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Nexus

Chapter Seven: From Bad to Worse

Detective Flynn lurked in a corner of the Detectives’ bullpen, ignoring the stares of the human detectives as she watched Sergeant Ryan get a new asshole reamed out by Chief of Detectives Fanning.

It was pathetic to watch. The normally confident and assertive Ryan just hung his head and made weak gestures as Fanning yelled and swung his arms about like he was trying to learn how to fly. Thanks to the thick tempered glass of the window that separated his office from the bullpen Flynn could not hear what Fanning was shouting, but one did not need to be a lip reader to guess. And Flynn in particular knew what had the Chief hopping mad, because she had been the one that had told Lieutenant Lawson about the unauthorized CI.

There was a Police Association rep beside Ryan, but he wasn’t saying much. Lawson was there in the Chief’s office too. Sitting quietly in one corner, occasionally offering a clarification or providing a detail Fanning was unaware of, Flynn supposed. Lawson’s face wore a look of concerned disappointment when he regarded Ryan, but she noted that his eyes were cold and distant and unchanging throughout the dressing down.

Ryan finally left the Chief’s office, holding his head up but avoiding eye contact with the rest of the detectives. He had once been a hero among them, but his fall from grace was all but complete after this fiasco. He was so focused on not looking at anyone, Flynn noted, that he bumped into the desk of the black detective that had confronted her the first day, knocking half of the man’s possessions to the floor. Ryan made a half-hearted effort to pick them up before continuing toward her. Flynn wondered if either of them still had a job as she fell into step behind him. She followed him silently up to the third floor and into their makeshift office.

“Well, that could have gone worse.” Ryan said as he slumped into the chair behind his desk.

“What’s the verdict?” Flynn asked nervously. “Are we shut down?” What she really wanted to know was whether she was being stripped of her detective shield and, if so, which shithole assignment she was to report to.

“No.” Ryan answered to her surprise. “I didn’t actually violate any regulations. They merely forgot to amend my privileges. My only punishable sin was to ignore the Chief’s direction not to go after Gunderson. For my ‘poor judgement’ I’m being given a reprimand and being put on written warning, but that is the extent of it. Of course, they are cutting off my access to the CI funds and we’re not to go anywhere near any of Gunderson’s businesses.”

Flynn cringed. Being on written warning was a permanent blot on one’s record. Any further disciplinary issues would automatically result in suspension, or even termination.

She was afraid to ask if she was to receive a written warning also but the way her mouth opened and closed without words coming out was enough for Ryan to guess what was on her mind.

“No reprimand or warning for you, Flynn. Lawson convinced Fanning that you were ignorant of my indiscretion. But I’m afraid that the recommendation I submitted for your actions during the trafficking bust is dead in the water.”

“Yeah. That figures.” She said as she sat down behind her desk opposite him. “Like you said, it could have gone worse.”

Ryan cocked his head and stared at a corner of the ceiling for a few moments before speaking again.

“What I can’t figure out is what tipped Fanning to my CI. No one knew about him, and I was careful to keep both our names off the record. Yet, Fanning knew how much I’d invoiced the Department and what his real name was.”

Flynn could not bear the guilt she was feeling anymore.

“It was me, Sarge. I told Lawson about your CI.”

Ryan’s expression clouded but he merely cocked an eyebrow at her to urge her to continue. It was something she had seen him do in interrogations. “Just provide a silence and let the suspect fill it.” He had told her. “It works most of the time, unless they are a really cool customer.”

Flynn supposed that she was not one of those, as she found herself explaining how her betrayal had come about.

“Yesterday … Jesus, was it just yesterday? … Anyway, after you left for supper I got asked out by … by a colleague, and he took me to Little Italy, where I recognized our car. I went into the restaurant and saw you with Jimmy Anderson. I remembered seeing his file when we first started working together. I was going to bring it up with you, but we were off to the Norwegian gang’s clubs and then it looked like we had a good bust and then …” Her voice trailed off as she looked away from him.

“How long have you been reporting on my activities to Lawson?” He asked.

“How did you know it was Lawson?”

“Little things. The number of times he’s come here looking for you to file some bullshit paperwork that I never hear from again. The extra hours you’ve put in without anything productive coming from them. It all just sort of clicked when Lawson started providing the Chief with details he had no other way of knowing. How did you connect Jimmy with the CI files?”

“The computer made the connection with the CI files automatically.” She confessed. “It’s uh, the way the database was set up by a friend of mine.”

“The same friend that asked you out to dinner?”

“No, a different friend. The one you saw leaving my place last month.”

“You have a lot of friends.”

