Six Weeks Ago
It’s hard to remember a time Cynthia hasn’t seen her former lover and partner, Detective Kenneth Miller go over his paycheck’s deductions from his desk in the corner. This is Detective Cynthia Jones’ first day back at work and she was called down to the coroner’s office. As she walks down the hall, no one looks up at her. Kenneth’s death is fresh in everyone’s mind. The moment she reaches the door, the coroner yells “Poison!”
“That’s it?” Cynthia looks on folding her arms. “You could have called me?”
“Despite having the latest technology in this room, I still prefer to meet face-to-face.” The coroner looks at his papers and hands them to Cynthia. “We found thallium sulfate on the victim.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a tasteless, odorless, colorless liquid. The symptoms often mask as other symptoms and are almost impossible to detect.”
“Are we talking about the jogger from the park? I thought you said he died from heart failure.”
“That was my initial prognosis, Detective. Once, I got the body on my good old-fashioned table here, I found a bit more than what I was expecting.”
“Sounds like you’re fond of your work?”
“Yes, indeed.”
Officer Al Sanchez walks in and snatches the report from her. “Give me that back,” Cynthia said pinching him.
“You already read it.”
Cynthia snatches it back, “Thank you, Officer.”
“How are you doing, Detective? It’s good to see you.”
“I’m better. I needed the time off. Thanks.”
Cynthia smiles at coroner’s handwriting. “This is some old-fashioned scribbling.” She gives the papers back. “So. I guess the question is - who wanted this guy dead?”
“That’s up your alley, Detective,” Officer Al said.
“Of course, smart ass—Al. Let’s go. I need to talk to Samuel’s wife.”
“After you, Ma’am.”
“Tea, Detective?” Mrs. Janson said wiping her tears.
“No, thank you,” Cynthia replies looking at the photos on the mantel.
“You, Officer?”
“No, thanks, ma’am,” Al said flipping through his notes. Mrs. Janson puts the kettle on the table and goes inside the kitchen. Al turns to Cynthia, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Wouldn’t what?” Al looks toward the kitchen.
“Never mind. Hey, those photos on the mantle don’t have Samuel in them.”
“I didn’t notice. I’m only an officer.”
“Just stop it. Changing subjects, why don’t you have some tea then?” Cynthia said. “Scared?”
“Better to live than die.”
Cynthia pinches Al. “You’re such a mess.”
“One life to live.”
“Funny! This is coming from the man who talks bad about my favorite soap opera,” Cynthia said moving closer to Al.
“I said I’d be more careful, remember? Almost got killed the last time I took charge.”
“I’m glad. Would you have knocked the cup out of my hands if I were to take a sip?”
“I would have if I thought it was poisoned,” Al said staring into Cynthia’s eyes. “Remember, I’ve been put in charge to protect you, Detective.”
Mrs. Janson returns just as Cynthia ponders her response. She looks at Al as the wife of the late Samuel Janson speaks.
Andrew, an employee at Samuel Janson’s coffee shop in town, grasps his stomach and collapses while Cynthia and Al are interviewing him. That could have been me, she thinks, watching him wither on the floor. She’s down next to Al holding Andrew.
“Oh my god!” says the clerk.
“Hurry, ma’am. Get me some cold water,” Cynthia said.
“Dispatch—We have a thirty-three. Tell the boys to bring Prussian Blue for poisoning. Hurry, we’re at—” Al looks up seeing the girl run for the phone.
“Yes, sir. They’re five minutes away. Over and out—”
Andrew groans, “I feel... like I’m on fire.”
“Can you tell me what you ate or drank in the last 24 hours?” Cynthia said.
“I had—” Andrew squirms.
Al pats Andrew. “Hang in there, buddy. Help’s on the way.”
Cynthia watches as Al talk with the paramedics. She comes up and flashes her ID while they’re loading Andrew into the ambulance. “Thank God, you were here to save us, Big Al,” Cynthia said as the ambulance pulls off.
“That’s what I do.”
“Our suspect knows we’re on his trail.”
“I believe so, Detective.”
Nothing is ever that easy. The Investigative Unit went over every inch of the coffee shop but found no traces of thallium sulfate. Cynthia’s team had spent hours going over the security footage, resulting in no new leads.
“So, I’m back to square one?” Cynthia’s eyelids are beginning to feel like they’re sticking to her eyeballs. “Time for a break.” She turns to Al, who’s been on patrol making sure no one except authorized staff enters. “I’ve looked over these case files for the fifth time today and still zilch,” Cynthia said putting them inside her briefcase. “Boys, let’s wrap this up in five.”
“Ok, Ma’am.”
“Big Al, let’s go get something to eat and—?”
“And what?” He said glancing up at the clock.
Cynthia's tone was awkward. “Oh, I’m sorry for intruding. Maybe you have a date or two—”
“No, ma’am.” Al touches her forearm. “I don’t.” She stares at him and Al said, “Unless you count my partner, Barry in. He’s at home waiting for me to get off. He usually makes dinner for us.”
Cynthia smiles, aware of Al’s hand still resting on her arm while she clicks on her laptop. She should move, and let it drop, but she doesn’t want it to move. The memory of Al’s eyes earlier and promise to protect her has her mystified. Just as Cynthia starts to daydream, she lifts her hand to move the mouse on her laptop. Al’s hand moves back. “I guess I’m in a threesome if Barry comes along.”
“Oh my God! You have such a dirty mind. Barry’s a home body. He’s not coming.”
