The Mistaken (41 page)

None. None at all. I was committed.

We rode the rest of the way in silence. Tyler never
once looked over at me, even as he kept glancing back over his
shoulder at Nick’s body. The tremors that wracked his body became
more frequent and violent. His jaw clenched as tears threatened to
spill over onto his bruised cheeks. And the tension rolling off him
as he gripped the wheel was palpable. I think he feared losing
control all over again. I understood, only too well.

Fifteen minutes later, Tyler pulled the stolen van
up to the ambulance bay of the emergency room at St. Mary’s. He
peered back for one last glance at Nick before he walked over to my
side and opened the door, helping me out of the vehicle. His hand
seemed to vibrate as he escorted me into the hospital.

The triage nurse looked at us with our battered,
swollen faces, and hers registered alarm. “Oh my,” she said
directing us to some chairs. “Please, both of you, have a
seat.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine. If you could just see to
Hannah,” Ty bid the nurse. “I do need your help with something
else, though. My brother, Nick…he’s…he’s dead and…his body is
outside in that van,” he admitted as he pointed toward the
doors.

The nurse looked even more startled. “Are you sure?”
she asked.

“Yes. Quite,” Ty replied with some difficulty.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry then, but I’m required to call
the medical examiner’s office, and the police, as well,” the nurse
informed Tyler. “At this point, the coroner is the only one
authorized to move your brother’s body.”

Ty nodded in understanding. “While you see to her,
I’ll be outside with the van until the police arrive.” He turned,
kissed me on top of my head, and touched his shaking hand to my
cheek. “I hope to see you soon, Hannah,” he whispered. His eyes
were both worried and sad.

I touched the hand he placed against my cheek and
held it as he backed away, his arm outstretched, until he finally
stepped beyond my reach.

Chapter Forty
-
Five

Tyler

The first cops arrived with their lights flashing in
the dark. Tires screeched to a halt just a few feet away from where
I leaned against the van. I pushed off and stepped toward them as
they approached, their hands resting on the butts of their
holstered guns.

“Stop right there, sir,” one of them ordered. “Put
your hands on the back of your head and turn around.”

I turned slowly and did as he asked. He restrained
my hands against the back of my head and pressed my face into the
side of the van. My whole body trembled against the cool metal.

“I’m the one who asked you to come,” I said. Even my
voice quivered.

“Just a precaution, sir,” he said as he patted me
down. He kicked at my feet for a wider stance. “Do you have any
weapons on you?”

“No, nothing.”

“Am I going to be stuck with any needles if I search
your pockets?”

“No.”

He removed my wallet and tossed it to his partner. I
grunted in pain as the officer’s hands pressed against my ribs and
along my back, twisting my arms uncomfortably. When he was
satisfied I was unarmed, he asked me to sit down on the curb while
he and his partner talked to the coroner who had just arrived.

The scene became chaotic and crowded in a short span
of minutes, with uniformed officers, medical examiners, and
weary-looking detectives dressed in cheap, wrinkled sport coats all
meandering around each other. And all the while, the lights of
numerous emergency vehicles continued to pulse: red and blue,
yellow and white, out of sync, over and over as the service radios
crackled with activity. With the exception of one uniformed officer
stationed close behind me, the rest of the personnel all spoke
amongst themselves, often turning to look or point at me, but so
far, I’d been asked very few questions, just my name, address, and
my relationship to the deceased.

The back door of the van was opened, and everyone
descended on Nick’s body like flies on a carcass. My breathing rose
in short, quick spasms, and I began to hyperventilate. The
investigator’s camera flashed in slow, deliberate succession,
whirring and clicking over the quiet hum of the expanding crowd.
One of the detectives pulled me up by the arms and ordered me
farther away. I did as he asked, but kept my attention on the van
and what they were doing with Nick.

There were several detectives on scene who watched
me closely, one of them a dark-haired woman who spoke in hushed
tones to the man who had asked me to move. She eyed me suspiciously
then turned away and walked into the emergency room. My heart
faltered when I saw the coroner zip Nick’s body into a black bag
and load him onto a gurney. I bit the back of my hand, squeezed
tight into a fist to stop it from shaking, and pressed my eyes
closed.

