Capítulo 3: 1000, Saturday the Fourth-A
Working this case would be difficult. It was personal for damn near everyone involved, and when it is personal people make mistakes. Misplaced evidence, plating a witness, adding details. Personal cases were always hard to work. Especially when it was your partner who had suffered the loss. Digging into the life of Spruce Randall felt like a betrayal as I was doing so behind his back without any knowledge of him, only what I had come to find out through a year of partnership. Working a case without him would be difficult, but not impossible. I sigh, placing papers in my hand on the table and pushing back from it, stretching my arms behind my head and staring at the ceiling.
Dorianne and Molly, made calls and organized them, they were our night dispatch team. Dorianne had a thick western accent and referred to everyone as sugar and honey, which quite often got on my nerves. Molly was more traditional and younger. Sticking to code rather than emotion, acting more robot than human most of the time, she had an eastern accent if I had to place it in New York or somewhere close.
I was halfway through my third cup of coffee before any assistance came, which was fine. I preferred looking over cases like this in solitude.
I sat up straight and quick as Brooks entered the room, my chair squeaking with silent movement. Every inch of our round oak table was covered in papers, red lines of yarn connecting each paper to another as I had drawn the symbol burned into Mr. Randall on a whiteboard at the head of the room. Dim lights hung above me bouncing with each movement of the firefighters there. I groan reaching to the singular bulb above me and twisting it to where a solid steam of yellow light flooded onto me. It was warm and almost comforting.
"Long night?"
Brooks stands in the doorway with two cups of steaming coffee, the smell overtaking any other, burning my nose.
"You're the one who put me on this." I snap, then sigh "I'm sorry, I don't do good without sleep."
He didn't seem to mind my outburst, I rubbed the bridge of my nose between my fingertips and leaned my elbows on the table.
"I also don't do well without my partner."
I knew the phrase was wrong the second I had said it.
"Have you had any since yesterday?"
Brooks makes a move for the table, rolling a chair out for him and taking a seat. He hands me the styrofoam cup. I smile gladly, taking his peace offering, heat immediately consuming my entire hand, then soon lips as the hot liquid burns my throat providing a much needed energy boost. My
"A couple hours, maybe one or two to keep energy."
"Red."
God I hated that nickname. If anything he had given it to the wrong employee, he nicknamed me red based on the red strands through my hair, Spruce should have the nickname not me.
"I know, the average human body can go around 11 days before eventually burning out, I was trained to go 7. I'm too afraid that if I sleep I will lose the drive." I fight, stating facts.
Brooks is silent, not saying a word back and looks around towards every stack of cardboard boxes and pile of paper. He picks one up examining it. Before slightly lowering his voice reaching behind him to push the door shut. Placing the cup onto smooth coasters my eyes flutter between Brooks and my mess. Brooks liked organization, the chaos helped me think. Brooks walked around the room standing in front of the symbol I had drawn and the photograph I had taken next to it.
"Did Mr. Randall have any tattoos?" I ask, suddenly appearing next to him.
Brooks shook his head.
"Nah you couldn't get that man near a needle."
I smile, spinning the diamond ring around my fingers and playing with the silver strand.
"That sounds like my husband."
I regretted the sentence almost as much as I did my prior statement. I had a real issue connecting my brain to my mouth and knowing when something was the right time to speak.
"Husband?" Brooks asked.
I nodded. "My sweet Ben. Ben Heart was the best damn fire-fighter I'd ever known. That's how we met, he had brought a sweet little girl into the ICU during my student years. He was the most handsome man I'd ever seen. I fell for the knight in a suit of armor. Just like that he asked for my number and told me it was to check up on the little girl." I can't help but laugh.
"He sounds like a good man, you speak of him as if he is past tense?"
"God, he was." I almost didn't want to continue my story but felt the need to, knowing Brooks would push me for more information if I did not. I take a breath and close my eyes. "That man could do no wrong. He was built to save lives. We were married for two years. Not traditional of course all we did was sign a certificate."
I struggled to continue but could feel Brook's eyes on my body as I spoke. Brooks was a stand in father for many of the younger cadets and cared for each of his officers like one. Including me. I hadn't answered his question yet, instead he just spoke softly, allowing me to catch a breath or two.
