Just Cause

by Carolyn Arnold

  Terry didn’t let his opponent’s jovial rebuttal deter him. “Crime Scene investigators are combing that room in minute detail. They have already removed trace that ties back to several people.”

  Blake shook his head. “Still proves nothing, except for other people were in a room, Detective.”

  “The trace came from blood.” Terry shuffled the file on the table without needing to glance, again, at its contents. “A bullet was pulled from a wall. I have a feeling it’s going to match to your clients’ gun. Based on where Madison was positioned at the time, this bullet would have just missed her head.”

  If the enlightenment threw Blake off, he didn’t show any indication. “You still cannot prove anything. The blood in the room? People get nose bleeds. The bullet in the wall? You can’t connect it to my clients, put any fired weapon in their hands. And, apparently you’re forgetting the fact that Sergey was shot.”

  Terry shrugged. “No bullet that I’m aware of, so you cannot prove that. Us on the other hand? Give us time.”

  “And while we give you time my clients are supposed to stay behind bars.”

  “That’s the way this works.” Terry studied Blake’s face, but it revealed nothing. “I don’t even like you, but I’m warning you, the last defense attorney who failed the Russians is six feet under.”

  “Is that a threat, Detective?”

  “You can take it how you want.”

  God, he wondered, what Madison ever saw in this man? Dressed in his expensive tailored suit—he was a real prick. Maybe only when stripped from him was he reduced to the equal of a real human being, one who had a conscience and moral fiber. Terry doubted it but surmised something good must exist in the man for Madison to have given him a chance.

  “You can confer with your clients. When you’re finished, game on.”

  Blake sneered as he rose and did up the two buttons on his suit jacket. “Game on? Are you sure you can handle it, Detective?”

  -

  Chapter 14

  THE TINNY AROMA OF BLOOD teased her nose. Her wrists were bound to the arms of the chair and when she tried to move forward, she couldn’t. Her neck was restrained. She bucked with futility against her bonds. Tears streamed down her face as Anatolli moved in close to her.

  “You can’t kill the devil.” Sergey stood at the doorway, laughing. “We just call it roulette. The Russian part would be redundant. On the count of three. One…”

  Anatolli clicked back on the revolver.

  “Two…”

  Her eyes pinched together as she anticipated the bullet.

  “Three—”

  Madison bolted upright, struggling to break free of the sheets, but sweat had pasted them to her body. She finally managed to rip them off and stood beside her bed.

  She closed her eyes, panting, to derive a full breath of air. When she opened her eyes, she met with Hershey, watching her, his tailing wagging.

  Still, taking a few minutes to steady her breathing, she didn’t move. Even as he wormed closer to the edge of the bed, his fur begging to be touched, his tail still wagging, she remained frozen.

  Somehow, she had to put the nightmares behind her. The fact that they were based in reality made it harder to do so, but she had no choice. She had to get to work and see this through. Sergey and Anatolli would pay for all their crimes, including the one against her family.

  Hershey’s tail had stopped, but when she was finally able to extend a hand to pet him, it started up again. As soon as her touch melted into his fur, her stress began to ebb away. Her breathing went back to normal, and now, her only realization was the pain in her wrist.

  Temporary relief was only a few feet away. The pill bottle was on her nightstand. She didn’t need discomfort hindering her thought process. She had the feeling the investigation would take its toll from her waking hours, but first things first. She’d get that clearance from a doctor.

  “DO YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT with Doctor Talmadge?” Susan, the receptionist at the front desk, wore a white nurse’s uniform and had a headpiece on. She was smooth at both conversing with Madison and answering incoming calls.

  It was only eight o’clock, early for most clinics, and this one had just opened, but patients were already seated around the waiting area.

  “I know the doctor’s busy.”

  “He is, he really is.” Susan winced. “I can book you in for tomorrow afternoon.”

  “It’s really important that I see him and I can’t wait.” She brushed past reception and through the door leading to the back rooms.

  “Stop, you can’t go—” Susan came out right in front of her.

  The two of them bumped heads and both of them massaged their mirrored injuries.

  Madison heard ringing and realized before she got too worried, that it wasn’t her head. It was coming from the front phone.

  Susan’s blue eyes took on a pleading energy. “If you go back there, he’ll fire me. Please. Just go have a seat and I’ll get you in first.”

  “Susan, what’s going on?” A doctor dressed in suit pants, a white shirt and tie, with a stethoscope around his neck came up to them. “Oh, Madison Knight.”

  “Hello, Doctor.”

  The reception phone rang again.

  Susan ignored it and looked from the doctor to Madison, back to the doctor. “I’m sorry, Doctor Talmadge. I tried to explain that your schedule is full today and that she would need to book an appointment.”

  “Nonsense. Come on, Miss Knight.” Talmadge gestured to the nearest room and then addressed his receptionist. “Please get back to the front, dear. The phones are ringing off the hook.”

  Susan stayed put, her mouth agape, before letting out a curt hmm and hurrying back to her post.

  Talmadge closed the door behind him and came to Madison, who was already sitting on the bed, her legs dangling over the side.

