by B. A. Savage
“It’s the department, Ben; there been another shooting on Niagara Drive.”
“Are you sure they said Niagara?” He asked urgently.
Helen looked at the address on the notepad.
“Yes, this is the address dispatch gave me.”
“Why are they calling me? I’m sure the SWAT team can handle it.”
She shrugged. “They said something about Alex French.”
“What has he done now?” Ben muttered.
“Do you know Alex French, Ben?”
He nods.
“Yes! He's working with me on the Franklin’s murder. You know him?”
“His partner, a beautiful young woman, named Karen Day. She came by earlier today. She was asking about your cousin, Steven Green.”
Green heart began to pound in his neck, and his hands started to shake. “What about Steven, is he alright?”
Helen looked at him, puzzled. “I didn’t know you had a cousin living in Pine Brook, New Jersey. So I called your sister, and she confirmed it. What’s going on, Ben?”
“Was Karen here when you talked with my sister?”
“Why is she asking about your cousin, Ben?”
“Helen would you please answer my damn question!”
“Don’t you dare to speak to me that way, Ben. I’m still your wife.”
"I’m sorry, Helen. I need you to, answer my question.”
“What do you want to know?” she screamed.
“Was she here when you talked to my sister?”
“Yes, she talked to your sister.”
Green inhaled deeply and slowly let it out. “Helen, this is crucial. Do you remember what Karen said to my sister?”
Helen nodded her head. “It was something about over a million-dollar bank account in New Jersey with you being the trustee of an estate. What does that mean, Ben? Are we rich? Has someone died and left you a lot of money?”
Her question was interrupted from the buzzing of the doorbell. “Ben, it’s your driver. He said he here to drive you to Niagara Drive.”
The old chief leaned forward and kissed his wife on the forehead.
“Helen, you know I love you, right?”
She smiled as tears filled her eyes. “Yes, honey, I know. Please tell me what this is about.”
Green smiled. “We’ll talk later.”
Her soft hand rubbed his cheek. “You promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He crossed his heart with his hands and threw her a kiss.
Chapter 17
The Crown Victoria speeded crossing London Avenue toward Winchester Road. Ben Green sat in quiet, listening to the chatter of the police walked-talkie. They crossed Winchester onto Liberty Road, and over to Man-o-War across Richmond Road, on Trent, and onto Niagara Drive.
Green noticed the red Toyota pickup, with bullet holes in the tailgate.
“What is French doing here?” He snapped.
"You want to know if Alex French is here, sir?"
“Yes! Where is he?"
The driver shrugged. "I'm sorry sir. I don't know any Alex French." He answered.
The Crown Victoria pulled up behind the SWAT van, and the chief stepped out. It was a calm night in the sixty, but his face is covered a sweat.
“Are you okay, sir?” The driver asked. Green nodded but remained quiet.
Cutter met the chief with a bulletproof vest in his hand. “Sir, the neighbors heard hearing gunshots at the Dalton crime scene. We surrounded the place, and my men are waiting for my orders.”
Ben looked around, nervously wiping the sweat out of his eyes with the back of his hand. “Where’s French, Detective?”
Cutter looked puzzled, “What did you say, sir?”
“You heard me. I asked you is French here.”
Boom! Another shot went off, followed by the echo of two softer shots in the distant.
Emerson runs up to the two officers. “We got the entire neighbor out safely. As far as we know, there’s no one inside. Do you want us to go in?”
Cutter turned to the chief.
“Detective Emerson, where is French?”
Emerson looked at Cutter, who shrugged. “Sir, I haven’t seen French or Karen since last night after they left the police department.”
“Why are you lying? Are my men, working with French against me?”
“Chief, please calm down. French is not here.” Cutter said, scratching his head.
“I know what’s going on. I know why you called me."
Cutter looked at Emerson. “We didn’t send for you, sir.”
“It was French. He set this up! Look there, at that red pickup right in front of that house.”
They turned to seeing the truck gone. Another shot was fired. Cutter turned to Emerson.
“Detective, get your team ready, we’re going in.”
