Worth A Shot (Worth It Book 5)

by Peter Styles

  “Yeah? What’s that, sir?” I asked. Wolfton could be a little hard to pin down sometimes, squirrelly even.

  “Anderson’s retiring at the end of next month. Just turned in his letter Monday.” Detective Anderson had been on the force longer than some of our boys had been alive. It was expected. Still, my gut clenched with excitement.

  “Is that so?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

  Wolfton just nodded. “It is. Paul’s finally ready to hang it up.” He started fiddling with papers in his desk, looking down instead of meeting my gaze. “You should apply for his job. It’s past time you made detective.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t one for platitudes. I’d been a deputy for six years, waiting for it to be my turn. I worked extra, covered folks’ shifts whenever they needed, and, because of my training, was the best shot in this half of Texas. Wolfton and I both knew I was the most qualified for the job.

  “I think it’d be a good move for you. Besides,” he said, tilting his head to one side and finally focusing his bright blue eyes on me. “If you plan on running for sheriff and having a snowball’s chance of winning, you’re gonna need to start getting your name associated with cracking cases regularly.”

  I paused for a moment, studying Wolfton’s face. He didn’t seem to show any signs of being opposed to the idea. Probably my plan was obvious to him as well. I wouldn’t risk running until I was sure I had the community behind me. That was going to take time and patience, by which point Wolfton would be retirement age and ready to work on his golf swing.

  There wasn’t any point in denying it. I nodded again, firmly. “Yeah, sir. That makes a whole lot of sense.”

  Wolfton huffed out a gruff laugh. “Always a straight shot, Case. Well, the job’ll probably get posted next week. I’m guessing I can be on the lookout for your application?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wolfton shook his head up and down once, like that was a job sorted. “All right. That’s what I wanted to hear, son. Now you go on and get out of here. You look dead on your feet.”

  I didn’t need telling twice. On my way home, I thought about it. I’d never imagined myself being in the police force, but after the army, it had seemed like a perfect fit for me, and I’d been surprised how much I liked it. The structure, fighting for what was right, all of it suited me. But the Sheriff wasn’t wrong. I needed more from it than just working as a deputy. I needed something with more challenge. I was starting to get bored.

  It’d been a long day, but at least when I got home, I figured I could finally get some peace and quiet. I pulled on my street and breathed a sigh of relief.

  A sigh of relief that existed for about three whole seconds until I pulled into my driveway and caught a flash of familiar sandy brown hair. Nico Suarez was camped out on my front porch, sitting on the steps, shoulders slumped. He looked up to see the flash of my headlights, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge me.

  “Dammit, kid,” I said, slamming the door to my cruiser. “You got a death wish or something, or are you just stupid? Do I need to get a goddamn restraining order for you to get the picture? Because that can be arranged.”

  Nico stood up now, hands out with palms toward me. He’d better have a good explanation for why the hell he was here. Speaking of…

  “Look, I just wanted to--” he started.

  “No, wait, wait. Before you start, how the fuck did you find my house?”

  Nico at least had the decency to look embarrassed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

  “Finn Collier might have given me your address,” he said all at once.

  I groaned. “Of course, he did.” Goddamnit, Houston Collier owed me more than a fucking favor. He was going to end up owing me one of those damn houses of his by the time all this was over with. “Anyway, get it over with,” I said throwing my hands up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Just hear me out, all right?” he asked. “I just want to explain everything, okay?”

  “You gonna decide to throw another fucking fit?” I asked, crossing my arms and making it clear that I’d have no problems putting the punk flat on his face again.

  Nico’s eyes widened, and he licked his lips nervously before realizing I was expecting an answer and shook his head sharply. “Look, just listen. Five minutes, that’s all.”

  I took up the seat on the steps that he’d vacated. “All right, Suarez, you’ve got five minutes before I tell you to get the hell off my lawn.”

  “‘Off your lawn?’” he asked, “What are you, seventy-five?”

