Lost Angels

Prologue

Michelle was standing at the crosswalk in front of the Arbor Inn, her shoulders hunched forward against the wind, her dark hair fanning across her cheeks. Russell stood at the window, watching her. His fingertips touched the cold pane and he tapped softly. It was a nervous gesture, just like the muscle twitch in the corner of his right eye. As the sound of laughter drifted from the dining hall, he became more agitated.

Damn this town and damn her, he mumbled. Why couldn’t she just leave everything alone? Michelle and her crusades, he grumbled bitterly. What a joke! She’s just like the rest of them. I should never have come back to this malignant little town. I should have known that nothing stays buried in Westmore. He tapped again on the window and pressed his sweaty forehead against the cold glass as he looked at her. She looked like she was shivering as she waited for the light to change. He watched her pull her coat sleeve back and look at her watch. He glanced at the overhead clock. It was 11:15.

When the light turned green, she stepped off the curb. Then as she approached the middle of the intersection, she hesitated. She was looking to her right and he followed her gaze. Headlights were moving toward her. The car didn’t look like it was stopping at the red light. Instead, it seemed to be moving faster. Michelle turned. He could see that she was trying to get out of the way. But it was too late. She screamed. Then he heard a chilling thud as the car hit her.

He stood frozen. His hands gripped the smooth molding on each side of the window. In front of him, the car sped up Chestnut Street. But he never looked at it. His eyes were still on Michelle. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

****

Chapter 1

Chip Morgan was stretched out across his bed staring at the ceiling. He’d been awake for hours, but he didn’t feel like moving. I should never have answered the phone, he thought to himself as he rubbed his eyes. I'm not on call and Bates should have waited until I got to the station to tell me about Marty. He rubbed his hand across the coarse stubble on his chin and tried to remember the last time he saw Marty. It had been at least a year ago. But he thought the dumb ass quit drinking so he wasn’t worried about him.

I should’ve known better, he muttered as he sat up, his bare feet smacking against the cold floor.

He stood up and wrapped a well-worn bathrobe around his shoulders. The frayed sleeves dangled across his chest as he flipped on the light switch. Then he walked across the room to the solitary window and opened the blinds. Daylight was just breaking through the overcast skies making everything outside look gray instead of black. A coating of frost covered the ground. It was a typical January morning in the northeast.

I hate this time of year, he grumbled as he walked to the bedroom door and padded heavily down the hallway to the bathroom.

As he passed the arched doorway that led to his living room and kitchen, he glanced into the sparsely furnished rooms like a guard making his rounds. Checking his apartment was almost a ritual with him, just like double locking his door at night and setting the timer on the coffee pot. He had a mental checklist of things that had to be done. His tiny apartment with its white walls, bare floors, and windows with no curtains lacked a woman’s touch and there was a good reason for that. Chip had lived alone for fifteen years, but not by choice. After his divorce, he just never met the right person and he was beginning to think he never would.

He stepped in the shower and let the hot water beat against him. Without wanting to, he thought about the phone call that woke him. As soon as he heard Bate’s voice, he braced himself for bad news. Marty killed a woman, Bates told him. It was a hit and run and there’s an eyewitness.

Chip turned off the water and stepped from the shower. He leaned against the sink and slapped shaving cream on his face. Then as he methodically moved the razor across his skin, he thought about the mistake he made a long time ago. Actually, the word mistake didn’t fit. It wasn’t big enough to describe what really happened, but that was the word his captain used.

Rookies make mistakes, his captain told him. Learn from it. As time passed, he didn’t think about it as much, but the horrifying memory was never too far away. It still gave him that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. His mistake killed a seventeen year old kid and it was the reason he looked out for Marty, bailing him out of one jam after another. Now, he had another mess to clean up, all because of his mistake.

Chip stepped out of the bathroom and walked back to his bedroom. As he stepped in the room, he glanced at the pile of dirty laundry sitting next to his bureau. It was becoming a small mountain which made him wonder if he had any clean clothes left. He hated going to the laundromat almost as much as he hated going shopping. Finding clothes for his bulky frame wasn’t easy. None of the nice stuff fit him. Plus, being color blind didn’t help when he tried to match colors. As a result, his wardrobe was normally pathetic. This morning, it was going to be worse than usual.

He put on a blue and white checkered shirt with a green sweater and brown corduroy pants. Then he sat on the edge of his bed with a pile of socks next to him, trying to find two that matched. As he laid the socks in a circle, he flipped on the television and caught the tail end of the weather report. They were forecasting snow.

