Checkmate (Caitlin Calloway Mystery Book 2) (43 page)

“I see that.” Jamie set the legal papers aside so she could power up her computer. “All of these people have Newton addresses.” She couldn’t help noticing the ritzy addresses. She typed away, seeking the requested information while Detective Hiller made himself comfortable. “According to our records, not one of these people has ever been treated at this hospital. According to the Gateway information, almost all of them have only gone to where their primary care physicians are located. Which would be Newton Wellesley. Would it be rude of me to ask what this is all about?” She handed him the warrant and a printout of the information she had obtained.

“Sorry, I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.” Again, his tone seemed earnest. “Thank you, Doctor…”

“Jameson, Jamie Jameson.” She offered her hand. “Trust me, I understand the rules.”

“Jamie Jameson? I think you would.” He laughed. “Sorry. CC and I go way back. I gave her a hard time back when she was still in uniform. She got me back though.” He laughed again. “Thanks to her, I always check my jock before a game. Uh, sorry.”

“That’s quite all right. I accept that at times the person I married is an overgrown juvenile delinquent.”

“My wife says the same thing. Thanks again, Doc.”

After Detective Hiller made his departure, Jamie buzzed Grace to send in the insufferable Detective Palmucci. He stomped into her office looking like an angry water buffalo. She offered him a seat.

“I’d rather stand.”

Jamie made herself comfortable behind her desk. She assumed he was making some kind of power play in an effort to assert his authority. Jamie didn’t care; she just wanted to get back to work and then hopefully see her home and her family.

“What can I do for you today?” she asked in a bored tone.

“You can stop yanking my chain.”

“Trust me, that is the last thing I’d want to do.”

“Where are you hiding Max Sampson?” The veins in his neck bulged.

“Don’t you have a uniformed officer babysitting him?” she asked with concern. If Palmucci hadn’t sent the guy sitting outside Max’s room, then who was he?

“Yeah, yeah.” He quickly dismissed her comment. “I can’t get to see him. I also can’t get in touch with those doctors you sent me chasing after. Enough bullshit, Doctor. I need to question him.”

“Sorry to hear that. Dr. Bradford and Dr. Zuckerman are important men around here.” Jamie yawned, clearly not intimidated by his snarky attitude and bad language. “I’ll take you upstairs, then I need to get back to work.”

“I’ve been upstairs. They said Sampson isn’t there.”

“Not under that name. Given the circumstances, everyone thought it best to keep Detective Sampson’s stay here quiet.” Jamie stood and waved for him to follow her.

“I don’t get it,” Palmucci said. “Why all the cloak and dagger? That Bradford fellow is a pain in the ass. His secretary refused to put my calls through. Told me he was at dinner.”

“The night this happened, Dr. Bradford was having dinner.” They exited the elevator. “With the governor,” she added as they were buzzed into the private ward.

“What?” The color drained from his pudgy face.

“Here you are.” She led him into Max’s room. Shirley had returned and still looked haggard. CC was comfortably reclined, but she had a worried look written across her face.

“Ronald, about time you showed up,” CC taunted him. “Anything back from the lab?”

“Not yet.” He gave a snort. “Sampson, we need to talk.”

“Excuse me.” Shirley stood and made her exit. Jamie caught up with her, deciding that both she and Shirley needed another cup of coffee. She wrapped her arm around Shirley’s shoulders and led her downstairs to the cafeteria.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said to reassure the trembling woman.

“Max is alive. That’s all I’m focusing on.”

*   *  *

CC gave Palmucci a sly grin when he turned to her. His bushy gray eyebrows furrowed as he cast a disgusted look down at her.

“You don’t mind do you?” she said in an innocent tone. “I mean, if Max is dirty, as his partner I’m next on the list. Might as well get this over with so we can focus on our jobs.”

“I’ve been getting the runaround since this went down. I don’t know how you got the doctors around here to join the party, but I’m sick of being bullshitted. Look at this room. It’s nicer than my apartment.”

“No doubt.” CC was pleased by his unkempt appearance and lack of balance.

“Yeah, Jamie is a miracle worker,” Max said, unaware of Palmucci’s displeasure. “This place is pretty swanky. You’ll never guess who I saw in the room down the hall.”

“You’re on a first name basis with the ER doc? I thought you were out of it when they wheeled you in?”

