Justified killings, p.28
Justified Killings, page 28
“What? That’s not fair, Lieutenant.” Kandie was upset.
“The Lieutenant is right. Sorry, Roy. You may have been my best partner, but you also have the honor of having the shortest tenure. Oh, well. There are more fish in the sea.”
“Are you kidding me? What the hell, Detective?” Kandie was pissed.
“And you said I was gullible, Detective White?” Tazz smiled.
Jessica hugged Kandie. “Calm down, Kandace. They’re kidding. They find satisfaction by causing strife and anxiety in other people. They have a warped sense of humor.”
“Actually, it’s called GDS,” Tim stated with confidence.
“What are you talking about, Tim?” Madeline asked.
“GDS? It occurs more often with the police than any other profession. It is almost undetectable in the beginning stages. It can turn quite serious if left untreated. The most recent Journal of Clinical Psychology made the claim that it accounts for nearly fifty percent of all detective dismissals, divorces, and even demotions. It produces an enzyme in the body that changes the way the vagus nerve carries sensory messages to and from the hippocampus…”
“The what?”
“The hippocampus is the curved seahorse-shaped organ which lies on the bottom of each temporal lobe. Pay attention, Detective White. Anyway, sensory messages are carried from the hippocampus to and away from the brain, which releases a neurotransmitter norepinephrine into the amygdala, which strengthens memory storage in limbic regions of the brain, which regulates an arousal factor, and is stimulated when a person says or does something which causes anxiety in another person. There’s no cure. I think you all should get examined. It is especially important to see a specialist after what could be interpreted as a high anxiety event.”
Doctor Toria walked into the room. “Are we having a party? Hello Detective Crenshaw. Doctor Alee told me you were awake. How do you feel?”
“Excuse me doctor,” Madeline interrupted. “You’re a neurologist, right?”
“I am, Lieutenant.”
“Tim, here, was just telling us about GDS. What do you know about it?”
Tazz winked at Doctor Toria. “GDS you say? Oh, that’s bad. It’s… it can be quite debilitating.”
“Tim?” James said.
“GDS. Sure. It stands for Gullible Detective Syndrome.”
“Oh, snap!” Jessica was laughing hysterically.
James pointed his index finger toward Tazz and nodded.
“Everyone is gullible when they find themselves assaulted by sincerity and out of their knowledge comfort zone.”
“Well defined, Tim,” Doctor Toria responded. “Have we met before? You look familiar. Weren’t you the valedictorian of Prince William Park High School?”
“He was,” Jessica said. “But that is probably not how you remember him.”
“No?”
“We were here a couple Sunday’s ago, late at night.”
Doctor Toria looked at Tazz. “That’s right. I remember.” She put her tablet down and stepped up to Tazz and gave him a hug. “I tried to save your brother, Patrick. I am so sorry for your loss.” She let go. “It’s never easy to face the loss of someone we love. I wish I could have saved him. Sometimes, though, it’s just not possible.”
“But you did save my partner.”
“We did Detective. But if you all could excuse me, I have to run some tests on Detective Crenshaw. I think we are going to have to admit him for a hemispherectomy.”
“That sounds serious, doctor.” Roy mumbled.
Tazz laughed.
“Don’t worry Detective Crenshaw; you can use the other half of your brain.”
“What?”
“Just a little medical humor, Detective. We just want to give you another MRI.” Doctor Toria giggled to herself.
“Whew. I’m glad that’s all it was. I get shot and apparently, when I wake up, I am engaged!” Everyone laughed and said good-bye to Roy.
Tazz, Jess, Madeline and James walked to the hospital parking lot. They stopped by Jessica’s truck. “I guess this is goodbye Detective White and Lieutenant Walker.”
“Take care kids. Do well in school Tim.”
“I will Lieutenant.” Madeline’s phone rang. “Walker here.”
Tazz held out his hand. “Detective White? Thank you for believing in me.”
“You are welcome, Tazz.”
“That’s great news.” Madeline hung up her phone. “Well Tim, I can say the case is now officially closed. We found the envelope containing a set of keys and the torn photograph of Armstrong belonging to the one in your basement. The keys were to O’Malley’s place. We also found the film. We have confirmed the man in the film is the same man in the photograph. It was definitely Armstrong.”
“Did they find anything else?” Tazz was curious.
“Nope. That’s all we were looking for.” Madeline took out her keys. “I love it when cases have a good ending. I’ll see you back in the office, Detective.” Madeline started toward her car. “Be good kids!” Madeline yelled as she waved good-bye.
“I’m proud of you, Tim. Drop me an email from England and let me know how life is treating you.” James looked at Jessica. “You take care too, Jessica.”
“Will do, Detective.”
James walked to his car.
“What now, Tazz?”
“I think we should grab Kat and swing by Mrs. Macklenberry’s house.”
“Why?”
“Mrs. Macklenberry has pictures of Pamela. She has pictures of Patrick. I think she has stories she wants to tell. Kat would appreciate it.”
“You’re right. Let’s go.”
Chapter 35
Tazz pushed his suitcase shut and locked it. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“Why would I change my mind, Jess?”
