Detective Jack Stratton Box Set

by Christopher Greyson

  Terry smiled and patted the arm of his chair. “The resemblance. I’m an artist. I’ve got a thing for faces. I knew you must be Steve’s son—”

  Replacement gasped and Terry looked nervously at Jack. “You knew that, right?”

  “Yes,” Jack said. “And I admit I look a little like him.” He knew he wasn’t supposed to say anything, but it was too late now: their cover was pretty much blown.

  “A little? You’re not identical, but it’s darn close. The whole shape of your face. The way you carry yourself . . . body type. The eyes are spot-on. The same.” He clucked his tongue and held up a hand. “One second, I can show you.” Terry hurried out of the room and returned a moment later carrying a framed photo. “Here.”

  Jack took the picture, and Replacement slid closer. Four boys in shorts held up fishing poles, each with a tiny fish at the end. They were all smiling, all in their early teens. Steven was in the middle. Just a few years before he died.

  “He looks just like you,” Replacement said.

  Terry sat back down and sniffed. “I’m so sorry about Steven. You couldn’t have known him, right?”

  Jack shook his head. “I didn’t even know his name before this week.”

  “Is this you?” Replacement asked Terry, pointing to a fat kid in the photo, with curly black hair and a giant smile.

  “Sure is. I was chubbier then.”

  “Were you friends?” Replacement asked.

  “The four of us were best friends. Same Boy Scout troop. We knew each other since preschool.”

  “Who are the other boys?”

  “Trent Dorsey and Dennis Wilson. Trent passed ten years ago. Car accident in Baltimore.”

  “And Dennis?”

  “He’s still around; in fact, he’s the police chief. Lives not far from here.”

  Confused, Jack held up a hand. “Dennis Wilson was chief when Steven died.”

  “Oh, that was Dennis Senior. His son became chief maybe twelve years ago.”

  One of Steven’s friends is now chief. I’ve got a much better shot at the police reports now.

  Terry frowned. “Steven was a good guy. I don’t know if anyone . . . Well . . .” Terry’s eyes filled with concern as he looked at Jack. “Steven’s mother still lives in town.”

  Replacement leaned in. “We’re going to speak with her later. So, you knew Patty?”

  “Sure. It’s a small town; everyone knows everybody. She was in my class in high school.”

  Replacement’s voice softened. “Did you ever . . . date her?”

  “Date? No, but I had a huge crush on her in middle school. I wouldn’t go near her then because of her father. Mr. Cole’s as mean as they come. He’s a drinker, too. I thought about it in high school, but she’d gotten a . . . well . . .” Terry started to clean his glasses again, and this time he didn’t look up.

  Jack broke the awkward silence. “It’s okay, I’ve heard. She had a reputation.”

  Terry put his glasses on and met their eyes again. “In high school she did. She changed somehow, in middle school, after her mom died. Maybe it was that. Maybe it was her father. I don’t know. She just seemed to fly apart.” He paused for a moment, gazing at long-ago memories only he could see. Jack was just wondering how Replacement planned to break the silence when Terry added, “I didn’t know Steven dated her.”

  “You never knew they dated?” Replacement asked.

  “No, but . . . boy, just thinking about it . . . It was twenty-something years ago, but I remember it like yesterday.” Terry smiled sadly. “Steve was getting over a bad breakup shortly before he was killed. I didn’t think he’d started dating again.” Terry smiled sideways at Jack. “I was always jealous of your dad. Steve was such a good kid. He was such a Boy Scout. I mean, we were all technically Boy Scouts, but he was the real deal—you know what I mean. And back then, with Patty’s reputation . . . Well, Steve wasn’t the type of guy to go with . . .”

  Jack finished the sentence. “A girl like that?”

  Terry nodded. “I came back for the funeral—”

  “Came back?” Jack asked.

  “My parents divorced at the start of my senior year. My dad stayed in Hope Falls, but I’d moved to Cincinnati with my mom.”

  “So you weren’t living here when he was killed?”

  “No. I was living in Ohio then.” The teacher’s eyes went wide, and he sat back. “Wait a minute. Are you looking into it? Me? Why would you think I had anything to do with it? Steve was my friend. I wasn’t even in the state,” Terry babbled.

