “Derrick Peabody Adams, from another fine old New England family. His hobbies included rowing, tennis, golf, domestic violence against the women in his life, and he was rather fond of date rape. Now, he’s spending the end of his days in a five-by-nine cell at Walpole. I’d add him to my list of people who hate me, but why would he bother killing people on the West Coast?”

“If either of you want to visit Max tomorrow, I can take you up,” Jamie said. “It will have to wait until after three. Jack’s services are in the morning. I’ll try to make time for the cranky detective. With a disposition like that, no small wonder he’s divorced.”

“How did you know he’s divorced?”

“What woman would let her man leave the house dressed like that?”

CC was thoroughly amused by the look of pure disgust plastered on Jamie’s face. “I’ll go with you to the services,” she offered.

“Then you’ll need to go home and get some rest.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nudged her boss before giving Jamie a quick kiss. She felt spent as they wandered back out to the parking garage and searched for their cars.

“You know what I find amazing?” Rousseau threw out.

“What’s that?” CC yawned and clicked the remote for her Subaru.

“You
can
follow instructions.”

“Only hers.”

He laughed and went on his way. CC climbed into her car and pulled out her cell phone. She sent a picture email and smiled. She was really getting the hang of the new gadget. She had her doubts in the beginning. Still she did feel that all she really needed to do was make phone calls. She hit speed dial while searching through her CDs.

“Wayne,” she barked at the poor technician. “I sent you a photo.”

“I know! Did you know this is my day off?”

“Look, I don’t have a lot of time on this one,” she pleaded.

“You never do.”

“Run the bar code on that bottle of vodka. I want to know where and when it was purchased, and by whom.”

“You don’t ask for much. Again, my day off,” he groused.

“Then I need you to break into Max’s Facebook account and find any messages from someone named Bunny. Track down the sender and get back to me ASAP. Got that?”

“Day off, and if you want to know about Max’s personal life, just ask him.”

“Can’t right now. Someone tried to kill him.” She grimly informed him.

“What? Okay, I’m on it. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, just tell me that he’s all right.”

“For now, he’s doing okay. I need you to keep this quiet.”

“Anything. I’ll have what you need in about a half an hour.”

CC thanked him. She didn’t miss the sound of fear in his voice. She still hadn’t started her car. Instead, she made a series of phone calls. Most led nowhere. Since it was a holiday, the information she desperately needed was on hold. “Stupid Columbus Day,” she snarled and headed home.

Chapter 36

The morning was dismal. The chilly dampness was just what CC would expect for a funeral. She stood by Jamie’s side trying to comfort her. Nothing in their lives made sense at the moment. It was all she could do to keep it together. Somewhere out there somebody was getting a kick out of their misery.

After the services, she cast a glance at Joyce Temple. She hated what she needed to do next. The first was to leave Jamie’s side. She felt a pang of guilt despite Jamie’s reassurance that it was all right.

“I have to get back to the hospital anyway,” she said and sniffed. “I’ve already paid my respects to the family. Jack’s family are being complete jerks to Joyce, just because they were separated when it happened.”

“Grief does have a way of turning people into assholes. Sorry about the language.”

“No worries, it’s the truth. I know you need to talk to them. I’d rather be on the road when you do that.”

“See you tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Be careful and call me later. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

CC paid her respects and carefully asked some questions. She also watched the crowd for anyone who didn’t belong. She hated using a funeral as a way to gather information. She always hoped that she wasn’t adding more grief to an already unbearable situation. When Joyce gave her a quick hug before she left, she felt mildly relieved.

She left the gathering at the cemetery and drove directly to the courthouse. After fighting to find parking, she finally caved in and paid to park in one of the city’s many garages.

After showing her badge in order to explain her firearms, she entered the courthouse. Leigh and a few others were waiting for her.

“The captain told me what happened. How is Max?” Mulligan asked.

“According to Jamie, he’s doing all right.” CC wanted as few people as possible to know about Max. She was still uncertain what she was going to tell Leigh. Not knowing who she should trust disturbed her. Then again, it was naive to think word wouldn’t get out. She took comfort from the fact that Max was tucked away where no one, not even another cop, could get to him.

“Do you know what happened?” Leigh was clearly concerned.