I couldn’t stand to look anymore. I bowed my head
and wrapped my hands around the back of my neck as nausea rolled
through me in waves. I feared I would throw up at any moment. They
loaded Nick’s body into their van, slammed the doors shut, and
pulled away. I couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. They
spilled down my face, falling silently to the asphalt between my
feet, as my shoulders shook with both withdrawal and sorrow. My
brother—the only person I had left in this world—was gone. And
ultimately, I was to blame.

The toes of a scuffed pair of loafers came to rest
near my feet, and from above my head, a voice called out my name.
Not ready to face anyone just yet, I chose to ignore him, but it
was one of the weary detectives addressing me, and he refused to be
disregarded.

“Mr. Karras,” he barked again.

I raised my head. “Yes,” I replied, my voice still
hoarse. I swiped at my eyes, stood up, and shook the outstretched
hands of two police detectives.

“I’m Detective Paul Stevens and this is Detective
Chris Avery,” one of them said, indicating his tired-looking
partner next to him. “We have some questions we’d like you to
answer.”

I nodded, trying to be cooperative. “Yes, of
course.” I wiped my sleeve across my eyes and coughed, wrapping my
arm around my body as my ribs screamed in protest. The detectives
looked me up and down, though neither of them reacted to the
bruises and cuts all over my face, or the tattered flesh across my
knuckles, other than to glance briefly at each other.

“There was no identification on the deceased. You
said he was your brother?” Stevens asked.

“Yes, my younger brother, Nicholas Karras.”

“And how did you come to be in possession of his
body?”

I sighed in exhaustion. “That’s a very long
story.”

Stevens pressed his lips together in impatience.
“How about the condensed version for now.”

I was so tired. My hands and voice both trembled as
the DTs ramped up in the wake of my withdrawal from alcohol. “Well,
we were both taken against our will and forced to fight for our
lives like dogs.” I paused for a moment and looked back and forth
between them. “Nick didn’t make it.” I said curtly, becoming
defensive knowing how it must sound to them.

“But you did, Mr. Karras?” Stevens asked with mock
amazement.

“Right. Very astute of you, Detective.”

I figured I should only answer direct questions and
then only as briefly as possible. They weren’t going to understand
until I was given the opportunity to fully explain, something that
wasn’t going to happen in the hospital parking lot at two in the
morning.

“And you somehow managed to free yourself from your
kidnappers and bring your brother’s body here?” Stevens shot back
at me. By his tone, I didn’t think he believed me.

“Exactly.”

“Well, who killed your brother, Mr. Karras?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know his name, and
ultimately, somebody else is responsible for Nick being there. For
killing him.”

“And who might that be? Or do you not know his name
either?”

I looked them each square in the eye and sighed.
“Dmitri Chernov.”

“Dmitri Chernov?” Avery repeated. He glanced over at
his partner and chuckled. “As in the Russian Mafia?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

They looked at each other with more than mere
surprise. It was almost gleeful the way their eyes lit up when I
confirmed Dmitri’s involvement.

Avery nudged his partner with his elbow, leaned
close, and said, “That warehouse south of Market.” Stevens nodded
silently. But their joy was short lived as we were interrupted by
two more men, both of whom were expensively dressed in designer
suits and imported leather shoes buffed to a crisp shine. With
their air of superior authority, I immediately took them for
federal agents, and I was proved right when they each flashed their
identification at the detectives.

They asked Avery and Stevens to step aside for a
moment then seemed to share some unwanted news with the local boys,
for the detectives became instantly indignant, their arms flapping
about in frustrated discourse. It seemed the feds were about to
step on their delicate toes. Of course, it wasn’t good news for me
either. The involvement of the federal government would only make
this more difficult. I had taken the oath of allegiance when I was
naturalized nearly eight years ago, and had even married a U.S.
citizen, but being somewhat ignorant of U.S. immigration law, I
feared for my status, especially since Jillian was dead.