"Was?" Brooks asked, though I could hear hesitation in his tone.
"Ben was murdered seven years ago yesterday. Shot point blank in the chest twice,"
"Shit."
That was the first time I had heard southern christian Chief Jones Brooks so much as utter a swear word. He goes to his pocket and unfolds a navy green handkerchief handing it to me. I shuffle a laugh and use it to catch my tears.
"At first I thought it was a coincidence, a year later, well working as a beat cop, I saw it. A news article wrote a state from where I was. A firefighter was burned alive, the only thing they found at the scene, that symbol."
I opened my eyes and pointed at it, touching my finger to the smooth whiteboard surface.
"You wouldn't connect the dots unless you knew what to look for. Always on the same exact day every single year since then he has killed. I was always late, too late to help them. Ben's sister, my sister in law, Tameryin, she works at the bureau, she's helped me keep tabs updates, move state to state chasing a man who doesn't know I exist. The only thing he ever leaves behind is that. Burned into his victims or left on the scenes."
"I'm sorry red," Brooks places a hand on my shoulder.
The movement was meant to be one of sympathy but my past revoked any causing my shoulders to jump slightly upwards. I hated being touched. Brooks quickly removes his hand and places the paper back onto its respected pile.
I gesture to my piles.
"All of this comes from my apartment, the archives of this town, and the FBI archives. I had Tameryin fax over any important information that needed detailing. I'm going to comb over every case two days before each collision and one day after. Go through every piece of information, it could take days. It will take days."
"Do what you need to do what we must. Randall can't be laid to rest until this case is closed."
"Any updates on his wife?"
"She's stable but not available for questions."
"Any other witnesses?"
"No."
"What about the arriving officer who was first on scene?"
"Lieutenant Perry, new trainee, on loan from a nearby station. He's out on a call right now."
"I'll need to talk to him, I also want access to the call log."
"Anything else?"
"I'll need to talk to the coroner and find someone who may know something about that symbol."
I gesture towards the crappy version I had drawn on the whiteboard. Brooks makes a hump noise and scratches his beard.
"Something I should know?" I asked, raising a brow.
"Looks like it could be religious, I ain't no catholic man but there's a church down the road where we got a priest, maybe he'll know something."
"I'll check it out, did he know the Randall's"
Brooks nodded.
"Yeah, hell they were about as straight as you could get, what's going through that head of your's?"
"I won't know more until I talk to the coroner but Randall had bullet wounds and was shot in the skull, do you know of anyone who'd want them dead?"
Brooks shook his head.
"Well, Randall had been doing this job for twenty years, you make enemies, but none that would end him like that, truth be told in the later years he became reclusive, convinced that someone was after him."
"But you said he had enemies?"
"Yeah a few, none that we have seen around in recent years."
"Did he ever say anything about the man who he thought was after him?"
Again Brooks shook his head.
"We all thought it was crazy talk, he'd just started drinking again last year."
I end my strand of questions turning to my pin board and piecing together the information, attempting to form an incomplete puzzle in my mind.
"This really isn't my department, is there anything else I can getcha or do for you?" Brooks asked.
"Well, I could use my partner's help."
"Give him time."
Time is the one thing we did not have. A guy like this wouldn't stick around and give us time.
"I think you underestimate him, he is strong and capable."
I kicked myself in the gut, knowing the shade of red Spruce's cheeks would turn if he found out I had defended him.
"It's his human nature he will need a firm rock someone to hold onto in this winding river of his. The rapids have already crashed over much of your and my life; this is his trial."
"What hospital?" I tried to change the subject. I wasn't religious and hated talk of God's and Devils.
"Timpsons, two towns over,"
Brooks seemed to catch onto my change and ran along with it. I knew this area well, but hardly ever left White River.
"How do I find it?" I asked, sounding somewhat stupid as it came from my mouth.
"Take the highway, it will bring you straight through the town hospital on the left."
***
I had never been to a town like Timpsons. Halfway in between the middle of somewhere and nowhere a towering city buried in the north of California. Despite high crime rates the city itself was beautiful. Buildings carved out of the mountainside like greek stone. Timpsons had a population rate almost 3 times that of White River but not as much as one may think for a city. Skyscrapers seem out of place hidden among the mountain side. Hidden among run down buildings lay Timpsons regional hospital. Surprisingly a trauma 3 center although it had the appearance of a trauma one. Gates lined busy sidewalks protecting the building from heavy traffic. Slanted halfway onto the curb and street lay the entrance, and parking just beyond that. I had only seen one or two other living beings, the entire ten minutes it took to find an empty space.