Good. I like snow, he mumbled to himself as he picked up two socks that looked very much alike. He finished dressing and turned off the television. Then he headed out. It was early. His shift didn’t start for another half hour and he expected the parking lot next to the municipal building to be empty. But it wasn’t. Parked in the front row was that lizard green Honda Civic. It was his partner, Dee’s car. She always came to work early which was very annoying. She must be one of those morning people, he was thinking as he turned off the ignition.

As he stepped out of his car, he looked up at the sky and grinned. The forecasters had it right. Fat snow flakes were falling. They stuck to the metal railing as he hurried up the steps and entered the building. Good morning, he called out as he passed the desk sergeant who relieved Bates. As he passed the offices on the first floor, he kept his head down. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone. Thankfully, the hallway was empty. At the end of the hall were two holding cells that smelled of Lysol disinfectant and a set of stairs. He trudged up the stairs and then passed through a reception area that was outside the detectives' room. He opened the door and walked to his desk.

Dee was sitting across from him and she smiled when she saw him. I tried to call your apartment, but I guess you’d already left, she said, shuffling papers in front of her. I ran into Sergeant Bates in the parking lot and he told me about your friend. Unfortunately, Marty’s in no condition to answer any questions so they’re letting him sleep it off in the holding cell. She hesitated and Chip looked at her with an impatient frown. His car was impounded, she continued. The damage is consistent with what they found at the crime scene plus there’s an eye witness who got the tag number.

Who was the victim? Chip asked.

Thirty-eight year old woman from the main line, Michelle Yanek, she answered as she pushed a strand of straight black hair away from her face.

Chip’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her. Yanek as in Yanek Pharmaceuticals?

Yes, Dee answered quickly.

Chip groaned as he kicked his chair back. Where did it happen?

Twenty-three hundred block of Chestnut Street in Westmore. Yanek had dinner with...

What was Marty doing up there? Chip yelled without giving Dee a chance to finish speaking.

She shrugged her shoulders. It gets worse, she murmured. Yanek was having dinner with Congressman McClelland. He was pretty shaken up. I’m afraid your friend’s in big trouble.

Chip held up his hand to stop her from speaking. I can see that, he grumbled. How long has Marty been asleep?

Not long.

I’m taking a ride up to Westmore. Would you like to go with me?

She nodded as she grabbed her coat and they hurried down the stairs.

As the side door slammed shut, Marty rolled to his side on the wooden cot in the small cell. He opened his eyes briefly and looked around. Where you at, Chip? he mumbled as he fell back to sleep.

****

Chapter 2

The falling snow slowed their drive to Westmore and Chip was getting very anxious. He hated Dee’s driving. She was way too careful. He knew you should leave a little extra space in front of you, but Dee was allowing twenty yards between her and the car in front. A tractor trailer didn’t need that much room. Plus, if the speedometer climbed past forty, she tapped on the brakes. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed a lot. Dee ignored him.

Our exit is coming up, he said, pointing to his right. Dee put on her turn signal and Chip closed his eyes. He had a feeling that changing lanes was going to be a real challenge for Dee.

You can open your eyes now, she said, half laughing as she reached the bottom of the exit ramp. Which way do we go?

Chip scooted to the edge of his seat and peered through the murky windshield. Turn right, he said.

The business district in Westmore was a maze of one way streets that took some getting use to. Chip craned his neck as he looked around and gave directions. Then it occurred to him that Marty definitely wouldn’t know his way around. Why would Marty come up here? he wondered aloud.

Dee glanced at him and shrugged her shoulders.

There’s Chestnut, Chip said quickly and Dee made a hard right, tossing him against the door.

Sorry, she murmured.

Finally they saw the sign for the Arbor Inn. Dee parked the car and grinned as Chip stepped out and pretended he was kissing the ground. When he stood up, he recognized one of the officers leaning against a marked unit that was still at the scene.

This case must really be high profile if they send you out, Mark Shuster commented when he saw Chip.

Chip and Dee exchanged quick glances and kept their mouths shut. Officially, they weren’t on this case, but Shuster didn’t need to know that.

Tell us what happened, Chip said as he looked around at the small specialty shops that lined the busy street.

Shuster straightened his shoulders as he moved toward the detectives. The victim, Michelle Yanek had just left the restaurant around 11:15 and was crossing the street to her car. A witness said she was standing at the intersection. When the light turned green, she stepped off the curb and started across. The striking vehicle was traveling east at a high rate of speed and it ran the red light. Even after hitting Yanek, the car never slowed down.