  “Four minutes and forty-five seconds…”

  “Ugh, fine. All right. Look, that letter I got. It says that someone else was there that night when Nora was murdered. But that’s not all. It also says that a third person was also present, and that my uncle wasn’t there. At all. If it’s true, it could get Oliver off completely. You know all that, you read the letter.”

  “That’s a pretty big ‘if.’”

  “Dios mio,” Nico continued. “Yeah, I know, okay. But these are big stakes. Do you not get it? What I’m telling you is that there is proof out there that the wrong man is in jail for Nora Grant’s murder, that the person who actually did that terrible shit to her is still walking around free.”

  At some level, I had to admit that it appealed to my sense of justice. But just thinking about all the shit to go through, and for what? Maybe a judge decides there needs to be a retrial, maybe he doesn’t. And then what? The case is caught up in appeals hell for the next four years. Meanwhile, my ass is on the line either way. I try to imagine Wolfton, even given the conversation we had today, allowing this to go on. I could kiss that promotion goodbye no matter what outcome came down the pipeline, maybe even my position in the department completely. Wolfton was all about coming off as a good old boy until something crossed him, and then, I’d never seen somebody more ruthless. No way I was poking that bear.

  “Suarez, I keep trying to tell you I can’t help you. That’s the sort of thing that could cost me my career. I’ve busted my ass to get where I am in that department, and what you’re asking me to do is to stomp on a bunch of folks; toes, and it could cost me all of that. For what? For the sake of a man who’s a convicted murderer?”

  “You mean for an innocent man who’s been falsely accused?”

  “Yeah, says you,” I answered.

  “I swear to God, y’all are all the same.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “Isn’t justice supposed to be the damn point of this whole fucking system!?” Nico shouted.

  “Look, if you don’t like it, hire a private investigator. Get that person to investigate and see what you turn up.”

  “With what money? There’s no way I can do that.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but it isn’t really my job to hunt down every crazy lead in every case once there’s a verdict on the books.”

  “Crazy? So now I’m crazy? Do you think I made this up myself or some shit?”

  “There’s a system in place,” I bit out. “And you might not fucking like it, but it’s there, and what it did was it found your uncle guilty for Nora Grant’s murder.”

  “Unbelievable. You know, there’s nothing I’d like better than to fucking move on with my life instead of having to relive this bullshit over and over again, but I can’t. He’s my fucking family. Wouldn’t you do the same?”

  That sparked anger in me for the first time this evening. I thought about Noah and about what it felt like in those months afterward when he was recovering.

  “Yeah? I’m sure Nora Grant’s family feels the same way. Or have you forgotten that you’re not the victim in all this?”

  Nico took a step toward me, and for a second, his fist clenched before he stepped back again, dark eyes shooting daggers at me.

  “Fuck you, Case.”

  He stormed off, and in a matter of seconds I was alone on my porch. I thought things over. I had to hand it to hi
m, he was certainly passionate. Part of me did sympathize, regardless of what Nico believed. But that trial? Jesus, that trial had been a circus--for the town, for the media, for the Grant family. And who the hell knows who saw that trial and decided to shove themselves into them middle of it just for the hope of fifteen minutes of fame? It wasn’t that I was unwilling to stick my neck out. I spent seven years sticking my neck out every day. But just like the army, I wasn’t going to sacrifice it all so Nico Suarez could chase a ghost.

  5

  Well, fuck this and fuck Case and, especially, fuck his suggestion that I hire a private investigator. I could barely cover school for myself even with my job and this fucker expected me to go out and pay a third motherfucker more than I probably made an hour? Sure, if I had the money to do that, then I’d probably be the kind of person who could have hired a lawyer for my tio. Then, we’d be the kind of people who didn’t rely on the public defender and then we might not be here in the first place. Maybe it was easy to write me off as nothing more than a student or still young and naïve, but somewhere deep down, I guess I’d hoped that doing the right thing would be enough. But all of Case’s excuses involved money or power, and I was disgusted with the whole system. Well, fine, I figured, I’ll see what I can do myself.