Standing at the doors waits a very wrecked Spruce. He smiles at me as I approach though the motion quickly falls as it becomes too much energy for him to keep it. His shoulders hunched over as he stood hands in pockets. Joggers go to his ankles, flip flops, and a skin tight running shirt showing each flex of his muscle. I shove the brown paper bag towards him and gently hand the hot cup of coffee. His face lights up.
"Really?" he asked, lifting his brow slightly.
"A peace offering, hospital food sucks ass."
He accepts it and immediately digs into the sausage sandwich, the entire thing being gone in nearly 5 seconds. He tosses the bag into a nearby trash bin and goes to enter the building.
"Coming?" he asked, looking over his shoulder towards me.
I take this as my invitation and follow him, once inside the automatic doors everything suddenly sprang to life. Nurses and doctors rushed from corner to corner. The waiting room filled with patients of every injury. Sitting at the front desk a nurse in bright blue scrubs hardly pays us any mind as she barely lifts her eyes from the computer. She waves me and Spruce closer with her hand then goes back to her computer. Spruce puffed out his chest so his visitor's badge was more prominent.
"God, really?"
Spruce pushed me with his hands as the nurse impatiently waved again. Her eyes matched my partners. Worn, exhausted, bags hanging low underneath them, barely able to keep them open. Her loud voice is startling.
"Checking in or visiting?"
Her keyboard clicking had stopped long enough to listen to my answer. My response was going to the belt at my hips and unclipping my badge and setting it on the desk. She questioned it but only for a couple of seconds before scribbling the words cop on a blank visitor's badge. I peeled the tape and stuck the badge on my white button down, moving the navy blue tie so it now sat directly in between my breasts.
Spruce is quietly sipping his coffee every couple seconds as we walk, attempting to sneak glances at my chest. Which, I didn't mind.
"How is she?" I ask, trying to pick up conversation
"Alive."
Alive. The answer of the century. It's silent again. The normal buzz of hospital staff fading as we make our way down a dimly lit hallway, one or two lights flickering. The longer we walked the thinner hospital staff became. Fewer rooms held open doors, even fewer lights came from them.
"This hospital looks alot smaller on the outside." I say grabbing at my poor attempt for small talk
"Huh never noticed before, yeah I guess it does."
He is tired, his voice monotone blending in with every other word, not one striking his stunning southern accent. I fumble with my badge with the first name written wrong, as per usual. I couldn't blame them, it was an uncommon name for curtain. Highway nine divided Timpsons from White River with a two hour drive in between each. Timpsons was higher than White River, nearly crossing the borders of lower Oregon. Both cities rested in the Sierra Mountains, although White River was considered a townstad or a rural community.
"Room 105." Spruce says pointing towards a cracked door on my right.
He knocks twice on the door only using two knuckles to do so.
"Come in." a woman's voice replies.
Spruce pushes the door open and enters. I remain outside out of view from the bed. Looking around the door underneath the room 105 plaque was a clipboard with the words MaryAnne Randall scribbled there. I remove it from the nail and flip through the five or so pages attempting to make out what little information I could. Medicine had changed in the 7 years I had spent searching for my husband's killer. It wouldn't be the same as when I learned it. Although some things would remain constant such as the abbreviations and medication names. Dosages and contraindications were foreign to me. As I read through the papers I keep an ear open on Spruce and MaryAnne.
"Hey mom, there's someone here to talk to you." he says.
Taking my cue I hang the clipboard back on its place and stand in shaddows.
"Sure baby, who?"
Her voice is sweet and old. It carried knowledge with each simple word. I could hear the breakage of an old woman attempting to keep herself together for her son.
"Mom, this is my partner Detective Dune." Spruce waves his hand towards me.
