Bad Faith (Mason Ashford Thriller Series Book 1)

by Nick Stevens

“Do you mind buzzing us in? We drove in from out of town to surprise an old friend.”

  “Sure. Who are you looking for?”

  “Jasper. Does he still live here?” Sal asked.

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he lives in apartment five. Probably still in there, playing games with his friends. They don’t even go to class anymore.”

  The pair followed the young woman as she buzzed her way into the building, giving them access.

  As the impromptu group climbed the stairs, Sal and Mason peeled off on the second floor. The woman continued up the stairs, pausing a few steps up. “Hey, can you ask them to quiet down? Some of us are still trying to graduate.”

  “We’ll let them know.”

  Standing outside Jasper’s apartment, the sounds of men talking and laughing pushed into the hallway.

  Mason looked at Sal. “Want to do your cop knock?”

  Sal beamed back at him. Mason guessed she felt good playing police again. “My pleasure.”

  Five solid wraps against the door echoed in the empty cinderblock hallway. The cheap metal number showing the apartment number rattled against the door, the lower screw long missing.

  Nothing. The noise from inside built to a crescendo, peaking in a mix of cheers and shouts of disappointment.

  Sal looked to Mason. “What are they doing in there?”

  Shrugging, Mason glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Sounds like they’re playing Madden. Let’s knock again.”

  Mason pounded on the door, his steady rhythm continuing for ten, then fifteen beats. The number five, its hold on the door already tenuous, dropped onto the worn hallway carpet.

  A loud shouted from inside, “What do you want?”

  Sal snorted. “Classy.”

  She called out, “We’re here to speak with Jasper about the disappearance of Chloe Stewart.”

  The pair heard hushed voices behind the door, then silence. Seconds later, the door edged open. A lanky man appeared in the doorway wearing a stained t-shirt and ripped sweatpants. Sparse whiskers dotted his chin, the gaps filled in with acne scars.

  “Chloe’s missing?”

  A mocking voice from inside laughed, “What did you do to her, bro?”

  Stepping back from the door, the man turned inside. “Shut the fuck up, Donnie! The cops are here.”

  Motioning to the open door, Mason motioned to Sal. “After you, Detective.”

  The reek of body odor and stale beer overwhelmed Sal as she entered. With the windows closed and curtains pulled, the glow of a large flat screen television offered the only light in the room.

  Mason recoiled at the stench. He pointed to one of the two men sunken into the couch, game controller in his hands. “You mind opening that window? It smells like a barn in here.”

  The guy scoffed, annoyed at some interloper telling him what to do. “Yeah bro, I’ll get right on that.”

  Recognizing the voice from outside, Mason said, “You must be Donnie.” Mason stepped over the makeshift coffee table of cinderblocks and boards, littered with half-eaten takeout. He snatched the controller from the man’s grip, disgusted at the sweat covering the hunk of plastic.

  “Hey! What are you doing?”

  Walking to the window, Mason opened the curtains, bathing the room in harsh sunlight. Opening the window, Mason tossed the controller through it. It shattered against the concrete sidewalk, buttons and batteries flying.

  “What the fuck? Those are expensive. Gunna be tough replacing that on a cop’s salary.” Donnie stood, putting himself between Mason and the rest of the room. Donnie carried the arrogance of unearned privilege. Mason shoved him back into the couch. Donnie landed on the third man on the couch, who sat, mouth agape, staring at Mason.

  “We’re not cops,” Mason said. Sal closed the door, throwing the deadbolt. She faced the men, putting her hands on her hips and flashing the Glock 19 clipped in her waistband. Mason saw it too, not realizing Sal was armed.

  “Here’s how this is going to go,” Sal addressed the stunned young men, but the message was for Jasper. “You’re going to tell us everything we want to know about Chloe Stewart.”

  Donnie regained his composure. “Oh yeah? Or what?”

  Mason grabbed a stunned Donnie by the throat. “Or you can fly out the window with your controller.”

  “Be fucking quiet, Donnie,” Jasper pleaded. “He doesn’t know anything about Chloe. They only met a few times, and he was an asshole.”

  “That’s believable,” Sal nodded.