“Jamie?” Max blinked with confusion. “Of course I know her. She’s Calloway’s wife.”

CC smirked. “Did I forget to mention that? My bad.”

“Your wife?” Palmucci said. “Well that would explain why you insisted that Sampson be brought here.”

“Would you want your partner treated at a clinic in Lynn?”

“No,” Palmucci reluctantly agreed.

“As for the digs, Dr. Bradford set that up,” CC said. “A thank-you for the Whitney Cabot case.”

“The blue blood murder?” Palmucci seemed impressed. “That was a good catch. I thought for certain that arrogant pissant was going to get away with it.”

“So did he,” CC said wryly. “Miss Cabot was a member of Dr. Bradford’s family. Keeping Max comfortably under wraps is his way of saying thank you. You found Max’s car at Suffolk Downs?”

“Yeah.” Palmucci stiffened up.

“Again, based on the piece of crap he’s still driving, you think he’s dirty?”

“Heh?” Max said. “That Buick has gotten me—”

“From hell and back, I know.”

“He was buying a boat,” Palmucci said.

“Looking at boats,” Max corrected. “Come April, I’m off duty.”

“Might be nice to have a little something put aside.” Palmucci tried to play him.

“Seriously?” CC couldn’t help laughing. “That’s what you got? Once the lab reports come in, and your techs match the drugs to our case, you’ll see the light.”

“What about the fifty Gs that showed up in his bank account last week?” Palmucci gloated.

“What?” Max and CC asked in unison.

“Fifty grand sent by wire transfer from a numbered account in the Cayman Islands. Care to explain that?”

“I didn’t know about it.” Max groaned miserably. “All I know is I got a message on Facebook, someone talking about a boat. The guy said he was having financial trouble and would let it go for a song. I figured it’s worth a look. It was dark by the time I arrived. The parking lot looked empty, except for all the construction vehicles. I got out of my car. I was blinded by a set of headlights. I felt a sharp jolt running through me. Next thing I know, I wake up here. That’s the whole enchilada. I know it sounds lame, but that’s what happened.”

“And the money?”

CC fought against the urge to stand up and start pacing. She knew Max was being set up. She knew why. What she didn’t know was how to prove it.

“What money?” Max suddenly looked bewildered.

“The fifty grand?”

“Palmucci,” Max said, “what are you doing here?”

“Max…” CC was about to prompt him when Jamie entered the room with Shirley in tow.

Max looked at CC. “Calloway, what brings you by? Shirley, put on a pot of coffee for my partner.”

“What the—” The question died on CC’s lips when Jamie touched her shoulder.

“Not again,” Shirley wearily uttered, looking to Jamie for help.

“Max,” Jamie said slowly, “do you remember where you are?”

The way he paused made CC’s heart lurch. Palmucci just narrowed his gaze in CC’s direction. Max leaned back, seemingly unaware of what was going on.

“Max?” Jamie prompted him once again.

“Hey, Doc.”

“Max, where are you?”

He thought for a moment, and his face turned grim. “Happened again?”

“Can you tell me where you are?” Jamie asked while checking his pulse.

“Hospital. I saw the headlights and then I was here,” he answered, slurring his words slightly.

“That’s right,” Jamie said in a terse voice and hit the call button. “Everyone out.”

“Hold on,” Palmucci began to protest. Surprisingly it wasn’t Jamie or CC who silenced him, it was Shirley. She grabbed the grumpy detective by the arm and dragged him out of the room. He wagged his finger at CC. “What are you playing at?”

“My husband hit his head on a concrete floor. Would you like to take a guess what that did to his skull? The doctors are amazed that he didn’t end up in a coma.” Shirley punctuated her point by poking Palmucci in the chest with her index finger. “I’ve seen the X-rays. He’s lucky to be alive. If you want to talk to him, go through his doctors. I won’t risk his health.” She only stopped jabbing him in the chest long enough to allow the medical team inside the room.

“I thought he was doing okay.” CC felt completely helpless.

“For what he’s been through, he is doing okay,” Shirley tried to explain. “Jamie says that sudden gaps with his short-term memory aren’t that surprising, but Dr. Zuckerman wants to keep an eye on him.”

“Head injuries are like that.” Palmucci suddenly softened up. “Had a partner back in the seventies who took a tire iron to the back of his head. He was never right after that. Calloway, do you know somewhere quiet where we can talk?”

