Just as it appeared he was opening his jaw to talk, he pulled out a package of gum and folded a piece into his mouth. He held out the pack to me. “Want one?”
“No thanks. I kicked the habit a long time ago.”
One corner of his mouth edged upward briefly as he pocketed his gum. “There’s some serious shit going down out there, and I need you to find out who’s behind it.”
I had a million questions, so I started with the most obvious. “Describe serious shit.”
“Two cops dead in the last week. Murdered.” He held his gaze and didn’t blink.
“Wait…I recall hearing about an officer committing suicide about a week or so ago. What was the name? Douglas?”
“Donley. Walt Donley. Fourteen-year man. But he didn’t shoot himself.”
“Media got it wrong, I guess.” Saying it out loud, the possibility didn’t seem feasible, not for such a basic fact.
“The media reported what we told them. In fact, that was the initial belief at the crime scene. Gunshot to his temple behind the wheel of his car in a field east of Dallas.”
“But something changed?”
“Coroner and CSI did a full investigation. Turns out Donley had broken his finger on his right hand a few years back, but never reported the injury, since he hurt it off duty. So, he learned to shoot with his left hand. No one knew…at least not in management. Once the investigators found out and did some digging, there was no way he could have pulled the trigger with his right hand, the hand where the gun was found.”
“Sounds like your team has done a thorough job of investigating. Why do you need me?”
He continued chomping his gum. “Only a few people are aware of the final, official cause of death. Me, the lead coroner, a detective, and the head of our CSI unit. We’re hoping to keep it contained.”
“I get it. You don’t want the killer to know you’re on his trail. Good strategy, if you can keep it under wraps.”
The chief rubbed a thumb across his wingtips, never missing a beat on his gum-chewing exercise. I couldn’t ignore the obnoxious odor—it was grape.
“Everything blew up in our face last night.”
I looked away, trying to recall if I’d heard any salacious news during my morning jog. “I guess I missed it.”
“We didn’t get a call until after midnight. News is just now trickling out. Another cop was killed. And this one wasn’t set up to look like a suicide.”
“Who?”
“Younger guy, off duty. Fourth-year officer named Derrick Miller. Good kid. Just got engaged.”
“Damn.” Shaking my head, I could sense there was more. “Your team believes these two murders are connected.”
Ligon turned and looked straight ahead, appearing to watch James walk aimlessly around the garage. His gum chewing even ceased for a second.
Swinging his head back my way, led by his nose, he calmly said, “It’s complicated. Everyone still believes the first death was a suicide.”
“And you can’t tell them because you’re worried it will be leaked to the press and the public will believe we have a cop killer on the loose.”
He nodded. “Cops are people too. Some will be really frazzled by this.”
I was shocked to hear him admit that.
“We’ll have every acronym of the press corps descending on Dallas in less than twelve hours. Live shots around the clock with eye-candy reporters acting like every crazy-ass rumor came from a ‘high-ranking’ source with knowledge of the investigation. It’s all bullshit.”
I nodded. “And you’ll never catch the guy. He’ll go underground. People, especially officers, will live in constant fear because the guy would never be caught. It would die down a bit, but everyone would be on edge.”
“The city would be held hostage for…” He just shook his head and spread his arms.
Ligon’s response made sense, but it was odd seeing the chief of police flustered.
Shifting in my seat, I still wasn’t sure this felt right…on many levels.
“You’re either thinking through questions about the case or whether you should take the case at all. Am I right?” Ligon asked.
“On both accounts.”
Ligon cleared his throat. “I knew this would come up, and I’m glad it did. Look, I’m not happy with the situation around your…resignation from the department. I had no knowledge of it when it went down. I hope you know that.”
“Some would say the problem was institutional. You know, a cultural thing throughout the department.”
“Sims is serving twenty to life of hard time in Huntsville. And I’m sure you’ve heard how they treat cops in prison. He’s paying the price, like he should.”
“That’s just one man. There are others, like my former superior officer.”
“Everyone has a right to their opinion, but I can sit here and stare you in the face and tell you we have a few bad seeds. A few. Just like any other group out there: priests, teachers, doctors, business people. We can’t escape society, but we do our damn best to clean it up when we see it.”
I thought about what I might ask in return, but after a year it all seemed pointless. Water under the proverbial bridge.
“I’m not going to ask for a public apology. I’ve moved on.”
“Yes, you have. And you’ve turned out to be one hell of an investigator.”
I twisted my neck. “How would you know?”
He released a quick chuckle, and his man boobs jiggled. “How would I not? You’ve done more for this city—saving lives, taking down bad guys—than most of my detectives combined. We owe you a debt of gratitude. I owe you a huge thank you…whether you take this case or not.”
I thought about all of my former colleagues. My old partner, Paco, one of the most sincere guys out there, and Eva, my ex. Both were damn good cops, who did it for the right reason. There were more like them than not.
“Let’s say I’m on the fence. How would this work? I typically have clients sign contracts. Not sure you want this to go through the DPD procurement process.”
