by TG Wolff
Lawyer #1 pressed his client to the wall behind. “We’re done here. Turn that off.”
Montoya closed the interview and ordered Posey’s accommodations for another night. Cruz left the room with the others, content to leave Posey frothing beneath a half ton of lawyer.
“Nice work,” Montoya said, then he pointed with his chin to the observation room. The chief and the mayor were huddled in conversation. The chief beckoned Montoya in. “This ought to be good.”
The door was closed, leaving Cruz on the outside.
“He hates you,” D’Arcy said.
Cruz turned to her, making sure there was an arm’s length between them. “Montoya? Nah, I’m his favorite detective.”
“Posey. Obviously. He’s not walking away from this. The Department of Justice requested all my files. They’re digging deep.” Cue awkward silence. “Cruz, I just want to say I’m sorry. I was out of line the other day. I,” she shifted her weight uncomfortably, “I misread the situation. I thought you were interested, and I crossed a line. I am sorry.”
“I try to keep work and home separate. From now on, I’ll be more direct. I have a girlfriend. I’m not interested in anyone else. No offense,” he tacked on, not wanting to insult her.
She shoved her hands in her pockets, gaze going to the floor. “I hear you. I hope this won’t affect our working relationship.”
“No. We’re good. See you around, Eagle Eye?”
She laughed. “Definitely.”
Happy, he thought. They had reasons to be happy. He called Aurora. “I’m going to pick you up, take you to meet a friend.”
Sometime between the beginning and the end, the snow stopped, and the plows caught up. The city had resumed its normal pace as he and Aurora worked their way across town. Grinning, he knocked against the industrial door frame. “Good time for company?”
“Detective! Come in.” Sophie’s welcome, bright as the sun, was exactly what he needed. “Look at me, sitting in a chair. And I walked today. Okay, I had a lot of help, but still, I was on these two feet.”
“She did most of the work,” Ronnie Taylor said, a casual hand on her shoulder.
“Nice work. Soon you’ll be giving Ronnie a run for his money. Sophie, Ronnie, this is my amazing girlfriend, Aurora.”
Aurora blushed, rolled her eyes. “Nice to finally meet you. This is for you and the baby. Just a few little things I thought you might like.”
“Oh,” Sophie cooed, “you packed Cruz’s overnight bag! I’ve been using the coloring book still. I’m so curious.” The present Aurora had pieced together from random stores along the route to the hospital was better than any medicine. Amidst the laughter, Bollier and Jonathan Fisher joined in. The sterile environment fell away in the wake of toys and books, music, games, and treats.
In the lull after the thank yous, Cruz turned serious. “Sophie, I want to share recent developments.”
She took a deep breath, reaching over her shoulder for Ronnie’s hand. “Okay.”
Cruz pulled the chair on wheels over and lowered himself onto it. “We have arrested Andrew Posey for the murder of Val Hannigan, who you know as P.J. Mayfield.” He shared information soon to be public. “The important thing to understand is the threat to you is gone.”
“I knew that man was a scoundrel!” Jonathan spun on Oscar. “I told you and you defended him!”
Bollier held his hands up. “I merely said the facts weren’t all in.” Under his partner’s glare, Bollier acquiesced. “Now the facts are in and Posey is, as you said, a scoundrel. You were right.”
“Ha!” Jonathan turned back, pointing at everyone in the room. “I have witnesses! He said I was right!”
Oscar pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jonathan, you’re speaking in exclamation points again.”
Sophie giggled. “I like when he talks that way.”
Bollier rolled his eyes, then winked at her. “That’s good, seeing as you’re going to be living with him.”
At Cruz’s inquiring look, Jonathan put a supportive arm around Sophie. “She is moving into one of my many spare rooms to finish school and have the baby. I have a lot of work to do to babyproof my bachelor pad, but I’ll get it done.”
“We’ll get it done,” Sophie said, then looked up adoringly at the man behind her.
“Together,” Ronnie said, pressing a kiss to her head. “Our baby is going to have the best of everything.”
“Of course she is, but don’t get ahead of yourselves,” Bollier said, looking like a stick was shoved halfway up his ass. Then he broke into a broad grin. “Nothing is going to happen until we pick out the furniture. My present to baby August. Nonnegotiable.”
A heated discussion erupted on the topic of teddy bears versus Noah’s ark as a motif. Jonathan spun around, gasping and pointing at Aurora. “We need a mural, like the one in your dining room. Look Sophie, isn’t it perfect?” He brought up the images he’d taken at the birthday dinner. “Will you do it, Aurora? I’ll pay you! If I can’t afford you, Oscar can!”
“Well, we can talk about it,” Aurora said, being magnanimous and obviously intending to turn away from the offer of payment. Oscar went full Bollier, blindsiding her, pushing her into the proverbial corner, dismissing contrary ideas. “I still don’t know how it happened,” she said as they reached the truck, still a little discombobulated. “I was going to do it as a gift but somehow ended up with a commission that will pay off a credit card. Oscar wouldn’t listen to a word I said. He just barreled right over me.”