  Jack was about to say he believed him when Replacement put a restraining hand on his arm, just the quickest touch. Terry searched their faces, his eyes wide behind his glasses, his forehead shiny with sweat.

  “We got a tip,” Jack said.

  “A tip to look at me?” Terry sat up straight.

  “They weren’t specific. They only had a first name: Terry.” Jack ran his hands through his hair. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Wait.” Terry stood. “There were a couple of other guys. Terry Martin. He was a pain in the ass at school. Martin and Martinez? People always got us confused.”

  “I talked to him already.”

  Terry paced. “Did he say anything? There was also a Terry in the grade above us. Football player. He was a jerk.”

  “Talked to him, too. Thanks.” Jack headed for the door.

  Replacement followed, but she turned at the doorway. “Would it be possible to come back again, please, if we have any more questions?”

  “Sure, of course. And Jack, if I said anything to offend you, I’m sorry. If you need anything, please let me help.”

  As Jack stomped back to the car, Replacement grabbed his shoulder. “What the heck was that? Why are we leaving?”

  “What? I didn’t do anything, like I promised, and now you’re pissed? I didn’t hit him.”

  “He’s the first person who would talk to us. He knew both your parents.”

  “Don’t call them that,” Jack snapped.

  “But he knew them both. He might remember something that will help.”

  “He just gave us an alibi we can check out. We back off for now and let him sweat. Just because his mother moved to Cincinnati doesn’t mean he didn’t come back to visit his father for a weekend. I plan on talking to him later, but not now. I want to go back to the inn and think.”

  Replacement shrugged. “I guess you’re right. Tonight you can get a good night’s sleep, and we can try again tomorrow, right?”

  If I make it to tomorrow.

  19

  Drown It

  Jack splashed water on his face and reached for a towel.

  Terry. Terry who? Patty gets him killed and she can’t even tell me the last name of the guy who killed him?

  He looked in the mirror and barely recognized himself: he was pale and gaunt, his brown eyes set deep in his skull.

  I have to get some sleep. I look like death.

  Jack walked out of the bathroom and stopped in his tracks. Replacement had his phone in her hands and looked as if she wanted to kill him.

  “What?”

  She held the phone up. “I went to look at the report for Terry Bradford and saw this. You asked Cindy to run a background check on me?”

  Jack froze. “No—I—we got in that fight about not knowing each other, so I wanted to find out more about you.”

  “So you had Cindy run a background check?” She was so mad she was practically shaking.

  “How else was I going to find out more about you?”

  “How about asking! You could have—you should—” Replacement ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  Jack’s fist came down on the bureau, and everything on top of the bureau jumped an inch. He stormed over to the closet, locked his gun in the safe, grabbed his wallet and keys, and stomped straight to his car. For a minute he sat, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Rage seethed inside him. Pain. Hurt. It was useless to fight it now.r />
  The only way I know to kill the pain . . . is to drown it.

  Jack didn’t have to drive far before he found a hole-in-the-wall, one-room dive on a side road. As he entered, he paused for a second to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Then he smiled.

  My kind of bar.

  A man in his sixties with pale skin, yellowed teeth, and dull black eyes stood behind the bar. Of the seven guys in the room, three looked at Jack, but only for a moment. Jack headed to the stool at the far end of the bar.

  “Whiskey. Neat.” He slapped down a handful of bills.

  The glass barely touched the wood before he downed it in one swallow.

  “Again.”

  He repeated the process two more times before pausing and giving the bartender a chance to scurry over to the other end of the bar.

  Jack swirled his drink and smiled wryly. I’ll sleep tonight.

  No one came near him as he sat and drank. Jack kept throwing bills down, but his glass never stayed full for long. He didn’t talk. He didn’t look up. He just drank.

  An hour later, Jack was ready to go. He licked his lips and closed one eye as he tried to figure out how many more bills to leave. In the end, he let a few fall from his hands and stuffed the others in his pocket. It took him two tries to stand up.