  Donnie slumped further into the couch, the public consensus on his personality forcing him into silence.

  “I’ll tell you everything I know. Let’s go outside.”

  “With pleasure.”

  Jasper squinted against the sunlight, yellow rings around the armpits and neck of his white t-shirt, “Georgetown” printed across the front. Mason guessed this was the first time in a week that Jasper had been out of his cramped, dingy apartment. His foot toyed with a piece of shattered plastic, looking up at the window it flew out of.

  “I haven’t seen Chloe since she dumped me, like over a week ago. We were supposed to go out and surprise each other with our law school admissions letters over beers. But she couldn’t wait. Chloe’d gotten into Stanford.”

  Sal probed further. “What happened after she told you? You got upset?”

  Jasper’s hands flew up defensively. “Of course I was upset! We planned to stay together. We applied to all the top-tier East Coast schools so we could make it work. She didn’t even tell me about the Stanford application until she got in. I felt like she betrayed me.” He looked at his hands.

  Sensing an opening, Sal dug in. “She betrayed you, I get it. That must’ve pissed you off. And you wanted revenge for the betrayal, right? You followed her to the club, found her drunk and figured you’d pay her back.”

  Eyes wide, Jasper panicked. “What? No! It wasn’t like that. I’d never hurt her. I loved- I mean I love- Chloe. But, for her, everyone came second to her father. I couldn’t compete with him. I guess I always knew that.”

  Mason couldn’t follow. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean she was always looking for her father’s approval. He’s some high-powered judge, district or superior, something like that. Before that he was district attorney in New York, a professor at Columbia, all that. He was so wrapped up with work that he never saw her. Chloe didn’t think she mattered to him, which is why she pushed so hard in school. Hoping to earn his attention, right? Her dad went to Stanford, so she applied. Maybe she thought if she got in, he’d finally recognize her as worthy of being his daughter.”

  Sal crossed her arms. “I’m not buying it. She dumps you out of the blue after leading you on for, what? Years? And you’re fine just letting her go? That’s bullshit.”

  Pointing to his apartment, Jasper snapped, “Go ask them! I’ve been on that couch since she dumped me. I called Donnie after it happened and he showed up with Chris. It’s been just us, playing games for…” He struggled, the days blurring together. “Since the 20th. That’s when she told me.”

  “Let’s say we believe you,” Mason offered a lifeline. “Do you know anyone that would’ve wanted to hurt Chloe? Or her father?”

  Jasper shook his head, “No. Chloe didn’t have a lot of friends. It was all about school for her. She’d only go out if I pulled her out of the library.” His gaze grew distant. “That’s where we met.”

  The realization overcome Jasper. Chloe had been missing for days. His lip quivered. “Is she going to be okay?”

  Sal’s stare was icy. “We don’t know. But you’d better hope you’re telling us the truth. We aren’t cops, but if we find out you’re lying, you’ll have bigger problems than police.”

  A drip ran down her forehead, catching in her matted hair. The washcloth patted her face, the cool water lifting her from her stupor. Chloe forced her eyes closed, afraid the dream would end if she opened them. A faint scent of orange blossom surrounde
d her. She reveled in it after days of choking on her own sick in the stifling cabin.

  As she drifted into consciousness, she refused to believe the new sensations were real. The only comfort she’d experienced in countless days. She must be hallucinating.

  A soft voice spoke. “I know you’re awake. It’s okay. It was a long path, but you’re better now.” The damp cloth continued wiping grime from her face and neck.

  Chloe lifted her eyelids. The soft light of midmorning greeted her. The disconnected sensation had gone, replaced with ravenous hunger.

  A woman sat next to the cot. Her flowing dark hair fell around her face. The locks framed a heart-shaped face, with hazel eyes that stared at Chloe. Chloe noticed gold flecks embedded in the hazel, highlighted by a ray of light from the window.

  Her mouth moved. She tried asking for water, but her parched throat and chapped lips couldn’t form the words.

  “Easy. Take it easy. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. Let’s get you up.”

  The woman lifted Chloe into a seated position on the cot.

