High Court (Cid Garrett P.I. Book 2)

by Alexie Aaron

  Amy couldn’t help laughing at this point. “No control.”

  “Exactly. Luminosa was out of control. Basically, I put her in a playpen so she couldn’t hurt anybody, and Jesse sent her back to Go, so she wouldn’t hurt herself.”

  “For the record, I wouldn’t give Jorge a Gibbs. He’d break my spectral body in so many pieces, you’d think I was stardust.”

  “Good to know. I’ll leave my Gibbs slapping to Jesse.”

  “Remind me why we keep revisiting this spot?” Amy asked.

  “Because this is the most likely place Luminosa would manifest. And I promised Dita I would.”

  “Odds are, she’s not coming back.”

  “Not for a while, but there isn’t a way of measuring the time.”

  “What about your smart friend Ted? Could he figure out the time?”

  “No, not really, because we aren’t just dealing with this dimension, but the other side of the veil as well.”

  “That used to sound pretty to me: beyond the veil. But now I picture a bunch of dead people bumping into each other.”

  “I’m not sure that’s it either. I’ll have to ask Faye. I used to try to get a straight answer out of a friend of mine back home, but all he did was glare at me like I was a moron.”

  “Would I know if Luminosa was here?”

  “Only if she wanted you to know.”

  “For the record, Luminosa, I would prefer a tap on the shoulder to a Gibbs,” Amy announced.

  Dita was happy to see Cid on duty. She was working on charging the batteries of the RVs. How they lost power so quickly frightened her. She made sure, once they jumped the engines, that the vehicles were parked as far away from the spot on which Cid now stood. Belinda had calmed down the girls. They were used to running into strange situations in their line of work. The best thing was to identify the problem and either work around it or leave. Being startled by a spirit was one thing; being startled on a roof was another. Her job was to employ and protect her employees. On the outside, her group of former gang members looked mean, but she knew each woman had been used or abused, and trust was hard coming. Dita and Belinda had to earn their trust. And when the connection was made, a bond was formed, one that was stronger than iron.

  Cid and Amy had moved on to check out the empty buildings.

  Dita moved to where Cid had made a smaller circle of salt and sat down next to it. She spoke to the trapped spirit in Spanish, basically saying, “Hello, you, I know you’re mad. I know why you’re mad, but you’ve got to give them time. Justice is served by the law and not by vigilantes.”

  “What if you’ve been bad, and the law doesn’t owe you justice?”

  Dita was surprised by the words that seemed to swirl around her. She swallowed her fear and spoke up, “I used to be so bad that they tossed me in jail. My sister thought she was getting justice for me, and she too was tossed in jail, a different jail. I missed her. I had time to think of how we could have done better. I got out and learned a trade and made sure I was no longer dependent upon a gang to put food on the table. Belinda got out, and the two of us decided to reach out to others. And now, no one tells any Espina what to do; they ask. We are respected. I make no excuses for my crimes, but I’ll never repeat them. God knows this. On the day I fall off the roof for the last time, he will be there to greet me.”

  “You’re so confident.”

  “It took time, but it was worth it. May I ask, what was your crime?”

  “I turned a blind eye to drugs being purchased for a cut of the profits.”

  “Ouch. I used to be an enforcer for those who got in the way of the gang’s business. The gang’s business was…”

  “Drugs. How could I be so stupid? How could I put my family in jeopardy that way?”

  “You did what you had to do to survive, and now you know it was a path you shouldn’t have taken. Do you want to continue to take that well-worn path or do you want to find another way?”

  “I want justice.”

  “Justice will come. Be patient, justice is on the way.”

  ~

  Hank Dodd always loved the sound the lake water made as it swirled around the boats and piers of his marina. He walked along, making note of the of boats that were still moored to the docks. The lake would probably start to freeze in the next few weeks. Soon, Hank would have to pull the boats out of the water, without permission. It was better than explaining to the customers that their lack of attention cost them tens of thousands of dollars. Summer people didn’t think like the locals did. They promised themselves one more weekend on the lake but rarely arrived. There was too much to do, too many holidays to prepare for. Autumn moved quickly at this elevation. The lake would freeze, and that would be that.