  I roped Quinn into helping me dig through whatever court documents and articles we could dig up. Quinn wasn’t necessarily thrilled at spending the afternoon doing volunteer work, but I could be convincing. Yeah, we didn’t work out when we were dating, and, yeah, that wasn’t something that we ever needed to revisit but, not for nothing, Quinn had buttons, and I still knew how to push them. A little emphasis on the accent, a few key words in Spanish and pretty soon Quinn was coming over and even grudgingly agree to stop by for lattes.

  “Caramel drizzle, nonfat, por favor.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. And for the record, I know what you’re doing. I’m just a really good friend.”

  Pretty soon, we had laptops, printouts, and copies of court files all over the living room of my apartment. Of course, if I knew Quinn, he wasn’t letting me off that easy and he sure wasn’t going to be shy about voicing his preference to do almost anything else right now.

  “What are we doing, exactly?”

  “Here. Take a highlighter and just, like, circle or mark anyone, literally anyone, that comes up with an ‘N’ name. Anyone called ‘N-whatever’ might be the person who wrote the letter, so let’s start figuring out where I need to look. Start with that pleading right there, you never know.”

  Quinn sighed and, even though I was back to clicking through articles on my computer, I could practically hear him roll his eyes. He really was a great friend, though. After he felt like he got enough complaining in, he got to work circling, I got to clicking through articles on my laptop, and he didn’t say a peep for another two hours.

  We worked in silence. For the most part, anyway. Surfing the internet, you found all kinds of comments, but one article I found was less interested in reporting facts and was more of an opinion piece. The author’s name didn’t begin with an ‘N,’ but I couldn’t tear myself away. They were using my uncle as evidence of a crime wave, and I was too angry to look away.

  I imagined this reporter was like Sheriff Wolfton and Case, people who were happy to wrap things up with a neat little bow even if it meant the wrong man was in prison. Anything to make a point or win an election or score a promotion, right? Even if it meant the wrong man’s family spending night after night pacing, fucking sweating bullets about what each new phone call or appointment or whatever would bring.

  I must have looked as heated as I felt because Quinn interrupted my train of thought.

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “Nah. It’s fine. I just found an article by a motherfucker in favor of throwing the book at my uncle. ‘Make him an example.’ That kind of bullshit.”

  “Dude,” Quinn shook his head and pursed his lips, “Don’t read that. All you’re doing is getting yourself mad. If it doesn’t have an N name, don’t bother.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s just…. they don’t get it, right? Like, there’s a mugshot and, obviously, everyone looks guilty in a mugshot but…they just don’t know.”

  “Yeah, your uncle’s a good guy. It’s pretty easy to see that.”

  “He didn’t have to take me in. He was single, he didn’t have anyone to help him take care of me, but when Mami called him and said he needed to take me, he stepped up.”

  “You don’t have to tell me about it. With your temper and your taste in bad boys, I’m sure you were a handful as a teenager.”

  “I mean, yeah. God knows I probably wouldn’t have finished high school if it hadn’t been for him. I would have gotten expelled over some fight or something. But my tio was there for me. He pushed me to finish school, he’d come home dog-tired and wake me up to review my homework to make sure it was done. He’d go to every teacher conference they called after I got in trouble. He didn’t even freak out when they caught me at school with Miguel Acevedes’ hands down my pants in the bathroom. He was kind of shocked, right? But, for as much as I love them, I don’t even know that my ma and pa would have been that cool with it. Like, I can’t imagine a better uncle. I honestly can’t imagine a better dad, and it’s a good thing, too, because that’s it. He’s all I got.”

  Quinn smiled big, looking kind of endeared by the whole story. I wasn’t trying to be emotional in front of him, so I shrugged it off.

