Detective Jack Stratton Box Set

by Christopher Greyson

  “That’s cool,” Jack said, getting into the Impala.

  Chandler eased his length and girth into the passenger side. “That’s cool? You wouldn’t rather be Superman?”

  “Are you kidding me? Think it through. Clark Kent has a nine-to-five job. He digs a chick who thinks he’s a hopeless loser, and she has the hots for his alter ego.”

  “Yeah, but Superman can’t be hurt by bullets.”

  “So what? Bruce Wayne is cool all the way around. Boy billionaire. Babes abound. Catwoman. He doesn’t work. Sweet cars. Sleeps all day and fights crime at night. And he has a butler. There’s no contest.”

  “Superman can fly,” Chandler said. “Case closed.”

  Jack laughed and rolled down his window. He felt it in the air—today was going to be a scorcher. Now he just had to put off talk of Garbage Day as long as possible.

  “This isn’t the way to your house,” Chandler said. “What now? Almost getting arrested, twice, wasn’t enough?”

  “Five minutes.”

  Chandler sighed. “A lot can happen in five minutes.”

  Jack drove to Morton’s Hill and parked the Impala across the street from Stacy Shaw’s pretty little yellow ranch with flowerboxes in the windows. The grass was long and needed a cut.

  Jack settled back into his seat and stared at the house. After a minute, Chandler shifted uncomfortably.

  “What?” Jack asked.

  “You’re parked sorta close.”

  “Close to what?”

  “The house.” Chandler pointed. “In the movies, they always park far away. Or in a van with dark windows.”

  “It’s not a stakeout.”

  “Then why are we here?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “You can’t do your thinking at home?”

  Jack ran his knuckle along the door panel. “No. You’re supposed to try to get inside the victim’s head. I guess that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to get into the killer’s head? Like FBI profiling and all that jazz.”

  “Yeah, sure. But I figure you should also get to know the victim. Like the guys who spot counterfeit bills. They don’t look at the fake bills; they study the real ones. That way, when they see a counterfeit, it sets off alarms in their head.”

  “Do you have any alarms going off?”

  “I just keep wondering why she walked back to work and not here. If she hadn’t walked through Hamilton Park, she’d be alive right now.”

  “That’s creepy.” Chandler suddenly sat bolt upright. “Oh no…”

  Michael Shaw, wearing shorts and flip-flops, was stalking across his yard, straight toward the Impala.

  Vargas’s warning echoed in Jack’s head. If I catch you within ten yards of anything to do with my investigation…

  Jack stomped on the gas. The engine revved, but the car didn’t go anywhere—it was in park.

  “Go, go!” Chandler urged.

  Jack shifted into drive, but the engine sputtered and died. “Crap.”

  “Hey!” Michael called out.

  Jack slammed the transmission back into park and started the car again.

  “Hello?” Michael yelled, advancing quickly.

  Jack started to put the car into drive, but his hand hesitated on the gearshift. “This is our chance to talk to him,” he whispered.

  “No way. Just go.” Chandler’s hand twitched as though he wanted to move the gear himself.

  Jack shut off the engine and got out of the car. He called out to Michael, “I think something’s wrong with the carburetor.” He walked over to the hood, looked through the windshield at Chandler, and pointed to the driver’s side of the car. “When I tell you, start it up.”

  Shooting Jack a cautionary look, Chandler slid across the bench seat and behind the steering wheel.

  Jack lifted the hood and propped it open. “I hope we didn’t wake you up with the car noise.”

  Michael walked over. “Nah, I was up. I just didn’t know what you were doing out here.” He frowned, and his ruddy complexion went a little paler. “There’ve been reporters all over the place this last week.”

  “Give it a little gas,” Jack called to Chandler while he fiddled with a lever. “Reporters? Why?”

  Michael stared at Jack, his eyes becoming even redder, and blew his nose. Jack saw this as an opening to ask him some questions about Stacy, but he struggled for the right words to get him talking. “Are you famous or something?”