  Hank would have to fight for his fee when they arrived in May. Every year, it was the same thing. If he had his way, he would sell the place and move on to warmer climes, the places the summer people went to in the winter. Except, this time, someone else would be waiting on them. It wouldn’t be Hank.

  As the sun set, he thought about what had happened today. The meeting at the gallery had made him uneasy. Gone was his anger for the owner, even his assistant. What replaced the emotion was distrust and paranoia. Mark and Roland were closing ranks, leaving him, as usual, out on a limb by himself. They ought to know better. He could undo their smug little looks with the packet of evidence he had safely hidden. He wasn’t foolish enough to keep it in a local bank, and upon his death, his executor was instructed to give a copy of the packet to the Attorney General. He couldn’t use it now. Hank couldn’t face what the press would do to the Dodd name. He regretted the day the four rich kids invited him to sit at their lunch table. He didn’t know that they had discussed it before and decided it was a good move. “Hey, his dad’s a cop, a big cop. If we get into cop trouble, he can get us out. After all, Hank is one of us.” He wouldn’t have known this at all if Mark hadn’t talked while Hank was driving him home after he had soaked his brain with alcohol.

  The squeak of a boat moving against the bumper of a pier post brought Hank out of his memories. “Come on, old man, you’ve got to stay in the present.”

  “Only useless old men talk to themselves,” Mark said from behind him.

  “What the hell?” Dodd said, turning around. Mark stood there. Beside him were two thugs, one carrying a baseball bat.

  “Time to tie up loose ends,” Mark said.

  “You can’t do this. If I disappear…”

  “Your lawyer is going to deliver this packet?” Mark asked as he poured a paper bag full of ashes off the side of the dock. “Roland made a recent investment. He bought a law firm and your lawyer.”

  “Why are you doing this after all this time?” Dodd asked.

  Mark brushed the dust from the ashes off his black cashmere coat. He looked at Hank and said, “It’s time for us to sacrifice our pawn.” He turned to the man holding the bat. “Make it look like an accident.”

  “No!” Dodd shouted and turned to run. If he could just reach one of the yachts at the end of the pier in time, he would have a chance. Mark and his thugs stood between him and dry land. Dodd pulled out his knife as he ran. He planned to slice one of the tie downs to separate part of the boat from the pier. He would take his chances on the boat. These clowns didn’t have the advantages he did, being on the water all his life. Dodd knew how to balance on a boat.

  The first swing of the bat caught him in his ribs, moving him to the left edge of the dock. The second hit his head. Dodd fell into the icy-cold water.

  The hired hitman transferred Dodd’s blood from the bat to the dock. It would look like Dodd lost his footing and slipped, hitting his side and head on his way into the water. The three, satisfied with their work, took their time walking back. Mark even stopped to look at one of the summer people’s boats, laughing at the name, High Time.

  “It was high time we took care of that loser. I’ve been stuck watching him for five decades. Roland owes me. He owes me big.”


  No one was more amazed than Dodd when he broke water and breathed in the cold air. He was freezing. Only the blood from his head wound felt warm. He knew he didn’t have the strength to pull himself up on the dock - and probably shouldn’t if Mark had left one of his thugs behind. He moved stealthily towards the Harrisons’ yacht, who had, against his recommendations, left the swim platform down. Dodd managed to use his arms to lift himself high enough to roll onto the platform.

  He lay there on his back, assessing his situation. From all accounts, he was a dead man, and if he didn’t get his wet clothes off and some pressure on his head wound, he would be. It was only a glancing blow, but the thug didn’t know that Dodd had flinched just enough so that instead of crushing his skull, the hitman had only grazed it. Still, blood was blood, and Dodd was losing his too quick for comfort. He crawled up into the boat, forced the lock on the cabin door, and slid down into the dark depths of the boat.