“Not sure yet,” CC hedged. “Deputy Brown, so nice of you to join us.”

“I just need to see Mr. Sharkansky arraigned, then I’ll be on my way.”

There was a hint of disdain lingering in Val’s voice that troubled CC. She could only hope the bitterness had something to do with her kid sister. She quickly excused herself when her phone began to vibrate.

“Talk to me, Wayne.”

“One bottle of Kettle One vodka, purchased by Dr. John J. Temple at Jobo Liquors on Cambridge street, five thirty-five p.m. on September 30. I know this because the good doctor used a credit card. Next, I broke into Max’s Facebook account, which took all of two seconds. The guy uses his badge number as his password. He did receive messages from a person named Bunny Trails. Bunny isn’t one of Max’s Facebook friends. In fact, Bunny has no Facebook friends. The only thing Bunny has done is send Max three messages about a boat that he or she is selling. The e-mail address is one of those free accounts where you can enter anything for your personal information and it goes through.”

“That would explain the name.”

“According to the information I got, the accounts were set up last week. Bunny’s address would place him or her in the middle of the Potomac River. I traced the IPO for the last message. It’s a pay computer located at Logan Airport. The user used a prepaid credit card, the kind any schmuck can pick up at your local supermarket. How is Max?”

“Hanging in there. Can you find out which supermarket our schmuck used?”

“I’m on it and anything else you need.” Wayne ended the call.

CC stared at her phone for a moment, trying to make sense of everything. Realizing that nothing was making sense, she returned to Leigh and Val who had been joined by Trooper McManus.

“They don’t really think Max is dirty?” Leigh said, clearly upset.

“I don’t know.”

“The Globe ran the story that you wanted, the body of an unidentified man discovered in a vacant seaside restaurant.”

“Good, that means Palmucci isn’t being a total idiot.” CC ran her fingers through her hair in an effort to calm herself. “I can see his point.”

“Come on, this is Max.”

“But if it wasn’t,” CC said. “He’s about to retire, his car is found at the track, and he’s found in an abandoned building down the road with drugs in his pocket. I can’t fault Palmucci for thinking he has something. Now let’s prove him wrong. What have you got for me, McManus?”

“Dr. Temple drowned.”

“No kidding.”

“No sign of a struggle. His blood alcohol clocked in at .16, twice the legal limit.”

“Good thing he wasn’t driving.”

“Not very conducive for swimming.” McManus cleared his throat. CC noticed that he seemed nervous. “Also, there were traces of hydrocodone.”

“Which is?”

“Vicodin.”

“Vodka and Vicodin. That can’t be a good mix.”

“According to Niezwicki, it will make you loopy as all hell. Checked the bottle like you asked. According to our guy in the lab, there were traces of vodka.”

“And?” Her brow furrowed. There just had to be more or why else would McManus bother coming to the courthouse?

“Vicodin.” He seemed reluctant to reveal this information “It was in a powder form. Someone crushed it up and added it to the vodka. We ran the bar code, like you suggested.” He referred to his notepad. “It was purchased on the day he died, at Blanchards on Revere Street at five past three. Cash sale, and before you ask, the store tapes automatically rewind after seventy-two hours. The sale has already been taped over. The guy popped a couple of pills and washed them down with vodka and ended up taking a swim. That’s it.”

“Okay.” CC’s jaw clenched. She was unhappy that McManus was ready to dismiss the whole thing as an unfortunate accident. “Let me run a couple of quick questions by you before you finish typing up your report. Would a doctor know not to mix Vicodin and booze?”

“Come on, you’ve seen it, some of them are worse than the junkies.”

“True. Still, why not just take the pills? Why crush them up?” It was clear by the blank look on his face he didn’t have an answer. “Next question, why walk several blocks to buy a bottle of vodka on a cold night when you have an unopened one sitting in your freezer? Before you answer that one, tell me how he bought the bottle when he was still at the hospital, filling in for my wife? What did you find out about the Charlie Card?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s a bit hinky. It’s a special needs card. It has a picture because the user gets a discount on public transportation. Ran the name, picture, and prints. It belongs to June Devlin. She has a long rap sheet, for drugs and prostitution. She lives on Shirley Avenue.”