A Smudge of Gray: A Novel Page 2

  Brian resumed his seat in front of the surprised officers. A phone rang somewhere on his desk.

  “Excuse me, guys,” Brian said as he searched for the ringing. He lifted some files from a kidnapping homicide last year, and then scooted a reference manual highlighting the effects of every known drug by the FDA. Finally, he found the phone under a manila folder containing the confidential informants’ leads for the burglary/murder he had just solved.

  “His next big case awaits,” the skinny officer mocked.

  “Let’s see if there’s any more cake left,” the beefy patrolman said as both wandered away.

  Brian finally picked up the phone on its fourth ring. “Detective Boise speaking.”

  “Hello, Detective Boise. This is your wife.”

  Anne Marie was at home, standing in the small kitchen of their city apartment drying dishes from the afternoon snack she made for her son. She was a petite woman with an ounce of compassion and a pound of feistiness. She complemented her husband well and kept him grounded with his obligations to his family, but Brian never made it easy. She wore her thirty-nine years well, but flaunted her figure to no one, except for the man she had married.

  “Oh, hi, honey,” Brian replied in a changed tone.

  “Is that it? Hi, honey.”

  “What? Did I miss something?”

  Their son Jonathan hollered in fun as he played a video game in the living room. Jonathan was like any other nine-year-old, playing games, trying different sports, and listening to his parents, at least most of the time. He didn’t like the fact that he lived in an apartment, missing the big backyard and interior space that some of the kids in his school had. But what he did have were two parents who loved him deeply.

  “Miss something? Yes, you missed Jonathan’s basketball game—again,” Anne Marie replied as she turned and watched Jonathan engrossed in his game.

  “Oh, shit. That’s right,” Brian responded as he lowered his head.

  “Brian, I don’t know how much more I can take of this. This job has consumed your life. You are never around anymore for me or your son.”

  “Well, I do have good news. Have you seen the T.V.?” Brian lifted his head back up.

  “No. Why?” Anne Marie responded as she looked through the tenth floor window at the city below.

  “I just nabbed the copycat killer. My four-month investment has paid off. The captain is really buzzing. I think I may be up for a promotion.”

  “Which means even more time away from your family.”

  “Just bear with me. Please… Please.” Brian lowered his voice as lovers did when they expressed their feelings verbally. “You know how being captain one day has always been—”

  “See! This is what I mean! Your family should come first, and this job is killing your family. You know what happened today at the game? Jonathan said that he looks up to Coach Wilson more than he does his own dad. And he only sees Coach Wilson three times a week.” Anne Marie threw the dish towel into the sink.

  Brian paused and held his head down in shame, a position his skull seemed to occupy far too frequently.

  “I’m sorry. I will make it up to you two. My mind is just not right,” Brian said, trying to reason.

  As Brian stared at a large divot in the surface of his desk, thoughts of his family flowed through his mind. He tried to contemplate ways to make things right—taking them out for dinner, a weekend trip, buying more meaningless stuff. Just as quickly, a female officer dropped a manila folder in front of Brian, bringing him back to the stuffiness in his office. He looked up, but she was already out of his office space.

  “I have to go. I’ll be home when I can,” Brian replied, but all he heard was a click.

  Brian put the receiver back on its base. A migraine pounded inside his head. He took a deep breath—a deep breath of mustiness. Brian felt bad, a feeling he felt too regularly. He popped some aspirin and stared across the room at the flurry of activity on the main floor of the police station. He zeroed in on a uniformed female officer escorting a handcuffed woman wearing torn fishnet stockings with dried black eyeliner trailing from her eyes. As Brian’s mind paused from thinking, another figure meandered through the crowd, a figure with two shining bars on his shoulders; it was the captain. Brian looked at the folder in front of him and opened it.

  Chapter 3

  A suburban home sat in a large lot under the warm afternoon sun. Sculpted grass, lush trees, and Roman-inspired pillars accented the house and its placement among other equally impressive mini mansions. Birds chirped in the trees, basking in the life around them. It was the type of home that every American family craved, the type for which husbands worked countless hours to pay the mortgage and wives worked even harder to brag to her friends. In this particular residence, a husband, his wife, and their two kids called it their castle.