  Grady walked into the lab and sat down. “My wife, Pam, called. She’s bringing over some lasagna and salad for you and your team.”

  Cam looked up from the microscope and said, “That’s very kind of her. We could have ordered in, but I’d rather have home cooking. I get it so rarely.”

  “Pam is a great cook and likes showing off her Italian heritage. I feel bad. I really should entertain more. Ever since the kids left, she’s been at loose ends.”

  “Maybe not at loose ends, but in transition,” Cam commented.

  “Unique way of putting it,” Grady said approvingly. “Would you mind if I use that?”

  “With my compliments,” Cam said, giving a short bow. “Is there any way of getting ahold of Silvester Dodd’s firearm?”

  “Unless his son Hank has it, I wouldn’t think so. I don’t know whether the state police retire the firearm with the man. Why?”

  “The bricklayers were killed with .38 Specials. It’s a handgun that was favored by the areas law enforcement at the time.”

  “My father had one. I can give it to you if it helps you to rule him out.”

  “I don’t think he’s under suspicion, but thank you for the offer. I’ve looked over his notes. He’s not our guy. You should be proud of your old man.”

  “You don’t think he was obsessed?”

  “Maybe a bit. But we all have that one cold case that we can’t let go. This was his.”

  “What’s yours?” Grady asked.

  “As a fledgling forensic technician - much like my two guys here - I was asked to take samples from the crawlspace of an old home in Bristol, Pennsylvania. Basic case, the homeowners’ pipes froze, burst, and needed to be replaced. While the plumber was working, he was scooting around on a creeper – like they use to roll under cars. Anyway, he pushed himself with his feet and got hung up on something. He pushed hard, and the ulna and most of a moderately decomposed hand fell on his shoulder. The water that had poured out of the pipes had frozen, and the ground reacted and forced the body that was buried there partially out of the ground.”

  “My boss estimated that the body had been there for three years. The homeowners had lived there two years, so that ruled them out. It was a white male in his thirties. No ID, no dental work, nothing. The people that sold the house had disappeared, so they were the most likely suspects. But we never could identify the man. Someone somewhere thinks he deserted his family or friends. I hate that.”

  “Where was his justice?” Grady asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “What can you tell me about these boys?” Grady indicated the covered bodies.

  “Ken Smith and Jason Lake died of gunshot wounds approximately fifty-three years ago. Lake must have died right away. He had a single bullet hole to the head. Smith, on the other hand, had holes all over his torso. One shooter. Same gun.”

  “.38?”

  “Yes. A few of the shells we found under the printer were from this gun. Most of the shells at the original crime scene, and the bullets we dug out of the wall, match this weapon. Whoever was holding it shot these boys before or after his killing spree. Someone else covered it up, killing the laborers in the process.”

  “You said most of the bullets matched the murders of these boys. The others?”

  “Came from a different handgun. We have three shooters. Two the day the Bautistas were murdered, and a third when the room was bricked off.”

  “What kind of weapon was the second shooter using?” Grady asked.

  “Another .38. Must have been a sale on them,” Cam commented, raising an eyebrow. “I get the feeling, if the guy that shot these two had had an automatic weapon, there would have been more bodies.”

  Grady’s phone sounded. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the caller before answering, “Hello, Calvin, how can I help you?”

  “I just got a call from Hank Dodd. He’s asking me for five million dollars to be wired into his account, and in exchange, he’ll tell me what happened the day the Bautistas were murdered. He’ll name names. We can record him. And then he’s going to disappear.”

  “What did you tell him?” Grady asked.

  “I said yes. It’s only money. I think you should be there. I have already contacted Cid. We’re going to meet him on the dock of Benjamin and Bernie’s. It’s a bar on the lake. He wants the meet now. I told him I needed twenty minutes to move money so there could be a transfer.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “I suggest you leave the cop car home. We don’t want to spook him,” Calvin said and hung up.

