Free Parker 01 - The Mark by Jason Pinter Page B

hallway like a sack of beef. He had to bite his lower lip and turn away, the tears of rage coming uninvited. Louis Carruthers had put his hand on Joe’s shoulder, leaning in to console him, but got violently shoved away for his efforts. Louis knew, as did the other officers, that solace wouldn’t come easily. The friendly arms retracted before Joe could brush them off. He would’ve taken a flamethrower to them if given the chance.
    There was no way he’d let someone else—someone detached—be the primary on this case. It had to be his. It didn’t just need closure, but the right kind of closure. Agent Joseph Mauser had to find Henry Parker himself. Since there was the chance Parker could cross state lines, the NYPD called in the Feds. Joe demanded the case. Nobody at the marshal’s office offered any resistance. Agents with a personal stake in capturing a fugitive were dogged to the point of obsession.
    Officer John Fredrickson. His brother-in-law. Dead. Shot through the heart by some twenty-four-year-old walking disease. John had served the NYPD faithfully for twenty years. His wife, Linda, was Joe’s younger sister. His death left behind two children, Nancy and Joel. Paying bills was hard enough in the Fredrickson household, Joe knew that, and now they’d lost their main source of income. Linda worked as a court stenographer—actually made a pretty decent living—but it wouldn’t be nearly enough to feed three mouths. Joel was in college, and his tuition was already hard enough to foot.
    His sister’s husband, stolen from the earth by a demon with no soul.
    Jesus.
    Joe didn’t know if he could go to the funeral. Seeing his dear friend in a box would be too much to bear. Standing over a convex piece of earth, saying meaningless farewells, what good did it do? What’s done is done. That’s what he told himself. No amount of tears could change anything, but they came anyway.
    For years Joe Mauser had dipped his hands in death, and now death had hit home. The sad sacks who wept into lined hankies, the ones he was often forced to comfort, now he was one of them. His cheeks had gone flushed last night, and he’d felt warmth spread through him like a brush fire. He fought it off, stepped outside, claimed the heat was getting to him.
    John Fredrickson. His brother-in-law. Dead.
    And now, Len Denton. Short for Leonard. Christ, the guy even looked like a Leonard. With his wire-rimmed glasses and stiffly parted hair, thousand-dollar suit and Gillette shave gel, designer cologne and a goddamn name that almost rhymed. He bet Denton’s parents were real proud of that.
    As long as Mauser found Henry Parker, though…as long as he found Parker. Denton had something to gain, too. On some level, Mauser understood it. Respect could be as powerful a motivator as anger. Between the two of them, there was an awful lot of motivation.
    “Agent Mauser?” Denton said. He extended his hand. Joe merely nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss. Truly, I am.”
    “Thanks.” He shook his hand limply.
    “I know you want this case closed quickly. That’s what I’m here for. I know I don’t have the personal attachment you do, but I can promise you that…”
    “Save your breath. We’re partners, fine. Don’t expect small talk, chitchat, or bullshit. You want to be my friend? Help me skewer this fuck with a chainsaw.”
    Denton smiled. “I’m here to help you power it.”
    “Good.” Joe pulled a manila folder from under his armpit, opened to the first page. A photocopy of Henry Parker’s driver’s license. Mauser leafed through several pages, flipping too fast for Denton to see.
    “We got this from Henry Parker’s landlord, guy named Manuel Vega. Shady asshole tried to rent me a ground-floor apartment for thirteen hundred a month after I questioned him.” Mauser tried hard to mask the anger in his voice. Was it anger?
    Suddenly he felt choked up, almost unable to speak. Joe coughed, wiped his eyes with the edge of his tie,