Law and Murder

by Rusty Ellis

  13

  “That’s all he said?” Foster asked.

  The Warden repeated, “He said she’s fine and she’s going to spend the night where they won’t find her.”

  “Good, good, that’s good,” Foster looked through the bars of his cell at the Warden. “Why are you helping me?”

  The Warden lowered his voice and leaned in toward the bars, “Let’s just say I don’t think that the sins of the fathers should fall upon their children, no matter how bad the sins. And Ransom’s a friend.”

  Foster nodded. Numerous versions of the statement floated around the prison, mostly originating in what they called the Born Agains. He’d ignored the common Bible verse before, but was thankful the Warden hadn’t.

  “I don’t have to tell you, watch your back,” the Warden interrupted Foster’s thoughts.

  “I will. Really though, what do you get out of this?”

  “Let’s just say that I expect you to play well with others, including my staff. Anytime I can make my staff safer, it’s a win for me.”

  Foster nodded once more and watched the Warden walk a short distance to the next cell, where he stopped to briefly chat with the next inmate. The Warden’s visit appeared as a routine stroll and chat. Foster sat back on his bunk and thought about his daughter.

  The sins of the father…

  Soon enough his daughter would be safe. Safe from the thugs he introduced into her life. Safe from him. Now he would wait for Ransom to collect on his end of the deal, the information Foster promised him.

  14

  “Is something wrong?” Turing asked Ransom and glanced at Leesa.

  “No,” Ransom finally spoke up, his voice didn’t convince Leesa or Turing.

  The three stood quiet, the awkward silence hanging in-between them.

  Leesa broke the silence, “How did you know these guys were already down here?”

  Turing shrugged and smiled, “Just part of my job.”

  Ransom decided to test the waters and asked, “How’s your daughter holding up?”

  The question caught Turing off guard. The mention of his daughter forced Turing’s face into a scowl before he caught himself and smoothed the wrinkles back into a smile, “She’s fine, thank you for asking, Detective Walsh.”

  “Good to hear,” Ransom watched Turing’s reaction.

  An obvious tender spot with Turing, his reaction indicative of some underlying issues between her and her father. Ransom guessed the riff was to do with the girl’s unsanctioned trip to the prison to visit Foster.

  “About my clients,” Turing attempted to take control of the conversation and topic. “Are you charging them with anything?”

  “How about false imprisonment?” Leesa chimed in.

  “I see. Is the so-called victim filing a complaint?” Turing slowly delivered his response.

  Ransom bristled at Turing’s comments. A common defense against false imprisonment is for the attorney to present that, “The alleged victim consented to the restriction of their movement.”

  Leesa noticed the wording as well and looked to Ransom for confirmation.

  “No, she isn’t,” Leesa delivered the answer.

  “Well then, if you aren’t charging them with anything, you’ll be releasing them?”

  “We have a few questions,” Ransom interjected.

  Turing shook his head, “Sorry, they won’t be answering any questions.”

  The last comment was more than Ransom and Leesa could take. Their discussion with the attorney abruptly ended. Ransom followed Leesa through the side doors toward the interview rooms. Leesa gathered up the two men from separate rooms and uncuffed them. She headed them back into the lobby where Turing was waiting. Both men turned back to smile at Leesa and Ransom, a sickening victory lap on their way out the front door to the freedom of the parking lot.

  “Do you know the difference between justice and injustice?” Ransom asked his partner while watching three men walk away through the lobby windows.

  “What?” Leesa continued to stare in the same direction.

  Ransom looked at Leesa and put a hand on her shoulder, “Good police work.”

  15

  Climbing into his car, Averett started the engine and hit a button on the dashboard to encourage the air conditioning to fight the stifling heat in the car. The pit in his stomach had a strangle-hold on him. A wave of nausea caused him to loosen his tie. Averett took a look in the rearview mirror at his face. He’d aged in the last seven years. He felt tired. Not his body. His soul felt tired; worn thin. Sara was the only thing keeping his tattered existence intact. The game of secrets and allegiance contradicted every facet of his life. From home, to work, and his relationship with his daughter. It plagued him, nothing unscathed. No escape from the guilt of knowing. No escape from the twisted alliances.