“Don’t mind me.”
Cynthia shuts down her computer and Al gets up.“Let me give Barry a call and tell him I’ll be late.”
Cynthia sighs and folds her hands. “Now, who sounds like they’re in a relationship?”
“No, he’s just my roommate.”
“Right—buddy.”
Cynthia realizes that her thumb had been stroking where her wedding band used to be.
Al comes back into the room. “We’re good.”
“Great! Do you like pizza?”
Turns out Al doesn’t like pizza, at least not the kind Cynthia was thinking of; quick slices on-the-go. He suggests a bistro named Janson’s in town, with some of the best pasta Al claims he had tasted on this side of the Atlantic.
The place is more intimate than Cynthia expects; candlelights and couples lingering over glasses of wine. The place is nearly empty despite being dinner hour. Glancing over the menu, it’s more pricey than Cynthia expected. “Maybe we should just get a couple of hot dogs and take them back to the station.”
“Oh, come on,” Al said looking over the menu. “If we did so, we’d waste hours in traffic.”
“Well, unless your salary is three times more than a detective’s, I think I’m going to have to order the—” Cynthia purposely picks the cheapest thing, “pasta e Fagioli.”
“So cheap,” Al said. “You must think I brought you here to spend all of your money. I’m here for a reason.”
“What reason, Mr. Al?”
Al cuts his eyes toward a waiter a few tables over, pouring wine for a couple more interested in each other than their meal.
“The waiter? He’s probably a college student working part-time. What do you think?”
“Why are you asking?”
Al shakes his head. “Never mind. Look at the manager over there near the kitchen.”
“Whoa... did Samuel… rise from the dead?”
“Maybe.” Al giggles. “The waiter is Samuel Janson’s cousin, Bill. I had my boys look into Samuel and found them all here.”
Cynthia closes the menu seeing the cover. Janson’s. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”
“I think someone wasn’t happy in the family business.”
“Maybe,” Cynthia said. “Have you eaten here before?”
“No. But Barry told me the food is ‘to die for.’ Let us hope he doesn’t mean that literally.”
The waiter starts walking toward them and Cynthia said, “Put the files away, Al. Hurry!” She pulls up her menu and pretends to read it.
“Actually, I want him to see these.”
“Oh my God! No—“
“How are you folks doing this fine evening?” The waiter took out his pen. “Is this your first time at Janson’s, sir?”
“It is, actually. I think I’ll have some pasta but what do you recommend?” Al opens his menu beside the folder, marked with Samuel’s name. “Or maybe I’ll go with something with seafood in it? ”
Cynthia watches Bill Janson out of the corner of her eye. His eyes widen when he sees the file and his hands are shaking. “Our baked ziti is some of the best in Manhattan, you can’t go wrong there.” He takes a step backward and glances back as if looking for an escape.
“I’m not sure what I want.” Cynthia pulls out her badge and places it on the table. “Maybe we can talk about your best dishes back at the station.”
Janson breaks and runs directly for the kitchen causing the patrons in the restaurant to yell. Cynthia pulls out her gun and her cell phone out at the same time, tossing the latter to Al. “Call for backup!”
Cynthia enters the kitchen yelling, “Freeze!” The kitchen staff is in shock as they come out one by one. Janson overturns a tureen and a cart and Cynthia fires off a warning shot. “Don’t make this any worse, Mr. Janson!” Finding himself cornered, Bill grabs a knife from the rack and brandishes it.
“Drop it, Mr. Janson. It’ll be a lot easier for you if you just come with me.”
“Why?” He slashes with the knife and lunges. “You’ve already decided I’m guilty.”
Cynthia’s sure he’s guilty now but she’s not going to be his judge or jury. She takes another step closer. “You can tell your side of the story at the station. We are good listeners.”
Bill slashes again, and Cynthia moves backward. Her back hits the edge of a counter, and that gives Bill just enough room to slash at her hand. She moves it just in time but the gun goes flying and skitters under a stove. Cynthia stumbles trying to grab something - a pot, a pan, a tray - anything that will block him. Her hands close around something and it’s heavy enough. She grabs it and hits Bill. “Fuck!”
The back door bursts open, and Al comes charging in. “No, Al—” Cynthia yells looking for her gun. Al tackles Janson to the floor but Janson still has the knife.
“Al! He’s armed—”
Janson plunges at Al and Al twists out of the way, but not enough. The knife cuts through Al’s coat and Bill loses the knife. As Al subdues Bill, Cynthia manages to kick the knife away. Bill’s hands are now behind his back and he’s handcuffed.
Cynthia is by Al’s side. “Are you okay?” She yanks off her jacket and presses it against the wound now starting to stain his maroon waistcoat. Cynthia wanted to ask why Al didn’t just wait for the damn backup, but she knows she owes him her life.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Al’s blood is soaking through her jacket. “Cynthia, if I die, I—”
“Shh,” she said. “No one’s dying today.” Not on my watch. Hang in there. The paramedics are on their way.”
Cynthia presses harder, comforting Al until they arrive. She holds Al’s hand as the paramedics work on him.
At the hospital, Cynthia stands by his side with his roommate, Barry.
“I’m so glad you made it through surgery in one piece,” Cynthia said.
“I told you I’m here to protect you.”
“Hey, Al. You’re going to get yourself killed over a woman.”
“For this one, I might.”
“Stop it, Al. You’re making me blush.”
They chat for a bit and days later when Al’s well enough, Cynthia doesn’t ask him yet about what he was going to tell her.