DEATH ON THE NEW MOON (A Troubled Waters Suspense Thriller Book 6)

by Michael Lindley

  "I thought you might say that," Hanna said, her hands squeezing tighter on the steering wheel. "I'm a little uneasy about it myself."

  "We've never spoken about the abortion issue," Alex said and then paused, looking out the front window. "I've always leaned to the side of the unborn child's life needing to be protected. I'm no advocate or active pro-life supporter, but it's just how I've grown up feeling about all this. Fortunately, I've never had to deal with it personally."

  Hanna drove on for a while without responding, then said, "Well, I did have to deal with it back in college."

  "And what happened?"

  She told him the whole story.

  When she finished, he could tell she was shaken about what she had dealt with those many years ago and what she was dealing with now. "Hanna, I'm so sorry," he said. "I wish there was something I could say."

  "What do you think about her not filing a police report about the sexual assault?" Hanna said, getting back to her client's situation.

  Alex thought about it for a moment. "It would certainly make the case easier to argue in front of the judge. Not sure if the girl won't be asked to file charges, even if she can't identify the attacker."

  "I have an inquiry out to a friend," Hanna said. "She works in the Prosecutor's office and handles a lot of these types of assault cases."

  "Okay," Alex said in a measured voice, "but let me ask you this, and I know it's not a fair question."

  "Then why ask?"

  "You asked for my advice and opinion on this case," he said sharply.

  "What then?"

  "If this girl was your sixteen-year-old daughter, how would you feel about an attorney and the courts helping her abort a pregnancy in the hope you would never find out? And what if you did?"

  Hanna drove for some time in silence, then turned and said, "And what if all of this is really best for the girl?"

  Chapter Twenty

  Senator Jordan Hayes was normally a patient man, but he was trying his best not to lose his composure as he sat across from the maddening fool of an attorney, Phillip Holloway. The two men were sitting in the dark and elegant lobby of the Dilworth Hotel in downtown Charleston. Two cups of coffee and a silver carafe lay in front of them on a low table. Their chairs and all the furniture in the lobby were deeply stuffed and richly upholstered. Ceiling fans spun quietly above them, and the early morning light streamed through the wooden plantation shutters on the windows across the front of the hotel.

  There was no one within listening range and Holloway continued on about his stellar connections in the South Carolina state capital in Columbia. "Really Jordan. Let me make a few calls for you. We can have a meeting set up by this evening. We'll have this gambling bill back on track in no time."

  Hayes had finally had enough. "Holloway, you're wasting my time."

  The lawyer sat back, apparently stunned by the rebuke. "But Jordan..."

  "Listen to me!" the senator said sharply, leaning in and trying to control the level of his voice. "I invited you here for a single purpose. Do you or do you not have any leverage on Dellahousaye we can use if this all goes south?"

  "I'm his attorney. I can't reveal..." Phillip began.

  "Bullshit! You're one of fifty lawyers at the man's disposal and he couldn’t give two shits if you continue to work for him."

  Holloway looked like he'd been slapped in the face.

  Hayes continued. "This is a very dangerous game, but I need some assurance there is a card to be played to keep Asa off our backs if this all blows up."

  "Jordan, anything I could divulge would get me disbarred and send me into witness protection, for God's sake! You know as well as I do, Asa would not hesitate to put a bullet in our heads if we betray him."

  "That's exactly why we need this insurance policy that you damn well better come up with."

  Holloway sat back and sipped at his coffee, then placed it back. "There's something I'm a little worried about?"

  "What's that," the Senator said impatiently.

  "You've heard that Sarah Talbot has been missing for several days?"

  "The state representative you've been working with in Columbia?"

  "Yes, she hasn't shown up for work and her family has issued a "missing persons" with the police."

  Hayes looked around the lobby before speaking. "She was chairing the committee on the gambling bill?"

  "Right, and for some reason, she started making noise about her opposition to the bill."

  "I thought you had her wrapped up."

  "I was supposed to meet with her two days ago to sort this all out, but she never showed up."

  "This has Dellahousaye written all over it," the Senator said, his nervous voice betraying his efforts to remain calm.

  The hotel manager on duty walked up. "Can we bring you anything else, Senator."

  "No, thank you, Richard. We're fine right now."

  "It's our pleasure to have you staying with us again Senator Hayes. Please don't hesitate to ask for me if I can help with anything during your stay in Charleston."

  Hayes nodded and said, "Of course, Richard. Thank you."

  The man walked away, and Hayes reached for his coffee cup, draining the last few sips. "Holloway, this meeting is over. I have to get upstairs for a call with Washington. You need to get to the bottom of this Talbot disappearance and make sure we have enough votes on the committee to get this bill to the vote."

  "Already on it."

  "Even more reason we need a trump card for Dellahousaye. If you have anything we can use, call my personal line. Otherwise, I don't expect to hear from you until the fundraiser up in Myrtle Beach in September."

  Holloway stood with the senator. "I know what you're trying to do, Jordan. Let me give this some thought. I'm sure we can come up with something."