“I thought that you were becoming a friend.” She said glumly. “But I guess I blew that too. It’s just … what was I supposed to do when Lawson came to me with the Chief’s orders to check up on you in case you went after the Norwegian?”

“You could have trusted me enough to tell me.”

She wanted to point out that he could have trusted her and told her what he was up to, but she hesitated. She was a rookie detective, an affirmative action hire, in his eyes at least, thrust upon him by a vindictive Mayor. Why should he trust her? Maybe he was even trying to protect her by keeping her out of it, she reasoned.

If I can convince myself that that is the case, she told herself, maybe we can continue working together long enough to put this behind them.

“What do we do now, Sarge?”

Ryan stood up and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Nothing. You been home yet?”

“No.”

He nodded. She could tell that his mind was buzzing, considering facts and options and alternatives.

“You had some leave coming up. You can start after writing up the report on what went wrong last night. I’ll review it later and send it in. Then I’ll probably take a few days off myself.” Then he added with a sigh, “It’s not like anyone is anxious to see us back out there.”

With that he grabbed his coat and stepped towards the door to the corridor.

“Where are you going, Sarge?”

“For a drive.”

Flynn nodded as the door closed behind him. Of course, she thought, he doesn’t want to be around me just yet, I can understand that.

But it saddened her that he still wasn’t letting her in.

* * * * * * * *

Ryan bypassed their duty vehicle and walked for ten blocks before summoning a ride with his personal communication device. He had left his police communicator in the drawer of his desk, slipping it in there while Flynn was looking away. Both the squad car and the communicator, as well as any services ordered on them, could be traced and he didn’t want any company for the next few hours.

He gave the driverless car’s interface an address a few blocks away from Jimmy ‘Fingers’ apartment. Once the vehicle had disappeared around a corner he walked the rest of the way to Jimmy’s building.

Jimmy had hinted that the old Viking was up to something behind the scenes at this clubs and that meant that he probably knew more than he was saying. He had paid Jimmy handsomely in order to get the stoolie to dig a little harder and even though he had only done so the day before he intended to lean on the low-level gangster until he coughed up something useful, even if that meant camping out at Jimmy’s place.

The building had minimal security and Ryan was ably to enter the lobby with a Police pass card that he had swiped off the rude detective’s desk as he left the bullpen.

It didn’t matter if I get caught breaking the rules again, he thought. After yesterday’s fiasco Gunderson knows that I’m gunning for him, and he won’t sit still and let it happen. My only hope of vindication is to nail Gunderson before the Norwegian can set me up for a fall … if he hadn’t already.

Ryan could not keep the thought that he had been played by Gunderson already, lured into showing his hand by the display Dixie was putting on. How well did those two know each other, anyways? She had said that Gunderson had asked her to be involved in some breeding scheme of his, so he must know her pretty well.

He wiped the thought from his mind and prepared himself mentally to face his source as he approached Jimmy’s apartment.

When he knocked on the door it swung open a bit. A bad sign, he thought. Jimmy wasn’t a big wheel in the underworld but he probably did have a few enemies, certainly enough so that he didn’t go around leaving his door unlocked. Had his cover as a CI been blown when Lawson started digging around in the files? Had the little weasel packed up and blown town already?

Ryan carefully pushed the door open enough to slip through and then closed it almost all the way again. He let his eyes adjust to the dim light in the apartment and he called out Jimmy’s name. There was no response, but there was a familiar smell, one he knew only too well from his days as a Homicide detective.

Ryan reached into his pocket and took out a pair of latex gloves that he always carried with him. He pulled them on as he moved down the short hallway, keeping close to the wall so as not to disturb any evidence that may have been left by others taking the direct route.

He found Jimmy in the kitchen. The mobster had not blown town, but someone had blown his brains out for him.

Ryan avoided the blood splatter behind what was left of Jimmy’s head and checked his former CI’s pulse. As expected, there was none, and Jimmy’s wrist was stiff and cold. He had been dead for hours.

Probably while Dixie and I were … Ryan shook his head. He needed to focus. He was in a very bad situation here.

Baring his wrist, he called up his contact list. Selecting a name he sent out Jimmy’s address, along with a request and an emoji of a finger in front of a pair of lips. Then he leaned against the wall away from where Jimmy’s brains were congealing on the paintwork and settled down to wait.

Thirty minutes later a soft knock came at the door. “Ryan?” a familiar voice called.

“Come in.” Ryan replied. “Keep close to the wall and don’t touch anything.”

Flynn appeared in the kitchen doorway. She looked around the room, seeing Jimmy before registering Ryan in the corner.

“Jesus Sarge … did you …?”