  “It’s whatever, man, we just have to keep on looking. I don’t mean to be all mushy or anything,” I explained.

  “Oh, no. It’s not that. That was heartwarming, for sure. But one, I didn’t know Miguel had jerked you off in high school and two, you’re going to be excited about this ‘N’ name I found here.”

  “What?” I did a double take and shoved my computer off my lap. “You found something? Where?”

  “Right here,” Quinn said as he circled the name and flipped the paper around, so I could read it. “Ms. Nina Thurston mentioned in a witness list but never actually subpoenaed.”

  “Quinn,” I said, staring down at the blue highlighted circle with my mouth open. “I was there. And, I’ve almost memorized those transcripts. No Nina Thurston was called to the stand during that trial at all.”

  Quinn shrugged, looking very pleased with himself, but I was already reaching for my bag.

  “I gotta go.”

  “Where are you off to?” Quinn asked. “Don’t I even get a ‘thank you’? Gracias, Quinn?”

  “Yup. Great. Gracias, Quinn. I gotta go. I’m gonna show this to Case.”

  “What?” It was Quinn’s turn to stare at me, “Are you trying to get thrown down and arrested again? That side of your face is still kind of purple.”

  “No!” I answered a little more defensively than I intended. “No, I’m not trying to get manhandled again. But he said we needed something more. This is something more. Gracias, Quinn. Thank you. Seriously. I have to go. Just leave it unlocked when you leave. There’s nothing to steal in here, anyway.”

  “Your funeral, man. Your funeral,” Quinn said, continuing to paw through papers.

  * * *

  “Case!” I yelled. Case’s shift was finally over, and I jogged up to meet him by his car. I tried to look like I hadn’t just stalked the precinct for the past four fucking hours waiting for him to get off at work. Between that and showing up to his house, that seemed like a great way to get arrested.

  Case turned around to see me approach and immediately started shaking his head.

  “Nope. Back off, kid. Go back the way you came. I don’t have anything to say to you, and you don’t have anything to say to me.”

  “You’re wrong!” I said, finally standing face to face with him. “You’re wrong. Look. Look at this,” I said, excitedly reaching into my bag. Case, cop that he was, instinctively took a step back, and I swear I even saw his hand reach for his belt. Before he could do anything else, though, I’d pulled
the paper with Nina’s name on it and held it out to him.

  “Nina Thurston. Mentioned here but never deposed. Nina Thurston. As in ‘N!’”

  “Great. Someone whose name starts with an N is somehow connected to this. What exactly do you think you have here?”

  “I don’t know yet. That’s why I need you to—Okay. I’m prepared to make you a deal.”

  I didn’t think it was possible but at the mention of a deal, Case looked even more suspicious than he usually did. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at me.

  “And what kind of deal is that?”

  I swallowed heavily, suddenly nervous for no reason that I could easily place but pressed on. “Run a report…. or something…I don’t know. However you all do it. Run a report on Nina Thurston, tell me anything that you can about her, and I promise…I…” I swallowed heavily again. “I promise, I’ll leave you alone.”

  Case still looked like he didn’t believe a word of it, and he just kind of stared me down for a while after I’d finished talking. Eventually, though, he uncrossed his arms and gestured for the paper. After I’d handed it to him, he opened his car door and started his car. For a brief second, I thought he was going to drive away with the file but, apparently accepting the deal, he ran his finger over his dash computer’s touchpad and typed in Nina’s name.

  “Nina Thurston. Not in Worthington anymore. That’s a downtown Gaton address. She’s gone. Case closed. That’s all you get. You’re done,” he said definitively, handing me back the paper.

  “Case closed?” I asked, unable to believe my own ears. She wasn’t exactly local anymore, but I could get to Gaton. “Case open. Looks like I’m going to Gaton.”

  “Like hell you are,” scoffed Case. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Why?” I asked, this time crossing my own arms, cocking my head at him, and letting everything I learned at school kick in. “Am I being detained, Officer?”