  Chloe’s vision swam. She thrust out a hand, searching for support. Her flailing hand met a cool, soft grip, stabilizing her. She concentrated on staying upright. The effort exhausted her, but she forced herself to stay upright.

  Moments passed as Chloe took shallow, steadying breaths. As she gained confidence, the woman withdrew her hand, leaving Chloe alone on the cot.

  The woman reached into a straw basket. Chloe tensed. The top of a large plastic water bottle appeared. Chloe grabbed for it, fighting to unscrew the cap. Her hand spun against the white plastic. Tears of frustration welled as the cap stayed in place. She’d gotten so weak.

  The woman reached toward the bottle, offering to help. Chloe spun away, the fear of losing the water pushing her to desperation.

  Chloe felt the woman back away. She saw another bottle, this one opened and offered to her. Grabbing for it, she guzzled the water.

  The sensation shocked her. She began coughing.

  “Easy. Go slow.”

  Chloe controlled her cough, fearful of making herself sick. She sipped after the first taste.

  The woman offered a crooked smile. “I’m Diana.” She held her hand to her chest as she recited her name, as if Chloe were hearing English for the first time.

  Chloe sat, mute.

  Diana reached into the basket. A thick bowl emerged with a simple cover of foil. She peeled back the foil and steam poured out. She offered it to Chloe, who snatched it away, hugging it to her chest. A filthy hand dug into the bowl, shoveling the contents into her mouth.

  Steamed rice with butter and salt. Chloe devoured the slick grains. She stared at the clumps of rice stuck to her fingers, transfixed. She licked the sheen of butter off her fingers before scooping another handful of rice.

  Diana moved a graceful hand to the basket. “There’s more, but you must take your time. You haven’t had food in ages. Your body needs time to adjust.” Diana’s hazel eyes, soft and welcoming, stared back at Chloe.

  Chloe grunted and nodded, still unsure of this woman.

  “I’m going to go now, but I’ll be back later. Don’t worry. You’re going to love it here.”

  Diana leaned forward, placing a warm kiss on Chloe’s forehead. She stood, backed away a few steps, then turned and left.

  The heavy metal lock clanged shut behind her.

  Chloe looked into the basket, finding more bottles of water and bowls of rice.

  Chapter 9

  Mason scratched at the stubble covering his chin. He needed a shave. “What do you think of the kid’s story?”

  Sal glanced at Mason as she stripped off her jacket. The afternoon heat unseasonable, even for D.C. “If I’m honest, he doesn’t seem like the vengeful type. He’s probably telling the truth: Chloe dumped him, and he wallowed in PlayStation with his asshole friends.”

  “You’re probably right,” Mason agreed. “But that doesn’t put us any closer to Chloe.”

  “At least we can eliminate one suspect.” Sal stood at the front of her car, discarded jacket held over a shoulder. Mason noted the bulge of the Glock, and the shape of her hips beneath it. She’d always worn a jacket when they were together, disguising her shape.

  Mason hesitated. “Think you were a little rough on the guy? He just found out his girlfriend has been missing for over a week.”

  Sal threw her jacket in the back seat. She rested her hands on her hips, annoyed. “Are you serious with me right now? Those men, those white men, have every advantage. Jasper can stand some harsh questions from me. Hell. Might be the only time in his life he has to.”

  Unable to argue, Mason nodded. “You’re right, Sal. I apologize. That was out of line.”

  “You can make it up to me by buying lunch.”

  “Let’s talk to your Royals friends first, then I’m all yours, Detective.”

  “We’re really doing this?”

  Smiling, Mason began folding his body into Sal’s car. “I don’t see another choice.”

  The crisp yellow paint on the brick of L&L Market looked out of place in the run-down Anacostia neighborhood. People shuffled in and out of the store, carrying small brown bags filled with whatever spirit they could afford. Two men stood where the corner of the store met the entrance to an alley.

  “You’re sure he’s there?”

  “I’m certain. Even before he got stuck in a chair, Jamal Wright spent every waking moment in that alley. Dice to drugs happen right there. Jamal runs all of it now that Kenneth Miller is in prison awaiting trial.”

  “Other than the two guys standing watch, how many others can we expect?”