“No.” He answered, stepping over and taking the bag she had brought from their office from her. “I didn’t even bring a projectile weapon with me.”

He placed the bag on a clear spot of the counter and began pulling items out of it. There were vials of powder, spray bottles, a UV light, and a bundle of evidence bags.

“This was my personal kit when I was in Homicide.” He informed Flynn. “I always found it useful to collect the most obvious pieces of evidence fresh, before the other cops and CIS guys got there and muddied everything up.” He passed her a set of gloves. “What can you tell me about the scene?”

Flynn’s eyes flicked around the room as she pulled on the gloves. They did not fit well over the pads on her palms and her claws threatened to poke though the tips.

“He was shot while seated from in front, probably by someone sitting across the table from him.”

“Which means?” He prompted.

“Given the lack of a struggle and no sign of forced entry he probably knew the shooter, or trusted them.”

“Like a CI with his handler, perhaps?”

Flynn gave him a nervous look. She checked the corpse for signs of life.

“Rigour has already set in, and the blood stains are already dry. He’s been dead for hours.”

“A proper examination will pin it down, but fair to say that he died sometime between the time I left the station with Miss Lee and the time I returned at the Chief’s summons.”

“What are you trying to say?” Flynn asked, backing off a step.

“That whoever did this might have been trying to implicate me. You told Lawson about Jimmy right after I left to, ah, drive Miss Lee home, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then what?”

“He told me to stay in our office and not to contact anyone while he checked it out.”

“He probably went to records to pull the files you found. Then maybe to IT to track my movements those times I was off meeting Jimmy. Then he would have told the Chief, and the Deputy Mayor, who I saw there before I left. Who knows how many others.”

“Look,” he said, taking her by the shoulders, “Jimmy told me that Gunderson had a mole high up in the Department. I have to find some evidence of that before anyone else finds out about this, otherwise it could get buried or overlooked. Will you help me?”

Flynn stared up into Ryan’s eyes. “Why did you call me?”

“Because you’re my partner.”

“Even after I ratted on you to Lawson?”

Ryan shrugged. “He would have found out soon enough seeing as Fanning had already set him to watch me. He might suck as a detective, but he is tenacious, I’ll give him that. Anyway, It’s time I started treating you like a partner, not an obstacle.”

“Okay, Sarge. Where do we start?”

“Ill check the obvious places, but when I was in Homicide we always had the Canine division called in to sniff out hidden clues. Think you can handle that?”

She tapped the side of her muzzle. “Tactical Squad was not my only talent.”

She bent to sniff the corpse, particularly the hands. Then she made a meticulous search of the small apartment guided only by smell. Behind the screen of a communications station in the living room she found a hidden compartment.

“Sergeant!” She called when she pulled the contents out with a pair of long tweezers. “There’s a paper her with your name on it.”

Ryan hurried over. Among the slips of paper with banking information and a notebook with what looked like mob contacts there was a loose sheet of paper torn from the notebook. ‘Ryan’ was written on the top, followed by notes refereeing to their conversations over the last few weeks. At the bottom of the page were the words, ‘Mole – CofD?’.

“The mole is the Chief of Detectives?” Flynn speculated.

“I don’t believe it.” Ryan said, frowning. “But it would explain a lot of things.”

“How do we verify it?”

“WE don’t.” He told her as he folded the paper and slipped it into the pocket of her suit jacket. “I have to call this in, and I’ll be a suspect, but you don’t need to be involved with this. You left you communicator and took public transport like I told you?”

“Yes.” The reason was becoming clear to her now.

“Good. Once the shit hits the fan, and it will hit hard, you keep mum about being here, but take the opportunity to feel out the Chief. See if he knows anything about this that he shouldn’t. Can you do that?”

Flynn nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Okay. I’ll do the same on a more informal level. We can compare notes after the excitement dies down.”

Flynn looked concerned. “What if they hold you for the murder?”

Ryan looked distracted. “They won’t. I have an alibi … I hope.”

“What will you tell them? How will you explain being here? Finding him like this?”

“He was my CI, even if it was not strictly in accordance with the rules. I’ll say I came by to tell him that the deal was over, and to warn him that he should consider taking a permanent vacation. I just got here too late.”

Flynn could see that he was nervous, even though he was trying to downplay his predicament. “I hope they buy it.” She said.

“Yeah.” He said letting out a pent-up breath. “Me too.”

“I’ll see you at the station?” She asked.

“When you get back from your vacation days.” He advised. “Best to steer clear of me until then.”

“Okay.” She said, turning to leave. “But you take care. I don’t want to lose my first partner so soon.”