Who was the witness? Chip asked.

Shuster removed a notebook from his pocket and squinted as he turned the pages. Patty Barnes, he answered. She’s a waitress at the Arbor Inn and she was going home.

Where was Congressman McClelland? Didn’t he leave with Ms. Yanek? Dee asked.

Shuster shook his head. McClelland said she left alone after she got a phone call. All she told him was that she had something important that she had to take care of.

No one knows who called her?

Not at the moment, Shuster answered.

An officer on the other side of the street yelled to Shuster to tell him they were finished. Shuster nodded his head and waved.

The chalk marks over there show the spot where her body was laying after she was hit, he said, pointing to his right. And over there is where her car was parked. It was a silver BMW. As the two patrol cars pulled away from the curb, Shuster looked across the street. I need to head back to the station, he told them. The lab boys are done and I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do.

Thanks for your help, Chip said as he turned and crossed the street with Dee right behind him. As he stood at the curb, he looked up Chestnut Street where metered parking spaces lined both sides. Dee stood next to him, writing notes in her binder that she carried everywhere.

We should go to the impound yard, she suggested.

That’s a good idea, Chip muttered. If we kill enough time, maybe Marty will be sober enough to answer some questions. Believe me; I’ve got a lot of them. The first thing I want to know is what the hell was he doing up here.

Maybe he was lost, Dee said as she pulled the car keys from her pocket and handed them to Chip.

Maybe, he grumbled as they walked to the car.

Is there any chance we can stop at the coffee shop on the corner? Dee asked sheepishly as she rubbed her hands together. I need a cup to thaw out my fingers.

Chip drove to the corner and frowned as he pulled in front of the shop. Don’t get me any of that fancy stuff, he told her. No whipped cream. Just coffee.

Dee grinned at him as she stepped out of the car and hurried to the door. Despite the line inside, she was back within five minutes with two steaming cups. She handed one to Chip and he took a sip. That’s perfect, he commented as he started the car and pulled away.

The impound yard was on the other side of the county near the station and it took a while to get there. When they finally pulled through the gates, Chip parked near the office. There’s his car, he told Dee, pointing to a dull green Chevy that was parked in front of the garage doors. Chip walked to the car and pulled open the driver’s door which squeaked like a nest of birds were caught in the hinges. Marty’s not much taller than you. Climb in and start it up.

Dee slid into the driver’s seat, but her feet didn’t touch the pedals. They didn’t even come close. Marty’s legs are a lot longer than you realize, she told him.

Turn it over, Chip said through the open window. The engine kicked over on the first try. Dee looked across the dashboard. The heater was set on high. The gas gauge registered a half tank. She took out her binder to write down what she saw. When she was finished, she stepped out of the car and followed Chip to the front. He began pacing back and forth when he saw the blood on the front of the grill.

You know, Dee, I’ve done everything I can to help this guy. I always felt that I owed it to his brother. I just don’t understand what’s wrong with Marty. He was a good kid when he was growing up, but now look at him. Look at what he did.

You shouldn’t be angry at yourself for trying to help someone.

But if I could just understand why he consistently screwed up his life. It wasn’t just his drinking. Even when he was sober, he lost perfectly good jobs. Both his ex-wives said he was totally irresponsible. His brother, Frank had more sense when he was seventeen than Marty has at forty-two.

Maybe that’s the problem, Dee said softly. Maybe he knows he’s not as good as his brother so he makes problems for himself.

Why? Chip asked.

I’m not sure why, but people do strange things to punish themselves. I see it in my own family and I will never understand why. Both my parents are in a permanent state of sadness because they feel that anything else would be a betrayal to my grandmother, my aunt, my uncle and my cousins who are gone. So many of my family didn’t make it out of Saigon. Maybe Marty is like my mother and father. He makes his life hard to please the angels.

Angels? You think Marty is a screw-up because of angels?

Dee smiled. I think Marty is a screw-up because he doesn’t think he’s as good as his brother.

Chip frowned and walked toward their car. I don’t understand the logic. You would think he would try harder.

You’re right. It’s not logical.

Let’s go back and see if Mr. Screw-up is ready to answer a lot of questions, he suggested, handing her the keys.

Dee slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. It was a short ride back to the station and by the time they got there, Marty was awake. He looked up as Chip stepped inside the interrogation room, slamming the door behind him. His bloodshot eyes watched Chip warily as he pulled a chair out allowing it to scrape across the tile floor.

What’s up? he muttered as Chip sat down.

Chip folded his arms across his chest and glared at him. You don’t know why they brought you in? he asked.

