“Detective Worth,” said Redmond, as she stepped outside his wife’s hospital room, “I’m sorry I rushed you all out like that, but I didn’t think my wife was strong enough to hear what you had to say, just yet anyway. With the baby on the way, I want to keep her as relaxed as possible.”
“I understand Mr. Gardner, please forgive us if we upset her,” said the detective, “But I really do think you both ought to know about the good doctor. You can relay this to your wife, but I feel it’s important you both know as soon as possible.”
“Of course, of course,” said Redmond, as he motioned for them both to sit down. The waiting room was dimly lit and smelled strongly of hand sanitizer and latex.
“You see, Mr. Gardner, Brian Matthews is his real name, but he’s gone under several different aliases in other states. That’s most likely the reason he’s been off the radar so long, and most likely why he was able to continue practicing. This guy’s good too, and I mean real good. We’ve had some of our guys at the station take a closer look at his records, and it seems like the record for Brian Matthews is clean across the board. However, his other…identities, we’ll call them, are less than spotless.”
“So what has he done? I mean, you said it wasn’t the first time he’d committed a crime like this,” said Redmond.
“There are records of his aliases Patrick Marlborough and Seth Hunter on file in California for sexual assault, true, but it runs even deeper. His documents were falsified by an expert forger– himself,” said Detective Worth.
Redmond rubbed the arms of his chair. “What are you saying?”
“I mean, the guy’s a genius. He’s created a dozen new identities, and no one caught on. He’s dangerous, more than we know.”
The bright lights stunned Peter Falcone as Commissioner Burt McNamara burst from the shadows with an ocean of officers clad in bullet-proof vests.
“I said drop it Falcone!” barked McNamara.
Peter Falcone smirked. Michael began to overtake his thoughts. It had been more than easy to get Steven’s address, too easy. “That bastard,” said Peter, almost to himself.
“Falcone, I’m ordering you,put the gun down,” repeated the commissioner.
Peter’s gaze shifted to Steven, who lay relaxed in his arm-chair, beaming with satisfaction. Raising his gun, he aimed for Steven, right between the eyes.
“Falcone!” shouted McNamara, his voice mixing with the shattering sound of gunfire.
Peter fell to the floor. A burning sensation traveled throughout his body, charring every nerve. He looked to his pant leg, only to see it ruined with the stain of blood.
Commissioner McNamara approached Peter and place handcuffs around the wrists of the beaten old man. “Peter Faclone, you are under the arrest for the murder of John Romano. Anything you say can, and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”
Peter shot a look of fury at the office and snarled through clenched teeth, “Screw you.” Without missing a beat, McNamara rammed a fist into Peter’s stomach.
“That’s for verbally assaulting an officer. Get ’em outta here boys, and don’t be too gentle. We all know the old guy can take it.”
As an army of officers ushered him from the room, Peter shouted, “You made my boy turn against me! You! He was my son and you made him hate the only father he’s ever known! I hope you’re happy with yourself! I hope you’re damn satisfied! This isn’t the end Bains, not even close!”