Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 02 - Murder Takes the Cake (16 page)

“
Who?” Merrell asked, his voice still a little high.

“
Don’t even bother. Your girlfriend said you were expecting a package from Crager.”

“
Stupid pig.”

“
How do you know Crager?” Mac pushed the cop. He wanted to keep Merrell off balance and he didn’t have a lot of facts to work with. Bluffing was his best option.

Merrell stared at Mac, apparently trying to get a read on what the detective knew.

Mac made sure his own expression gave nothing away.

After a moment, Merrell spoke, choosing his words carefully.
“Operation Desert Storm. Brian was in the reserves; I was finishing my hitch in the Marines, when we both landed in Saudi Arabia. Brian, String, and me–we ate a lot of sand. If we’d taken out Hussein the first–”

“
String?” Mac held up his hand to stop the history lesson, to halt any diversions or distractions.

“
A reporter friend of ours. A stringer for the Dallas Morning News back then.”

“
And you’ve kept in touch all these years?”

“
Hell yeah. You spend 24 hours a day for three months sitting in a tank in the middle of the damn desert, you learn a lot about a man. You learn secrets he hasn’t told his own mother.”

“
What did Crager tell you that his own mother doesn’t know?”

Merrell shifted in his seat and waved him off.
“Nothing important. I’m saying that you get to know somebody under those kinds of circumstances. And when Crager started getting some of the symptoms.…”

“
What kind of symptoms?”

“
Headaches, dizziness, memory problems, muscle and joint pain, indigestion, skin problems, shortness of breath.”

Mac rubbed the back of his neck. Sounded like Merrell had memorized the Merck Manual.
“Gulf War Syndrome?”

Merrell nodded.
“Damn VA says it’s all in our heads.”

Mac could almost taste the man
‘s bitterness. He wasn’t the first veteran to feel abandoned by the government once they got home. “You have problems?”

Merrell nodded again.
“But Crager was getting worse. Then his wife got sick and…”

The man stopped talking and looked towards the window.

“So he.…” Mac prodded Merrell to continue.

Merrell again waved him off.
“Nothing. I just mean we stayed in touch. Man has to know somebody’s got his back.”

“
So if Crager thought he was in danger, he might call you. Ask for your help?”

Merrell looked at Mac warily, like he was trying to determine just how much to share. Mac could see the moment when the man made his decision. The steel gates clanged shut. Mac was on the outside.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. When things blew up in Boston with these bogus graft charges, I figured it would be a good time to visit my old army buddy. Check on him. Look, I’ve got to meet Selena before she puts that whole two hundred up her nose.” Merrell stood up, staring at Mac, the intent look a clear sign the conversation was over.

Mac stayed in his seat.
“Why didn’t you call the cops when you found Crager’s body?”

Merrell flinched, then schooled his face.
“I knew he was dead. I’m not looking to chat with any cops. I figured somebody would find him soon enough.”

“
Somebody? Or me. Did you make that call to my office?” Mac pushed again, trying to beat the stopwatch that was about to run out. “Do you know who killed Brian Crager?”

Merrell
‘s eye twitched. It was subtle, but Mac knew he’d hit home. He saw Merrell make an instant decision.

“
I don’t know about any phone call. And Brian probably died from something he got over there in Kuwait. VA says they’re going to study the health problems. When we’re all dead, that’s when they’ll figure it out. Look.…”

Mac figured he had time for one more question.
“Who’s trying to kill you?”

Merrell shook his head.
“Nobody. Or everybody. Maybe some people in Boston aren’t too fond of me. Maybe my ex-wife. She definitely would be happy to see me dead.”

Mac waited for Merrell to say more, but knew it wasn
‘t going to happen.

Merrell held open the door and motioned for Mac to leave.
“Selena’s patience isn’t endless. We have that in common.”

The two men walked through the parking lot. Merrell started down the street to the nearby bar to meet his girlfriend. Mac opened the car door to let Whiskey out to do her business.

Merrell suddenly turned and walked back, stopping in front of Mac. “Do me a favor, will you? You’re right about one thing. I need to get some money to my kids.”

Mac nodded.
“I can do that.”

Merrell reached in his pocket.

Time seemed to pause, then Mac sensed, rather than heard, the initial crack. Instinctively, he ducked behind the open car door, but his reflexes weren’t quite as fast as they used to be. Damn middle age. He could feel the flesh on his right arm burning, knew the wetness soaking his clothes and dripping down his hand was blood.

More bullets slapped into the car door, breaking the window and showering him with cubes of safety glass.

“Get down.” He hissed a warning to Merrell, but was much too late. Amid a third volley of bullets, Mac saw the Boston cop was face down on the asphalt, hand still in his pocket reaching for his wad of cash.