Cruz opened her door, holding it while she climbed in. “He does that. You were lucky, he was being nice. What do you think about going with your hombre to pick out paint for your ombre? Maybe look at some flooring or those matching desks.”
“Hmm, I do have a soft spot for home improvement projects, but I think it will have to wait.” A sly smile grew across her lips. “Let’s go home and have a celebration of our own. You closed the case. Nice work, Detective.”
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Of course you know this is fiction. Everything written of the various city of Cleveland departments is my own creation. Many thanks to the dedicated people who work for Cleveland and cities and towns everywhere, in every department, keeping life as we know it humming along. I know and work with many of you and offer my deepest respect.
Special thanks to my brother, Vinnie, for coaching me through drugs and their effects. Many thanks (and apologies for the typos) to my reading team Matt, Traci, Denny, Kristen and Karen. Thank you to Chris Rhatigan, editor extraordinaire, for battling through commas, em-dashes, and numbers with me. Thank you to the constantly changing Midwest weather for the colorful background. As I sit here, it is August and we are expecting a storm that will change 90 degrees to 66 degrees in minutes. Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain.
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TG WOLFF writes thrillers and mysteries that play within the gray area between good and bad, right and wrong. Cause and effect drive the stories, drawing from 20+ years’ experience in Civil Engineering, where “cause” is more often a symptom of a bigger, more challenging problem. Diverse characters mirror the complexities of real life and real people, balanced with a healthy dose of entertainment. TG Wolff holds a Master’s Degree in Civil Engineering and is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime.
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BOOKS BY TG WOLFF
The De La Cruz Case Files
Exacting Justice
Driving Reign
The Diamond Mysteries
Widow’s Run
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Here is a preview from Cutthroat, a crime novel by Paul Heatley, published by All Due Respect, an imprint of Down & Out Books.
Click here for a complete catalog of titles available from Down & Out Books and its divisions and imprints.
Part One: Newcastle, 1978
Chapter One
There were no pic
tures on John Riddell’s walls. No framed photographs of family members on the window sills or the electric fire’s mantelpiece. He didn’t own records. He didn’t have a television. There were no books. The paint on the walls was peeling. There was a patch of damp in the top-left corner of the ceiling opposite the front door.
The only thing close to approaching decoration could be the naked woman lying on the bed, writhing on the crumpled bed sheets, waiting for him to undress.
There were only three rooms. A sitting room/kitchen. Bedroom. Bathroom. The bathroom stank of mould. John didn’t take care of his home. It looked like he was ready to up and leave at a moment’s notice. Likely, he was. Leave the city the same way he arrived.
No one knew much about him, other than his appearance and temperament. He was a big man, broad-shouldered and big-knuckled. He was laid back. He took the piss out of people he knew, and those he didn’t. He was calm. Until he wasn’t. And when he wasn’t, no one wanted to be around him. He left chaos the equivalent of a bomb blast. And though people couldn’t be sure when he’d first arrived in Newcastle and started making a name for himself, they knew he was a Geordie, if only through his accent. No one could claim to have gone to school with him. No one had knocked around with him in their youth. No one knew who his parents or extended family were. There were stories that he’d been in borstal, the explanation as to why he was such a mystery man, but John would neither confirm nor deny anything.
Even the woman on his bed knew little about him beyond his name, appearance, and her attraction for him.
She wasn’t his girlfriend.
Wasn’t his wife, either.
Her name was Mary Irons.
She was someone’s wife. The only item she still wore was her wedding ring.
“You gonna take much longer, then?” she said, propping herself up on her elbows.
John undid the buttons on his shirt, hung it from a hanger on the back of his bedroom door. “Just admiring the view, pet.”
Mary looked him over in turn. His body was mostly muscle, though a little softer in the midsection. A few scars that looked like slashes from a knife on his left shoulder, and another across his right pectoral. She’d asked about them, the first time. His answer had been simple. “Fighting.”
“I don’t have all night,” Mary said.
“We’ve got long enough,” John said. He winked at her, loosened his belt buckle.
“I like it slow.”
“I know exactly how you like it.”
She giggled, spread her legs a little wider as he stepped out of his pants. He hooked them through the hanger with the shirt, then climbed onto the bed with her, into her arms and between her legs.
After, they lay together and shared a cigarette. “I’ve gotta get away in a minute,” John said.
“See? Telt ye there was a rush.” Mary drew on the cigarette, held it up to his lips.
“And I told you we had time. And we did.”
“Who you gotta go see?”
“Your fella. That’s how I knew there wasn’t any rush.”
Mary sat up a little. “Shit, where at?”
“Nowhere near here, divvint worry. I’ll be goin into town.”
She settled down, the back of her head resting on his scarred shoulder. “Got some business goin?”
“Could be. Divvint kna yet, but only time he ever wants to see me is when there’s a job in the works. He mentioned anything to you?”
“He never talks about that stuff with me.”
