Abaddon's Locusts
Page 31
“Can I assume you smell a story?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I smell a rat. But you’re right, I’m going to look into it. Who do you know in the Fire Department?”
I gave him the name of Lanny Johnson, a lieutenant who ran the Arson Squad at AFD. I’d worked with him a couple of times and found him to be a good man. “Course, you can call Gene if you want to know if there’s a police case working.”
My old riding partner at APD, Lt. Eugene Enriquez, oversaw Homicide. I needed to touch base with him anyway. The powers that be kept threatening to promote him to captain, but he didn’t want to become an administrator. That would put him out of the “action,” he claimed. The last time I talked to him, he was seriously considering retirement.
I PARKED my white ’98 Impala in my spot in the lot at Fifth and Tijeras NW and took the back stairway to the third floor. As usual, I paused a moment to look down on the open atrium that hollowed out the core of my office building before pushing through the door labeled Vinson and Weeks, Confidential Investigations. I’d taken the time to stop by the North Valley Country Club for pool therapy before driving downtown to the office. In May of ’04—while I was still an APD detective—I’d been shot in the right thigh by a suspected murderer. Ever since that momentous event, I needed to hit the water now and then to keep the leg from stiffening up. That was how I met Paul. He’d worked as a lifeguard at the country club to help pay his way through college.
Hazel, my office manager and a key cog in our organization, sat at her desk performing some of her magic on the internet. A whiz at locating people electronically, she had been my late mom’s best friend and was now my partner Charlie Weeks’s wife. She glanced up as I entered.
“Gene called. Mayor’s office and an assistant DA phoned. Slips are on your desk.”
“What does the mayor want?”
“Didn’t deign to impart that information. DA wants to arrange for you to testify in the embezzlement case.”
I sighed and walked into my private office. I could get a lot more done if I didn’t have to drop everything and testify in court. That had been my lament from the time I was a Marine MP and an APD detective. Some things never change.
I knew what the mayor wanted. There was a vacancy on the civilian police oversight board, and he was considering appointing me. I wasn’t certain how I felt about that. To sit in judgment of people I’d served with for nine years—even though that was six years in the rearview mirror now—didn’t seem appropriate to me. On the other hand, as an ex-cop, I understood the life they lived minute-by-minute every day. Something else I needed to check with Gene.
I delayed returning the mayor’s call, took care of the scheduling of my testimony on the embezzlement case, and dialed Gene’s private number. Our phone conversations, although increasingly rare, followed a pattern. Brusque greetings and catching up on family affairs before getting down to business. Given Gene’s family of five children, most afflicted with the dreaded teenage condition, he talked a lot more than I did. Today was no different. After he filled me in on Glenda and the brood, ranging from Gene Jr., nineteen, down to little Heddy, twelve, I brought him up to date with news of Paul. Once everything was covered, I asked if there was a police investigation of the Belhaven death.
“The writer toasted in his garage? Why? Should there be?”
“You know the answer to that better than I do, but Paul’s convinced there’s something funny. Claims Belhaven wouldn’t have attempted to repair a lawn mower or anything else. He wasn’t a hands-on type of guy.”
“We’ve had that feedback too.”
“So you’re looking into the death?”
“Like usual, we’re satisfying ourselves everything’s on the up and up… unless OMI declares it an accidental death. Which they haven’t done yet.”
“I think Paul wants to write a story on it.”
“Have him touch base with Det. Roy Guerra. He’s handling it for us.”
I LEFT a message on Paul’s voicemail providing him Detective Guerra’s name and contact information. After that, Hazel waylaid me with a background check on a Dallas man being considered as an executive by a local bank. That took the rest of the day and would consume half of my tomorrow, but this was the bread and butter of our business. Novels and films romanticizing the lives of PIs—as they called us—were so far off-base as to be laughable. Still, the life pleased me, so I had no inclination to bail on the agency and live off the trust fund my parents had thoughtfully left me.
Midafternoon, I heard a familiar voice in the outer office and Hazel’s delighted rejoinder. Hazel is perplexed by the gay lifestyle I lead but loves Paul as much as she does me, so I knew he was getting a hug and a once-over. Moments later he came through the doorway and invaded my private space, and a welcome incursion it was. I never tired of looking on his handsome features.
“Hi. Am I interrupting anything?”
“No, come on in.”
“I just met with that Detective Guerra guy. Thanks for getting the contact for me.”
“Pleased to do it. What did he say?”
“He has his reservations about Belhaven’s death, and I added to them.”
“Any theories?”
“Couple. I found out Pierce was interviewed by Wilma Hardesty of KALB-TV the afternoon he died. She quizzed him about his new book. And that interview might have cost him his life.”
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DON TRAVIS is a man totally captivated by his adopted state of New Mexico. Each of his B. J. Vinson mystery novels features some region of the state as prominently as it does his protagonist, a gay former Marine, ex-cop turned confidential investigator. Don never made it to the Marines (three years in the Army was all he managed) and certainly didn’t join the Albuquerque Police Department. He thought he was a paint artist for a while, but ditched that for writing a few years back. A loner, he fulfills his social needs by attending SouthWest Writers meetings and teaching a weekly writing class at an Albuquerque community center.
Facebook: Don Travis
Twitter: @dontravis3
Website: dontravis.com
By Don Travis
BJ VINSON MYSTERIES
The Zozobra Incident
The Bisti Business
The City of Rocks
The Lovely Pines
Abaddon’s Locusts
Published by DSP PUBLICATIONS
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Published by
DSP PUBLICATIONS
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Abaddon’s Locusts
© 2019 Don Travis.
Cover Art
© 2019 Maria Fanning.
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact DSP Publications, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dsppublications.com.
Digital ISBN: 978-1-64080-718-1
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-64108-119-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018938536
Digital published January 2019
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America