  The landscaped backyard was like a play land; toys and games were scattered across the grass. The two kids of the house jumped on a trampoline, laughing and hooting as they bounced. They were nine-year-old twins, Kevin and Katie, and were spoiled just as much as their parents loved them. Kevin had short black hair and had the same nose and brown eyes as his sister. Katie had long black hair, a color both had inherited from their father.

  “Higher! Higher! Go Higher!” Katie yelled as she watched her brother reach for the puffy white clouds.

  Kevin soared in the air and did a back flip, which amused his sister.

  “Kids! Your father should be home soon. What do you want to eat?” their mother hollered from across the yard.

  Laura was their mom. She was a housewife, a homemaker, and a babysitter when the kids weren’t in school. She was a woman in her mid-thirties with an hourglass figure and blessed with the gift of a beautiful singing voice. She had the naive look of an auburn-haired Hollywood star from the 1940s with her simple elegance, but she had a little spark to her, the kind that surfaced when the kids were asleep and her husband was not. While Laura spoiled her children, her husband spoiled her with a large bankroll, which offered her a life filled with salon trips and a closet filled with designer clothes.

  “I want spaghetti!” Kevin shouted.

  “I want hot dogs!” his sister contradicted.

  Laura walked from the back patio into the yard. She dodged the squirt guns, the bicycles, and a basketball as she made her way toward her kids. She looked at them having fun, enjoying their youth, as she remembered playing with her older sister much the same some thirty years ago.

  “Don’t you get tired of that thing? That’s all you two do is jump on it all day long.”

  “Not all day, Mom. We have school,” Kevin clarified.

  Kevin performed a soaring front flip as Katie giggled even louder. Their mother shook her head and offered them a disapproving look, scrunching the freshly exfoliated pores on her brow.

  “Come down and get cleaned up before your father gets home.”

  “Dad! Dad! Dad’s home!” the kids yelled in tandem.

  Katie and Kevin jumped from the trampoline and ran toward their father at the back patio. Their dad was tall and wore a dark gray suit with black onyx cufflinks securing his French cuffs. He was wheeling a 20” Travelpro Rollaboard carry-on featuring toughened nylon, waterproof ball-bearing inline skate wheels, and a Checkpoint-friendly laptop compartment—the ultimate addition to the frequent business traveler. The kids hugged him tenderly, just as two kids did who adored their father. Katie looked down and saw her dad’s shoes still highly polished even from his long day. She studied the charcoal gray color and the small white patch on top. They both looked up at their father’s loving smile—the smile of Trevor Malloy.

  “How’s my little offspring doing?” Trevor asked.

  “Guess what we did after school, Dad?” Katie asked as she tugged his suit jacket.

  “They jumped on that trampoline the minute they got home, that’s what they did,” Laura said as she walked toward her family. “I don’t know why you bought that thing for them.�
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  “Ah, they’re just kids playing. Something I wish I did more of when I was young,” he said as he smiled at his son and daughter.

  “How was your trip, Dad?” Kevin asked.

  “Like every trip—long. But it’s over. What do you want for dinner? How about if Dad cooks out on the grill?” Trevor said.

  “Yeah! Yeah!” the kids yelled.

  “Is that okay, honey?” Trevor asked his wife.

  “Sure. It means I don’t have to cook.”

  Laura leaned in and kissed Trevor. “Glad you’re home safe,” she whispered.

  “I missed you all,” he replied as he embraced his family.

  Trevor was a family man, a man who worked to serve his kids and his wife. He believed that the man was the central element in a family unit, not in a disrespectful way, but in a traditional way. Above all, he believed it was his duty to provide and protect, no matter what it took.

  Chapter 4

  Hot dogs sizzled on the grill. Trevor turned the processed pork with tongs fit for a king. He wore a casual red Lacoste shirt and khaki slacks. Laura fixed the picnic table with four place settings. She positioned hot dog and hamburger buns, pickles, ketchup, and mustard in the center of the table. Behind them, Katie and Kevin were bouncing on their favorite toy under the setting sun. This time it was Katie doing the back flips as she tried to match her brother’s skill.

