Jason Pinter - The Mark

Mauser nodded. He noticed several officers walk by the office, peering in through the windows. Rage on some faces, regret on others. All of the eyes desperate to find Henry Parker and cut his balls off. Mauser closed the blinds and watched the eyes disappear.

Ordinarily Mauser would have allowed the NYPD to remain primary in a cop slaying. Not this time. Joe had to find Parker before anyone. His was a personal anger, not professional. Not like the rest of them. He respected their anger, fed off it, but couldn’t sate it. Refused to sate it.

Mauser pulled out Parker’s most recent phone bill. He passed it to Denton, who scanned it, his finger tracing several numbers that were highlighted in yellow.

“What’re these?”

“We marked any numbers that appeared on Parker’s bill more than once a week. Not a whole lot, actually. His voice mail at the Gazette- he’s a reporter there, just started a month ago. Doesn’t call out of state much. His parents live in Bend, Oregon, but we’ve only found records of two calls made there in the past six weeks.”

“That’s good,” Denton said. “Means he’s not close to his parents. One less friendly face willing to take him in.”

Mauser nodded. Denton pointed to one number that was highlighted numerous times on the list. “What’s this one?”

“Girlfriend, Mya Loverne. Law student at Columbia. Father’s David Loverne, the family’s got money squirting out his asshole. She met Parker while they were undergrads at Cornell. You know the deal. Poor boy from the Northwest meets spoiled rich girl who’s never been felt up by a guy without a trust fund. Rent any Molly Ringwald movie and you get the picture. Miss Mya graduated last May and decided to follow Daddy’s footsteps into law school.”

“At least he has good taste,” Denton said. “There’s a lot more money in law than in newspapers, unless you can figure a way to skim from Rupert Murdoch. Have you been in touch with Mya yet?”

“That’s the next ride in the theme park.”

Denton said, “I’m a Six Flags guy myself. Never got into Disney World.”

Mauser eyed him contemptuously. “You gonna small talk me? Is that what you’re gonna do?” Mauser stood up, turned to leave the room. “Fuck it. I don’t need this shit right now.”

“Joe, come on, man. I’m only…”

“You’re only what?” Mauser said, spittle flying from his lips. “You wanna get cute with me? Six fucking Flags?”

Denton’s eyes grew sorrowful and his head tilted down. He spoke solemnly and, Mauser could tell, honestly.

“I’m sorry about your brother-in-law,” Denton said. “I swear I am. But Henry Parker’s out there, and a thousand cops are walking the streets, hands on their holsters, looking for anyone under the age of thirty to pop. I’m here to help. You want me to stay quiet, fine. But I want to find Henry Parker, and I want to know why John Fredrickson died last night. Just like you.”

Mauser stepped closer until he was breathing in Denton’s face. “Not like me. Understand that.”

Denton nodded. “Understood.” He paused before asking his next question. Mauser knew he was doing it out of politeness. He wouldn’t let his curiosity sit idle. “I don’t mean to pry, but how’s Mrs. Fredrickson? She’s your sister, right?”

“A mess,” Mauser said. He took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and coughed loudly into it, then wiped his mouth.

“The kids?”

“About what you’d expect. Joel’s in college, thank God the kid’s already finished up the semester. Can’t imagine going through finals with your father’s murder hanging over you. You get older, somehow you’re more prepared for this kind of thing.”

“Have you seen Linda?”

“I went over to the house last night, after I left the crime scene.”

Denton spoke softly. “You’re the one broke the news to her, weren’t you?”

Mauser felt a lump rise in his throat and nodded. Tears would come in an instant. His sister’s husband. The man he’d shared so many laughs with, gotten stinking drunk with so many times. Watching ball games in front of the crappy Panasonic, cheering on their lovable loser Mets and hoping to God the Yankees got blown out of the water. One of his best friends. One of his only friends.

Mauser always considered it fortunate that Linda had married such a stand-up guy, not one of those louses who make a killing in the market and never see their families except during two-week vacations to the Poconos where they spend the entire time on their BlackBerries. If you married a cop, you did it for love. And so far, Mauser hadn’t found any woman willing to give him what Linda had given John. He admired his sister for making that choice. He’d told her just that many times.

It’s not a conscious decision, she’d told him. It’s not like I wake up every day and think “Should I or shouldn’t I be with John?” I just am. He makes me happy.

And now he was gone. Linda, alone with the kids. Joe knew he’d have to offer support. Moral. Financial. Becoming a surrogate father to his sister’s children had as seductive a ring as a colonoscopy, but he had a responsibility to the family. And his first responsibility, one that would speed up the grieving process, was to find Henry Parker and gut him like a fish.

Mauser sat down, brushed his pants. Denton looked at him expectantly. Joe said, “Let’s go talk to the girlfriend, Mya. See what the murderer’s moll has to say.”

Denton smiled. He stood up, tentatively reached out and squeezed Joe’s shoulder.

“You sure you’re up for this?”

Mauser nodded. “Let’s go quick. I want to get into this thing before it all hits me at once.”

“I’ll drive.”

“Yeah, better you do. I see someone on the street looks like the photo on that driver’s license, I’ll mow him down without giving it a second thought.”

They left the precinct, Denton pulling the Crown Victoria onto the West Side Highway. Early morning sunlight filtered through the windshield. The cold leather on the seats prick-led Mauser’s skin. Soft rock was on the radio, the DJ sounding like he’d overdosed on Xanax.

“Mya Loverne’s cell phone bill is forwarded to an apartment near the Columbia campus reserved for student housing,” Joe said. “Keep your eyes open just in case our man decides he needs a morning pick-me-up.”

“She live alone?” Denton asked.

“Yeah, why?”

Denton sniffed. “I couldn’t afford my own place till I was thirty. Fucking unbelievable.”

Mauser spoke, his voice apprehensive. “She’s a pretty girl. I’ve seen pictures of Mya with her father, fund raisers at Cipriani, fancy dinners that cost more per plate than your mortgage. Heard rumors that Loverne is going to run for district attorney. It’s kinda creepy, almost like he uses Mya as publicity t and a. She’s always wearing these low-cut dresses and the cameras always get her good side. Both of them.”

Denton said, “People almost always vote for whichever candidate’s daughters are hotter. You see Bloomberg’s daughter? Unbelievable that girl came from that guy.” Denton took the 96th Street exit, forgoing his turn signal.

“You do the talking,” Mauser said. Denton looked at Mauser, concern on his face.

“You sure you’re up for this? I can get the case reassigned, no problem.”

Joe waved his hand in dismissal. “Over my dead body. I’ll be fine once we get there.”

“Don’t say that. Parker’s body, that I can live with.”

Joe smiled. “Deal.” He lowered the window. Fresh air beat against his face. The trees shook gently, leaves rattling in the wind. He stared out the window, his eyes latching onto anything that moved.

Denton squeezed into a spot on 114th and Broadway, leaning over the headrest as he backed in. He didn’t even use the side mirrors, Mauser noticed. Guy didn’t trust anything but his own eyes. Mauser liked that.