  Just then, the door at the front of the bar opened, and three men with green shirts and work boots walked in and strolled up to the bar.

  “Hey,” one of them called out. “Lookie who’s here. You lookin’ for me?”

  Jack grinned. One of them was Terry Bradford. He spotted Jack, and smiled.

  The perfect end to this day.

  “Yeah.” Jack stumbled forward. “I’ve got something to ask. You said something about Patty.”

  “Pump-me Patty? Yeah.” Terry laughed and nudged the guy next to him. “I bet a lot of guys can tell you about her. You want details? How she—”

  That was all Jack could take. His fist drove straight into Terry’s face.

  Terry staggered back.

  Jack grabbed him and heaved him out the door. Bar stools overturned as men rushed to get out of the way. Someone tackled Jack from behind, and both of them tumbled to the ground outside. Terry had already started to get to his feet.

  Jack hit the guy who’d tackled him in the groin. The man coughed and rolled onto his back. The other guy who’d come in with Terry remained in the doorway, watching from a safe distance.

  Jack struggled to his feet and wobbled in a half circle. Terry stood there, holding his nose. Jack took two steps forward.

  Terry pulled his hand down and snarled, “You piece of—”

  The second punch caught Terry on the chin. His mouth closed with a pop, but he remained on his feet. Jack hit him again. His head snapped back, and this time he fell to his knees. Jack swayed and staggered. He grabbed Terry by the collar to gain his balance.

  “Patty is my mother,” Jack snarled, and hit him again. “Steven Ritter’s my father.” He hit him again. “Steven Ritter. Remember him now? Did you kill my father?”

  “FREEZE!”

  Jack looked up. A young cop stood, shaking, right in front of him. The lights from his cruiser made Jack blink, and the police siren hurt his ears.

  “Am I that loud when I show up?” Jack muttered to himself.

  Jack was holding Terry up by his collar. He let go, and Terry fell backward. Jack staggered but remained on his feet.

  “Hands up. Put your hands up and step back,” the cop ordered, but his voice trembled.

  Jack held up his arms and slowly stumbled backward.

  Terry groaned in pain. Jack smiled and lowered his arms.

  “Keep your hands up!” The cop’s voice went high.

  “I’m too drunk to keep ’em up.”

  More sirens blared as a second cruiser flew into the parking lot and stopped in a spray of muddy gravel. The policeman who got out was the same one who’d pulled Replacement over earlier: Officer McCann. The wrinkles on his lined face deepened as he marched over.

  “You again,” McCann growled.

  Jack waved and grinned. “Hi!”

  The old cop grimaced. “Put some cuffs on him, Kenny, while I check on this other joker.”

  Kenny pulled Jack over to his police cruiser and turned him around. Jack relaxed against the cruiser and put his head down on the roof. The young policeman patted Jack down.

  “Do you have any weapons on you?”

  “Nope,” Jack muttered.

  Kenny got the cuffs out and grabbed Jack’s hands.

  “You didn’t finish patting me down,” Jack pointed out. “You should do that. Not that I’d try anything, but your boss is watching.” Jack gestured drunkenly toward the parking lot.

  “Shut up,” Kenny snapped, struggling to cuff Jack as Jack gestured drunkenly.

  “I’m just trying to help,” Jack slurred. “Because, if I was a bad guy, I could just swing around, grab your gun and . . . BANG.” Jack’s arms went out.

  “Close your mouth.”

  “Sorry, I’m drunk. Have you done this before, Kenny? ’Cause you’re doing it all wrong. Let me explain. You . . . see, what you do is you push me up against the car a little. Not, like, smash my face, but you push the guy into the car, and it knocks the wind out of them and shuts them up.”

  Kenny pushed Jack into the car.

  Jack laughed. “When I said lightly, I didn’t mean like a daisy.”

  Kenny gave him a hard shove into the cruiser, knocking the wind out of him.

  “Good.” Jack coughed. “That was much better.”

  Lights and sirens blared as yet another cruiser rushed to the scene, a white Crown Victoria with a bubble light attached to the roof. Following right behind it was an ambulance.

  Oh, great. That’s gotta be the chief. Jack struggled to remember the name.