  “So, was the trip productive?” Laura asked.

  “These trips are always productive. I just had to tie up some loose ends with an old client. We went over some mutual funds he’s interested in.” Trevor checked the hamburgers cooking on the back of the grill.

  “You had to do that in person?”

  “He’s a big client. He likes to look me in the eye when he gives me his money.”

  “Well, it seems you’ve been so busy the last few weeks,” Laura said.

  “I’m always busy,” Trevor responded.

  “You’ve been busier than normal.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, Trevor. I’ve noticed you’ve changed.”

  “Okay. You’re right. I’ve been busier. But it’s just because I’m trying to make us money.”

  “I wish you’d teach me about the stock market. You said you would let me help at the office once the kids got older. Or are you out running around with that secretary of yours?”

  Trevor smirked and shook his head. He put down the tongs, removed his cooking gloves, and walked to his wife. As her natural scent replaced the smell of burning gas, he leaned in and tickled her neck with his five o’clock shadow.

  “Honey. You know I love you, and would do anything to protect you and the kids,” he reassured her as he kissed the soft skin of her neck. “I’m a business consultant. It’s not that glamorous. But lately it’s been paying well.”

  Trevor took in his hefty backyard. He admired the wealth he had accumulated, externalized in the half acre of lushness filled with toys for his kids. He was happy that he was in the position to provide, a position that he fought hard to obtain. Trevor watched the two gems in his life jumping in the air without a care in the world. The sight made him smile. He gripped his wife’s waist a little tighter.

  “We have to get those kids doing something constructive. I should enroll Katie in dance class. Why don’t you see if Kevin wants to join something after school?” Laura said.

  “They’ll be fine…just like their parents.”

  Still in her husband’s hands, Laura turned her head and took a deep breath. She looked into Trevor’s green eyes and saw the man who had given her everything, including beautiful twins. Laura raised her head as Trevor lowered his. They embraced with a kiss. As Laura tried to let go, she knew there was something different about Trevor, something hidden inside his smell. Before Laura could finish gathering data, a loud jolt disrupted their display of affection; it was Trevor’s cell phone sitting next to the grill.

  “It must be a client,” he said.

  Trevor broke their hold, grabbed the cell phone, and then checked the caller ID. Seven letters mocked him—seven letters synonymous with the word “secret.” Although the phone failed to reveal its caller, it was as if Trevor knew exactly who it was. He pressed the answer button and remained mute.

  “Your services are needed,” a dark voice rasped. It was a cold voice, cold like ice from the deepest, darkest part of the North Pole, cold like a corpse rotting in a grave. Trevor’s eyes darted toward the warmness around him. He saw his kids engrossed in the trampoline, and his wife filling tumblers with water. Everything was the same, yet inside Trevor’s mind, things had changed drastically.

  “My services are always available,” Trevor muttered over the popping hot dogs.

  “Fifth and Mason. Eight o’clock,” the voice said.

  Then like that, a click resonated in Trevor’s ear ending the call. He placed the phone down and resumed the role of chef, gloving his hands and arming himself with the stainless steel tongs. Trevor stared at the hot dogs splitting open from the fire blazing underneath them.

  “Let me guess, a business call?” Laura said.

  “Yeah. I have to run out for a bit later and take care of something for a client.”

  “You just got home.”

  “It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Are the burgers and hot dogs ready?” Laura asked.

  “They look perfect.”

  “Kids! Dinner’s ready! You’re going to catch a cold. You both should be wearing a sweatshirt,” Laura yelled. She finished working on the table, but she had an eye on her husband.

  Trevor turned back to the grill and removed the meat. As he extracted the last hamburger, he stared at the flames beneath the steel grate. Trevor watched them dance randomly, yet somehow he could see a subtle pattern. As the heat bathed his face, Trevor turned the gas valve. The fire gave one last cry, and then died, bringing coldness over him.