“What about yer dad? He ever mention anything?”
“Nah, nowt.”
“What about when you were a little girl? Did he regale you with stories of his daring daylight robbery exploits?”
“Never saw him when I was a bairn. He was usually locked up.”
“I’m sure you went to visit.”
“Depended where they had him. Sometimes it was just me mam went down, left us with me grandma for a few days. Whenever I did see him he was never talking about what he’d done. It was all, Divvint worry pet, I’ll be out before you know it.” She deepened her voice in an approximation of her father’s. John had to admit it was a good impression. “And I’ll never get caught again, promise. Aye, that’s what he said. Never promised to go on the straight and narrow so there’d be no excuse to lock him up. Promised never to get caught again.”
John chuckled, finished the cigarette and stubbed it out against the wall next to the headboard, dumped the butt on the sill to clear away later.
“I’m getting chilly,” Mary said, rubbing her arms. “It’s always bloody freezing in this flat. I dunno how you stand it.”
“Hard as nails, man.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“That and I’m always out. Busy boy. Only ever here with you, really.”
Mary swung her legs over the side of the bed, gathered up her underwear and dress. “I’m flattered. Our little love nest. Special little place all our own.”
“Glad you approve. Love nest—that’s exactly what I was aiming for.” John went to the door, put back on the clothes he’d recently taken off.
“You ever thought about decorating? Fresh lick of paint?”
John shrugged. “What’s the point?”
“Make it feel like a home, that’s the point.”
“This whole block’s rough as a badger’s arse, man. Nowt homely about it.”
“Not with that attitude.”
“Not with any attitude.”
“Whey, y’kna, it’s not like we’re on the Riviera. But we are on the Tyne. No reason why we can’t improve our own personal surroundings and make it something special.”
“I’ve never been to the Riviera, but I reckon it’s canny different to the Tyne.”
“I’ve never been either, but aye, you’re probably right. And you know the point I’m trying to make.”
“Trying to make.”
Mary took a seat on the edge of the bed, pulled on her heels. “So. That’s something new I know about you now.”
John raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“You’ve never been to France.”
“I’ve never been to the Riviera. Never said I hadn’t been to France.”
“Have you?”
John said nothing.
“Oh, howay, man! It’s just a place. You can tell us that much.”
John shrugged. “I’ve been all over, me. Can’t keep track of them all.”
Mary shook her head, grinned, got to her feet and went to him. She put her hands on his chest, kissed him. “You’d better get a move on,” she said. “And I’d better get away back home.”
John grunted. “I’ll see you soon.”
“If you’re lucky.”
Mary left the building first. John stood by the window, watched her pass by on the street below. Waited five minutes. He didn’t have to rush. Didn’t mind making them wait.
He headed to the pub on foot, lit a cigarette on the way. Daniel Irons and Malcolm Reay sat in a corner, talking over pints. John took a seat with them, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t get me a drink, like, lads?”
Daniel looked at him, unimpressed. “Didn’t know when you were gonna feel like fuckin showing up, did we?”
Malcolm cleared his throat. “You all right, John-lad? Where’ve you been?”
“Shagging.”
Malcolm laughed. Daniel didn’t look impressed.
He’d look less impressed if he’d known John had been shagging his wife.
Of course, he never looked impressed anyway. Had the perpetually severe face of a miserable bastard that never cracked a smile. John reckoned he was a real barrel of laughs at home. No wonder Mary came to see him.
Malcolm was more laid back. A modern kind of guy with long hair, a moustache, flared pants. He took a sip of his beer. Froth stuck to the hair on his top lip. He licked it off.
“We gonna be here
long, or what?” John said.
“Long enough for you to get yerself a pint, if that’s what you’re asking,” Daniel said.
“Canny. Then I’ll be right back. Divvint gan anywhere.”
Daniel glared at him, but said nothing.
John went to the bar, waited to be served. The atmosphere was thick and smoky, an asthmatic’s nightmare. John lit another cigarette, ordered his pint. He glanced back at Daniel and Malcolm in the corner. They were talking again. Daniel was probably complaining about him, his attitude, being late. Let him complain. They needed John more than John needed them.
“Crack then, lads?” John said, sitting back down.
Daniel stared at him. “You ready? You sure?”
“Good to go.”
Daniel took a long breath through his nose. “What’re you messin around, for? You think I’d call you here if this wasn’t work related? I’m not lookin to fuckin socialise with ye.”
“I know that, Daniel. I wouldn’t wanna hear from you if it wasn’t work related.”
Daniel bristled. “You think this isn’t serious? You got somethin better to be doin?”
“I’ve always got somethin better to be doin, mate. I’m an in-demand lad. It’s a privilege for you to have me here sittin with you.”
Daniel ran his tongue round the inside of his mouth like there was a bad taste there. “I divvint like you, John.”
John shrugged.
“I divvint like yer attitude. Yer a cocky bastard, that’s all you are. We don’t need you.”
“You waited an awful long time for me to get here if you don’t need me.” John grinned.