Parker 02 - The Guilty (8 page)

answer so neither of us have to lie. You know in case anyone

comes asking."

No need to tell the Binkster that I wasn't playing dumb,

since I had no idea what he was talking about.

"Just tell Jack I appreciate it, and so does my wife. I

promise the bite marks will clear up and we'll be careful not

to go out in public next time we want to role play."

66

Jason Pinter

"Yeah, anyway, let's talk about Mauser."

"Right," Binky said, winking. "Let's. Officer Mauser

suffered from a single gunshot wound fired from a highvelocity rifle."

"I knew it," I said.

"Knew what?"

"High-powered rifle," I said. "I know more about guns than

I'd like to."

"Really? Well, would you like to tell me the rest of the

autopsy? Please, go right ahead." Binky folded his arms

across his chest petulantly. Finally he said, "May I continue?"

"Please, didn't mean to interrupt."

"No apology necessary. Anyway, the bullet entered Officer

Mauser's chest and the left subclavian artery, causing a traumatic aortic rupture."

"Which means..."

"Which means Officer Mauser never had a chance."

I wiped my brow, took this in. Mauser wasn't the target of

that bullet. This much was clear. Dozens of news crews had

caught the whole speech and murder on tape, and a split

second before the gun went off, Mauser dove in front of

Mayor Perez. Gave his life in the line of duty.

"The bullet then lodged in one of Officer Mauser's vertebrae, where I extracted it this morning. The bullet was turned

over to ballistics for examination."

"Can you tell me anything about the bullet itself?"

"Hey, Sherlock, I work at the coroner's office, not ballistics." Again I stayed silent. Hoping maybe Binky thought

himself an amateur Man With No Name. "It was pretty big,"

Binky finally volunteered.

"Like how big?"

"Inch and a half, two inches long," he said. "Bullet was ob -

The Guilty

67

viously distorted but I can't say for sure. Caused a whole lot

of damage, whoever took that shot wasn't screwing around,

wasn't looking to wing anyone. Even if the bullet had somehow miraculously missed the aorta, it shattered two surrounding vertebrae and severed Mauser's spinal cord. Guess we can

be thankful the guy didn't suffer. I work a lot of GSWs, but

I can't recall pulling a bullet this size from many victims."

"So we have some psychopath running around New York

with a high-powered rifle and damn good aim," I said. Binky

rubbed his hands together and nodded.

"Funny thing is," he said, his tone of voice anything but

humorous. In fact, there seemed to be an edge of fear. "I've

worked in the examiner's office nearly twelve years and I don't

recall ever seeing a gunshot wound from that caliber weapon."

"Really," I said, that fear seeping into my veins, too.

"Most GSW victims that end up at the hospital or morgue

are from .22 or .38 caliber bullets. Handguns, stuff you get

on the street. But not this. This is a hard-core rifle, my friend.

Kind you might hunt animals with. Kind of gun you only need

one shot with, 'cause that shot counts."

"No shit," I said.

"None at all. Makes you wonder what kind of psycho this

city's got loose."

"Yeah," I said. "Makes you wonder."

11

I turned my key in the lock, unsure whether I hoped the

apartment would be empty or not. Before I could see the

whole room I smelled perfume and knew Amanda was home.

She was sitting in an armchair reading a book. When she

saw me her eyes picked up and the book clapped shut. She

slowly rose from her chair, came over to me and wrapped me

up in her arms. I laid my head on her shoulder and breathed in.

She looked me in the eyes and said, "If I had to guess, your

day could have gone better."

I nodded. Took my jacket off and tossed it on a chair.

Untied my shoes and kicked them off. Went over to Amanda

and knelt down, put my head against her stomach. Soon I felt

her fingers running through my hair, my scalp tingling as she

pressed harder. I stood up, leaned in and kissed her. At first

she seemed reluctant, then leaned in harder. Her hand was on

the back of my head, pressing my lips against hers. I lost

myself in it, felt her body lean toward me. Then I pulled away.

"What is it?" she said.

I looked at her, embarrassed. "Just hard to see these things

happen. You know, and not be affected at all."

"That cop who was killed?" she said. "Mauser."

The Guilty

69

"Yeah. You know he was the one who last year...he almost

killed me."

"I know," Amanda said softly. "He came to my house.

Pointed a gun at you."

"Thing is, I never blamed him," I said. "If I'd been in that

kind of situation, thought someone had murdered my family,

I would have gone just as far as he did."

"Henry..."

"He was a good cop," I said, anger rising. "He didn't

deserve to go down like some animal."

"What do you mean?"

"Whoever shot him, they're some sick bastard."

I took out my cell phone. Dialed Curt Sheffield's number.

"Sheffield," he said.

"Curt, it's Henry Parker."

"Hey, man. Guess this doesn't mean you're hiding under

a rock."

"I don't think I'd fit under a rock right now. Listen, we need

to meet up. I talked to the medical examiner today, I think we

can help each other."

"Name the time and place. But hey, Henry, be careful.

Word's gotten around our friend Paulina Cole's been digging

a little bit, asking questions about Mya Loverne, about your

relationship. Don't know if she's going after you, but nothing

she touches stays clean, know what I'm saying."

I cursed under my breath.

"Screw her," I said.

"I would if my lady wouldn't wear my balls for earrings.

Cole's not a bad-looking older woman. Wonders of Botox, I

guess."

"Yeah, right. I need to know if you've heard anything

about the ballistics analysis. Two deaths from what looks

70

Jason Pinter

like sniper attacks, I'm willing to bet my bonus the same

ammo and gun was used in both Mauser and Athena

Paradis's murders."

