Saturday, October 12, 2013
Though I have the day off, I decide to call the precinct.
In my mind, my obsession with Paula is pervasive, I can still feel her body on mine. I can´t get her out my head. I long to be back inside her - no alcohol this time - and remember it.
Only a week ago I was happy with Ana, or at least that´s what I thought.
It´s an unusual Saturday, I´ve decided to do some work and my head is filled with another woman, not the whore I´ve spent the last few years of my life with.
So, it turns out, things can turn on a dime, and in just a matter of seconds life can change drastically and turn into something we couldn´t have imagined a week before.
“How´s it going boss?” Stuart asks.
“Do we have anything?”
“No.”
“Now that´s strange.” I reply somewhat ironically, knowing it´s right over Stuart´s head. He seems distracted, his mind, like mine, on other things.
“Coffee?”
“Yes.” I reply as I enter my office. Five minutes later, Stuart takes a seat in front of me.
“I´ve been rolling things over in my head, you know?” He says, squinting, rearranging his glasses on his nose., “I´m almost convinced that Parker´s killer had to be a co-worker.”
“I´ve been investigating very thoroughly, Stuart. I went over all the testimony statements with a fine-toothed comb. I went to the funeral and I didn´t see anything unusual. I don´t think the murderer works at DIC.”
“I´ve found something that it seems you are not aware of.”
“Surprise me.” I try to force smile on my face and take a sip of coffee.
“It turns out Josh was the father of his boss´ daughter, Samantha Hemsley.”
“So?”
I am surprised, but I can´t let Stuart see that. Why the hell didn´t I discover that?
“Samantha´s daughter turned up dead in an alley, close to her apartment on the Upper East Side, two days after she had disappeared. It was in September of 2004. She was five.
“That´s horrible,” I feel sickened, “did they find out who did it?”
“Nothing.”
“And now Josh Parker turns up dead at the agency...”
I try to think clearly, to find a spark of light in the darkness, but my mind is a complete blur. There´s some kind of wall there. I feel useless as a cop, and for the first time in his freaking career, Stuart is way ahead of me.
“What do you think? Do you think Parker was involved in his daughter´s death? Maybe he was upset when he found she was his daughter.
“Why do you suppose he didn´t know about her from the start, Stuart?”
“Intuition, boss. Why don´t you ask your girl? She might know something.”
“My girl?”
“Yeah, Paula Hawkins. She´s hot, isn´t she? That´s one piece of...”
“Get out!” I interrupt, furious, “Get the hell out of my office, right now.”
I look over the papers that asshole Stuart has left on my desk. The case for the murder of Samantha Hemsley’s daughter, nine years back, is being opened again.
Her name was Meredith Hemsley. It seems the director of the DIC agency never chose to use the paternal name for the child. The strangest thing of all is that when she was questioned, she didn´t mention Parker was the father of the child. Why would she keep such valuable information from me? Could it be that no one knows?
The child´s body didn´t show any signs of violence. She died from swallowing a massive number of pills. She was found on the fifth of September back in 2004. She had been missing for two days. Apparently, the nanny lost sight of her for a second as the child played on the swings in the park, and never saw her again.
Was Parker responsible for the crime? And if so, did she decide to take revenge nine years later? It doesn´t make sense, but it could be. Yet, no matter how strongly built Samantha is, I doubt she could have broken that partition. It´s even more unlikely that she could have cut a guy built like Josh Parker.
I decide I can´t wait until Monday to go to the agency to see Samantha. I get in my car and, ignoring Stuart, drive to her apartment. She lives in a luxury apartment building in front of Central Park. As I look around, a chill runs down my spine; it´s the same building where a whole family, including innocent children, were found dead some time back.
“Police.” I say to the doorman flashing my badge.
“Where are you going?” He asks courteously, walking with me to the elevator.
“Eighth floor.”
“Samantha Hemsley?”
“That´s right.”
“You´re not here to stir up the past, are you? The poor woman´s been upset for days.”
I turn to him, trying to make him see it´s none of his business whether I´m here to stir things up or not. But I smile at him, unable to shake him as I enter the elevator.
Samantha takes only a few seconds to answer the door. She is wearing an ivory silk caftan. Her black hair is tied haphazardly in a ponytail. Her blue eyes give witness to the fact that she´s been crying all night. I wonder what Parker might have seen in her. Maybe years ago she was an attractive woman. Or maybe I have underestimated Parker and he was the kind of guy who could see beyond a sexy curvaceous body and he was attracted to other things.
“What do you want?” She asks gruffly.
She stinks of tobacco and booze. There´s no hint of the elegant, majestic, powerful woman she portrays as director of a prestigious agency.
“I´m here to ask you some questions, Ms. Hemsley.”
She sighs and with a subtle gesture, dismisses the doorman. She is used to that, to people following her orders with just a look or a gesture. This is one intimidating woman, yet broken by pain. Broken inside.
She leads me to a spacious well-lighted hall. With an elegant wave of her hand, she invites me to move into the living room and sit on an extremely expensive leather couch.
I look at the decoration pretending not to be interested. Each item of furniture must have cost an arm and a leg, including many of the paintings which could have easily hung at any top line museum. There is art in every corner, but also petulance. I feel uncomfortable and want to be out of there as soon as possible.
“Whisky?”
“No thanks, I´ll pass.”
I think I´ll stay off the booze for a couple of days.
“Why didn´t you tell me Mr. Parker was your child´s father”
She turns pale as a ghost and drops disgruntled into a sofa across from me. She takes a glass of Whisky, which she´d apparently been drinking before I arrived, and starts crying. She is disconsolate, and I, accustomed to looking under every stone, suspect it could also be a feeling of remorse.
“Mrs. Hemsley, I have to...”
“Don´t you dare call me Mrs., you conceited bastard! Get out of my house! Now!” She shouts, distraught.
“Samantha,” I try to calm her down, “I know it must have been terrible... I know you had to...”
“Do you have children?” She asks out of the blue, interrupting my questions. I shake my head. “Then you couldn´t have a fucking idea. Get out of my house, you have no right to be here.”
“I will see you on Monday.”
It sounded somewhat like a threat, I know. I look into her frightened eyes, the tremor in her lips and her shaking hands as she holds her glass of whisky. I can almost hear her thoughts, and they are about Josh, calling to him.
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