  “What can I do for you, Maddy?” His English accent only added to the older man’s charisma. Not that Madison was attracted to him. She had known him since she was a little girl. Talmadge had originally practiced in a smaller town, outside of Stiles, where Madison grew up.

  He maneuvered around her, looked into her eyes, gestured for her to open her mouth. She followed everything he asked of her. He then listened to her heart.

  “Well, it’s tickety-boo.”

  Madison laughed. Talmadge always had a way of making her happy, even when she wasn’t. She realized the enclosed irony, but it was what it was.

  “And your parents? How are they these days?”

  Madison hesitated a second too long.

  “You haven’t been speaking to them, have you? You know, parents aren’t around forever.” Talmadge leveled eyes with her.

  “Yeah, I know that.” She thought of verbalizing her stream of excuses for not calling them, but to actually form them aloud made her feel like she was grasping at straws. She shook the clichéd thought with a smile—Dear Mother who spoke them as regularly as a Catholic priest offered communion. “I’ll call them.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. In fact, the doctor prescribes it.”

  “Well, in that case then, I guess I better.”

  Talmadge went to her wrist. “So what happened here?”

  “I fell.” It was the truth, and it effectively left out non-essential details like the stand-off with two members of the Russian Mafia.

  “I see.” He delicately moved his hands over her wrist, and then pulled out a prescription pad. “All right. Well, the good news is that it’s only a grade one sprain.” He started scribbling away, then glanced up. “This means that you only did minor damage to the ligament. I recommend resting it for forty-eight hours and icing it periodically to reduce the swelling. You should keep it in a bandage to compress it, but keep it out of a splint. They cause more problems than they help.”

  Madison
soaked up all the advice he was giving her.

  He went back to writing and after about thirty seconds, tore the sheet off and handed it to her.

  “I’ve actually been given something for it.” She looked down, expecting a prescription, but it was a list of what he’d told her, as well as a few more things.

  “Ice it for two or three days.” He jabbed the end of the pen toward her.

  “All right.” Something about the man made her submissive like she didn’t want to disappoint him somehow.

  “Take over-the-counter medication. Cheaper and just as effective in this case. Advil, Aleve, Motrin, pick your poison, but only use it if the pain is too much. Understand? Too much of these non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs can have repercussions long term. Got it?”

  “Yes. So in two or three days I should feel better?”

  “That’s the doctor’s prognosis.” He was smiling, but Madison wasn’t. “I see you’re not happy about that?”

  Madison hoisted herself off the bed. “I was hoping for clearance now.”

  “I’m sorry, sunshine, but that’s not going to happen quite yet. You have to take care of yourself for a while first.”

  All she needed was a signature. Maybe she could bribe him? She would have tried if he had been any other doctor. Maybe she should have gone to a walk-in clinic. There still wasn’t a reason why she couldn’t try to put on a nice smile and…

  “So there’s no way you’d write a note for me?”

  Talmadge pointed to the sheet in her hand. “I already did.”

  She lifted it slightly before folding it and putting it in her pocket. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime. And be sure to tell your parents that I said hello.”

  -

  Chapter 15

  DIMITRE PETROV HELD A CELL phone to his ear. It belonged to a prison guard by the name of Jacob Hall. Dimitre knew where he lived. He knew his wife, Robyn. He knew his son, Danny. He knew how far he’d go to keep them alive.

  He stood in the hallway outside of his prison cell. The door was open a lot of the time. The institution had become his personal romping ground over the past five years. Everyone has a price. Those who claim not to, typically have the lowest of all.

  That was the case with Jacob. Dear Jacob.

  He brought him his cigarettes and gave him free time to smoke in the yard with minimal supervision. But he wasn’t the only one on his payroll.

  Just as he knew all about Jacob’s life—from his family to his food allergies, to his favorite movie and brand of beer—he had acquired intimate knowledge of all the prison guards in his circle.

  Those who were hesitant to cross over into his glorious light—or darkness, dependent on viewpoint—were persuaded it was the route to salvation.

  His caller spoke to him in Russian. “They claim the woman started all of this. That she went in there asking about some dead lawyer.”

  Dimitre formed a fist at his side. The fury ate away at his system as it surged through him.

  “The woman started all of this? What? Who are they—Adam and this is, Eve? Eat the apple, eat the apple.” Dimitre mocked his caller, continuing to converse in Russian.

  Rage veiled Dimitre’s vision. He had a lot of time to think in here. He knew who was responsible for landing him behind bars—an incompetent lawyer. The same lawyer his caller now referred to.

  Dimitre flexed his fist tighter. His eyes were on the back of Jacob’s neck. The man stood about eight feet down the hall with his back to him, but the distance didn’t matter. Dimitre imagined squeezing the life from him, just because he was there, just because he was convenient.

  “What do you want me to do?” his caller asked.

  All that he had worked for in his life had come crumbling down due to this lawyer, and now, from the grave, he reached out and threatened to ruin everything. It would not happen! It was time to cut his losses and, while he was at it, make up for disloyalty. They were drawing too much attention to his operation.