  A middle-aged cop in a white shirt got out of the car, and Jack tried to keep his eyes focused. As the chief marched over to where McCann was talking to Terry Bradford, he called out to Kenny. “You got everything under control here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jack heard McCann say, “I have the scene contained, Dennis,” pointing at Terry, who was still kneeling on the ground.

  The ambulance doors shut with a loud clang, and two EMTs walked over, each carrying a large bag. One headed toward Terry, the other toward Jack.

  “Evening, Kenny.” The EMT set down his emergency bag. He looked to be early fifties, five foot ten and trim, with salt-and-pepper hair and a handlebar mustache.

  “Hey, Dale, how’s it hangin’?”

  Dale put rubber gloves on as he looked at Jack. “Where are you hurt?”

  “I’m just tired.” Jack grinned lopsidedly.

  “You’re obviously drunk. But you’re cut as well.”

  “I’m almost positive I’d remember that.” Jack stumbled as he looked himself over for any cuts. “Nope. All in one piece.”

  Dale pointed at Jack’s shirt. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Not my blood.” Jack jerked his head in Terry’s direction. “His.”

  “Sir, do you require medical assistance?” Dale asked, now obviously annoyed.

  “Yeah.” Jack nodded. “Do you have something so I can sleep? Some kinda pill?”

  “Who?” the police chief suddenly yelled at Terry.

  Jack looked over. Terry was gesturing wildly, but Jack couldn’t hear what he was saying. Then Terry pointed at Jack, and everyone turned to stare.

  Jack groaned. “That’s not good.”

  The chief stormed over to Jack, followed closely by McCann. The chief was about five eight with a large potbelly. Sandy-brown hair poked out from under his blue cap. As he searched Jack’s face, his eyes went wide. “I’ll be darned,” he muttered.

  “What?” Jack tried to force himself to remember the chief’s name when Steven Ritter was murdered— This was the son. Dennis—

  The chief grabbed Jack’s wallet from Kenny and flipped it open to reveal the lice
nse and badge. “Jack Stratton? You’re on the job? Darrington?”

  “I was on the job. After this gets back to my boss, I’m not so sure.”

  The chief studied him again, shaking his head. “Is it true? Geez, you look just like him. And Patty’s your mother?”

  Jack made a move that resembled a nod, but everything started to spin, so he ended up just raising his eyebrows.

  “Wait here.” The chief and McCann walked back to Terry.

  The EMT grabbed his bag. “I’ll note that he’s drunk and uninjured,” he huffed to Kenny before walking over to join his partner.

  “Does that mean I don’t get a pill?” Jack called after him.

  The chief, McCann, and Terry exchanged words. Terry’s face was swollen and bloody. Jack was surprised he was able to stand. After a few moments, the chief and McCann walked back toward Jack and Kenny, while the EMTs looked after Terry.

  “But Chief, it’s assault,” McCann was saying. “You can’t just let him walk.”

  The chief stopped and faced McCann. “Terry needs a couple of Band-Aids. He gets worse at hockey. Besides, it’s my call, Frank. You heard him. He’s not pushing for charges.”

  “That’s irrelevant. We know that an assault occurred—”

  “No, we don’t, and if Terry doesn’t want to say one did, it’s over. Did you hear Terry say that he deserved a crack in the mouth?”

  “Just because this guy says he’s Steven’s son doesn’t mean we just let him walk.”

  “No. If he is Steven’s son, it does mean that. It means exactly that.” The chief pulled up his belt, and his stomach jiggled. “You and me both owe Steven at least that much.”

  The chief started forward again, but McCann stepped in front of him and lowered his voice. “Stick him in the drunk tank for tonight then. In the morning, we can make sure he leaves town. That’s the call I would make.”

  “You’re not the chief anymore, Frank. I am. It’s my call.” The chief pulled his hat lower and walked around McCann. “Uncuff him,” he ordered Kenny as he walked up.

  Kenny looked over to McCann, and the chief’s nostrils flared.

  “Uncuff him now, Kenny,” the chief said. “And make sure Terry gets home okay.”