A bullet ricocheted off the door, striking the floorboard only a few inches from Mac
‘s hip. He needed to be somewhere else and quick. The bullet rounds continued. The shooter had to have more than one weapon or he’d reloaded.

Mac reached for his gun, tucked in a holster next to his left shoulder. The well-practiced movement was almost impossible. His right arm ached. His shooting hand was slippery with blood and felt strange…weak. He looked to make sure he was actually holding his gun.

The motel dumpster, twenty feet away, would offer more protection than an ancient Cadillac door. He decided to chance it.

A hail of bullets erupted as soon as he started running. One bullet bounced off the asphalt uncomfortably close to his left foot. He was three feet from the dumpster when he crouched and pivoted to return fire. The shooter was well hidden. Mac knew better than just to point and shoot. He needed to verify his target. If he could see the muzzle flash, he
‘d consider firing.

He never got that chance. Another rounds of shots and suddenly he found himself flat on his back, fur in his mouth, a 120-pound wolfhound as his personal bulletproof vest.

Squealing tires signaled the all-clear.

“
Get off.” He attempted to push Whiskey off his chest, but the dog refused to budge.

“
It’s okay, girl.” He tried to soothe the dog, running his left hand along her back. The quivering furry body told him she wasn’t convinced, although she appeared to be unhurt. A few more not-so-gentle pushes and Whiskey reluctantly gave up her perch.

Mac tried to sit up and failed. He
‘d twisted a muscle in his back when he fell; the muscles in his lower back had seized up. He rolled to his side and crawled next to the dumpster. Leaning against the cold metal, he propped himself upright gingerly and took inventory.

His arm throbbed. His favorite jacket was sliced open and damp with blood, probably ruined. With his left hand, he fished a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped the makeshift bandage around his upper arm. Conclusion–battered, but he
‘d live. Whiskey whined and Mac realized she was pacing the space between him and Merrell. For a moment he’d forgotten about Merrell.

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his back, Mac reholstered his gun and crawled over to the body sprawled twenty feet away, across two parking spaces. Judging from the exit wound that had taken off the back of the man
‘s skull, Mac knew there wasn’t much point in feeling for a pulse, but he did anyway. There was none.

He could hear sirens in the distance. Somebody had called the cops, but they were too scared to come out to the parking lot to help. He couldn
‘t blame them. Flying bullets don’t usually encourage heroics. Not from strangers.

Mac reached into Merrell
‘s pocket and withdrew the wad of cash. He shoved twenty back in so the cops wouldn’t think it was a robbery. He’d make sure Merrell’s kids got the money, like he promised.

The ache in his arm was increasing; winning the competition with the pain in his lower back. His gunshot wound now had his full, undivided attention. Mental exhaustion was also beginning to take a toll. Or maybe he was going into shock. Mac leaned against the Cadillac
‘s wheel and waited with his nervous dog for the cops to arrive. He had to figure out how much explaining he was willing to do. It went without saying that Whiskey would go along with whatever version of the truth he told the police. Partners did that sort of thing.

Chapter 13

“
Someone here who can take Mac Sullivan’s dog?”

Rachel, hearing the cop
‘s shout from the funeral home reception area, spoke into the phone and assured Mac that his dog had arrived. “I don’t understand. Why did you send her via cop taxi? Mac? What’s happening?”

The sound of the dial tone filled her ear.

Whiskey, dragging her leash, appeared in her doorway. She was followed in short order by an irritated patrolman.

“
Look, I’ve got to get back. We’ve got a murder to deal with and I can’t be playing dog nanny. Greeley told me to bring the mutt here and hand her to a Jeff O’Herlihy or a Rachel Brenner.”

Rachel froze.
“Murder?”

“
Yeah, at a roach motel over near Howard University hospital. A shooter took out a Boston cop and this dog’s owner. I’ve got to go. This is my first crack at a murder scene.”

“
Mac Sullivan was shot? I just spoke to him on the.…” She stopped talking. The young cop was gone.

“
Men!” She picked up her coat, purse, and cell phone on her way out the door. “Come on, girl. Let’s go find out how your owner is. Would it have killed him to tell me he was calling from his deathbed? I wish you could talk.” She stopped and gave the dog a hug. “You’d tell me what was going on, wouldn’t you? Not make me drag it out of you?”

The dog made a noise Rachel took as either grudging agreement or non-responsive.

“Whiskey?” Rachel sighed and stroked the dog’s head. “Okay, I know your first loyalties lie with him, but it doesn’t feel very good to always be an afterthought. Don’t you think I deserve to be more than a minor character in this little drama Mac calls his life? If he survives, we’re going to have a serious discussion.”

This time Whiskey
‘s bark sounded much more like agreement.