“No worries, Flynn.” He said with a forced grin. “I’ll be fine.”

Still sceptical, she nodded and left.

Ryan gave her ten minutes to clear the area before calling the number reserved for Police Officers reporting in. He briefly considered leaving and making an anonymous call, but there were too many video cameras, public and private, that he could be identified on. He had not bothered to hide his face because there was no reason for Fanning to be tracking him so soon after putting him on warning. Even if Fanning had wanted to, he mused, there was no way the Police could get a warrant to search the privately owned footage when nothing had happened. A murder in the area however, especially the murder of a registered CI, was damn good reason to get one though. A fucking Nexus, in fact, Ryan cursed under his breath. He was coming to hate that word. The investigators were sure to get video from all the local cameras and those of any car hires that stopped in the area for a day on either side of the estimated time of death, including the one Ryan rode in on.

While he waited, he tidied up the scene a bit. He picked up Jimmy’s bank statements and other papers and went to put them back in his hiding place. That’s when another page that looked to be from the same notebook fell out from between the pages of Jimmy’s rental agreement.

Ryan read the paper, his eye twitching in a way that Flynn would not have recognized. Then he folded the paper, took off his shoe and slipped the folded paper under the soft leather insole before putting the shoe back on.

He would deal with it later.

He called up the Police Dispatch number on his comms device. “This is Detective Sergeant Ryan.” He informed the dispatcher. “There has been a murder at twenty-three forty-one West fifty-seventh street, apartment four-oh-two. You’re going to want to call in Homicide, Gangs and ... yeah … better call in Internal Affairs too while you’re at it. They are going to want to talk to me.”

* * * * * * * *

The second time that Ryan had to make the walk of shame through the Detective bullpen he looked even more crestfallen, and Flynn was sure that he was not faking it this time. Ryan had been thoroughly humiliated in the Chief’s office.

Flynn was waiting for him by the door again, but this time instead of turning toward the stairs leading up to their office he stopped in the hall.

“I’m suspended, pending an investigation.” He told her bluntly. “I had to surrender my gun and badge, again, and if Fanning has his way I’ll never get them back.”

“Jesus, Sarge. Why?”

“He didn’t by my story about going there to warn Jimmy. He’s pretty sure I went there in a last-ditch attempt to get something on Gunderson. Can’t say as his instincts were that far off, but that’s neither here nor there. This whole thing has been a big embarrassment to the force and Jimmy’s murder will just make it worse. The story has already been leaked to the press and all of Gunderson’s friends, like the mayor and Aaron Li, are pressuring the Commissioner to find a fall guy. As the resident fuck up, I got nominated.”

“Sarge … no … come on. This is totally unfair. When the Association hears about this …”

“They have.” Ryan sighed. “Even they told me my best bet was to take the fall and hope that my pension doesn’t get cancelled after the investigation is complete.”

Flynn shook her head. “You take full responsibility on the promise of being able to retire in disgrace? That doesn’t seem right.”

“Right has nothing to do with it.” He said before bending down closer to her ear. “Remember what I said about finding Gunderson’s mole. Not because it could save my career, nothing can do that now, but because you’re in danger too until he’s found. You remember the procedures for making emergency contact with your supervisor amid massive civil unrest?”

She nodded. It was covered at the Police Academy, but most forgot about it after graduating. She had refreshed her knowledge of the handbook recently though in order to write the Detective exam.

“Get in touch if you find anything.” Ryan instructed. “I’ll do the same. But for now, it’s best not to be seen with me.”

With that he stood up, shoulders still slumped, head hanging slightly, and headed for the elevator that went to the first floor and the exit.

Flynn watched him go, waiting for the elevator doors to close before taking the stairs up to what was now her private office

Out on the street Ryan looked at his Police communications device. He had to wear it in order to be tracked by the Department until the investigation into his actions was complete and the verdict against him rendered. If he removed it, they could have him brought in and put in detention as a flight risk, his Association Rep had warned.

“Is it really that serious?” Ryan had asked.

“Yes.” Had been the reply.

Ryan noticed that their duty vehicle was still parked where he had left it the night before. He went up and tried the door, but it refused to open for him. Lawson had done a thorough job of cutting is access to Department resources, he thought. That would include any files that might help him search for the mole, he supposed. Hopefully they had not done the same to Flynn.

Switching to his personal communicator he hailed a ride to take him home.

Back in his apartment he hung up his overcoat and jacket. He stared at his elliptical machine for a full five minutes before turning away from it. Losing himself in exercise wasn’t going to cut it tonight, he thought, besides, I haven’t slept in almost two days. Maybe I’ll just take a sleeping aid, hit the sack and deal with all this shit in the morning.

