Page 8 of Dead Drunk (Cold Case Psychic #36)
Ronan
Ronan felt like he was going to throw up. He’d scheduled a meeting with Fitz and Jude to talk about what happened the night before in the Salem Jail. Neither of his partners knew about his and Ten’s nocturnal visit to the precinct. He didn’t like keeping things from them. Worse, he didn’t like the idea that a member of the Salem Police Department could be a killer. Worse than that, one of the top suspects was his friend, and boss, Cisco Jackson.
Tennyson looked as worried as Ronan felt. He sat in his usual seat, an untouched cup of coffee in front of him. They’d both been too wired from the jailhouse visit to get much sleep. Now, Ronan’s only hope of getting through the day would be a metric ton of coffee and for his partners to listen to what he had to say, rather than punching him in his stupid face. It could go either way.
“Ronan, what’s up?”
Fitz asked, as he walked into the conference room. Jude trailed behind him. Both men had coffee cups in their hands.
“I thought we were getting together this afternoon to talk about the new case I assigned you.”
“Something else has come up that Ten and I need to talk to you about.”
“Are you guys okay? You’re not still angry at each other over the disagreement over dinner are you?”
Fitz asked, seeming to study the couple.
Ronan shook his head. What he needed to talk about did have to do with the dinner argument about Jefferson McGrath and he knew Fitz was going to blow a gasket.
“Is it the kids?”
Jude asked.
“They were all going off to the library with Kaye this morning.”
“We’re fine and so are the kids.”
Ronan looked to Ten, who nodded.
“I need you both to listen to what I have to tell you. If you want to fire me or knock me out after I finish, that’s fine.”
Fitzgibbon exchanged a confused look with Jude.
“What did you do?”
He looked as if he was afraid to hear Ronan’s answer.
“After you guys left last night. Ten and I kept discussing Jefferson McGrath. He made some good points. Mostly about wanting to know if the spirit had been murdered or if he was just making it up to get attention.”
Ronan looked back and forth between Fitz and Jude. Neither man said a word.
“We called Kaye to come watch the kids and we went to the jail last night.”
Fitzgibbon’s mouth dropped open.
“How did you manage to pull that off?”
“I told Tim I wanted a little alone time with Ten in one of the cells. We’ve all heard the rumors about other cops doing it, so I figured it was a good cover. Tim bought it and on the way out, I grabbed an empty box from the file room to make it look like I’d come into the station to pick up a box of files.”
“Motherfucker,”
Fitzgibbon muttered.
“I don’t know what I’m more angry at, the idea that members of the department are having sex in the jail or that you pulled this stunt without telling me. What if someone had seen you and called Cisco or me?”
“I knew there was a risk in doing this and I’ll accept whatever punishment you dole out, but before you do, Ten and I need to tell you what happened.”
“I’m guessing you spoke to Jefferson McGrath’s ghost?”
Fitz narrowed his eyes on Tennyson.
“I did. You have to know that I was the one who talked Ronan into doing this last night. He was perfectly happy to let this sleeping dog lie. I told him I would be too if I could just speak to McGrath and hear what he had to say.”
“I’m assuming that since we’re here discussing the matter that the sleeping dog is wide awake and barking.”
Fitz crossed his arms over his broad chest.
Ten nodded.
“What did McGrath say? The short version.”
Fitzgibbon didn’t look as angry as he had moments before, but Ronan knew they still weren’t out of the woods yet.
“He said he was drunk and had been arrested by Cisco and his partner Oliveri. They booked him, and put him in his cell. McGrath fell asleep or passed out. He was awoken later by someone on top of him, choking him.”
Ten paused, looking like he was waiting for Fitzgibbon to interrupt. When he didn’t, Ten continued.
“He didn’t know who was attacking him. He smelled cologne and the man’s hair was silky soft. McGrath said one hand was holding him down, while the man’s other hand fumbled for something. The killer said, ‘Night, night, asshole,’ and McGrath felt a pinch in his stomach. Before his spirit left the cell, McGrath said he was counting on Ronan and me to solve his murder, and said the others were counting on us too.”
“Others?”
Jude asked.
“What does that mean? Is he saying other men were murdered in the jail?”
Fitzgibbon held up a hand.
“Let’s not get carried away. What is this pinch that McGrath was talking about?”
“We don’t know,”
Ronan said.
“I was planning to go back through the autopsy report this morning to see if it included the mention of a needle mark or other injury to McGrath’s torso.”
“Are you thinking McGrath might have been injected with something?”