Marty shook his head.

What’s the last thing you remember about last night?

Your boys rousting me out of bed, he mumbled.

Before that, Chip said sharply as he leaned across the table.

Marty scratched his head. Ain’t nothing to remember. I went to Peppers after work. Then I went home.

What time? What time did you get to Peppers and what time did you leave? Chip asked as he tapped his pen against a notepad in front of him.

Marty slouched to his side. I don’t know what times.

That’s not good enough, Marty, Chip shouted. Think! You have to remember what you did last night.

Marty’s eyes widened as he stared at Chip Why don’t you ask Georgie? he whined.

We already did. We talked to the bartender and the waitress at Peppers, but that’s not going to help you. You have to remember.

I can tell by the way you’re acting that this is real bad. It ain’t no mailboxes this time, is it?

Chip shook his head as he thought back to the summer before last when Marty was arrested for driving under the influence. He mowed down a row of mailboxes along the dirt road that led to his trailer and he swore to Chip that he would never drive drunk again. Chip sighed wearily as Marty stared at the floor.

You killed a woman, Marty, Chip said softly.

Marty shook his head violently. No! No, I didn’t! I would know if I did something like that. I knew when I hit those mailboxes. No, I didn’t do that! he repeated as the muscles on his face twitched convulsively.

Tell me exactly what you did when you left Peppers.

Marty snapped his head up. I remember something, he said quickly. I was pissed off at Georgie cause I ran out of money and he cut me off. I told him today was payday, but he wouldn’t listen and that’s when I went home.

Tell me the roads you took to get home.

Marty frowned as he scratched his chin. Same damn roads I always take, he mumbled.

No, you didn’t. Where were you going? Chip asked, his patience wearing thin as he waited for Marty’s answer.

Marty shrugged his shoulders. What the hell are you talking about?

Chip gritted his teeth and glared at him. Were you headed to another bar or to get money from someone? Where were you going when you left Peppers?

Chip, I mighta been drunk, but I leave Peppers every night and I always go home the same way. I drive straight down Barren Road to the trailer park and make a left. My trailer is the fourth one on the right. Sometimes I walk and just leave my car at Peppers cause it ain’t far.

What about last night? Is there any chance you left your car?

Marty rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. Maybe. I can’t remember for sure.

Was your car locked up?

Marty shook his head. Chip pushed his chair back and stood up. An eye witness wrote down your tag number after your car hit a woman on Chestnut Street in Westmore last night around 11:15. Her name was Michelle Yanek.

Marty stared up at him with a frightened expression. I wasn’t in Westmore. Why would I be up there? It couldn’t have been my car cause I didn’t have enough gas to get that far.

You didn’t have enough gas? Chip repeated.

Marty nodded his head. I always fill up on payday and I know it was on E or close to it.

Chip tapped his pen against his open palm. I just came from the impound yard. Your car had a half tank. Are you sure you didn’t fill it up yesterday?

Positive, Marty said excitedly. I didn’t have no money. Maybe somebody stole my car? Can you find a way to prove it? You can help me. Right, Chip?

I don’t know, but I’ll try. They’re going to take you out to Slaten Hill and I want you to sit in that cell and try to remember everything you can about last night, even if you don’t think it’s important.

Slaten Hill? Marty asked, scratching his chin. You can’t get me out? I promise I won’t go no where.

Not this time, buddy, Chip murmured as he walked to the door. You’ll be out there for awhile. I’ll do everything that I can. Just make sure you do what I told you.

Marty looked up at him. For a brief moment, Chip could see the scared little kid trapped in the blue Bonneville. He turned and opened the door to the interrogation room. Two deputies stood outside waiting to transport Marty. Chip hurried past them. Inside his office, he watched out the window as they led Marty to their van. He suddenly felt tired like a crushing weight was sitting on his shoulders.

****

Chapter 3

The Yanek estate in Westmore was surrounded by a ten foot stone wall which gave it an institutional appearance. Inside the walls, the main house stood like a stately fortress perched at the top of a hill. It couldn't be seen from the front gates and that's exactly the way Anthony Yanek wanted it. His home was laid out the same as his mother's property where he grew up. Just like his father, he needed a hiding place, a space that kept the world out. But today, the stone barrier wasn't working. Nothing could hide him.

He was in his study when he heard the buzzer for the gate. He didn’t have to look outside to know who it was. He heard her Maserati coming up the driveway and he braced himself. There was no one who could grate on his nerves like Lauren McClelland, unless, of course, it was