Silver Lining - A Carpelli Adventure: Sequel To The Bestselling Thriller Fatal Mistake (7 page)

“So why are you looking into them?” I asked.

“I thought you didn’t care about why you were being asked to do what you do to someone?” Holston replied twisting what I’d said to him to his advantage.

“What I said counselor was I don’t care, except I’m not into suicide packs and I don’t work with an audience. Why do I get the feeling someone is setting me up and there is more than just one someone watching?” I asked but Holston didn’t answer instead he moved on.

“So they aren’t working with the Feds? How about someone else? Someone from organized crime for instance?” Holston queried.

“I got the feeling they worked for someone else but on per need basis like me. I got the feeling that they were working for you. It seems according to The Oracle and the internet; they used to work for Organized Crime Boss Jason Carmel. He was the crime boss for this part of the country until he got drunk and drove off the side of a mountain. Now the person in charge is nameless, at your request and there are at least two others attempting to take control and you might be one of them.”

“Me, controlling an organized crime family? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m an attorney and it’s a whole lot safer. The life span of an organized crime boss is just slightly longer than that of house fly. I’ve got a wife and a five year old daughter. I’d like to be able to watch my daughter grow up thank you very much. I just do my job and keep my mouth shut.”

“So who are you working for?” I inquired.

“You don’t need to know.”

“Oh yes, I do. Your lack of honesty may have placed me in danger. From the message you had delivered, to their response, to the little things that don’t add up, it appears to me that you’ve drug me into a turf war without bothering to ask me, if I was willing to play along. I want no part of it. Now who do you work for?” I snarled at Holston and he just rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding about posting your life on the internet counselor including my guess as to who you work for.” I threatened.

“You haven’t a clue who I work for or what the information you’re providing is being used for.” Holston snapped back confidently.

“So my telling the world that you work for Mrs. Jason Carmel isn’t a concern for you?” Holston’s face went pale but he quickly recovered. I’m good at guessing.

“That’s a rumor that you don’t want to spread. Because if you continue to make a nuisance of yourself, things could get very uncomfortable for you.” Holston stated while staring at me with a deeply intense glare.

“Counselor, I’ve been threatened by bigger and rougher customers than you before and I’m still here. Explain to me why you had me go to The Wild Rose to discover who had killed your investigator when you could have asked your office partner who did it?” I snarled back at him.

“What?”

“I tailed Nolan today and guess where it led me?” I waited a moment while Holston recovered from the shock. “I followed him and that incredible woman right into to your parking lot, which by the way Counselor, is another lie you’ve told me. You left out that the person the message was being sent too, was a lawyer who worked out the same office as you. Why the need for secrecy?”

“That’s a public lot anyone can park there,” Holston tried to dismiss my smoking gun.

“But they don’t wave at you or have their name on the door next to yours.” I guessed and I guessed right again based on Holston’s reaction. He stood up, threw a twenty on the table and headed towards the door. I followed and once we had stepped outside he stopped at the curb and tossed me an envelope.

“That concludes our business, Carpelli. I suggest you get out of town. Knoxville isn’t your kind of town.” He then turned to look as an extremely loud motorcycle came roaring up the parking lots main aisle towards us. The motorcyclist had to be traveling at least sixty miles an hour in a fifteen mile per hour area and a split-second after we first heard the roar, the motorcycle was flashing by us. I never heard the gun fire; the bike was just too loud. What I saw though, was the gunmen point the gun and Holston fall.

I wouldn’t have thought it possible, for someone to be riding that fast and fire accurately, but the guy did it and in the next split second tossed the gun at me. It hit me in the chest and I instinctively grabbed for it. As I stood there clutching it to my chest, I instantly regretted having caught it. My prints were now all over it. Shit!

I knelt down and looked at Holston, it was clear he was already dead. There was a large blood pool forming under and around him already. His eyes were fixed and staring into to space, their last sight having been this loud motorcycle bearing down him and then the shocking realization that the rider had a gun. I sort of remember Holston turning slightly as he ineptly tried to dodge the bullet.