“Because you will be so far away.”
“I’ll be back before you know it. Maybe you can come visit me?”
“You’d let me?”
“Of course! Why not?”
“I don’t know. You are going to be meeting so many other people. Other girls.”
“Seriously? Girls are not on my radar.”
“Maybe they aren’t on yours, but I am sure you will be on theirs.”
“I am there to study. I will be immersed in my books.”
“It’s beautiful there. You should take some time and tour Europe.”
“Maybe. If I have time.” Tazz picked up a paper off his desk and walked to his bedroom door. “Mom! I need those documents from you. I need my passport, my birth certificate, the court documents from when Edward changed my name, and Edward’s death certificate, please.”
Maryanne came to Tazz’s door. “I’m right here. You don’t have to scream.”
“Sorry. Do you have those… Have you been crying?”
“Hey Jess, could you give Tim and me a few minutes?”
“Sure Maryanne. I need to get gas.” Jess hugged Tazz. “I’ll be back in a half hour to take you to the airport.” Jess smiled at Maryanne and left the room.
“Are you sad about what happened to Edward?”
“Yes. I suppose. I am mad at myself that I didn’t even really know the man. But that’s not it. We need to talk.”
“About what?”
“Maybe we should sit down.” Maryanne pulled out Tazz’s desk chair and sat in it. She was holding a file. She slowly unwound a string holding it closed and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She took a deep breath and began to cry.
“Mom? What is it?”
“This is going to be hard for me to say, especially after everything you have been through this past month.”
“Come on mom. Tell me. Are you dying of something?”
“No. Here.” Maryanne handed Tazz a folded paper. He opened it up.
“What is this? Who is Edwin Timothy O’Reilly.”
“It’s you.”
“Tazz stood with his mouth open. “It’s me? What are you talking about? My last name isn’t O’Reilly.”
“I’m not your biological mother.” Maryanne began to cry more. “You were adopted. You entered my life when you were eighteen months old. Tazz pulled out the picture of his dad from his wallet. “What about that story you told me of my father, my grandparents? England?”
“I made it up; well most of it.”
“But this is a picture of my father, right?”
“I’m sorry, Tim. It’s not. It’s a photo of a model on a postcard I found, and cut it out.”
“Why would you do that?” Tazz threw the picture in the trash.
“I don’t know why. It was a lie I rehearsed in my mind for years, knowing this day would catch up to me.”
“You think that gave you an excuse to lie about my name? Who and where I came from?”
Maryanne stood up to hug Tazz. He put his hand up and pushed her away. “Please don’t push me away, Tim. Please.”
“My whole life has been a lie! Who are my real father and mother?”
“Your mother was Braelynn. I don’t know who your father was. I don’t know anything else about either one of them. The orphanage burnt to the ground about two years after we adopted you.”
“We? Who’s we?”
“My first husband.”
“You were married before? You never thought to tell me any of this? Why?”
“I was afraid. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“We’re way past that.” Maryanne began to cry more. “Stop crying. Please tell me what’s true.”
“I met my first husband on a business trip…”
“What was his name?”
“Jeff. Jeffrey Tuttle. He helped draft high school curriculums. He had an English accent, which I always found to be attractive.”
“Was he from England?”
“Yes, but I am not sure where. We were married for barely a year.”
“What happened?”
“We needed something from each other. He needed citizenship, and I wanted a baby.”
“From England? He didn’t want to be English anymore?”
“No. In fact he swore he would never set foot in that country again.”
“Why?”
“He never said.”
“So you used him?”
“We used each other. I am unable to conceive. My only option to have a child was to adopt one. According to the adoption clinic, I couldn’t qualify as a single woman. So we got married. He got his citizenship, and I got you. It was the happiest day of my life.”
“Have you kept in touch with Jeff?”
“I did for a short time. I heard he died in a plane accident about three years after we divorced. It was about the time I met Edward, who, coincidently, almost had the same name as you. I thought if I married Edward, maybe it wouldn’t make a difference. I had no idea you would become so smart. After Edward and I married, I convinced him to change your last name to his, since it was so similar. All he had to do was drop the O and respell it. He said he would do that if he could also change your first name. I think he wanted a junior. He often said he should have made Patrick a junior. My guess is Edward knew all along that Patrick was never going to follow in his footsteps; join the military and become a Marine soldier. It didn’t take me long to realize that wasn’t who you were either. I don’t think Patrick was his biological son.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yes. I found the medical papers in Edward’s safe that said he was sterile.”
“So you know about Vincent Armstrong?”
“I do. I know about everyone Edward was accused of killing. But I wasn’t expecting this from you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I hope the university will let me in.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“My birth certificate, my passport, and the court papers of my name change all have a different name on them.”
“You were born Edwin Timothy. That’s who you are.”
“If you say so. I need to finish getting ready.” Tazz stood up. Maryanne wrapped her arms around him. “I am sorry, Tim. I should have told you.”
Tazz gently pushed her away. “What are you going to do now?”
“About what?”
“With everything. With your life.”