  “Cam, can I borrow your rental?” Grady asked while he checked his handgun.

  “Sure. We’re going to be here all night,” Cam said, digging the key out of his pocket.

  “Say hello to my wife,” he said, walking quickly out of the building, grabbing someone’s civilian jacket on the way.

  He got on the phone and placed a few calls to his best deputies. He told them to go to Benjamin and Bernie’s armed but in plain clothes, using their personal vehicles. Calvin may have consented to the five million dollars, but Grady was going to make sure Dodd enjoyed it from prison.

  Chapter Thirty

  Cid and Calvin approached Benjamin and Bernie’s empty dock. Cid took out his penlight and shone it on what should have been decent overhead lights. The bulbs were gone, and a smattering of glass underneath the poles testified that they were recently broken. Did Dodd do this, and if so, how? Cid heard the engine of a large boat start a hundred yards off shore.

  “I think it’s Dodd coming by water.”

  “Wasn’t it ‘two, if by sea?’” Calvin joked. “I don’t mind telling you, this cloak-and-dagger stuff is disturbing.”

  “I also hear Sheriff Grady whispering instructions to his two deputies. We are not alone.”

  “But still vulnerable,” Calvin said. “It’s what I can’t see that I most fear.”

  Cid sympathized. “I’ve been in quite a few situations where my life depended upon someone I couldn’t see.”

  “Your Mr. Murphy. I’d like to meet him one day. Let me add, while I’m living,” Calvin said, patting Cid on the back.

  “Here he comes,” Cid said, walking to the edge of the docking platform.

  Dodd killed the engine and let the boat drift into the dock. Cid jumped aboard and tossed a rope to Calvin to secure the boat before he climbed on.

  “Up here,” Dodd hissed.

  Cid and Calvin climbed up into the captain’s deck, making enough noise to cover Grady’s arrival.

  They found Dodd sitting down. He handed Calvin a piece of paper with his account information on it. Calvin took it, opened his phone app, and typed the information in. “I’ll hit send after I’m satisfied with the legitimacy of your story. First, you don’t look so good. What happened to your head?”

  Dodd had managed to wrap a towel around his wounded head and secured it with a knitted cap he found. It didn’t matter that it was pink. What mattered was, the blood was no longer flowing.

  “Mark Lamb tried to kill
me. Fortunately for me, my head’s hard. He and two thugs met me on my nightly rounds. He had a bag of ashes that he insisted were my files, which I had given instructions to my executor to deliver if something happened to me. He said Roland bought the law firm and the lawyer. What they don’t know is that was just a copy of the journal that I moved with the rest of the stuff but hadn’t yet told my lawyer. Here’s my key to Locker 64 at the Stepner bus station. You’ll find in there, two .38 Specials. One, Roland surrendered before my father would consent to clean up our mess. You’ll also find my father’s firearm and confession. Now, send the money or no story. Sure, it’s enough to incriminate them, but I believe you wanted the whole story.”

  Calvin pressed send, answered the security questions, and finalized the transfer. He handed his phone to Dodd so he could see that the money had been sent. Dodd handed it back with a noticeable shake to his hand. The man was in pain, but greed trumped pain.

  “I started hanging around with, what my dad used to call, the Gold Standard, four rich kids with very powerful parents, in my senior year. They were the cool kids. Everyone who was anyone wanted to be in their inner or even outer circle. Three of the guys had been expelled from their fancy boarding schools, and then there was Mark, who had to attend the public school because his father was a public figure.

  “They were already operating a small drug empire in Stepner by the time I joined them. I later found out that’s why they sought me out, because of my father being in the state police. Anyway, we were basically runners for Roland. We sold the drugs; he pocketed the money. He had a deal with Luminosa Bautista to turn a blind eye while we came and went. The only weak link in the operation was Mark. He had a serious drug problem building. He used more and more each time we partied.