What We Bury

by Carolyn Arnold

  “So do I, but it’s not going to be something that happens overnight.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I have no idea just how deep the Mafia reaches into the department yet.”

  “I can tell you that my sister can be trusted.”

  She was just about to tell him about Tatiana Ivanova and Roman Petrov’s miraculous resurrection when there was a knock on the door. She looked at Troy. “You expecting someone?”

  He gave her raised shoulders and a funny face. “But maybe you should get the door.”

  “Ah, it’s probably Terry. He texted last night, and I just responded this morning.” She got up and answered the door.

  A woman was standing there with a huge smile, holding a vase wrapped with a red ribbon, and Hershey’s bars were poking out.

  She turned to Troy and raised a brow.

  “Madison Knight?” the woman said.

  “Yes.”

  “Here you go. Have a great day.” The woman left, and Madison returned to the living room.

  “You like?” Troy smiled.

  “Like? Love! Who told you Hershey’s is my favorite flower?” She chuckled and set it on the coffee table.

  “Just don’t mow them all down in one sitting.”

  “Please, I’ll show some restraint.” She snatched one of the larger bars and tore through the wrapper.

  “Oh, right now? We’re doing this right now?”

  She bit off a chunk and swallowed. “You must have been feeling really bad about walking out last night.”

  He pressed his lips and gestured to the bouquet. “Believe that says it all.”

  “I love you, too.” She plastered a huge, wet, chocolatey kiss on his cheek.

  -

  Fifty

  I’m never going to eat again,” Madison moaned. She hadn’t eaten the entire jumbo bar, but she’d inflicted some damage.

  Troy laughed. “Just because the Hershey’s bouquet arrived didn’t mean you had to sample it right away.”

  “You’re kidding, right? It’s Hershey’s.” All the explanation needed. She’d always find room in her stomach for chocolate.

  “So…” Troy’s expression had become serious, and his tone further reflected that sentiment. “We need to discuss our next steps, but should we give this mission of ours a code name?” The suggestion was an obvious attempt at lightening the somberness of the conversation.

  “Sure. If you’d like.” She smiled at him.

  “All right, then. How about Stiles Clean Sweep?”

  “Fine, but I don’t really care what we call it, honestly. I just want Murphy held accountable for what he did. We’ll start there.”

  “I can get behind that.”

  “I’d also like to out any and all corrupt cops.”

  “Who do you suspect so far?”

  “Two, and both you know about. Dustin Phelps and Garrett Murphy. There’s probably more. I’m just getting started. As I told you, I’ve staked out at Club Sophisticated a couple times. I want to identify all the players involved with the mob and do whatever we can to stop any criminal activity.” The fact one of those “players” was her ex-boyfriend Blake Golden might complicate things a bit. She went on. “There’s this woman… I had no idea who she was at the time, but I followed her from the club last weekend.”

  “Two Saturdays ago when you said you were working late?”

  Her gaze flicked to his. “I did go to the club that night, yes. What made you think—”

  “Just the way Terry looked at you in the hospital when I made some comment to the effect of you working all the time.”

  “Can’t pull much over on you, can I?”

  “Remember that.”

  “Yes, I went there that night, but I also returned on Sunday.”

  “When I was at work.”

  She nodded. “That’s when I followed that woman. She was driven to a house in Deer Glen. The property is registered to a numbered corporation. I could only find one name associated. Roman Petrov.”

  “Roman? I thought he was dead.”

  “Me too. But I’ve got it on good authority that he staged his death.”

  “Good authority?”

  She took a deep breath. “Leland King.”

  “He’s involved with this war against the Mafia too?”

  “Not anymore. His advice is that I leave it alone.”

  “It’s probably wiser than either of us want to admit.”

  Silence spanned between them for a while.

  She took a few deep breaths. “He also told me her name is Tatiana Ivanova, and she’s Roman Petrov’s second cousin and star assassin.”

  Troy sat on the edge of the couch cushion. “Shit.”

  “Yeah, we don’t need her attention until it’s time for her to go behind bars.”

  “Wow.” Troy rubbed his jaw and sank back into the couch again. “Do you think she ordered Murphy to hit you?”

  “I hope not, but who knows? Murphy and the Phelps brothers could have acted of their own volition, but I have a feeling it goes deeper.”

  “Let’s just start by focusing on Garrett Murphy. If we’re running with the assumption he drove Joel Phelps’s truck, how do we prove that?”

  “Talk to his neighbors and see if they give the same story about the truck not leaving the driveway all week.”

  “And if they do?”

  She didn’t want to go this route, but now it seemed she had no choice. Besides, she came clean about so much else. “I have proof that his truck was used.” She’d pushed the admission out quickly, but if she and Troy were going to be a team, she had to come forward with all she had.

  “Proof?” His eyes darkened.

  “Pictures.” She got up and went down the hall for her cell phone. She brought up the spread of photos she took.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “From his driveway.”

  “Saturday morning when you slipped out in my truck.” Not a question.