  A vibration from the center console pulled his attention away from the mirror. He looked down to see his phone dancing in the cup holder.

  Answering the phone, he muttered, “They’re out.”

  The phone went dead. No more information needed. He’d done his job. His phone vibrated again while still in his hand. Looking down at the screen, he read, “Sara: Love you daddy. Hope you’re having a good day.”

  The simple words were more than he could bear. He lowered his head onto the steering wheel and let the tears roll down his cheeks.

  His wife dead. His daughter safe, for now. His career hijacked. As a defense attorney, he’d found ways for clients to receive lesser sentences. Sometimes, no sentences. But when it came to the most important case of his career, he’d failed—and it cost him. He’d failed his wife and his daughter. He lost his best friend. His daughter lost her mother. There had to be a way out, only he couldn’t see it.

  Averett pulled his head up off the steering wheel and leaned back against the head rest. The only way to slay a serpent is to cut off its head. He had to find a way to remove the threat to him and his daughter.

  But how?

  16

  Leesa drove down MLK and turned onto the 95 North freeway toward northwest Las Vegas.

  “Should I swing you by your house?” she asked.

  “What?” Ransom was caught up in the puzzle involving Averett Turing.

  “Do you want me to drop you at home to get your truck or are you meeting Teresa for dinner?”

  “Just drop me at home, that’s fine,” he stared back out the window, puzzle pieces shifted in his head.

  Leesa’s phone rang and she put it on speaker, “Gardner.”

  “Hey, it’s Gonzalez.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I did a little digging on our two guys and there was a line on their rap sheet about contacting the Organized Crime Unit. I reached out to OC to see what the flag was about.”

  “And…” Ransom jumped in.

  “Oh, hey Ransom. And the two guys we grabbed are known foot soldiers for the Sartori Family.”

  “The Sartori Family?” Leesa questioned.

  Ransom spoke up, “I haven’t heard that name in quite some time. We dealt with Moreno Sartori years ago, but I haven’t heard anything about them in a while.”

  Gonzalez responded, “Apparently they’re alive and well. Moreno Sartori is the head of the family and is running things. Those two goons we picked up had to be acting with his approval. Nothing happens without the old man’s approval.”

  “Doesn’t Moreno have a son? I thought his son would be calling the shots?” Ransom asked.

  “One second,” Gonzalez put his phone on speaker.

  “Hey, it’s Hatch. You’re right, Ransom. He has a son, Valentino. He should’ve taken over the business by now, but he’s locked up. Picked up a voluntary manslaughter conviction about seven years ago. He’s doing time for it right now at Southern Desert. Should be getting close to release on parole or cleaning up his time in full, I’m not totally sure on that.”

  “Thanks, guys,” Leesa responded.

  “No problem. Be safe,”
Gonzalez hung up the phone.

  “I feel like I need a chalkboard to get all of this straight,” Leesa commented and turned onto the street in front of Ransom’s house.

  Leesa slowed to a stop and waited while Ransom gathered his cane and climbed out of the car.

  “You want to call the prison and set up a meet with Foster in the morning?” Ransom asked.

  “Sure. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  “Tell Teresa I said hi.”

  “Will do,” Ransom said over his shoulder as he limped to the front door.

  17

  Ransom sat in the booth with a clear view of the front door of the restaurant. Every time the door opened a chiming sound was set off, alerting staff a customer had arrived or had left. The sound distracted Ransom, his attention drawn to the doorway with every alerting sound.

  “A little jumpy, aren’t you?” Teresa asked and watched his face.

  Ransom pursed his lips and began to respond when another person walked through the door and the noise stole his attention again. The new customer walked in and waved at a group of people just inside the door. Ransom turned back to find a raised eyebrow on Teresa’s face.