  Chapter 5

  A busted light flickered in an underground parking garage deep beneath one of the city’s skyscrapers. Humongous cement pillars lined the crypt and cast shadows across the dank concrete ground. A modern Jaguar sat in a parking space ready to pounce on a two-door Audi across from it. The place was quiet except for the steady hum of the ventilation system. The garage sat this way for nearly an hour as all of the business professionals had left for the day, except for the two high-end cars waiting for their overworked owners. But then, the purr of a V8 engine echoed off the cold, hard walls. It was the resonance of a fellow German-made car—a BMW 7 series. Xeon headlights illuminated the black beauty’s path as it crept toward its assigned space. The driver killed the lights, and then the engine. The door opened as Trevor Malloy stepped out. He wore the same casual outfit from the family cookout with the addition of a light jacket.

  The third floor elevators sat in tranquility, but then an abrupt ding sliced through the silence. The shining doors opened as Trevor strolled off. He glanced down the hall and saw a male custodial worker standing on a ladder installing a new light bulb. Trevor moved down the other side as the carpet silenced his brown loafers. He passed door after door until he arrived at “312.” On the door, Times New Roman font formed the words “Malloy Consulting Service.”

  Inside the dark office, Trevor’s eerie silhouette was distorted through the stained-glass window. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and then stood in the doorframe with the light from the hallway casting around him. He smelled the scent of fresh lilies. Trevor entered and flipped a switch, which showered the office with light. Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa and Munch’s The Scream hung proudly on the walls. His secretary’s desk protected the door to the back office, which had the words “Trevor Malloy – President” written across. Trevor reached into his jacket and retrieved a key that he used to open the door—his door.

  Trevor turned on the lights. He moved across the clean carpet toward his desk. He passed a pristine replica of van Gogh’s The Starry Night. Trevor removed his jacket and placed it on the back of his c
hair. Pictures of his family surrounded his modern computer. Trevor paused a moment and took in the stillness. His office was a sanctuary, a room rivaling one from a corporate CEO on Wall Street. A degree hanging on the wall caught the businessman’s eye as he ambled toward it without removing it from his sight.

  The degree encased by a deep mahogany frame read “Master of Business Administration with Minor in Mathematics – Trevor Malloy – Harvard School of Business.” The handsome man ogled the diploma and basked in his accomplishment. As his breathing rocked his chest, he reached toward it to caress the glass as if it were Laura’s naked breast. But then, he pressed his right thumb firmly against the glass covering his first name. A blue light scanned his thumbprint like a mini Xerox machine. A click from the back wall cut through the clean air.

  Trevor moved to the location of the sound, this time with zest to his step. He grabbed his black briefcase on the side of his desk, and then stepped to the wall. A voyeur would probably squint her eyes at his action, but Trevor knew exactly what he was doing. He felt for a small edge extended exactly one half inch from the wall. He pulled. A doorway revealed itself.

  It was a back room hidden from the world. Trevor turned on the lights as he moved into his burrow. Nikon cameras, telephoto lenses, audio microphones, and tools sat on the top of a workbench. Large maps of the city were sprawled across the walls. A futon offered a place to rest. Trevor opened a closet in the back, caressing one of the black suits ready for action. On the floor were two identical pairs of shoes—his favorite, the ones colored charcoal gray sporting a small white accent. Trevor looked at the clock reading “7:25” in large red digits. He then shifted to the workbench and opened the top drawer. Inside, a 9mm pistol, silencer, and ammunition glared at him.

  Fifteen minutes later in the parking garage, the constant sound of the ventilation system still droned. While Trevor worked in his office, the only new life to fill the desolate space was a rat searching the walls for a meal. But then, the bang from the elevator doors penetrated the peacefulness. The steady clink of shoes hit off the concrete. The rhythm was constant like the heart of a lion before its dinner. Although a blind man may have paused and wrongly assumed it was the sound of a woman’s heels, when he would have listened for more than a few seconds, he would realize the resonance was too powerful, too potent. It was the sound produced by the soles of a man’s posh dress shoes, the reflecting charcoal gray dress shoes of the owner of Malloy Consulting Service. Trevor neared his BMW, walking tall in his black suit enveloped by his black trench coat. One of his gloved hands gripped his proverbial briefcase, weighed down by specialized tools.