The FBI shut down the whole show at that point. When
the detectives returned, one of them handcuffed me, while the other
read me my rights. I was arrested on suspicion of murder, a trumped
up charge, no doubt, just to get me in for further questioning. I
figured it might play out this way. I knew I would have to give
them my story at some point, but I didn’t know what they were aware
of yet as far as Hannah was concerned, so I was worried about
tipping my hand too soon.

I was booked, fingerprinted, and photographed, then
dumped handcuffed into a small interview room and left to stew by
myself for over two hours, shaking and sweating in a hard wooden
chair. I imagined insects running across the floor at my feet, a
sure sign that my withdrawal was in full swing. I breathed in deep,
closed my eyes against the hallucinations, and tried to focus on
Hannah. I desperately wanted to ask about her, but I had no idea
whether they’d made the connection between us yet.

One of the federal agents entered the tiny room and
took a seat without a word. He was tall and thin, with dark blonde
hair, and long fingers. He had that gaunt look of an Eastern
European, with large sunken eyes, a sharp nose, and thin lips.
Detective Stevens followed him in, removed my restraints, and threw
a file folder onto the table in front of me. He took a seat and
opened the file, revealing arrest records for Nick. I jumped in my
seat as a cockroach skittered out from between the pages and
scurried toward me along the table’s edge. The men traded stares
with each other over my reaction. I breathed in deeply to slow my
heart rate, which continued to race, as much from the situation I
now found myself in as it did from the delirium tremens and
hallucinations that plagued me. Stevens looked me over, surveying
my symptoms with a measured stare.

“DTs, eh?” he asked, as if he knew only too well
from personal experience.

I gave him a rueful smirk. “Yep.”

Stevens glanced again at the agent sitting next to
him who indicated that the interview should continue regardless.
Stevens raised his brow in doubt, but complied.

“Okay Mr. Karras, we’ve been busy looking into your
brother’s past. You might already know that his arrest records here
in San Francisco go back nearly four years—mostly petty stuff—but
his file does note his suspected involvement in quite a few auto
theft incidents attributed to the Russian
vory v zakone
, or
thieves-in-law, as they like to call themselves. You, on the other
hand, well...we’ve found nothing on you at all, not even a parking
ticket, though there are a couple of unsigned complaints with your
name on top. Interesting you never pressed any charges. Wonder why
that is?” Stevens said as he peered above the rim of his
glasses.

“Your point?” I asked.

“Well, we’d like to know how an upstanding citizen
such as yourself became involved with your brother’s criminal
activities, and just how you managed to get on the bad side of
Dmitri Chernov.”

Stevens leaned back in his chair with his hands on
the back of his head and his elbows stretched out to the side. My
one good eye shifted back and forth between both men before I
decided to play their game.

“I don’t know anything specific about my brother’s
activities, though I tried to extricate him from Dmitri’s
influence. I suppose that’s how I first got on his bad side, as you
say.”

“What was your relationship like with your brother,”
he asked.

“I loved him, obviously. Why else would I risk my
own life to protect him?” I countered, annoyed at his combative
tone.

“And how did Nick feel about
that
?” Stevens
asked, his demeanor becoming more challenging.

I was pissed, on the verge of losing my temper. My
whole body shook like a malaria patient. I was strung out and on
edge. It had been nearly thirty hours since my last drink. I had no
hope of getting another. I regretted not taking the opportunity
while I was home earlier, though at the time I had debated with
myself whether or not I should.

“Look Detective, I haven’t slept in…God…I don’t know
how many days, and in that time, I’ve had the living shit kicked
out of me. Twice, in fact. So why don’t you just save us all the
time and ask me exactly what it is you want to know instead of
dancing around.”

“Fine, Mr. Karras. Tell us, please, how you got
involved with the Russian Mafia, and why your brother is lying dead
in the morgue,” Stevens asked as he pointed his finger against
Nick’s file on the table.