***

“God knows how long ago you were shot and how long the cops kept you at the crime scene. I know it took me at least twenty-five minutes to get to the emergency room. Then it took another ten to find somewhere to park. I rush in here expecting to find you in surgery, but you still haven’t seen a doctor yet.”

“
Sit down, Rachel. You’re wearing me out.” Mac tried not to groan as he shifted on the gurney. The EMT, who’d rebandaged his arm at the scene, had also cranked up the gurney so he was sitting at almost a ninety-degree angle. Much easier on his back, but it still felt like someone was stabbing his lumbar region with rusty garden shears. He’d hoped to have been in and out of the emergency room before Rachel found out about the shooting. Instead she’d almost beat his ambulance to the hospital. He was flattered; she must have run more than a few traffic lights when she’d thought he was dying.

“
I’m not going to sit down. I need to find a doctor. You should at least be in an exam room, not parked out here in the waiting room with everyone else. You could have internal bleeding. A spinal injury, for heaven’s sake! Time could be critical.”

The everyone else she was referring to included a homeless man, smelling of booze and too many days in the same clothes, slumped in a hard plastic chair next to the empty vending machine; a cranky teenager wearing a sport jersey and holding a roll of paper towels to stem the flow of blood from his nose; an elderly man with chest pains and a wife who couldn
‘t stop berating him for a lifetime of too many cigars and too much Scotch; a toddler who alternately screamed and pulled on her tiny ear while lying on her weary mother’s Goodwill-clothed lap; and a dozen or more people either coughing, sneezing, throwing up or going for the hat trick. He figured the real danger wasn’t from his gunshot or back injury; but from the germs floating around the waiting room. “Rachel, I’m going to have to wait my turn. I’m not bleeding now. At least since I came in by ambulance, I’ve got a bed.”

“
I think it was more that the EMTs knew you from your cop days. Otherwise they probably would have dumped you over in the corner next to the drunk, rather than leave their gurney here.”

He wasn
‘t feeling up to arguing with her. All he really needed was some heavy-duty muscle relaxants for his back, a tetanus shot, and a couple of stitches in his arm. A hot shower and eight hours in his own bed, he’d be back in business. Unless of course, he picked up a terminal disease from someone else serving time in this purgatory.

“
Over there!” Rachel touched his shoulder, getting his attention. “That guy’s got on golf shoes. I think he’s a doctor. I’ll be right back.”

***

The odor of Ben Gay filled her sinuses. JJ sneezed. He was back.

Life would have been so much easier if the building owner hadn
‘t been required to make the World War II era structure handicap accessible in order to rent more of the vacant offices. No elevator–no Edgar. It was late and she’d been hoping he go straight home after his afternoon on the Hill interviewing people who had known the Lasky twins back when they were legislative aides. Apparently, she wasn’t that lucky.

“
Are you finding anything useful on that computer, girly? Or are you just playing solitaire?”

“
Yeah, old man. I found something.” She smiled. “You and Crager had something in common.”

“
What?”

“
You were both fans of Martha Martinelli. Or at least the dead version of her. He had a file with copies of all the on-line obits on her.”

“
So Crager did know Martha. My preliminary background checks showed them being in the same graduating class at Harvard. Big class though, I thought the odds of him knowing her were slim.”

“
Might not mean he knows her or anything. He could have been a fan of her show.”

“
Too many damn coincidences. The Lasky twins graduated from Harvard, Bridget’s fiancé told me that himself.”

“
But the twins are younger than Crager and Martha. They probably weren’t there at the same time.”

“
Maybe, maybe not. I’ll have to dig a little deeper on all these characters. I’ve barely scratched the surface. Mac gave me way too many people to check out. Tell Mac I left a background check on Joshua Lasky on his desk. And you can also tell him, when you see him, that unless he gets me some help, it’s going to take another week for me to do even a half-assed job.”

JJ smirked.
“I could do a lot with that line, but it’s too easy–I’m not going to waste my time.”

“
Hey, you should be nicer to me. I brought you some dinner. Tacos from that fast food joint around the corner.” Edgar tossed a greasy brown paper bag onto her desk and then turned his scooter chair around towards the door. “I’ll start with Martha. I’ve got a lunch appointment tomorrow with her secretary. And little Miss Office Manager, I’m warning you, I’m keeping the receipts. I expect to be reimbursed for all my expenses, including your dinner.”

JJ picked up the bag and looked inside. Yuck. Tossing the bag into the trash, she picked up the phone. She
‘d order a pizza delivered. It was going to be a long night.

***

“This is stupid.”

“
That’d better be the muscle relaxants talking or are you calling me stupid?” Rachel opened her front door and stepped back, waiting for her guest to hobble in, followed by his nervous dog.