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Hanna pulled her car to a stop in front of the Frank house in Dugganville. The small one-story sat up on a grassy rise from the street in the shade of several towering live oak trees. Across the street, the river stretched out in both directions lined with small piers and boats tied up or on hoists. She saw Skipper Frank's shrimp boat, the Maggie Mae, coming up slowly from the east. The Skipper's mate, Robbie, was along the starboard rail, ready to help bring the old boat into the pier.

  "Good timing," Alex said, slowly getting out of the car and holding his neck while he watched his father bring the Maggie Mae in. Their police escort pulled up behind them and parked along the road in the shade.

  Hanna got out and walked around to the front of the car and sat on the hood with Alex. "What does he do with all the shrimp?"

  "He's already unloaded them down at the commercial pier," Alex said. "I'm sure he's kept a few dozen to steam up. We'll put some on ice for you to take back to Charleston."

  She saw Alex's father lean out the window of the pilot house and wave. They both waved back.

  "Should we go help them?" Hanna asked.

  "I'm not too steady yet. Don't want to fall off the dock. They'll be fine. Skipper's docked his boat ten thousand times."

  She looked down the river to her left and saw the small-town waterfront of Dugganville in the distance. The morning sky was still free of clouds and a deep blue against the trees and foliage that lined the river. The summer heat and humidity were building, and her sleeveless blouse felt sticky against her skin. She thought back again about the conversation in the car with Alex about her case with Calley Barbour. They had not found any common ground on the issue and she almost regretted bringing it up with him. A text had come in from Molly on the drive up that a hearing had been scheduled for the following day. The judge who would preside had a case delayed which opened up a slot on her calendar.

  Hanna knew Judge Louise Kraft, both personally and professionally, though they were by no means close friends. The judge had presided over several other cases for Hanna's clients over the years. She had always been a fair and compassionate judge
in Hanna's opinion, and she was encouraged when Molly told her who would be hearing the case.

  She watched as Alex stood and walked slowly back to the police cruiser. He leaned in the window and spoke with the officer driving. She couldn't hear what they were discussing and turned back to watch Robbie jump down to the pier and grab a heavy line to secure the boat. She looked back in surprise as Alex stepped away and the police car made a wide turn in the road and drove away.

  As Alex came back over to her, he said, "Enough with the armed escort."

  "You told them to leave?"

  "I can take care of myself up here," he said. "They're going to get some food in town and then follow you back to Charleston when you're ready."

  "So, your department has no leads on this guy yet?"

  "Not that I've heard."

  Alex's father jumped over the rail onto the pier, surprisingly agile for his age, Hanna thought, and walked up to them. He was dressed in stained Levi shorts and a light blue fishing shirt with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows. His feet were bare in old flip flops and a well-worn Atlanta Braves cap covered his wispy gray hair. He walked with an angle in his posture like one leg was slightly shorter than the other.

  "What a nice surprise," Skipper said. "Beautiful lady on a beautiful morning."

  Hanna gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek.

  "How you been, Hanna?"

  "I'm okay, just a little worried about your son."

  The old man said, "How you feelin', boy?"

  "Been better."

  "Looks like that guy took a helluva chunk outta your neck."

  Alex didn't respond, watching his father's mate finishing up securing the Maggie Mae.

  "How'd you do out there?" Hanna asked.

  "A bit slow last night. Been gettin' tougher to find the little bastards the last few years."

  Alex finally said, "Pop, Hanna needs to get back. Thought I'd stay a couple days and let this neck heal some."

  "Okay, great. Sure you can't stay for lunch, Hanna?"

  "No, I really need to get back to the city, but I'll come back for Alex whenever he's ready." She gave Alex a hug and whispered, "Please get some rest." She could feel him nodding against her shoulder. She kissed Skipper Frank goodbye and he gave her the bag of iced shrimp he was carrying. She got back in her car. As she drove away, she looked in the rear mirror and saw Alex's father put his arm around his son and help him up the lawn to their house.

  Back in Charleston, Hanna came in the back door of her offices and locked it behind her. She went into the small kitchen and drained the water and ice from the bag of shrimp before putting it in the refrigerator, then went to her desk. Her police escort had pulled around to park in the front. She called Molly up in the lobby to let her know she was back.

  "I've got something for you if you have a minute," Molly said.

  When she came in, Hanna said, "Close the door," then sat with her assistant at the conference table.

  Molly slid a file across the table. "You really need to read about Calley's parents, Warren and Jenna. I took some time to find what I could on the usual sites. They're quite a pair. He's the pastor of a small church on the south side, very strict, all fire and brimstone type. Serious teetotalers. You won't believe the church website."

  "What about the mother?"

  "Found a little on Facebook. Some serious rants with her friends about the evils of Pop Culture and Hollywood. I'm surprised I even found her on social media. She works in a daycare center for homeless kids."

  Hanna was looking through the copied documents in the file. "Anything else?"

  "There was some news coverage two years ago about the church. Another family was pressing charges against the father and the congregation for being a cult and indoctrinating their daughter. Pretty messy."

  Hanna looked at the copies of the press clippings.

  Molly continued. "Calley has an older sister, Carolyn. Looks like she's mid-twenties. Lives in Florida. Lots of tats and piercings. I suspect she left the family a long time ago but can't really tell. Instagram portrait says she's working as a bartender. No college mentioned. Couldn't find any connection with her parents now, so it's likely they're estranged."

