NIP 24

‘You cross the line Brad and I promise you will spend a lifetime behind bars just like Ed Hayes.’ Mark grits his teeth. Through squinted eyes he sees who he thinks is Sam stealthily entering the Peninsula Hotel.

Mark’s attention is peaked. He leans forward for a better glimpse. That is Sam. What is Sari’s low life cameraman doing here at this hour?

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“What is it?” I wake so disoriented. “Wha…”

“Sam’s here.” Brad announces and eagerly leaps off the bed for our hotel room door.

“Oh.” I dart upright and search for my equilibrium. I feel so loopy. “How long was I asleep?”

“Only about 20 minutes.” Brad says without facing me. His eye is glued to the peephole. “Here he comes.”

Sam enters dressed in all black with a package strapped around his waist. He slumps over and brusquely flings the stack of mail on the bed.

“I am not some errand boy.” Aggressively snaps Sam. “Do not call me again unless I will be filming an award winning piece on whatever the hell is transpiring here.”

“Sam, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you would mind.” I feel my heart begin to pound. Sam, the most uncouth of people, wants nothing to do with me. Can’t say that I blame him right about now.

“Wouldn’t mind!?!” He stares at me with sheer annoyance. “Wouldn’t mind being apart of something illegal. Hell no!”

“It’s my mail.” I reply sheepishly with a hint of defensiveness.

“Save it for someone who cares.” Sam waves me off and saunters for the door. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “Here’s a tip. Watch your back. The police are all over the office.”

“What?” I nearly fall off of the bed. Sam doesn’t answer. He is already gone. “What was that all about?” My eyes beg Brad for answers.

“Not sure.” Brad rubs his forehead. “Let’s just stay focused on what we are looking for.”

“What are we looking for?” I ask with childlike innocence.

“Not sure.” Brad exhales.

We cautiously approach the stack of mail. The energy in the room is conflicted. We both know this is the point in the game where you throw in your chips or fold. My breathing is as loud as waves crashing.

I can’t take the indecision. I abruptly scatter the pile. The pink envelope stares back at us like a diamond in the ruff. I warily slide it off of the bed. I hold it up…it lingers in my hand. Brad and I share a glance that ends with a nod. Game on.

I turn the pink envelope with a monogrammed M in the center over and delicately open it. Inside is a pink card. My actions are in rhythm with our thumping hearts. I pinch the top of it and adeptly slip it out of its envelope. The silence is deafening.

We say nothing. Our mouths are agape.

The card has only 4 words on it. ED HAYES IS INNOCENT.

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“We are doing the right thing.” I repeat over and over a loud. There is no secret here. I am trying to convince myself. “We are doing the right thing.”

“We are Sari.” Brad takes his right hand off of the steering wheel and lays it on my leg in show of support. “Detective Hughes and his team need to see this. Number 1, what if Ed Hayes is innocent? There is a manhunt taking place and the real killer is free to murder whoever the hell he wants.” Brad animatedly speaks with authority. And I have to admit between the two of us he is the authority on the topic. “Number 2, this card and the intruder at Marcy’s apartment prove she did not commit suicide. The police need to know this.”

“But…” I can’t help but second guess our decision. “Maybe we should stick to our plan and see what we can dig up at Aunt Clara’s. There has to be evidence or proof of something or someone….”

“No Sari. This is no longer about piecing facts together searching for your truths. This is a very dangerous situation.” Brad stares ahead, his bewilderment making him feel inadequate as a detective.

I, too, stare ahead watching the street signs pass until we pull in front of the police station. Brad kills the engine and we quietly step out of the car. The weight of the situation is taking its toll.

I follow Brad through the crowded police station. The constant buzzing of voices is making me very uncomfortable. We stand shoulder to shoulder at our final destination. The office of Detective Hughes.

Detective Hughes’ expression morphs into aggravation once he spots us. Without making eye contact he rudely gesticulates us permission to enter.

“Callahan.” Detective Hughes leans all the way back in his chair as if to say checkmate.

“Detective Hughes when are coming to you with imperative information about Ainslie and Clara Clarke’s case.” Brad respectfully explains.

“And your behavior?” Detective Hughes ignores Brad’s message. This appears to be a spoken when spoken to atmosphere.

“Detective.” Brad holds his jaw in his hand. He drops his hand and puffs out his chest. “I mean no disrespect but we are on the same side here. It’s been a rough day!”

“Spare me the sod story dickwab.” Detective Hughes gruffly silences Brad. He inconsiderately holds out his hand. “What information do you think you have for me?”

On cue Brad passes the pink card and envelope to Detective Hughes. Hughes takes a glimpse at it before tossing it on his desk. “Horseshit.”

“Excuse me…” Brad yanks my arm and I know to shut my mouth.

“Hughes. This is Marcy Doherty’s stationary. And this is a scrapbook of her romance with Ed Hayes. It spans 15 years!” Brad places the scrapbook on Hughes’ desk. He flips the pages to illustrate his point.

“Where did you get that?” Hughes asks with zero interest in our evidence.

“Marcy’s apartment.” Without a pause Brad adds. “There was an intruder when we got…”

“I’d like to make an arrest.” Detective Hughes says nonchalantly into his office landline.

My mouth attempts to form the word ‘What.’ I fail and a puff of air is all that comes out. Brad suspiciously tilts his head with squinted eyes as he tries to figure out exactly who Hughes is having arrested.

“Brad Callahan and Sari Clarke. They are in my office.” Hughes sets the receiver down with a sneer.

“You stubborn old son of a bitch.” The volume of Brad’s voice rises like a crescendo in a Beethoven composition. He grabs my hand and jerks me out of Detective Hughes’ office. I am running so fast it is as if I am flying. My feet are not touching the ground. Brad is tugging me quickly behind him. He elbows officers, desks, cabinets out of our way. We leap over chairs and weave through crowds to make our escape. We flee the premise leaving floating stacks of computer paper and confused faces in our wake.

We rush into the car and Brad peels out before we slam the doors shut.

“What was that?!? What is happening?!?!” I am screaming like a child in a horror movie.