A dark, bloody bullet hole ran through the center of his chest.
Blood was spattered in a fanned web behind his chair.
Frank opened up his mouth and covered it quickly, stifling a scream. He limped forward and saw Vic’s gun on the ground beneath his right hand where he’d dropped it.
Frank covered his face and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, feeling the sting of tears. A million thoughts raced through his mind like the sudden burst of static that drowned out his thoughts and left him unable to do anything but stand there, covering his eyes so he could not see the dead body sitting directly in front of him.
There were five folded letters sitting on the desk in front of the body. The first said To My Beloved Children. The second said To My Wife. The third, To Frank and the fourth, To Aprille. And finally, To the Lying Sacks of Shit that Run this Police Department and Everyone Else in It.
Frank picked up the letter written to him and was about to read it when he crushed up the page in his hands. He grabbed the rest of the letters and crumpled them up, trying to catch his breath enough to curse and scream but all that came out of his mouth were muted bursts of anguish and spittle.
“No,” he whispered. “God damn you. Not like this.”
He stuffed all of the letters into his pockets and picked up Vic’s gun. There was a round in the chamber. Frank dropped the magazine and racked the slide, keeping it in the locked back position as he laid it down. He grabbed Vic by the shoulders and rolled him out of the chair, letting him fall on the ground, then he rolled him onto his back and ripped open his shirt.
Frank spun around the office, looking everywhere. He rummaged through the drawers of his desk until he found a gun cleaning kit. He unsnapped the lid and threw pieces of dirty cloth across the desk and unscrewed the cap to a bottle of cleaning solvent. He splashed the fluid across Vic’s computer keyboard and turned it sideways on the desk, watching the rest of the bottle drip onto the floor.
He bent over Vic’s body and scrubbed his hands in the clotted blood around the dark hole in Vic’s chest. He smeared the blood all over his arms and face, then started pumping Vic’s chest several times until fresh blood squirted out of the bullet hole. Frank kept pumping until the blood stopped bubbling through the hole, then lifted his head and screamed for help.
“I don’t really remember,” Frank said. He was sitting in the interview room with his sleeves rolled up, his arms still covered in Vic’s blood.
Two County Detectives from the District Attorney’s Office sat across the table from him. An older man and a woman. Frank had never seen them before. “It’s okay,” the woman said. “Just do your best.”
“I came downstairs and saw him slumped over in his chair. I must have panicked and tried to give him CPR. I remember pumping on his chest and all this blood was coming out.”
“What about the gun?” the male detective said. “Where was it?”
“I don’t even remember seeing it. I’m pretty sure I didn’t see it or touch it.”
The two detectives looked at one another. The woman scribbled something on her notepad and said, “What would you normally do if you found a gun at a crime scene?”
Frank shrugged and said, “Clear it, I guess.”
“Is there any chance you reacted like you were trained when you saw Vic’s gun and cleared the weapon?”
Frank squished his eyes together and said, “I don’t know. It’s all a blur.” He turned on the two detectives and said, “Did he kill himself? Jesus, how could he do that? He’s got a wife and two kids, for Christ’s sakes. What a selfish son of a bitch.”
The male detective smiled gently and put his hand over Frank’s, “All indications are that it was accidental, Frank. Just a horrible, horrible accident.”
Frank pulled his hand back and said, “Did someone tell his wife and kids yet?”
“Your new Chief sent someone to make the notification,” the woman said. She looked over her shoulder at Erinnyes, who was hunched over, speaking to the District Attorney. The bastard already looks ten years older, Frank thought. Where’s your smug look now?
Frank leapt to his feet and shouted, “I don’t care what you say, Vic Ajax shot himself because of that fucking asshole! He told me so himself that he had been waiting five years to kick Vic out of detectives. Congratulations, you fat fuck. Nice first day of command. You killed him! YOU!”
The DA turned to Erinnyes, who was shaking his head so rapidly his jowls flapped against his jaw. The two County Detectives were on their feet yelling at Frank to calm down, to take his seat, but Frank kept hollering, “This police department lied to that man for five fucking years and your stupid ass killed him. Somebody get me a reporter! I want a fucking reporter right now!”
WINTER
15
It was January.
The sign marked Lethe Rehabilitation Center was covered in snow and icicles hung from it like stalactites. He drove past the sign and parked in the visitor’s area. Nurses in heavy coats smoked outside of the building, wearing thick white nylons and sneakers.
He walked through the front door and went up to the desk, reaching into his pocket. “Can I help you?” the woman said.
He showed her his gold badge and said, “I know you aren’t supposed to let anyone in, or even confirm that someone is a patient here, but I need to speak with one of your patients in reference to an investigation. Her name is Aprille Macariah.”
The woman picked up a phone and said, “And your name is?”
“Dez Dolos.”
The woman held up her finger as the phone rang. “I have a visitor at the front desk. He says he’s here on official business.” A pause. “Dez Dolos.” The woman hung up the phone and said, “You can go up after you sign the visitor’s log, Mr. Dolos.”
Frank smiled at her and thanked her as he bent to sign.
He waited for the elevator to ding and as the doors opened, he found a hallway that was much like a hotel floor. He walked past the rooms until he found the one he was looking for and rapped gently on the door.
Aprille was smiling as she opened the door, still young, still pretty, but with bags under her eyes. The smile faded when she saw Frank. “You lying son of a bitch,” she said.
“Sorry,” Frank said. “I didn’t think you’d let me in.”
She walked back into her apartment, leaving the door open. “Probably not. It’s O’Ryan, right?” she said.
“That’s right.” He closed the door behind him and followed her into a small living room with a worn couch and sitting chair. “This place looks pretty good,” he said. “I thought it would be a hospital.”
“It is, when you first get here. People who graduate from the first floor get moved up here in an effort to re-acclimate them to living on their own.”
“I guess I should say congratulations, then.”
Aprille laughed harshly, “Yeah. Big whoop. I am almost able to make it a few days on my own without snorting up a dozen bags of heroin. I can’t believe how excited I got when I thought you were Dez. That probably set me back another six months, you asshole.”
Frank scratched his head and said, “I’ve met the guy a few times. Forgive me for saying it, but I just don’t see it. To each their own, I guess.”