Four SWAT team members moved like a well-oiled machine, along the north side of the house toward the front door. At the same time, four more officers were moving on the south side of the house to the back door.
"Okay, men, let's go! “ Cutter screamed into the ear piece.
With one blow from the Rams, both front and back doors gave way. Police officers ran inside, screaming, “Police, officer, come out with your hands up!”
Green followed the officers into the home, but they couldn’t find anyone inside. A loud bang was heard coming from the room where Dalton’s body was found. The officer moved over to the room, a weapon at the ready, then knocked the door in. But they found no one inside, only the smoke from the weapon.
“What in the hell is going on?” Emerson asked the chief. “I know I just heard a shot; we all did, and the door is locked from the inside, but no one inside.”
The men walked outside as two members of the SWAT team walked up to the three detectives and removed their masks. It was French and Karen.
“What in the hell is going on, French?” Cutter asked.
“I'm sorry you had to come out on such a nice evening, chief. We're here to illustration a man could kill a cop and walk out of the crime scene with the entire police department as his witness whom he didn’t commit the crime.”
“What are you trying to say, French, a member of the SWAT team killed Franklin?” He asked.
“No, chief, it wasn’t a member of the SWAT team. It was you that killed Franklin.”
The chief yelled, “Have you lost your mind?”
“Thursday, around 6 o’clock p.m., you receive a phone call from Antonia Acker. He's a well-known drug lord, who has been operating in Fayette County under your protection for the last ten years. He wanted to inform you about a snitch who had found out about the little sweet deal that you two had to go down. He warned you that if he's arrested he wasn't taking the fall, alone."
Green looked at French but remained silent. He placed his hands behind his back to keep them from shaking. I must remain calm. They don’t have anything to me; he thought. I’m the chief of police. Who is this French? He’s not a real police officer. I just need to remain calm.
“It was close to nine when Ben Green made his move, knocking on the door of 3816 Niagara Drive. Carl Franklin opened the door. He knew Green was dirty; Carl knew everything about Acker’s business because Acker trusted him and so did Green until that night. However, what Carl was surprised to see was the old chief wearing an SWAT uniform the same uniform he was wearing in the photograph behind his desk. Green took Carl in the study and shot him from the back,” French said. “The chief knew he had only 10 to 15 minutes before someone showed up. The computer records in his office showed that he had downloaded the GPS of all the officers on duty and sent them to his laptop, so he would know exactly where the officers were. He searched the house and located Carl’s field report, taped to the inside of his jacket. By this time, the SWAT team was pulling onto Rapid Run, which gave him around two minutes. He locked himself in the room, right in the file cabinet. So, when the door swung open, and the officer rushed in, he simply stepped in beh
ind them like we did and walked out of the room.”
“So he was already in the room when we came in, and he walks out with us so that we could be his witnesses.” Cutter asked.
“Emerson do you remember; when I asked you, what time the chief showed up?”
“Yes, you’re right. I questioned the team, and no one knew.”
"So now he has my men believing his bullshit. I want him arrested right now. He just admitted to breaking into the chief of police’s office and taking classified information.” The chief said.
“I knew you did it the first day at your office.” French turned to Cutter. “Do you remember asking me, “What’s so important about Carl Dalton to get the mayor and state attention? He was a low life with an arrest record longer than my arm; no one cares about someone knocking him off, and this just saves the taxpayers money.”
Cutter nodded and added, “The chief said, “His name wasn’t Carl Dalton; it was Carl Franklin. He said he was a cop with narcotics, and he was French’s friend.”
“Touché, Detective,” French said with a smile. “There were only three people who knew Carl was an undercover cop, and that was me, his boss, and his girlfriend, who was also working for Acker. So tell me, Chief, how did you know?”
Green’s eyes shifted back and forward at the Detective and Karen. His palms were sweating, and he didn’t have a clue what would happen next.
“What about the bank account in Pine Brook, New Jersey?” Karen asked. “It seems that Acker was making some big deposits by the name of Steven Green, your nephew, who made you the trustee of his million-dollar estate. Sir, we have proof of transactions made by you into your account here in Fayette. Can you explain that, sir?”