  Hanna closed the file and looked up at her assistant. "This should give Judge Kraft some serious doubts about the merits of bringing the parents into this. They'll obviously go out of their minds and who knows how they'll react. One daughter has already gone.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Alex peeled the last shrimp on his plate and dipped it in the homemade sauce his father made. He watched Skipper finish his lunch and stand to go to the sink to wash his hands of shrimp shells and slime.

  "Not bad, hey boy?" Skipper said.

  "Nothing like a fresh catch right off the boat."

  Skipper came back to the table. "So, how you and Hanna doing?"

  Alex looked up, surprise on his face. "Fine, why?"

  "That woman must be a damn saint to put up with you."

  "I tried to tell her that just this morning."

  "You're a lucky man."

  Alex shook his head and winced at the pain in his neck. "Yeah, lucky." He took the bottle of Vicodin from his pocket and shook out another pill. "Need to take the edge off."

  "Damn sorry about Lonnie," his father said. "He was a fine man. I know how close you two were."

  "Yeah..." Alex looked away, trying to control the sadness and guilt washing over him again. "Pop, this killer isn't through yet. You know he came back for me and I doubt he's giving up. We need to keep our heads up."

  "Hope that sonofabitch comes callin'. We'll park a 12 gauge in his brisket."

  Alex's phone buzzed and he pulled it out to see it was his boss back in Charleston, "Hey Captain."

  "Alex, you up with your old man?"

  "Hanna drove me up this morning."

  "They tell me you sent the boys back with her. No one staying there with you."

  "I'll be fine up here."

  "You and your father better be ready for the worst."

  "We can take care of ourselves," Alex said, a shiver racing through him as he thought of the assassin, Caine, in the doorway of his hospital room.

  Captain Guinness said, "You seen the news?"

  "What news?"

  "Turn on CNN or Fox or any damn channel."

  "Why?" Alex asked as he got up and went over to the small television in the corner of the kitchen and turned it on.

  "Seems one of the men from your unit in Afghanistan saw the coverage about the shootings, the fact you were one of the survivors."

  "Who is that?"

  "Caption on the screen says Adam Grove, U.S. Marines."

  Alex felt his heart sink as he saw the face of his former squad member. He turned up the volume, but the segment was ending. "What's he saying, Captain?"

  "Seems you two had a difference of opinion about an operation over there that got out of hand."

  Alex's memory was suddenly flooded with images of a small village, battered from the war, gunfire coming from everywhere.

  "Alex?" he heard his boss say.

  "A difference of opinion?" Alex asked.

  "Says your unit got shot up pretty bad... and he claims it was your fault."

  Alex felt like he might be sick. "There was an inquiry."

  "The man says it was bogus, that you led them into an ambush and panicked."

  "Captain..."

  "I just wanted you to know this was out there," Guinness said. "Don't be surprised if the media sniffs you out up there."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "I think Internal Affairs will want to spend some more time with you. They have a few more questions. We can do it on the phone. I'll let you know."

  Alex ended the call and changed the station to find more coverage of Sergeant Adam Grove.

  "What the hell's going on?" he heard his father say.

  On the screen, CNN had Grove be
ing interviewed saying, "he got six of us killed that day and when it all went bad quickly, he panicked and nearly got us all killed."

  Alex knew Grove’s account was flawed. He knew he hadn’t panicked, but he did make mistakes that cost men their lives. He had lived with those mistakes every day since.

  Skipper came up and stood beside his son. "I thought all that was cleared up a long time ago."

  Alex didn't answer.

  Later in the afternoon, Alex was sitting with his father at Gilly’s Bar. It was his father's favorite haunt and Alex had spent too many late nights there as well.

  Gilly, the proprietor, came up. "Another round, gentlemen?" the old bartender asked, gesturing to the two near empty bottles of beer in front of them.

  Skipper Frank swallowed the rest of his beer and pushed the bottle across the bar. "Two more."

  Alex was feeling the effects of the painkiller and the beer and was a little unsteady on the barstool. "I'm okay, Pop." He knew he shouldn't be drinking while he was taking the meds, but the news report of his former team member in the war had sent him over the edge. He couldn't stop thinking about the terror of that day in Afghanistan and all that came down in the aftermath. He had been cleared ultimately in the inquiry that followed, but in his heart, he still held himself responsible for the death of those men. He also knew what had really happened that day and the memories still kept him up at night.

  "Oh shit!" he heard his father say. Sergeant Grove was on the television above the bar, this time on Fox News. "Hey Gilly! Turn that crap off!" Skipper yelled, pointing to the television.

  The bartender came over and switched the television to ESPN. He turned and gave Alex a concerned look. "Sorry about all this, kid."

  "Thanks Gilly."

  "Sure I can't get you another beer?"

  "Yeah, why not."

  Alex felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see his former mother-in-law, Ella Moore.

  "Hey handsome," Ella said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

  As Alex turned, he cringed at the pain, still not dulled from the drugs and alcohol. "How you doing, Ella?"