I smile stepping into the light of her room pushing rough hands inside my jean pockets and shrugging my shoulders upwards. Sitting at his mothers feet was Spruce. The woman hardly looked to be in her 60's, maybe late 50's at most. Long brown hair filled with strands of gray. Wrinkles underneath deep, brow, eyes and along her nose. A slim hospital blanket covered most of her body as bandaging shielded open wounds on her forehead, some still bleeding as the bandage was red in the centers. Her left arm was in a cast and slung close to her shoulder. Multiple wires hooked to her finger and veins ran to different machines. An EKG softly beeped beside her.
"With the way you described her, I thought her hair would be more red."
Spruce's cheeks swarm with a bright rose blush as he clears his throat and stands slowly clapping his hands at the same time and backing towards the exit. A smooth escape.
"Technically I'm blonde." I reply knowing full well that everyone had called me red for the past year I had been with the department.
"Mom, Dune is a homicide Detective. She's here to help with dad, I'm going to let the two of you talk and go get some food."
He all but runs out of the room, cheeks still the rosy red of embarrassment. I turn my full attention back to the woman before me.
"Well Detective Dune-,"
I cut her off not wanting to let her finish.
"Aryiea, my name is Aryiea, it's easier than Detective Dune." I want to have some sort of relationship with the woman, after all, we did have more in common than she thinks.
"Aryiea," she smiled, slowly tilting her head to the left. "The name sounds familiar, you don't happen to have a brother do you?" she asks.
I clear my throat "Only child."
My family was messy, I wasn't willing to get into it now.
"Well, Aryiea, I'm sure you are very busy and have lots of questions for me, you don't need to put up with the ramblings of an old woman just for my son."
I liked this lady.
"Please sit," she instructs, moving her hand slightly to gesture to a nearby open chair.
I smile doing as she instructs, pulling from my back pockets a small leather notebook and pilot pen. I click the pen extending its point. I then pull out a small recorder and click it on placing it on the bedside table.
"Before we get started Mrs.Randall, I am elected to inform you that for the purposes of this investigation this conversation is being recorded. If at any point in time you wish to speak off the records please let me know and I will ensure that privacy." I begin sounding somewhat like a robot.
"Alright."
"I am going to ask you to close your eyes and tell me anything you can remember from the night of the crash, even the day before."
She nodded, closing her eyes.
"We went to San Fran for the weekend. It was my idea really. Mike had been so stressed lately I thought a weekend away would be good for him. With the fourth coming up we had left on thursday. Mike was a big fireworks enthusiast. You don't get a lot of that in White River, too many fields and trees."
She pauses taking a second or so to breathe.
"So it was your idea to go on vacation, you said Mr. Randall, Mike, was stressed, any particular reason for it?"
She opens her eyes, tears forming in them, her lip slightly quivering.
"Mike always gets stressed around the fourth life of a cop I guess. Although it had only picked up around seven years ago."
"Seven years ago?"
"Yeah, before then he was tense, not nearly as bad as it was this year."
"Mrs. Randall, Brooks was talking about cancer treatments? Could that have anything to do with his rise in stress? He had told me you were diagnosed 7 years ago."
"It could be possible, I know the diagnosis upset both Mike and Spruce."
"What made you and Mike leave early?"
She breathes quietly for a moment or so.
"There was a man."
"A man, did he cause you to leave early?"
"We stayed at The Crown, right outside of Timpsons, we hadn't even made it to San Fran yet. The man seemed to know my husband. Mike played him off not knowing his name. He seemed to upset him. The man claimed they worked together several years ago. Mike said he wanted to go home, that he had a headache. Oh Lord, if I had just listened to myself instead of my stubborn husband maybe," her voice trails off as tears fall down smooth cheeks.
"There is nothing more you could have done Mrs. Randall, this is not your fault. You musnt blame yourself."
"I can't help it"
"Focus on the man, can you remember anything about him?"
"He said his name was Agent Fields. He was tall and approached us first. He didn't say much but claimed he was in town for the weekend visiting some family of his."
"Agent, did he say which department?"
She shook her head again.
"He never said, just that he worked with my husband on a case two years ago."
"Did he say he still planned on staying there?"
"No, he was with someone, a woman. She may still be there."
"A woman, do you remember her name?"
She shakes her head again.
"No, he never introduced her, just pointed her out. He said she was his wife."
"Is there anything about her that seemed off?"
"No, they seemed like a perfectly normal couple. After the encounter is when my husband decided to leave."