“I’ll sign it personally, but it’s got to go through my personal email account. That’s one of the reasons I’m reaching out to you. We have to do everything we can to keep this under the radar.”
“You don’t want to negotiate a rate?”
He smirked. “I trust you. I have to. You’re my best option.”
Peering out the front window, I watched the driver walk heel to toe, following the straight line of a crack in the concrete parking lot. He seemed so young, probably closer to Bolt’s age than mine.
“Do we have a deal?”
“Still thinking. How do I get access to information? As a PI firm, we’re used to working through other means to get what we need, but sometimes that can take longer. Given the speed in which cops are dying, we don’t have much time.”
He held up a finger. “Glad you asked. One of our assistant DAs, Henry Cho, is a good friend of yours from college, right?”
“You ought to apply for a job at the NSA,” I said with a slight grin.
“I’m thorough. I have to be,” he said, still chomping the purple gum. “Cho’s been authorized to provide every bit of information he has access to.”
My eyes narrowed. “Henry is a good guy, a great prosecutor. I like that idea. But I thought you were trying to keep this on the down low. By including the DA’s office, you just opened the door more than a crack.”
“I can see why you’d think that.” He paused and fixed the pleat in his khakis. “I have a special arrangement with the US Attorney’s office. Gives me full authority to get what I need to find the cop killer.”
“Didn’t that interaction just create a bigger net? Every interaction at your level involved admins and calendar appointments.” I extended a hand to the young kid walking around outside the SUV. “And drivers. And others who need to know or want to know every movement of the chief of police and the lead US Attorney out of the North Texas office.”
<
br /> “I thought I was thorough. But this is good, you drilling me. That’s why I need you to take this case.”
My forehead creased higher. “And?”
“Me and Craig—”
“Craig?”
“Sorry. The US Attorney, Craig Collins. We go way back. Went to undergrad together at A&M. Then he betrayed every Aggie out there and got his law degree at UT-Austin.”
“My school,” I said.
“I know. I could write your biography.”
“That’s disturbing.”
He didn’t get the sarcasm, and continued, “I ran into Craig at the downtown YMCA. We both work out there a few times a week.”
I wondered how he could achieve that body by working out any more than three times a year, but I kept my thoughts to myself.
“Did you share a nice game of handball?”
“Uh…no. But he gave me the green light to bypass all formal channels.”
“But—”
“That includes the DA.”
“Why?”
“Like you said, when you formalize things, information—misinformation even—spreads like a west Texas wildfire.”
I turned to ask him another question, and he’d just pulled something out of the side door pocket. “Here. Don’t want you to use it. But at some point, you might need a Get Out of Jail Free card.”
I froze for a second, then he nodded and said, “Take it.”
Taking the leather-encased badge, I flipped it around, rubbing my thumb across the words written across the front. “Special Assistant to the Chief of Police, Dallas Police Department,” I read out loud.
I couldn’t help but feel somewhat vindicated. The leader of the department that had turned a blind eye to one of its officers attempting to murder two people was now asking me to hunt down a cop killer. Apparently, human decency was still alive, at least when it became personal. But as my Uncle Charles would say, “That and a dime might buy you a cup of coffee.”
I shoved the badge into my coat pocket.
“You’ll take the case?”
“Strongly considering it. What’s your best guess about this cop killer? I know you have one.”
“I’ve tossed a lot of theories around in my head. I didn’t sleep at all after I got the call last night.”
“I can see why.”
“On the surface, I can’t help but wonder if it’s race related. The two guys killed were white. I’m wondering if someone is making a statement, getting back at the ‘white establishment’ for some type of perceived abuse, maybe to him personally.”
A quick thought pinged my mind. “Are you selling me on this because you think I might be able to tap into my black roots and find out who’s killing white Dallas cops?”
He closed his red-rimmed eyes briefly while shaking his head. “Chill out, Booker. You’re the best out there, and you know Dallas. All of it. The good, the bad, and the ugly. You know people, and you can be discreet. That’s why I hired you.”
“This may not be a killing spree based upon some racial vendetta, you know. Could be someone who was falsely convicted or had run-ins with both officers, or even just a guy who’s getting his jollies by killing cops, regardless of what color they are.”
“You didn’t let me finish earlier. I don’t give a damn what color they are. I only care about one color. Blue.”
“You passed,” I said, grabbing the door handle.
“You were testing me?”
I ignored the question, since he already knew the answer.
I opened the door, then turned back inside. “I’ll be in touch.”
4
“Hey, man, can I get another?” Henry raised a hand toward the owner and chief bartender at The Jewel. He tapped the hardwood next to his empty glass, his eyes apparently lost in the melted ice.
Justin, my running buddy since we both stepped onto the football field at Madison High School in South Dallas, gave a knowing nod on the other side of the bar while filling two draft beers.
A cascade of cheers came from the TV mounted on the wall in front of us, a grudge match between the Patriots and Jets. I’m not sure Henry noticed.
“You think the Jets can pull off the upset?” I asked, sipping tonic water over ice.
He picked up the tumbler, tipped it to one side, his somber expression making it seem like he’d lost his best buddy.