  “No.” Michael cleared his throat. “Do you want me to call someone for you?”

  “I think I can get her going.”

  Michael exhaled. “Maybe I can help.” He leaned his head forward and rubbed the back of his neck. “Is it stalling?”

  “Yeah. It’s been doing that lately.”

  “It could just be some bad gas.” Michael sneezed, then blew his nose again. “Damn pollen.”

  “Allergies?”

  “Yeah. Pretty severe this time of year.”

  “Yeah, those can get pretty bad.” Jack then called out to Chandler, “Okay, try to start it now!”

  Chandler started the engine and held the gas down while Jack adjusted the carburetor.

  “Ease off,” Jack called out. He looked over at the house, scanning for anything that might have a bearing on the case, but he was drawing a complete blank.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Michael watching him. With a greasy finger, Jack pointed behind Michael’s house. “I used to cut through your yard to go sledding up on Morton’s Hill.”

  “Oh, yeah. The realtor told us that kids do that.” Michael smiled. “My wife and I…” His grin quickly soured. “There’s a big tree up the top. She wanted me to put a swing up there for…” He cleared his throat. His eyes glistened. He rubbed them with the back of his hands. “I gotta get some sleep.”

  Jack felt bad for the guy.

  “Look, I’ll call a tow for you guys,” Michael said.

  “Thanks, but I think I can make it home.” Jack grabbed the rod and closed the hood. “Sorry again for being loud.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, I was up.”

  Jack walked over to the driver’s side as Chandler slid over. “Have a good day.”

  “You too.”

  Jack waved, and so did Michael.

  As they drove away, Chandler exhaled loudly. “That freaked me out. Did you talk about anything?”

  “No.” Jack rubbed the side of his face. “I couldn’t ask him about…you know. I just felt bad for him. I guess I’ve been thinking of the guy like a piece in the puzzle and not a person. But when I saw him face-to-face…”

  “He looked bad. Like he hasn’t slept in a while,” Chandler said.

  “Looked like he’d been crying, too. Sucks.”

  Chandler looked out the window. “Of course he’d be crying! I’d go out of my mind if someone I loved was murdered.”

  24

  On Borrowed Time

  Jack sat at his computer while Chandler lay on Jack’s bed, tossing a baseball into the air and catching it again. Jack’s mom and dad weren’t home, which came as a relief to Jack. He hadn’t faced either of them since almost getting arrested. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in their eyes. Or hear about his birthday.

  “Nina’s going out with Bobbie G tomorrow,” Jack said, reading from Nina’s relentless Facebook posts.

  “She just wants to tick off Two Point.”

  “Probably.”

  Jack had been hoping Facebook would allow him to find out more about some of the people involved in the case—especially Leland Chambers—but it seemed that social media wasn’t a great source of information except for Nina.

  He clicked over to the Fairfield Times website to see if anything new had been reported. Sure enough, the lead headline read, “Grand Jury Set to Convene in Stacy Shaw Homicide.”

  Chandler read over his shoulder. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’re running out of time
.” Jack opened his email app.

  “What’s the plan now?”

  “Remember those two business cards Stacy had in her handbag? I’m sending them emails to see if Stacy had an appointment or anything.”

  “Sounds like a long shot.”

  “It is, but maybe Stacy was heading there. Luisa’s Luxe Hair Studio is across from the park on Holland Street, and it’s open till nine.”

  Chandler shook his head. “I bet they don’t tell you diddly. Some random guy sends an email asking if a murdered woman had an appointment? And you think they’ll respond? The fertility clinic won’t say a thing. They have all those privacy laws and the whole patient confidentiality thing.”

  “I know,” Jack said, “but Detective Clark says you should follow up on every lead. The serial killer Son of Sam was caught because of a parking ticket.”

  “Sounds to me like you’re running out of ideas.”

  “Thanks for the encouragement.”

  The front door opened. “Are you upstairs, Jack?” his mother called out.