“Maybe,”
Ronan said.
“My first guess would be diabetic insulin. It’s naturally occurring in the body and metabolizes quickly. If a high enough dose was administered, it would have rendered McGrath unconscious quickly and the level might have been low enough that it wouldn’t have raised an issue with the coroner.”
“We also have to keep in mind that the medical examiner was compromised,”
Jude said.
“I don’t think we can take any of his conclusions at face value.”
“Okay, hold on a second. It’s one thing for the ME to issue fraudulent death certificates for suicide victims. It’s another entirely to accuse this guy of covering up a murder allegedly committed by a member of the Salem Police Department.”
Fitzgibbon sighed.
“Ten, did you believe what this ghost was telling you? Any chance he was making this up?”
“He was telling the truth, Fitz. I could feel the pain of his death, the way the killer’s hand was wrapped around his neck holding him down.”
“That piece of information tracks with the fingerprint bruises noted at autopsy. They were only on one side of the neck. If McGrath were being strangled, the killer would have used both hands and the marks would have been on both sides.”
Jude tapped his pen against the table.
“Did Cisco or Oliveri do this, Ten? Did one of our own kill this guy?”
Fitzgibbon wore a desperate look.
“I don’t know. McGrath said he didn’t see who killed him. The lights were off and he was still drunk and was only half-awake when the attack happened.”
Ten paused.
“I’m sorry we went behind your back to speak with McGrath.”
“But?”
Fitzgibbon prodded.
“But I think we need to look into this matter.”
“Not just McGrath’s death, but he mentioned that there were others,”
Ronan added.
“It would be easy enough to look into deaths that have occurred in the jail. It’s not unheard of for people to overdose or have heart attacks or strokes.”
Fitzgibbon steepled his hands in front of his face. He was silent for a few seconds.
“Okay, this is what we’re going to do, Jude, go back to the autopsy, see if there’s mention of a mark on McGrath’s abdomen. Reach out to the medical examiner’s office and find out if there are any tissue samples left that we can have tested. Ronan, look into prisoner deaths not only at the Salem City Jail but at county lockup as well. All people who are arrested in Salem pass through the precinct during the booking process.”
“What are you going to do?”
Jude asked.
Fitz sighed.
“I’m going to look into the people who were on duty that night. Not just officers, but the jailer, dispatch, the cleaning crew, anyone who had access to the building that night.”
“If that’s the case, add public defenders to your list,”
Ronan suggested.
“McGrath died on a Monday night during football season. There are always people getting arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct, assaults, or DUI, during those games. When I worked patrol for the BPD there would be several attorneys trolling for clients on those game nights.”
“Yeah, you’re right about that.”
Fitzgibbon turned to Ten.
“Work with Ronan. If he identifies others who died in the jail, reach out to the spirits.”
“Sure thing.”
“I know I don’t have to tell you to keep your mouths closed about this investigation. Not one word to anyone. If your conclusions lead you to Cisco or anyone else working for the department, come to me in person. No emails. No texts. We keep this in house. Got it?”
“Got it,”
Jude and Ronan chorused.
“Get to it,”
Fitz said. “Not you!”
He pointed to Ronan as the others left the room.
“I know you’re pissed at me,”
Ronan began, when Ten and Jude left the room.
“Pissed doesn’t even come close to what I’m feeling. You realize that if you’re right and one of us was responsible for McGrath’s death, that it’s going to bring a shitstorm down on us? People will come for us. The department, city officials, the mayor, hell the governor will be all over our asses. Not to mention what the fucking media will dig up. Are you ready for that storm?”
Ronan nodded.
“Your work needs to be flawless. Beyond reproach. Checked and double checked,”
Fitzgibbon said.
“Anything Ten tells you must be backed up by hard evidence. He also needs to prepare for people to come at him and West Side Magick when this story breaks. Make sure he understands. Cole, Cope, and Carson too.”
“Okay. Cap, I-”
Fitz held up a hand.
“I know what you’re going to say. You shouldn’t have gone behind my back last night, but if you’d told me, I wouldn’t have approved of your little fieldtrip. I might be angry at the methods you used, but if one of our own is killing innocent people right under our noses, we need to be the ones to catch this fucker. We’ll deal with the fallout later. Understood?”
“Understood,”
Ronan agreed. He left Fitz in the conference room and practically ran back to his desk. The absolute last thing Ronan wanted was to prove Cisco or another member of the SPD was a murderer, but if he found evidence that pointed in that direction, God help the killer.