"How did your husband seem?"
"Scared."
"What else can you remember, anything about the crash itself?"
She thinks for a moment.
"There was another car, we didn't see it, it was there one moment gone the next. Like it was waiting for us, it came out of the side and pushed our car into the post."
"Another car?"
"Yes."
"Was it a truck, a dodge?"
"It was too dark to get the model, but yes I believe so."
"What about anything else, any other things that seemed strange or out of place?"
She starts not wanting to speak.
"It's okay, every detail helps."
"The radio came on before the car appeared, by itself like magic."
I stopped writing.
"Did it connect to your phone's bluetooth by chance?"
"Our car was old, Randall thought adding a new stereo would take away its value."
"Miss Randall, I hate to bring this up but is there anyone that would wish harm on you or your husband?"
"No."
"How about tattoos, did your husband have any?"
"No, why do you ask?"
I sigh, reaching into my back pocket and pulling the phone out of black pants. I click until I come across the photo I had taken of Mr. Randall's arm. I zoomed in so the body wasn't seen but the symbol was. Hesitantly I turn the phone to her and her eyes go wide.
"Someone did that to him?"
Her voice croaked as she asked the question.
"We don't know right now we are investigating all possibilities, do you know what this symbol is?"
She steadied her face, slightly raising her upper brow line and arching her lips. She looked away from me, only focusing on Spruce leaning against the wall behind me. Common signs someone is lying.
"No."
Her answer was short, any emotion previously shown gone from her voice. I reach up and click off the recorder.
"That should be everything I need for the interview. Before I continue I would like your permission to investigate your husband's death and in such your lives."
"Permission, I don't believe you need that."
"No, call this a personal endeavor."
"Alright, Ms. Aryiea Dune, I agree on your terms."
I smile.
"I will need access to your medical history as well as your husbands, the hotel information and your phone provider and company. I am asking for the well-being of my mind and do have a warrant in my possession for these items. I would also like to further examine your husband's body and permission to talk to the corner regarding his discovery and death."
"I will have Spruce get you the information you need."
Her eyes go to the doorframe where Spruce stands there.
"When you go to see his father, take him with you. He adores you, he has a bad habit of hiding emotion. He needs a firm shoulder."
I smile standing from the chair and exiting the room meeting Spruce in the hallway. He reaches for the door closing it behind me.
"Your mother seems nice."
He smiles warmly.
"She is."
"She wants me to take you with me."
"Where."
"To your father."
He is frozen. His entire posture falls, every muscle in his body relaxing at once. He stops standing still, as still as a statue.
'If you don't want to, you don't need to."
"No,"
"Where is the corner?"
"I'll show you."
He leads me down the hallway further into darkness passing by several staircases and closed rooms. We pass several empty rooms, hardly seeing a doctor or nurse, until we finally reach a dimly lit room held together by one light fixture. A man in scrubs walked around holding tools. Covering his head, a thick plastic cap. His gloves are thick and tan covering both his hands, a large mask over his lower face. Goggles over his eyes shielding them. He walks back and forth. Spruce makes his way to the door lifting his knuckles and knocking. The man places his tools on a metal table. He takes the gloves off, removing the cap and goggles as well. He pulls the mask down, but leaves it on over his ears, under his chin. The man offers a smile as he pulls the door open.
"Can I help you?" he asks.
I pull the badge from my back pocket and flash it to him.
"I need to see the body of Mike Randall."
The man turns, I go to follow him, Spruce hangs by the door, not daring to step into the room.
"You're just in time, I was just preparing to perform a full autopsy." he looks up to see Spruce standing pausing for a minute. "Is he okay?" he asks.
I look behind me.
"That's my partner, Spruce Randall."
The man's eyes go wide."oh." He clears his throat, moving to the metal cages on the wall.
He scans the codes on each door, finding the correct one and pulling it open. Before me lay the same body of the man from the morning before. He was cleaned with no blood staining his face. Much of his once whole skin had been torn, several lacerations centered his body, many had been stitched up. Most centered around his torso, his face, some alongside his neck.
"I uh, did the best I could to clean him up."
Spruce's eyes go wide as he turns away from the scene.
"It may interest you, detective, to know it wasn't the initial collision that killed Mike Randall
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