“Shirley?” CC didn’t want to leave her alone.

“Go, and figure out who did this to my Max,” Shirley said. “Then kick the snot out of them.”

“It will be my pleasure.” CC grinned. “Come on, Ronald. We have work to do.”

She dragged Palmucci downstairs to a small area with a coffee bar. He sat there sipping his coffee. He was refusing to make eye contact with her.

“What’s on your mind, Ronald?” It was the second time she purposely used his first name. “Do you really think Max is dirty?” Her question was quiet, not filled with accusations.

“On paper,” he said slowly, still not looking up from his coffee, “I’ve got a case that points to a dirty cop.”

“What’s your gut telling you?”

“Don’t get snotty with me.” He finally looked up at her. “I’ve known you since you were in diapers. If you weren’t Joey Calloway’s kid…”

“I know you knew my old man. You even slept on our sofa after your wife kicked you to the curb.”

“You remember that, huh?”

“The sight of you first thing in the morning is hard to forget. I have to be honest here. As much as I want to help move things along and clear Max’s name, right now I’m worried about his health. What I just saw happen upstairs scared the crap out of me. Ask me what you need to ask me, so I can get back upstairs and check on my partner.”

Palmucci sat there for a moment, and his bushy eyebrows wiggled up and down. CC sipped her coffee and tried to enjoy the moment of peace and quiet. She knew it wouldn’t last long. Palmucci proved her right. First he cleared his throat three times and then looked her directly in the eyes. He seemed troubled but calmer than he had been for the past couple of days.

“Calloway,” he tentatively began to say. “If I pulled Max’s name off the file and handed it to you, what would you think?”

CC didn’t answer; she just ran her fingers through her hair. She held his gaze and hoped he would get to the point. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he was using this to further his lagging career.

“An off-duty cop,” he said, “nearing retirement, is found in an abandoned building scheduled for demolition. His head is bashed in, and he has a pocket full of drugs. What’s your conclusion?”

“Dirty cop,” she regretfully agreed. “But he’s not.”

“I have to follow the evidence, same as you would.”

“I get it. I just want you to get to the truth and soon. Someone tried to kill my partner. Max has had my back since day one.”

“Listen, kid, off the record, you’re Mac C’s blood. If Max had money troubles, I don’t doubt your uncle would extend a little generosity to the man who held Joey Callaway’s little girl in his arms while she was bleeding out on Dunster Street. What I think and what I can prove are two different things.”

“I’m familiar with the feeling.”

“I did get a call this morning, after the story about our dead John Doe hit the paper.”

“Yeah?”

“The caller wished to remain anonymous.”

“Man or woman?”

“Couldn’t tell.” He gave a snarl and his aggravation showed.

“They disguised their voice. Could have been either. They did inform me that the body was that of Detective Max Sampson from Boylston. No, excuse me Boylston Village Hills.”

“They stressed the BVH?”

“Oh, yeah.” He snickered.

“I told you, it’s a setup.”

“I asked the caller to come forward.” He sounded more than a little cocky. “They were afraid. I told them they didn’t need to be afraid of Sparks or the Sea Side boys. My caller went off the deep end, saying of course they were afraid of Sparks and the Sea Side boys. They’d killed a cop. The caller added that Sampson was an idiot for getting involved with them. I offered protection. That’s when my informant hung up.”

“Who are Sparks and the Sea Side boys? You got gangs running around Saugus now?”

“No,” he said proudly. “I made it up.”

“But your caller knew who they were, and more importantly, they knew Max’s name.” CC couldn’t help smiling at his ingenuity. “Well played.”

“Not well enough. Couldn’t trace the call. Just short enough to be useless. We’ve got nothing except your uncanny ability to come up with a well-placed hunch. I’m still not convinced the call was legit. It could have been anyone trying to throw me off track.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Tell me what’s going on?” He seemed to be pleading. “Given the circumstances I don’t think it is too much to ask for.”

“You’ve got it. I need help, not just from you. I’ll set up a little chat with my boss and the Feds. Hopefully we can get to the bottom of this.”

“I want in on this,” he said gruffly. “If this is something bigger than a dirty cop, I don’t want to be left out in the cold. If it’s a dirty cop, that suits me just fine.”