He went to pull the curtains and blinds on the small apartment’s only window, and that is when he noticed a new neon sign flashing across the street from him. It was garish, meant to attract attention, and he could not help but registering the message it was flashing.

It was advertising a liquor delivery service.

Ryan’s forehead began to sweat, his palms went clammy, and he began to drool.

* * * * * * * *

Dixie Lee did not feel like going out, even though it was Friday night and all her friends … well … all her fellow inebriation acquaintances … would be out at the clubs.

She had seen the news about the police CI that had been murdered, and how one Detective Sergeant Ryan was suspected either of being the one that killed him or the one who’s incompetence was responsible for getting him killed. Either way, her devices had been going off all day with calls from the Police Department demanding to know if she could provide Sergeant Ryan with an alibi. She told someone named Lawson that she could provide Ryan with an alibi and gave him the rough details of their encounter when asked, hoping it would clear the Detective of the murder.

“Did you know that you were a person of interest in an active investigation when Sergeant Ryan, ah, slept with you, Miss Lee?” Lawson had asked.

“No.” She had replied. “What difference could it make?”

“Fraternizing with a suspect or trying to influence someone with a potential grievance against the Force through romantic attachment are both Police Code violations.”

She had hung up on him, but since then her father had also tried to contact her several times, leaving messages warning her to stay out this, for his sake if not her own. She suspected that Gunderson might have put some pressure on him. She had let the story of his abuse slip one time when she was partying with the big Norwegian and knowing that bastard he had used the knowledge of Aaron Li’s weakness against him, as he had done with so many others.

So, she stayed in, turned off all her devices, took a bath, blow-dried her fur, pre-ordered some food and settled in to catch up with a series she had been intending to watch for several months.

She was halfway through the second episode when a loud but uneven knock came at her door.

She glanced at the time on her communications device. The food was not due for another hour, but it wouldn’t be the first time they screwed up. Getting up, she threw on a robe and went to open the door, confident that the Doorman and Security would not have let anyone but a delivery person with a confirmed order up.

She was shocked when the door swung up and she saw Ryan standing there. She was even more surprised by the fact that his clothes were in disarray and that he was leaning unsteadily against the door frame.

She didn’t need a real feline’s nose to identify the smell on his breath; Ryan was stinking drunk.

She was speechless. He had fallen off the wagon … but hard.

Ryan heaved himself off the door frame and stumbled in without waiting for an invitation. He looked around, seeming confused, then he recognized her as she closed the door and gave her a big, hard smile.

Hi, Dixie! It’s me, Detective Ser … Sar … Ryan, It’s Ryan … right?” He looked confused again.

From experience, Dixie figured that he had polished of more than one bottle of something strong and cheap. She was amazed that he had managed to walk up to her Condo in his condition, let alone talk his way past the Doorman and the security guards.

Her eyes narrowed. “How did you get in here Ryan?”

“The ‘mergency exit.”

He produced a card from his pocket and waved it in the air in front of her face. She grabbed his wrist and relieved him of it. It was a Police Pass card, the type they used to bypass the electronic locks on doors when they wanted to make an unannounced appearance. It had the face of a black man on it and the name of one Detective Raymond Brown.

“Christ Ryan.” She said as she slumped to the couch she had recently been laying on. “What kind of shit have you gotten yourself into?”

“The finest kind.” He replied with a laugh. “Reminds me … got something for you.”

He fell to the floor and began taking of his shoes. Dixie shook her head and put out a hand to stop him.

“Look, Cowboy, I enjoy a drunken fling as much as the next gal, but you are in no shape to perform. How about we get you under the shower and then to bed for a little nap time first. Then after that we can discuss where our relationship is going. Okay?”

“No.” He said, pushing her hand away, not forcefully so much but insistently. “Not why I came.”

He finished pulling off one shoe and dug inside it. A moment later he produced a folded piece of paper that looked like it had been torn from a notebook.

“Came to ask you about this.” He said pressing the note into her palm.

She reluctantly took the paper, knowing instinctively that it could not be good, unfolded it, and read the words written on it.

It was a list of names. The names were mostly female. Dixie’s name was one of them. Some of the names, including hers, were crossed out. The worst part was that she recognized many of the other names on the list, and she knew why they were there.

She looked down where Ryan was still sitting with one shoe off in the middle of her living room. His face was a combination of curiosity, anger and shame.

Dixie folded the paper and tucked it in a pocket inside the bosom of her robe.

“First you shower and sleep,” she said firmly, “then, when you’re clean, awake and sober … then I’ll answer all your questions.”