  “Clean slate.”

  “Boss?”

  “You will be contacted with the time and day.” Dimitre clicked off the call, summoned the guard, and tossed the phone to him when he turned around.

  “I want cigarette,” Dimitre said these words in English, knowing it wasn’t as polished as it could be and that his Russian accent carried thickly over each letter, transforming the w in want to the sound of a v.

  Jacob bowed his head, and Dimitre followed the man out into the yard. As he walked behind him, he envisioned killing him many different ways. He assigned the face of the lawyer to him, the beginning of his misfortune, but it transformed to that of Madison Knight. He had tolerated enough. It was hard to see clearly with the adrenaline and anger clouding his vision.

  RANSON LIT UP WHEN SHE saw Madison. “Good morning.”

  “Hey.” Madison’s thoughts of the investigation were heavy on her mind. She wondered who they were going to get to conduct it. They weren’t large enough to have a dedicated Internal Affairs Department. Whoever investigated her would likely come from within the walls of this PD unless they deferred the matter outside. They were known to do that when the stakes were high enough. Depending on how they handled it, it would be a good determination of what she was in for.

  “Rough day ahead,” Ranson summarized.

  “You could say that.”

  “Modified duty?”

  “Yep.”

  Ranson’s entire face scrunched up. “You behind a desk? I’d have to see it to believe it.”

  “Well, believe it. Modified duty.” Madison lifted her injured wrist. “And that’s not all the fun I’ll have either. Just don’t get me started on the rest.”

  “You’ll get through it in no time.” Ranson flashed a smile, but it was short lived.

  “What is it?”

  “The lawyer showed up for the Russians.”

  “Good. Terry’s handling it, right?”

  “Yeah, but the rumor is he had to fight for it.”

  The revelation didn’t surprise her. Winston and McAlexandar would have done all in their power to delegate the case to someone not as close to the situation. The fact that Terry fought for the job told her that he believed in her.

  Ranson’s eyes shifted to Madison’s face. There was more to it.

  “What else?”

  Ranson let out a deep breath and locked eyes with Madison. “I don’t know how else to say it, so I’m just coming out with it. Blake Golden is the Russians’ lawyer.”

  “Son of a bitch!” She stopped shy of slamming her sprained wrist on the counter; the vision clear enough that shivers of pain shot up her arm almost as if she had followed through.

  “That’s what I thought when he showed up. I knew you weren’t going to be hap—”

  Madison didn’t hear the rest of Ranson’s words. She was already on the move toward the interrogation room.

  She hurried by the sergeant’s office, pleased that he wasn’t inside. She should have known it was too good to be true though. She came face to face with him inside the observation room. He stood there, one hand in a pocket while the other held a coffee mug. It was almost a déjà vu moment to the day before.

  “You showed up. There were bets in place.” Sergeant Winston went back to watching events in the interrogation room.

  “Let me guess, you were in favor of my not showing.”

  “I had hoped, in a way, you wouldn’t.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Somehow she managed the restraint necessary to keep that thought internal.

  She followed his gaze.

  Blake sat beside Sergey and Anatolli, across from Terry. Blake was put together in his usual manner. His dark hair was slicked back, adding to the stance of determination. It made Madison think of a bicycle racer’s helmet, designed so that it cuts the wind to
ensure faster speed.

  She faced the sergeant’s profile. “Why?”

  “Why, what?”

  “Why did you hope that I wouldn’t show?”

  He faced her. “We’re going to need you back in top form, sooner than later.”

  Avoiding questions was something those who held a position behind a desk had down to a fine art. The sergeant wasn’t an exception.

  The flicker in his eyes told her his concern wasn’t as much over her wellbeing as it was for a political agenda. The conclusion seemed obvious.

  “There’s a media shit storm,” she said.

  He took a draw on the coffee he held.

  “The public is aware of the situation, as you must know. They know that one of Stiles PD, and your name leaked to the press, went in after the Russians. It’s being slanted in an unfavorable light to the PD.”

  “Wait a minute here. My name,” she gestured madly, “is out there? For everyone to know? Oh, shit.” She covered her mouth and paced a few steps. If her family found out, there would be hell to pay—there was no other way to say it. It must have come out after the news last night or they would have called. “My name is out? Answer me, dammit.”

  Winston’s eyes squinted briefly as if a migraine had set in. “Not yet, but your career is at stake and you’re worried about people out there knowing who you are?”

  Madison took a deep breath. “These Russians murder innocent people, they kidnap a law enforcement officer—attempt to kill me—and it reflects badly on us? How is that even—”

  “The questions are being raised, and, frankly, I understand where they are coming from. The public wants to know why you were even there. Whether it was personal or business.” He paused, his eyes skimming over her face. “I hate hearing personal in reference to what we do.”

  “So do I.” Her words contradicted her heart. To her, it was personal. There was nothing closer to her soul than this job, and nothing had the potential to make such a profound difference.

  “We’re going to need you to get in front of this. We’re already behind the eight ball here.”