Suddenly there were people everywhere and I knew I needed to get out of there. As I stood up and started to walk away, I heard a waitress say, “I heard them arguing at their table.” I quickly moved away from the crowd, keeping the gun clutched tightly to my chest as I walked away. As soon as I cleared the crowd I really picked up the pace getting back to my car. I didn’t waste a second getting out of there.

I quickly headed east on Kingston Pike towards downtown. As I drove east, several Sherriff’s Department cars raced passed going west towards Turkey Creek. I didn’t make eye contact and kept to the right lane, so a lane of traffic was between me and the patrol cars racing by.

I’d been in this type of situation before and I knew what to do, except I wasn’t at home anymore. I couldn’t go to Jackson and ask for his help. I didn’t even know anyone in town, so I was at a momentary loss as to what I could do right away. While sitting at a traffic light, it occurred to me that I needed to exchange my license plate, A.S.A.P. That would slow the traffic patrols from picking out my car once I decided to stop. It would only buy me a few hours in all likelihood and I would have to switch plates again in few hours at most. I’d be switching plates most likely every few hours for the next week or so or until I solved the puzzle of who killed Holston. Based on the fact that the killer was riding a large Harley and wearing biker’s leathers, I was betting on the Diablo’s for the killing. Glancing at the gun lying on the passenger seat, I realized before I could confront them again, I had to get myself some sort of evidence that I didn’t do it, so I went to the only place I’d really interacted with anyone, the Morgue.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I wandered around for a bit trying to find the official sign in desk for the morgue before it hit me that it would be stupid to announce I was here. Damn, am I rusty, a year off will do that to you. I have no official status that would require anyone here to talk with me, let alone grant me permission to enter and seek out Doctor Anne, who I spoke with the other day. I went back to the Autopsy Theater where I had found Doctor Anne the other evening and was thankful to find her busy working on yet another cadaver when I walked in.

I pulled the door open and stepped inside, checking to be sure no one saw me, as I did so. Doctor Anne had her back to the door and she surprised me when she called out.

“Kevin, what is it now? Can’t you see I’m busy?” Apparently Kevin was a bit of a thorn in her side.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude but at least I’m not Kevin.” I responded, as I stepped further into the room.

“Detective, how nice to hear your voice. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked. I was a little surprised that she recognized my voice after just one meeting.

“I’m afraid I need a favor,” I stated. She didn’t say anything but finished with what she was doing just then, pulled a drape over the body and turned towards me as she removed her latex gloves, her face a mask of seriousness.

“You do realize, I haven’t given physical exams for close to twenty years.” She stated without a hint of mirth and stood looking at me for a moment before a smirk crossed her face. She then stepped over to the sink and washed her hands. “But I suppose,” she stated as she washed her hands, “it’s like riding a bike, so go ahead drop your pants and prepare to cough.”

“Doctor, you have no idea how that would really make my day, but the favor I need, is more a forensic issue than an examination one.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I was looking forward to an exploratory oral exam.” She stated with a straight face punctuated with a huge grin. I called her bluff.

“Well, when you put it that way.” I started to unzip my pants and she interjected.

“As usual I haven’t the time, but I do have the inclination. In fact, my next day off is this coming Friday. If you’re still interested, I will gladly meet up with you at any hotel on the interstate and see if my schooling is still viable, so many years later.”

I retorted, “I am certified in refresher anatomy and sexual tech, so I’m sure we can work our way through any rough patches. I’ve always found a few properly placed kisses followed by a few properly placed licks always straighten out the issues in short order.”

“You sir, are a silver tongued devil and I meant what I said about Friday. Now what seems to be the problem?” she inquired as she glanced at the clock.

“Well, first and foremost, I have to apologize.”

“Oh, for what?”

“I haven’t been completely truthful with you.”

“You’re married?” She stated sounding disheartened.

“No, I’m not married and I’m not a cop, either, though I used to be.”

“Then what are you doing here?” her eyes fixed on me as though I was a disease of some sort. “You don’t have a fetish about dead people do you? I read about that. In fact, my predecessor was fired over his extracurricular activities involving one of our cadavers and several ladies of the night.”

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that.” I assured her.

“Then why are you here? Oh say, I don’t even know your name.” She stated, as if I had better tell her or that would be the deal breaker.