“Lies, these are all lies.” Green erupted. “You two think you have this figured out? You think you know what going on, don’t you? Let me tell you something… you don’t know shit! Guess what, French? You only have a lot of circumstantial evidence. You are no cop, and you just don’t have what it takes to close this case.”
French smiled. “You’re right, Chief. You could probably worm your way out of everything but this.” Green turned to see Laura Grant of the channel 59 new stations. “You see, Chief, Mrs. Grant was here during the shooting. She recorded the SWAT team entering and exiting the house. Do you have the tape, Mrs. Grant?”
“Yes, I do the tape of the front and back entrances.”
French took the camera, pushed the play button, and watched the scene play out.
“Front door, four enter and the backdoor; four went in and ten minutes later; nine men came out. Off comes the helmets, and Hello, Chief.” French pushed the button again and repeated the same words, “Eight go inside, and nine comes out.”
Cutter stepped forward. “Chief Green, you are under arrest for the murder of a federal office. You have the right to remain silent.”
Emerson turned to French and asked, “Was Green behind what happened on the highway yesterday?”
“Yes, it was either you or him. But you are a Marine, a man of honor. You may not like me because you didn’t want someone digging around in your investigation, but I don’t believe you would send a group of killers out to get me and Karen. If you had wanted us dead, you could have put a bullet in us anytime from 2,000 yards away. Plus, only the chief of police could put out a hit on us by contacting Acker. When you walked into question me last night at the police department, you were carrying the files of Kurt Dun, the same Kurt Dune I had thrown out the back of my pickup truck. The file also said that he was a member of the East Coast Cartels, making his one of Acker’s boys.”
“What about the break in?” Karen asked.
“What are you talking about, Mrs. Day? The only thing I remember was, the first day when I was in Green’s office, I looked over his shoulder and saw the report on his computer.” French replied.
“I remember that. It was when you were looking at the crime photographs.” Emerson adds with a smile. “Thank you, Alex French. You are an amazing investigator, and I’m glad to be your friend.”
“Thank you, Paul Emerson. You’re one hell of a Marine, and it is a pleasure to be your friend as well.” The two men shook hands.
Emerson turned to Karen. “I’m sorry for firing you from the department. If you are still interested, I have a badge in the detective squad with your name on it, Detective Karen Day.”
Karen looked at Emerson with a big smile on her face. “That’s great, Paul, but not for me. I found my calling. I’m an investigator, working for Alex French. Come on, boss, let’s go home.”
Chapter 17
The buzzing of the cell phone woke Cutter from a deep sleep. He had been up half the night booking Chief Green, filling out police reports, checking them over to make sure he didn’t leave any opening that Green’s defense attorney could use against them.
“Hello,” he whispers, looking over to make sure he didn’t wake up his wife.
“It seems French is a lot smarter than we gave him credit.” The voice said on the other end of the line.
“Yes, sir, I agree,” Cutter replied. “So what do you want me to do now?”
“Nothing, let’s give Alex his day of glory.”
“But, sir, he did commit a felony.”
“He also caught down a murderer, the same man who killed a police officer. There’s no telling how many undercover officers he was responsible for killing. We pay snitches every day to break the law to get justice. Alex French is no different.”
“So what are you saying, sir?”
“Kill whatever you have on French dealing with this investigation. Burn the files.”
“Are you telling me to destroy evidence?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. As far as French goes, we’ll have our day.”
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READY FOR ANOTHER?
Alex French is supposed to meet a new client, a middle-aged, successful entrepreneur, David Hamilton. At 3 p.m., Hamilton is waiting for him in his penthouse condo in a luxury estate building. As Alex approaches the building, he notices that police officers are lurking around in front of the building, and a group of onlookers are hawking, something must have happened here. Hamilton was shot dead a couple of minutes ago. A security guard just found his corpse in his condo. A neighbor saw a blond-haired, blue-eyed fellow leave his condo a few minutes ago. However, no such person appeared on security camera tapes.
Who has killed Hamilton? It is Alex French’ task to find the answers.
Extortion by B.A. Savage has a riveting plot; it is exciting enough to grab readers’ interest from the get-go.
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