  “Hard to say. Half dozen? Expect a few to be armed.”

  “You got any good news, Detective?”

  “If they kick the shit out of us, the market over there sells cheap bags of ice.”

  “At least it won’t be a total loss. Let’s get this over with.”

  Mason and Sal opened their doors and stepped into the early afternoon sun. A young boy zipped down the sidewalk on a chrome scooter, locking eyes with Mason. As the child got just beyond Mason’s reach, he started shouting, “It’s the police! 5-0! 5-0!”

  Mason felt the eyes of the neighborhood shift from the boy to the two interlopers making a straight line to the alley. Sal flashed the pistol in its holster, sending one sentry fleeing in the opposite direction.

  The second man, wearing a baggie white t-shirt and black trousers, stubbed out his cigarette as Mason approached. Holding up a hand as a barricade, Mason slowed his pace.

  “We’re talking to Jamal. He’s expecting us.”

  “You police?”

  “Nope. Civilian.” Mason pointed to the alley behind the man. “He’s down here, right?”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” The man reached for a handful of Mason’s shirt. As his fingers grazed the fabric, Mason side-stepped and launched an elbow at the man’s face, catching him just below the bridge of his nose. The man fell back, holding his face together as blood stained his shirt.

  Sal’s hand reached back to her pistol, scanning the surrounding street. She seethed at Mason. “Was that necessary?”

  “I felt threatened.” Mason spun the man around, patting him down for obvious weapons. Other than a cell phone, the man was unarmed. Turning the man around again, Mason asked, “Jamal’s in the alley?”

  Pulling a hand away from his face, the man thumbed toward the alley. Drops of blood flew off of his hand as he did it. Sal winced at the sight of the man’s nose bent ninety degrees away from his face.

  “Thank you. You should get to a doctor. That looks bad.”

  “Fuck you, pig.” The man’s voice sounded high and nasal, with his hands clamped on his face. Mason bit back a laugh as he staggered away, a thin trickle of crimson trailing behind him.

  Sal shook her head. “That wasn’t necessary.”

  Mason glared back at her but kept quiet.

  Jamal Wright rested in the
center of the alley, alone. Everyone else fled at the earlier warning, but Jamal couldn’t roll away fast enough. Haughty and proud as he stared up at Mason, he burst into laughter as Salome Peterson, disgraced police, rounded the corner.

  “You ain’t a cop anymore. What are you doing here? You miss me?”

  “Nobody misses you, Jamal. You’re a cancer.”

  “No, I’m a paraplegic. Thanks to you and your cop friends.”

  “That’s a big word, Jamal. You learn that in jail?”

  Jamal learned it in the hospital. The memory wiped the mirth from his face. “What do you want?”

  Mason walked closer to Jamal, intruding on his personal space. “Kidnap anyone lately, Jamal?”

  Staring straight up into Mason’s towering height, Jamal realized the man cast a shadow that covered his wheelchair-bound body. Head tilted to the side, Jamal’s brows furrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Kidnapping? Does it look like I’m kidnapping anyone?”

  “Come on,” Mason probed. “I don’t believe you. You and your crew didn’t snatch a girl last Wednesday night?”

  Arms spreading over his legs, Jamal showed his helplessness.

  Moving beside Mason, Sal stared down at one man that burned her partner alive. “You’ve already killed police. Why should we think you didn’t kidnap the daughter of the judge hearing Miller’s case?”

  Jamal spun backward a few inches, popped his front wheels into the air and spun in circles. “First off, nobody filed charges against me for that police thing. Second? Taking a judge’s little kid? That’s some dark shit. You need some help.”

  Sal’s eyes met Mason’s. Chloe wasn’t a child. She was a grown woman.

  Jamal continued with his acrobatics. “What makes you think he wants out of jail, anyway? Cop killers, I mean, accused cop killers, are like royalty inside.” He stopped spinning, facing Sal. Releasing the hand rims, the front wheels dropped back to earth. “Even for dirty cops, like you and your partner. He’s already got it made in there. Who cares if he gets life? He’s a king for life. Taking a kid? That don’t play inside.”