He didn’t hear a word I said. I tried another angle. “You and Cindy still cool?”
Blinking his eyes, he snapped back into real time. “Uh…sorry. Cindy? She’s cool.”
Wearing jeans and a gray shirt that looked like it cost three hundred bucks, the assistant district attorney hadn’t said much of anything since he’d walked into Justin’s long-time watering hole an hour earlier. Over the last few years, I was more used to seeing him in a dark suit, starched white shirt, and a red power tie. But he’d always had a vivacious energy about him, not only as a prosecutor, but also as a friend. We were an unlikely pair when we first crossed paths on the campus at the University of Texas in Austin. On the surface, we looked like polar opposites.
I was the son of a proud black mother, who raised me as a single mom while she put herself through nursing school. Then she traveled the earth, nursing sick babies and wounded souls. Aside from a few sightings, my father was basically AWOL throughout most of my life…until he ambushed me in the murky woods in the Dominican Republic four months ago. I wouldn’t have been any more surprised if the president of the United States had been cooking me breakfast when I awoke from my drug-induced sleep at the time. But over the next week, I got to know the man I used to call Sean, if not a less flattering term. But these days, I can proudly call him Dad, although I’m not at liberty to share anything about him or his role in life to anyone in the world.
Henry had a much more rigid upbringing than I did. The son of Chinese and Filipino parents, education overruled every other priority in his house. His mom was a lifelong educator, his dad a successful attorney who once sat on the Board of Regents at Texas Tech University.
Henry was the nerdy type, especially in college, before he’d even taken an advanced course, let alone passed the bar exam. For the first two years, I was on the roster of the Longhorns football team. I can’t say I played for the Burnt Orange, because I never took the field in an actual game. I moved up to second-string quarterback when we started summer camp in my third year, but I never got any further. I was kicked off the team, my scholarship revoked, all for taking up for a geeky kid who’d been bullied by a fellow UT offensive lineman.
Realizing I couldn’t afford to stay in school, I was mad as hell at my coach, the athletic director, and even myself for pissing away the opportunity.
But Henry refused to let it rest. He researched everything he could find about similar cases and situations, then he demanded a meeting with the coach and AD. That’s when I saw the future Henry Cho in action, the one who’d go on to finish in the top five of his law school class, the one who would be recruited to join the Dallas County DA’s office. He’d presented a remarkably convincing case that not only should I have my scholarship back, but I should also be allowed back on the team in the same spot I had before the run-in with the ogre. Henry owned that room like no one I’d seen before.
We only won half the bounty, but it was the most important half. My scholarship was reinstated, but they wouldn’t let me back on the team. I still felt like the luckiest guy in Texas. Henry and I bonded through that experience, and we’d remained friends over the years.
I took another slurp of my drink just as the Jets punched in a touchdown from five yards out. “You going to tell me who peed in your corn flakes?”
“Booker, let’s turn down the volume on the urine references,” Justin jumped in, setting down the refreshed drink. “Here you go, Henry. Gin and tonic.”
I gave Justin one of those looks, knowing he was the poster child for childish humor. “Where’d Alisa run off to?” My better half not only worked for me—actual
ly, we’d agreed it was a partnership—but she also waited tables for Justin. The bar work helped pay her bills, and it was fairly easy to juggle the two jobs since the Booker & Associates office was fourteen steps above the main bar area.
“No need to worry about her. She’ll only fire off a zinger at me,” Justin said, picking up the tip from the two guys who’d just moved from the bar to a table when their dates arrived.
“Right, that’s why I want to find her. Her timing is usually just as priceless as her content.”
We both chuckled, and then I turned to the staircase when I heard the familiar clip of Alisa’s platform shoes off the wooden steps.
Flipping back around, Justin gave me the eye, tilting his head toward Henry, whose mind appeared to be occupied with distant thoughts. I had my theories as to why, but I had to get him engaged, talking like the regular Henry.
Alisa meandered by, brushing a hand along my shoulder. I gave her a wink, then leaned in closer to Henry.
“Hey, dude, it’s me. What’s going on?”
Blowing out an audible breath, his eyes finally raised. “I think you know.”
“Ligon?”
“It’s more than that.”
“Look, I know it’s complicated. But frankly, I thought you’d be jazzed to work with me…in an official capacity finally.”
“This is messy. On many fronts,” he said, lifting his drink and taking a swig.
“As of now, I’m on the clock for Ligon and the US Attorney, so let’s talk through it.”
“That’s part of the mess. The US Attorney, Craig Collins, is in the know, but not the district attorney, my actual boss.” Henry sat up in his bar stool, his hand speaking louder than his mouth. “Do you know what’s going to happen once Rick Newsome finds out?”
“I can see your concern. I had the same questions for Ligon.”
“Booker, no offense, but you’re in the private sector. You could have told Ligon to shove his little job offer up his ass. In fact, given how they handled the incident, you probably should have. But me, I’ve got no choice. People are lining up around the block to be my boss. It’s the most popular job in the city.”
BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6 Page 50