  “Sorry, it’s been a crazy day,” he shared.

  “Should we just get the food to go?”

  Ransom smiled, “Would you mind?”

  Teresa laughed, “Actually, I would prefer it at this point.”

  She stood and walked over to the counter and spoke with a man standing behind the cash register. He nodded vigorously and went toward the kitchen area to bag up their order. Teresa looked back and gave Ransom a smile and thumbs up. Ransom had to shake his head, her thumbs up was even cute.

  He stood and headed toward the door as Teresa took the plastic bag from the man. Ransom opened the door and Teresa led the way back to Ransom’s truck. Teresa would have preferred her own little sports car, but Ransom’s leg had been aching him and he could stretch out more in his truck. The summer heat had risen inside the truck’s cab and rushed out the open door when Ransom opened Teresa’s door. He shuffled around to his side of the truck to hurry and start the engine to get the air conditioning going. The initial blast of hot air from the vents tightened his pores.

  The hum of the truck tires on the pavement echoed in the background of the truck’s interior; Ransom was lost in thought. He was treading in unfamiliar waters: Organized Crime. Sure, there was some overlap working homicide for 16 years, but for the most part, when OC was involved there was another unit handling the crimes.

  “So what’s going on up there?” Teresa asked and nodded toward Ransom’s head.

  He couldn’t help but laugh, “Not much, I’m afraid.”

  “Yeah, right. When you’re this quiet, I know the wheels are turning.”

  Ransom turned onto Teresa’s street and slowed to a stop in front of her house. He put the truck in park and turned toward her with the air conditioning still blowing.

  “I’m caught up in a new area for me. Maybe new isn’t the right word. How about, we’re about to head a little further down a rabbit hole I’ve never been down before,” he shared.

  “And does that worry you?”

  A wry grin grew on Ransom’s face, “Nah. The puzzle pieces are just shaped a little different from the ones I’m used too.”

  Teresa rolled her eyes, “Always the analytical one, aren’t you? If you were nervous, would you tell me?”

  With the raise of an eyebrow, Ransom grinned and reached for the door handle, “So, let’s go eat before it gets cold.”

  He quickly opened the door before Teresa could get in another word. Climbing out of the truck, he switched his cane over to his left hand and made his way around the back and to Teresa’s door. Opening her door, Ransom was met by a quick smack of Teresa’s hand to his ribs. He quickly faked mortal injury and staggered back, leaning on his case for support.

  “Gimme a break,” Teresa hopped from the truck with the bags in hand.

  Ransom laughed and pushed the door shut behind her.

  18

  “Sorry, I don’t remember the names of all of them, Boss. Just the names of the two we were supposed to meet at the station,” the man leaned forward, his thighs almost touching the white tablecloth in front of him. His shoulders were pulled together in front, a submissive posture.

  The man on the other side of the table was sitting. A plate of half-eaten lasagna and a basket of bread in front of him. He donned a three-piece suit with silver cufflinks and a pocket handkerchief. Two tree-sized men stood behind him against the wall on either side of the man, black suits and ties, their hands clasped in front of them. They reflected the same disinterested looks on their faces as their employer as they watched the man’s hands on the other side of the table, indifferent about the words coming out of his mouth.

  “Don’t worry about it,” the man said with a flip of his hand and reached for a piece of bread from the basket.

  Another suit was sitting at the table to the left of the man. He had a leather binder on the table in front of him and scratched notes as needed.

  “What were the two names you did get for me?” The man used his bread to wipe up some of the red sauce on his plate and took a bite.

  “The lady detective’s name was Gardner. The guy with the cane was named Walsh…”

  The man stopped chewing and set the remainder of the bread on his plate. He reached to his lap and produced a white linen napkin and wiped his hands before placing the napkin next to the plate on the table.