“It’s John, but let’s not use my last name, because it could possibly cause you trouble. It seems there are possibly two or three different groups looking for me. A biker gang because I visited their clubhouse and had to taser my way out. Two Sherriff’s Detectives because I interrupted them while they were shaking down the biker gang...” Doctor Anne interrupted me and stated.

“That would be Smith and Jones. They are infamous around these parts.”

“Yeah, I understand they are real trouble and extremely dangerous,” I replied.

“Yes, they have wormed their way into just about every corner of Knoxville. Anything to do with bikers, street gangs and drug dealers, those two will be involved. They’re the Sherriff’s gang squad’s lead investigators.”

“I’ve met them, but haven’t had the opportunity to go beyond saying, hello and goodbye.”

“You don’t want to know them any better, trust me.” Doctor Anne sounded as she might have something more to say, but didn’t say it. Instead she brought us back on subject.

“If you’re not a police officer and not a necrophile, then who or what, are you and why should I help you?”

“I’m John, like I said and I find things for people.”

“You’re a private investigator?” she made it sound dirty.

“Sort of. I’m not licensed so I can’t legally say I’m a private eye. What I do is on a very discrete level and not so subtle at times. I find people, things or answers to dangerous questions. Things that for some reason no one wants them to be found or they’ve been lost or stolen. Sometimes after I find them, I’m supposed to lose them.”

Doctor Anne sat there for a moment and then looked at me with a straight face and asked, “Are you a hired killer?”

“Oh no, I do not hire out to kill people, though once I have found them, they may be targeted by the people I’ve found them for. If they are innocent people, I pretend I never found them.”

“Isn’t nice you get to play God with people’s lives. And don’t try to tell me you can tell the good people from the bad people?” She was getting upset, but since I had no place else to go, I continued.

“Yes, I can. It is actually pretty easy, most of the time, to tell the good people from the bad people. We all do it, every day when we walk down the street. For me it’s a little feeling that makes me uncomfortable. But like I said, I don’t kill people. I have killed people but only in self defense. The other day when I was here, I had been hired to find out who had killed an associate of this attorney, which brought me to see you. You were extremely helpful and I’m grateful for that help, because the first thing you need to find out when investigating a murder is whether the person was actually murdered.”

“Not an hour and half ago, I was standing next to the man, who hired me to find out the details of Collins demise. You explained the preliminaries findings to me the other day. This man and I were standing outside a restaurant and I was explaining to him why I wasn’t going to work for him anymore. It was due to his less than forthcoming behavior. in regards to why I was looking for the murderer of his associate and friend.” Doctor Anne just stood looking at me so I continued.

“Anyway, we were standing there talking, outside of the House of Ale in Turkey Creek, when a biker in Diablo colors, raced up to us and shot him in the chest. Then he threw the gun at me, which I stupidly caught. It was simply a reaction, but now the gun is covered with my finger prints.” I stopped talking for a moment and this time, Doctor Anne interjected.

“The Diablo’s are rumored to work with Smith and Jones from time to time. The fact that this guy standing next to you was killed by a Diablo means you’re in worse trouble than you thought. I haven’t a clue as what you think I can do to help you out here. I can’t rig the autopsy; I can’t hide you out or give you money. I…” I interjected now.

“What I need from you doc, are a couple of simple tests, the results of which I’m hoping you can hold on to until I need them. I’ll pay you a reasonable fee for your trouble as well.”

“Tests? Which tests?” she asked.

“A gunshot residue and run the finger prints on the shell casings in the ammo clip.” I looked at her hoping she’d agree.

“I can’t help you. I… ah… I’m already compromised by Smith and Jones.” She blurted out. I must have looked stunned, because she went on the defensive right away.

“I have a son, he’s in his late twenties but he’s still my son and well he’s got a drug problem. Smith and Jones came to me a few months ago and told me they would forgive the debt my son owed them at the moment, if I’d sign off on an autopsy stating a certain gentleman, was drunk at the time of his death. He‘d supposedly driven off the side of a mountain after drinking way too much.”

“That would have been Jason Carmel?” I asked.

“Why yes it would, but how did you know?” she asked.

“A new friend told me there were suspicions about the validity of the drunken driving charge.” I shared some of what The Oracle had told me.