“
It’s neither.” Mac looked disgusted as he moved gingerly into the front hallway. “I should have gone home. I can take care of myself.”

“
That’s not what the doctor said. He wanted to admit you for observation.” Rachel eased Mac’s coat off his shoulder and hung it on the oak coat tree. “You’re the one who insisted on signing himself out. The doctor said you shouldn’t leave the hospital unless there was someone who could keep a close eye on you for the next 24 hours. I got elected since you refused to call Jeff.”

“
I agreed just to get out of there. Call me a cab and Whiskey and I.…”

“
Don’t you ever get sick of hearing your own voice? You’ll sleep here tonight and if you’re still determined to go home tomorrow, you can call your own damn cab. Now shut up and sit down in the kitchen. I’ll make you some eggs and toast and you can take your pill.”

Rachel turned to head into the kitchen and nearly tripped over Whiskey who was pacing anxiously between the invalid and the nurse.

“Settle down, girl.” Rachel patted the dog’s head. “He’s fine, just cranky.”

The dog looked towards the staircase and the ball of angry fur frozen on the top step.

“Snickers is cranky too. She wasn’t prepared for company. Ignore her.”

Mac muttered something she couldn
‘t catch, but moved into the kitchen and sat down slowly on one of the kitchen chairs.

“
I need you to do me a favor.”

Rachel smiled.
“Another one? I think you may be running out of credit.”

Mac reached into his pocket and took out the wad of bills.
“I need you to get this money to Ilene Merrell.”

“
What the hell? How did you.…”

“
It’s Merrell’s stash. He was giving me money for his kids before the bullets started flying. I promised I’d get it to them.”

Rachel moved to the table and started counting the bills.
“It’s $3400 and change. I’ll get a money order in the morning and send it overnight to Ilene. She’s going to need whatever cash she can get.”

“
Funny thing is that Merrell is worth more to her dead than alive.” Mac shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable spot.

“
You’re not suggesting that Ilene ordered a hit on her ex-husband?”

Mac smiled.
“I think you’ve been watching a few too many Law and Order episodes. No, I don’t think Ilene hired a contract killer to resolve her problems with her husband. It’s just that with Merrell dead, it takes the heat off her in the graft investigation, she inherits his pension, and it eliminates the need for a messy, expensive divorce.”

“
What happened to the girlfriend, the famous Selena? Did she come back to the motel before they took you to the hospital?”

“
Nope. I told the cops where to find her. Not that I think she’s going to be much help. She just lost her meal ticket.”

“
So who did kill Scott Merrell?” Moving seamlessly from refrigerator to counter to stove, Rachel scrambled some eggs, popped some wheat bread into the toaster, and put on some hot water for tea. In a few moments, she put a plate on the table for Mac, and filled a small paper plate for Whiskey. The dog eyed her patient, who seemed to have settled down, then began nibbling at the eggs and toast.

“
I’d rather have coffee,” Mac said as he eyed the herbal tea Rachel was offering.

“
Not going to happen. You don’t need the caffeine. You’re eating, you’re taking your pill, and you’re going to bed.”

“
Good Lord woman, you’re bossy.”

“
And you’re a pain in the ass. You didn’t answer my question. Who killed Scott Merrell?” Rachel poured some honey in the tea and put it down in front of Mac. She made a cup for herself and sat down across from him. Mac took a sip of the offending liquid. He grimaced, but took another sip before putting the cup down and picking up his fork.

“
Could be something from the Boston mess, but.…” Mac stopped, seeming to mull something over. He took a forkful of the eggs.

“
But what?” Rachel wondered if the muscle relaxants were slowing down Mac’s brain. “But my gut tells me it’s somehow related to Brian Crager.”

“
Why?” She poured them both more tea.

“
Merrell was actually the first one to find Crager’s body. I think he’s the one who called JJ and hired Sullivan Investigations, pretending to be Crager. He wanted someone to find Crager’s killer–probably because he knew that same person was coming after him.”

“
Merrell told you that?”

“
No, not in so many words. And Merrell was definitely hiding something about Crager. Selena mentioned Merrell was expecting a package from Crager. I’ve got to remember to check the motel tomorrow and see if it’s arrived.”

Mac spread some jam on his toast, took a bite, and smiled.
“Hey, what’s this? My grandmother used to make something like this.”

Rachel tried to hide her grin, but failed.
“Strawberry-rhubarb jam. I put up batches of it every summer from fruits I get from one of the farm stands in Warrenton.”

“
It’s good. Anyway, there’s some connection between Crager and Merrell and whoever this String fellow is. Merrell mentioned the guy was a stringer for the Dallas Morning News. Maybe JJ will be able to find out who he is and we can start to connect the dots.”