  “Yes.”

  “I should—” He clenched his jaw and stared in the distance for a few seconds. “You know what? Never mind. You’ll telling me now, and I appreciate that. But why not come to me with this sooner?”

  “I didn’t know how to handle it.” The truth was she wanted to avoid confrontation and bringing her little op into the light.

  Eventually he said, “Fair enough. We just need to get that indisputable proof that Joel Phelps let Garrett Murphy borrow his truck and they conspired to kill you. But what gets me is why be so blatant about it? Why would Murphy let you see his face?”

  She considered his question, one she hadn’t thought of before. “Maybe he thought I’d have been unconscious. Or it was a warning. He might not have intended to kill me at all. It could have just been to deliver the message that I need to back off and stop snooping around.”

  Troy balled a hand into a fist. “Intention aside, he almost succeeded in killing you.”

  “Maybe we could appeal to Murphy’s humanity. He wouldn’t have known I was pregnant.”

  “Do you think knowing would be enough for him to confess to dealings with the mob or to expose their presence in Stiles?”

  “I guess not. How do you propose getting Murphy to talk?”

  His eyes glazed over with concentration. “I have an idea.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ll call Garrett and invite him over for beers and a barbecue. I’ll try to get him to open up.”

  “So you think burgers and beers will do that?” She still wasn’t seeing where he was headed.

  “Uh-huh, and I’m going to use the fact I’d questioned him about the accident to my advantage. The meal will be an apology of sorts, setting things right between us.”

  “Ah, so you’ll present yourself as his fr
iend.”

  “Yes, but I’ll be wired. Andrea will be brought up to speed ahead of time. You and Andrea can listen in, and whoever else she wants present as a witness.”

  “Which would probably be good as we’re all practically family.”

  Troy smiled. “We are family, I agree. Maybe we’ll want to include Sergeant Winston.”

  “Not sure I can trust him. What about Terry? And—” She stopped. Maybe suggesting who she had in mind wasn’t a good idea.

  “Who, Maddy?”

  “Cynthia. But I need to talk to her before this all goes down. Let her know. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Except you can’t risk her tipping off Murphy, or Lou finding out and warning his friend.”

  “If I tell Cynthia in confidence, I can’t see her passing any of this along to Lou. I do trust her, but just as a preventative measure, we could time it so I’m telling her when Murphy’s already on his way to our place.”

  “Now, that sounds like a plan.”

  -

  Fifty-One

  It was six thirty, and Madison was holed up in a communications trailer parked a block over from her and Troy’s house. Andrea was there, along with Cynthia and Terry and Nick, one of Troy’s best friends, who was also from his SWAT team.

  Madison wasn’t quite sure that Cynthia was talking to her anymore, but she’d agreed to come along with the words, “What the hell?”

  When Madison approached Terry, she did her best to lay everything out. She’d started with, “There is something I’m involved in that I prefer to keep you out of, but it turns out, it’s best to get you involved.”

  “Now you have me intrigued.”

  “Before you get too excited, what I’m asking could be dangerous. First, you should know the Russian Mafia is still operating in Stiles—” She held up her hand to stop him from interrupting. “And they have corrupt cops on their payroll.”

  “Hate to sound dismissive, but there are probably cops on the take in every police department around the world. What do they have to do with you?”

  It had been a good question, but the answer was simple if not vague. She had an inexplicable drive to clean up her city.

  “So?” Terry pressed.

  “It’s just who I am, Terry. Corrupt cops need to be taken off the streets.”

  “And you’re going to do that all on your own?”

  “I like to think others in the department would support my efforts and that people have my back.”

  “You have people, Maddy,” Terry eventually said. “You just don’t let us in.”

  She responded at the risk of her voice cracking. “I’m working on that.”

  “All right, then. In that case, I’m in. I’ll do whatever I can.”

  She went on to explain what she and Troy had planned, how she needed a neutral party, and Terry was just one part of that team.

  At first, he’d hesitated. He’d expressed concern about the night going sideways and tried to place doubts in her mind. What if she was mistaken and had seen it all wrong? But she didn’t think he questioned her sanity as much as he would have loved for her to back off.

  “It’s one thing if it’s Garrett and Joel in on this. Another if the mob ordered them to do it,” Terry had said.

  “Trust me, I know,” she’d responded, and Terry hadn’t said anymore except that he had her back, even if he regretted it.

  There was enough room in the trailer for all of them to sit. Nick would ensure that the wire was working, and he was recording the conversation, which played at a low volume in the trailer so they didn’t all have to wear earbuds.

  Troy had spoken to some of Joel Phelps’s neighbors that afternoon, and there were a few who couldn’t vouch for the truck being in his driveway Monday night.

  “Here you go,” Troy’s voice came over the comms. Madison wished there was some way to watch what was happening, too, but she imagined Troy handing Murphy a beer.

  There was a bit of silence. Both probably drinking.

  “So where’s that girlfriend of yours?” Murphy asked.