“Oh well, I can’t help that. Anyway, they were persuasive, explaining that my sons debt was growing daily because of his habit and the interest owed on the credit he received. Because of his continuing problems with drugs he has no car to sell, no house, no expensive art work, nothing of any value not even the clothes on his back. That meant the next time they stopped into see him, Daniel’s his name, they’d be breaking bones. The next time after that and there is always a next time with a drugie, they’d be cutting things off, like fingers, toes and maybe even his penis. Then when they went back a third time, they’d be killing him and harvesting his eyes, kidneys, heart and lungs. They said he owed them twenty-five grand and my signature on a piece of paper, a forged autopsy report, was worth twenty-five grand. I signed it even though the body showed signs of having been tasered repeatedly.” She stated as she stared down at the floor, clearly ashamed of having compromised what was obviously a murder to save her son. I needed her help so I pressed her hot buttons.

“Doc, if you don’t help me, the best I can hope for is life in prison. But more likely I’ll be killed by either the biker’s or Smith and Jones before I even reach a Sheriff’s Station.”

She started to walk away and my heart dropped like a stone, but she only went as far as the door before stopping. She took a quick peek into the hallway and the pulled the doors closed and locked them. She then flicked the light switch to off and said I needed to follow her, if I wanted any favors done. We left the Autopsy Theater by way of the rear doors and were quickly swallowed up by the darkness of the next room and a short hallway.

“Say, Doctor Anne, did I tell you, I look good in the dark?” I asked just to lighten the mood.

“Oh yeah, I can see that. Too bad about when the lights on,” She retorted.

“Ouch!” I shot back.

“Oh shut up, cry baby, before someone hears us and a rumor gets started I’m having an affair with one of the students.”

“I can see how that could be an issue, but I can’t wait until we play doctor.”

“Friday,” she responded.

“Friday,” I mimicked.

She reached out and took my hand, while giving me a stern look, in order to lead me through the storage room and into a second smaller room. She had surprisingly strong hands yet they were soft and tender. She flicked on the light, let go of my hand and closed the door to the room behind us. It appeared to be a small lab room of some sort. The walls were lined with the white cabinets and counters just like everywhere else in this teaching hospital. She went to a drawer in the bottom cabinet in the far left corner of the room and pulled out what appeared to be an ink pad, roller and several pieces of paper. She set them down on the counter next to me and I could see they were the standard finger print supplies. She then went to a second drawer where she pulled out several small plastic vials that were filled with some sort of liquid and had a small chunk of sponge like material covering one end. She set this on the counter next to me as well and then pointed to two chairs a few feet away and said, “Bring them over here and sit down.” I did as I was told.

Once we had sat down she grabbed my left hand and used a couple of the sponge stopper topped vials to swab my hand in several different places. She then did the same with my right hand, belt buckle, and on the front of my pants and shirt. She then shook the vials individually for several seconds making sure the liquid saturated the sponge. She then held each one up to the light and then to a color chart. There was no change in the color of the test solution, indicating that there was no gunshot residue on my hands or my clothes. I hadn’t fired a gun in at least three days according to the test and that was exactly what I need to exonerate myself from any charges.

She then took the finger print pad and dipped each of my fingers into the ink and rolled them out individually on the test pad. Then she dusted and printed the bullets and ammo clip from the nine millimeter that had killed Edward Holston, which hopefully will provide us with the real killer’s name. While we were finishing up, her beeper went off and she glanced at the number and then quickly tucked it back into her pants pocket.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know.” She stated firmly.

“Smith and Jones?” She just looked at me strangely, which told me I had guessed right. Somehow I just know.

“Don’t you need to call them back?” I asked.

“Maybe they’ll forget about me and hassle some other ME.” She stated and looked at the clock on the wall. Not quite three o’clock. She had finished with the finger print packaging and the sealing of the envelope with the gunshot residue test inside when her beeper went off again. She checked it again and shoved it back into her pocket.

“Okay, I‘ve got to go. I’ll call if your prints happen to match the ones on the bullets and /or the ammo clip. Take everything except the two packages with you. I know it’s not as kosher as you’d like but it’s the best I can do. No one can find a gun around here. If they do, I’ll be canned for sure and my career with it.” Doctor Anne explained.