  “Hey, Mom,” Jack replied. “Be down in a second.”

  Chandler headed for the bedroom door. “I still can’t get over Nina. Bobbie G was seeing Evy. No good’s gonna come of that.”

  Jack got up too, but then stopped in the doorway. “Wait a minute.” He spun around and jumped back on the computer, pulled up one of the Facebook pages he’d been looking at, and checked the relationship status. Single.

  Jack hurried out of his room and down the stairs.

  “I didn’t think you’d be home this early,” his mom said. “Happy birthday.” She kissed his cheek, then gave Chandler a hug. “Did you boys eat breakfast?”

  His mom didn’t even mention the incident in the park. But she did give Jack a questioning smile, and he knew she was searching his face for any hint that his disgust for Garbage Day had lessened. But it hadn’t.

  “We’re good,” Jack said. “Hey, can I borrow your car?”

  “Is something wrong with yours?”

  “Nope. I’m just…doing a test. I’ll fill up the tank.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” She walked over to her handbag and pulled out the keys. “I won’t be needing it. Tracy Dillard is picking me up to go to Foal Brook High. We’re giving them a hand with their new record-keeping system.”

  “Great. Thanks, Mom. I shouldn’t be that long.”

  “You can have it the whole day.” She gave him the keys. “Will you be around for dinner tonight?” Her voice rose, and her hands pressed together as if she were praying.

  Jack knew what she was really asking: Would you like a birthday dinner, and a cake? He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  His mom smiled, but Jack read the disappointment in her eyes.

  “Hey, do you know when Dad will be home?” he asked.

  “He’s teaching a summer class. Did you need him for something?”

  “I wanted to ask him about an old student.”

  “Who?”

  “Alex Hernandez.”

  His mother’s hand flew to her chest. “Oh, no, please don’t tell me he did something…”

  “No…Do you know him?”

  She fiddled with the cross on her necklace, a sure sign she was upset. “He was your father’s student, oh, a dozen years ago. Where did you see him?”

  “I ran into him in Hamilton Park.”

  “How did he know who you were?”

  “Ah…he heard my name.”

  “It’s surprising he remembered after all he’s been through.”

  “So you know that he’s…kinda nutty,” Jack said.

  His mom frowned. “I don’t like that word. He’s troubled. He’s been through so much trouble already.”

  “You mean his wife, Anne? She was murdered, right?”

  His mom pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “Yes. It was horrible. Poor Alex just snapped. Your father tried to help him, but…”

  “Dad tried to help the guy? Really?”

  His mom nodded. “Your father does a lot of things he doesn’t take any credit for.” She folded her hands and stood up ramrod straight, as if she were about to give a presentation. “And Jack, your father wants to talk to you about what happened at the park. He deferred last night to Aunt Haddie, but—”

  “Can you get him to defer for my birthday?” Jack smiled hopefully. “Better yet, permanently?”

  His mom smiled. “I’ll try for the latter, but don’t get your hopes up. And Jack, please call me if you change your mind about tonight. I’d love to make you something special for dinner.”

  “I’m all set, Mom. We gotta run. Love you.” Jack gave her a peck on the cheek, plus an extra hug because he knew she was hurting a little over his so-called birthday, and nodded to Chandler to head out.

  “I love you too. You’re not going to do anything risky today, are you?”

  Chandler waved from the doorway. “I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

  “Thank you, Chandler. Oh, and Jack, if you see Detective Clark, be sure to let him know that you met Alex.”

  Jack stopped just beyond the door. “What?”

  “He knows Alex too. Detective Clark watches out for him.” She rubbed her hands together and looked off into the distance. “It’s just so sad. To lose your wife would be hard enough, but she was expecting. Their first child.”

  Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Stacy Shaw was pregnant, too.

  25

  Follow All Leads

  Jack backed into the parking space of a convenience store so the front of his mother’s car would face the road to the Shaws’ house. The store had been a fixture in the neighborhood as long as Jack could remember. Originally, it had been a house, but the walls downstairs had been knocked down to fit in all the chips, beer, and soda.