  Madison noted how Murphy avoided using her name. Detective when face-to-face, and girlfriend now.

  “She’s spending some time with Cynthia.”

  Madison glanced over at her friend, but she seemed to be looking everywhere but at her.

  “Women.” Murphy laughed.

  “Yeah, I just wanted to have you over because I feel bad,” Troy said. “You know about yesterday. It wasn’t cool that I questioned you.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “It’s just…well, you know Maddy gets stuff in her head sometimes, and it’s hard to convince her otherwise.” She and Troy had discussed how he was going to approach the conversation and playing her up as a little zany and obsessive was agreed upon ahead of time.

  “Uh-huh,” Murphy mumbled.

  Madison noticed how Troy planted the subliminal you know Maddy into his statement, and Murphy’s lackluster response indicated that he knew what she was like. But they had never spent time around each other so unless he poked into her business, he’d have no idea about her personality or her motivations.

  “Anyway, I’ve spoken with her, and she’s backing off.”

  “That’s good, man.”

  Another stretch of silence.

  Cynthia sighed loudly and shook her head.

  Troy went on. “She’s just obsessed, you know.”

  “Obsessed?” Murphy’s voice was tentative.

  “Yeah, with the mob. She swears they’re still active in Stiles.”

  “Oh, please.”

  The hairs rose on Madison’s arms, and her earlobes heated. She could strangle the man. Troy deserved credit for sitting across from the guy without knocking him out.

  “You don’t think they are?” Troy asked.

  “Nah. They’re gone.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  A span of silence, Murphy broke it.

  “Why would she even think the Russians are still in town?”

  Madison noted the small victory. Murphy was curious, which meant he was on the defensive.

  “She’s quite sure some Stiles PD cops are on their payroll too.”

  “Huh.” Murphy scoffed laughter. “She really has an active imagination.” It was apparent he made the comment as a throwaway, but there was more to his tone of voice. Fear? Dismissal? Misdirection?

  “She does.”

  “So do you have any idea who might have run into her car?”

  Troy was doing great at getting Murphy relaxed and open. Murphy probably had no clue that he was being duped.

  “We have a vehicle make and model and a partial plate.”

  A few seconds passed in which Madison could picture Murphy leaning forward, eager to know where that had led Troy.

  “Any hits?” Murphy asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that’s good, right? Who owns the vehicle?”

  “Ah, don’t concern yourself with it. I don’t even know if it’s going to stick.”

  “What’s gonna stick?”

  “The pending charges against the driver.”

  “And who—”

  “Like I said, don’t concern yourself with it.”

  “You thought it was me yesterday, so I am.” There was an edge to Murphy’s voice. He’d probably heard from Joel Phelps that Troy was asking questions about his truck.

  Cynthia looked at Madison now, just briefly.

  “Guy’s name is Joel Phelps,” Troy laid out.

  “Phelps?” Murphy seemed to be experiencing a period of amnesia—all a show.

  “He’s Dustin Phelps’s brother.”

  “Ah, that’s why I know the name.”

  “So you’ve never met him? Joel?”
>
  “Not that I remember.”

  “Wow, that’s rich,” Madison exclaimed.

  Andrea laid a calming hand on her shoulder. Terry and Nick glanced over and offered pressed-lip expressions that communicated support. Cynthia crossed her arms.

  “Huh, I thought you might have met,” Troy began. “You and Dustin pull some shifts together, don’t you?”

  “Sure, but we’re not buddies.”

  “He’s a real lying sack of shit!” Madison fumed and paced the trailer.

  Cynthia bolted to her feet and moved in front of her. “Do you even know Garrett?”

  “Not personally—”

  “Then how would you know who he knows?” With that, Cynthia stormed from the trailer.

  Madison balled her fists and looked up the ceiling.

  Andrea went to her and put her hands on Madison’s forearms. “This has gotta be rough on her. She probably thought she knew Garrett. Give her time. She’ll probably come around.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I think it’s obvious to all of us here that Officer Murphy is hiding something,” Andrea declared.

  “I agree, Maddy,” Terry told her.

  Nick nodded.

  She sat down at the table, and so did Andrea and Terry. They listened as Troy made more small talk and cooked him and Murphy dinner. During the couple hours they spent together, there were no admissions—not that this was expected—but it laid the groundwork.

  The next step would be more fun, but it was one that she promised to leave in Troy’s hands. He’d commissioned a couple other men from his SWAT team to follow Murphy. Troy had said enough that if Murphy was involved with the mob, he’d be running back to warn his partners in crime. It was also pretty much guaranteed that he’d be paying Joel Phelps a visit.

  -

  Fifty-Two

  Monday. And there wasn’t one good thing about it. Murphy hadn’t led Troy’s men anywhere. Not even to Joel Phelps’s house. But Troy and Nick were back to tailing Murphy. She was pouring herself a second decaf coffee when there was a knock on the door. That would be Terry picking her up for work.

  “Any progress?” he asked when she let him inside.