“The base called yesterday. They have elected to discharge Edward under honorable conditions, because he was not found guilty in a court of law, and while there is evidence he may have killed those people, there is no legal verdict.”
“But he did. I am sure of it.”
“It’s hard to argue that he didn’t. Doctor Castalone submitted that he was suffering from PTSD, and that is why he was doing what he did before he died.” Maryanne looked around the room. “This house is too much for me to take care of, so I will be selling it, and moving in with my sister, Milly.”
“I think that is a good idea. You will be closer to Katherine.”
“You’re right. I do adore my granddaughter.”
“What about my stuff?”
“I’ll have it moved to storage. I won’t throw anything away. Promise. When you get back from school, it will be there for you. Does that work for you?”
“Yes.” Tazz looked at his clock by his bed. “Jess will be here to pick me up in a little bit. I need to finish getting ready.”
“I am proud of you, Tim.”
“Thanks.”
“Please keep in touch with me. I hope what I shared with you didn’t completely ruin our relationship. You have been and will always be the joy of my life.”
“I’ll keep in touch.”
“Okay.” Maryanne kissed Tazz on the cheek. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
Tazz sat back down on the edge of his bed and read through the birth certificate. “Edwin Timothy O’Reilly. Date of Birth. January 1, 2008. Birthplace. City. Boston. State. Massachusetts. County. Suffolk. Father. Blank. Mother. Braelynn O’Reilly…” Tazz took a deep breath, looked up, then back to the certificate. “Braelynn O’Reilly,” he said again to himself. “I weighed 7 lbs. Hair. Black. Eyes. Blue.” Tazz couldn’t make out the doctor’s name. He folded the certificate back up and put it in his carryon bag.
Jess tooted her horn as she pulled onto the driveway. Tazz slid the documents into his computer bag and slung it over his shoulder. He picked up his suitcase and took it out to Jess’s truck.
“You okay? What did your mom say to you?”
“I’d rather not talk about it. I’ll be back in a minute.” Tazz went into his house. Maryanne was finishing up cleaning some dishes. “I’m leaving.”
“I know.” Maryanne wiped off her hands. She hugged Tazz. “You stay safe. I am so sorry. I wish I would have told you sooner.”
“It’s okay. Mom.”
Maryanne began to cry. “I love you.”
“Love you too. I gotta go.”
Tazz exited through the kitchen door and the garage and out to Jess’s truck. Maryanne stood outside and waved to him as they drove off.
Tazz set his suitcase on the curb in front of a busy Dulles International Airport. Jessica came from around her truck. “I am going to miss you Edwin Timothy O’Reilly.”
“Wow.”
“You’ll always just be Tazz to me.”
“That’s better. I will miss you too, Jess.”
“Call me. Text me. Email me. Video chat with me.”
“I’ll stay in touch.”
“Call me after you land.”
“I will.”
“Do you have your ticket?”
“It’s on my phone.”
“Okay. You’re all set to go.”
“Take care Jess. Have a good junior year next year. Try not to get into too much trouble.”
“You too. Stay safe. You know I love you.”
“I know. Back at you.”
Jess smiled. “See you later, Tazz.”
Tazz hugged Jess. “See you later.”
* * *
Detective Crenshaw took his time hobbling with his crutches down Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the FBI building as Kandie slowly walked next to him in a business suit. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby after I drop off my application,” Kandie said with a smile.
“Sounds good. I just need to check one thing. It won’t take long. Good luck.”
Kandie kissed Roy and entered the building.
Roy made his way to the personnel office to a clerk at the front desk. Roy took out his police badge. “My name is Detective Crenshaw. I am here to inquire about one of your agents, or rather, a contractor that works with the FBI.”
“Do you have a name?” the clerk asked.
“Yes. Doctor Judas Cain, as in Cain and Abel.”
“Just a moment, please.” The clerk went to a desk and started typing on a keyboard. She moved her computer mouse a few times then typed some more. She came back to the front desk. “You said the person you were inquiring about is named Judas Cain, right?”
“Correct. Can you tell me anything about him?”
“I can’t. Sorry.”
“It’s classified. I get it. I have his number, and tried calling him, but the phone was disconnected.”
“No Detective. That’s not it. We have no record of any agent or contractor with the name Judas Cain. In fact, we only have seven agents in all with the name Judas, and four of them are retired, two are overseas, and one is a deputy director in California, who I know personally.”
“The Judas Cain I know is about forty, probably five feet, ten, and black hair.”
“He sounds handsome, but he isn’t with the FBI according to our records.”
“Is there another place I can check? Maybe a different database that might show his connection with the FBI?”
“I’m sorry Detective. If I don’t have the name, he isn’t affiliated with the FBI.”
“Perhaps he’s undercover?”
“Detective, you indicated Doctor Cain had a contractual relationship with the FBI. I don’t have access to what every FBI agent is tasked with, their assignments, or their specific responsibilities. I just have the list of the names, including those with a formal, written agreement with the FBI. Doctor Judas Cain is not in our database. Is there anything else I can help you with, Detective Crenshaw?
“No. Thank you for looking.” Roy swung his way on his crutches to the elevator with a puzzled look on his face.