  “This isn’t a car,” Chandler grumbled as he tried to get comfortable in the tiny bucket seat. “It’s a shoebox with wheels.” He had the passenger seat on Jack’s mother’s compact as far back as it would go, and his knees still touched the dashboard. “Why couldn’t we take the Impala?”

  “Because Shaw would recognize it. Put your hat on.” Jack pulled down the rim of his cap.

  Chandler glanced at the Boston Celtics logo on the hat Jack had given him. “Your dad is consumed by Boston sports.”

  Jack grinned. “Born and bred in Beantown. It’s in his blood.”

  Chandler looked around. “So, what are you hoping to see?”

  “If Michael leaves his house, he has to come right by us.”

  “I get that, but why are you interested in him in the first place?”

  “This morning I saw something on his Facebook profile that bothered me. It’s probably nothing, but it makes me want to look at him. He changed his Facebook profile to Single.”

  “Hmm, that could be interesting. But we should look at some other possibilities. Did he change it, or was it already set to that?” Chandler asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lots of people have no clue how Facebook works. Maybe he set his page up years ago, before he got married. Or maybe he never knew you could set it to Married, or he never bothered. When was the last time he updated?”

  Jack was a little ashamed of himself for not asking these questions, but all the more impressed with his outwardly-seeming reluctant accomplice. “I don’t know. I didn’t check.”

  “And anyway, didn’t the police rule him out? Didn’t they say he was four hours away, someplace that sounds like Skinny Lady or something?”

  Jack chuckled. “Schenectady.”

  “Whatever. My money’s on Dracula. Prime suspect. A crazy homeless guy who sleeps right where Stacy was killed. He thinks he’s still in the military. Maybe he thought she was the enemy or something.”

  “Maybe,” Jack admitted. “But he was so convincing.”

  “He was just as convincing when he said he checked in with field command.” Chandler whistled the theme
from The Twilight Zone. “The guy’s out there—wearing tinfoil on his head crazy.”

  “True.”

  “What about Leland Chambers?” Chandler said. “If you believe Dracula, he saw Chambers running through the park wearing those bright-green sneakers. He’s Stacy’s manager, and that janitor said they argued.”

  “Yeah, he’s definitely a possibility. But I’ve got nothing to go at him with until I hear back from Betty.”

  “Isn’t she a suspect, too?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Chandler sat up and bumped his head on the ceiling. “I’m so scrunched.” He took off the hat and rubbed his head. “She was the last one to see Stacy alive. What if she’s not telling the truth?”

  “I never thought of that. She is a big woman.”

  “Did you see her hands? They’re, like, my size.” Chandler held his up, then popped his hat back on and pulled down the brim.

  Jack laughed. “They’re nowhere close to your giant mitts. Wait a minute.” Jack took out his notebook. “Betty didn’t give off any red flags, but there was something she said about her husband”—Jack flipped through pages until he found what he was looking for—“Bruce. Betty said he dropped her off after work and then went back out.”

  “Did she say why?” Chandler asked.

  “To run a few errands.”

  “That seems kinda strange late at night. And why did he drop his wife off?”

  Jack shrugged.

  Chandler tapped on the roof. “My money’s still on Vlad.”

  “Before you place your bet, there are other suspects too,” Jack said.

  “Like who?”

  “Jeremy. He was nearby. He’s physically strong enough, and he had a crush on Stacy.”

  “What? How did you get that?”

  “When I asked him how Stacy looked, he said pretty. And just how he acted when he was talking about her. He liked her—a lot.”

  “You could be right,” Chandler said.

  “And there’s still the two obvious choices,” Jack muttered. “Two Point, for one. Say it was a robbery gone bad. And yeah, his hand is screwed up, but I’ve been thinking about it. There are other ways to strangle someone.” He shifted in the seat, reaching for Chandler’s throat to demonstrate. “If he pinned her down and grabbed her like this—”