  “Walsh?” he looked at the man across the table and saw him fidget from the question.

  The man nodded and sat up straight, causing the two men on the wall to lean forward in his direction.

  “It wouldn’t be Ransom Walsh, would it?” he placed his elbows on the table, leaned forward, and clasped his hands.

  The man stiffened at the boss’s tone. He looked up to the two men again who gave no indication of changing their demeanor. He looked to the other man at the table who was now watching with his pen above his pad of paper, waiting for some type of response.

  “I think I heard one of the other detectives call him Ransom, Mr. Sartori.”

  Sartori watched the man’s response, entertained by his inability to hold still in front of him. There were times when power and fear had its true benefits—this was one of those times.

  “You did good,” Sartori told the man. He turned to the man sitting at the table and asked, “Anything else we need?”

  “No, sir,” the man answered without emotion.

  “Okay, then. I need you and your brother to lay low for a couple of days. Take some time off and let the heat cool down a little. Boots will tell you where you can go hole up, okay?”

  “Thanks, Boss. And we’re really sorry. I have no idea how the cops found out about it,” the relief spread across the man’s face. He stood and backed away from the table and scurried toward the front door of the restaurant.

  Sartori reached a hand up by the side of his head and motioned to one of the giants behind him, “Boots.”

  The big man to his right stepped from the wall and leaned down, “Yes, Boss?”

  “Take care of them, him and his brother. We don’t need an example made out of them, I just don’t need to see them again. Have Nicki help you.”

  “Yes, Boss,” the big man pulled a phone from his pocket and tapped the screen while walking toward where the man had exited.

  The man at the table next to Sartori spoke up, “Are you concerned about Walsh?”

  Sartori sat silent. He retrieved the napkin next to his plate and returned it to his lap. Reaching forward he picked up his fork in one hand and the half-eaten piece of bread in the other. He continued to mop up the red sauce on his plate with the bread.

  Leaning down to take a bite of the red stained bread in his hand, he commented, “He won’t be able to connect the pieces if he can’t find the pieces.”

 
19

  “Sartori?” Teresa repeated and leaned back in her chair, her face flushed.

  “You know about the Sartori family?” Ransom took another bite of his burger and waited for an answer. Ransom chewed and realized an answer wasn’t coming any time soon. “Are you, okay?” he dropped his burger back on his plate and noticed the look on Teresa’s face.

  “Please tell me you aren’t getting tangled up with Moreno Sartori.”

  “Maybe, why?” Ransom seemed unfazed from the name.

  “Ransom, I did some reporting on Moreno Sartori and his so called family. I covered the story about his son seven years ago, Val Sartori. That’s not a family you want to mess with.”

  “We contacted the Metro OC Unit and they told us the guys we picked up today were connected to Sartori. But that’s not the part that’s bugging me.”

  “What could possibly be worse than dealing with the Sartori family?” Teresa looked perplexed by Ransom’s off the cuff comment.

  “It’s Averett Turing.”

  “Averett Turing?” Teresa thought about the name and then her eyebrows furrowed, “Val Sartori’s attorney?”

  “I’m impressed you remembered that,” Ransom smiled. “Turing was waiting for us downtown when we got there to interview those two Sartori goons.”

  “Waiting there? For what?”

  “He told us he was their attorney,” Ransom let the information sink in.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Teresa shook her head. “You should have seen the look on Moreno’s face after Val was convicted. If looks could kill, Turing would already be dead. People overheard Moreno make threats toward the judge and Turing in the hallway. After that, I don’t see Moreno keeping Turing on retainer.”

  Ransom pushed his plate away, his cold hamburger needed a jolt in the microwave at this point, “That’s the connection we need to figure out. Last Friday, Turing’s daughter visited her mother’s killer, Foster, up at Southern Desert. Foster called me and ended up admitting he was paid by someone named Gianni to kill Paula Turing. Then this all goes down today and we have Sartori using his goons to threaten Foster’s daughter.”