"Don't be stupid, Henry, you know I can't just give out

information Mayor Perez hasn't declared open for public

consumption."

"Come on, Curt, you know the
Dispatch
is probably

writing checks right now to cops and anyone else who can

answer that question. Do you really want Paulina Cole and

her BS responsible for the first impression of millions?"

"Watch your damn mouth," Curt said. "Those are my boys

you're dissing."

"I'm sorry, man, but you know I wouldn't say it just to

make conversation."

"No," he said reluctantly. "Listen, I got foot patrol duty

tomorrow in Midtown. Carruthers wants my ass as public as

possible. Guess they figure enough stuffy suits see me they

might encourage their kids to sign up for the academy.

Anyway, meet me on Fifty-second and Fifth tomorrow at five

when my shift ends. Something else you should know."

"What's that?"

"They found another note. Same as before, taped to the

roof where the sicko took his shot from at city hall."

"Jesus Christ, what'd it say?"

"Not over the phone, man. I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll be there. And Curt, I appreciate it. Really. We need to

grab a drink soon. No business."

"Sure, Jimmy Breslin, no business my ass."

"I'm serious, none."

"In that case, I hear a bottle of Stoli Raspberry calling my

name," he said. "And bring your corporate card, of course.

You know, in case I get the munchies."

The Guilty

71

Sheffield hung up.

I looked over at Amanda. The book was on her lap. I knew

she heard the whole conversation.

"He sounded good," she said.

"Always does."

"Are you worried about Paulina?"

I thought for a moment. Paulina had done her absolute best

to ruin my reputation last year. I knew she had it out for me,

but still wasn't sure if the vitriol was real or just a ploy to boost

her career.

"The same way you worry about gum disease or cancer," I

said. "You can brush your teeth and eat broccoli every day, but

if it's going to fuck up your life it's going to fuck up your life."

"I don't want anyone to do that," she said.

"Hey," I said, wrapping my arms around her. She returned

the gesture. "Whatever anyone does to me, you counteract it.

You're my counterbalance, babe."

I kissed her, but knew her mind was elsewhere.

12

Amanda tucked her hands into her peacoat as she walked

down the street. Henry had ordered a half mushroom pie from

the pizza joint down the block (the one they probably kept in

business). She'd told him she would pick up the pizza while she

stepped out to grab some female products. Beautiful thing, those

female products, as they could preempt any further questions.

The night was still cool, the remnants of spring still hanging on. Soon summer would come, and New York summers

could be brutal. Damn Al Gore, guy was right all along.

Maybe he really did create the Internet, too.

She thought about Henry, their relationship. It was still a

relatively new thing, still exciting, but neither of them really

knew what lay around the corner. They'd been dating steady

for nearly a year, though for the life of her she couldn't

remember an official start date, other than the first day Henry

introduced her as his girlfriend. It'd been a surprise but a

pleasant one. After he was released from the hospital, everything just seemed to happen. Not that she had any problem

with it--it felt good introducing him, holding his hand at

night, saying the word
boyfriend
and knowing it meant more

than some silly schoolgirl thing.

The Guilty

73

For years, Amanda didn't trust anybody. Not the nuns who

ran the various orphanages she was shuttled between as a little

girl, not the boys who claimed they liked her then split when

the bra clasp remained fastened. Even Lawrence and Harriet

Stein, the perfectly nice oatmeal couple who finally gave her

a home, had a hard time earning any trust from their adopted

daughter. And it still hadn't fully come.

She was amazed at the ease in which Henry settled into their

relationship. She moved in with him just months after they met

and he adapted like a dried fish being put back in water. He was

romantic, honest, sincere. Even about the hard things. Mya. His

father. He asked questions about her job, her family. He made

her feel like she
mattered.
For Henry, the process seemed purifying. For Amanda, the process was much more difficult.

She'd shared beds with boyfriends, made dinner for special

guys and on some lucky nights had it made for her. But she'd

never shared a laundry hamper. She'd never gone to work only

to come home and see the same person she'd gone to sleep with.

It was a challenge, and some nights, all she wanted was

space that their one-bedroom could not provide, all she

wanted to do was scream, pull the notebooks from storage and

wander the streets taking stock of everyone she came across.

But then she'd look at Henry. Sitting at his desk, reading

a book or a newspaper. Writing on a notepad. She'd read his

bylines in the
Gazette
and feel her heart swell with pride. And

she would look at her man and smile, and he would smile

back, and then Henry would come over and kiss her on the

cheek and go right back to work.

Henry had been in a serious relationship. Mya. It was as

serious as most college relationships went. It wasn't hard,

Amanda figured, to move from one relationship to another.

The person changes, but the habits carry over. He'd shared a

74

Jason Pinter

bed. Shared a hamper. Amanda supposed she could be

thankful he wasn't awkward. But part of her wished they

were both experiencing the doubts and fears for the first time,

together.

Amanda's sense of trust seemed to come organically.

Funny, since the very first thing Henry ever did was lie to her.

He lied about his name to save his life, posed as someone else.

But only on the surface. She could tell, from the moment they

met, what kind of person he was. Maybe it was years of

keeping journals, sizing up people in a quick glance. Because

one thing Amanda always had a keen eye for was kindness.

And in Henry she found that.

She knew the last year had eaten away at him. In between

recovery from his wounds, the subsequent media frenzy, and

then his attempt to settle back into a tenuous routine. Over

the last few days, the sanctity of that routine had been threatened. Two horrible murders, one a man who, just twelve

months ago, wanted nothing more than to kill him. She knew

the guilt he still felt over John Fredrickson's death. Stroked