Just Cause

by Carolyn Arnold

  Terry came into the courthouse. His blond hair, which was normally perfect, was mussed-up. At the top of his brow, his hair stood straight up, resulting in one-inch spikes. His face was flushed, but his features sharp lined.

  “Nothing. Not a damn thing up there.” He was slightly out of breath. “Crime Scene is up there now, crawling over every nook and cranny. If, and I say if lightly, there is something to find, they’ll get it. But right now if it weren’t for the two dead bodies, it could be explained away as imagination.”

  Madison’s instinctively went to the front door of the building, her mind on the sniper’s perch across the way. If there were anything to find, Cynthia and her team would retrieve it. She couldn’t wait for the results on the slugs pulled from the Russians’ bodies. They were going to help provide resolution to her old case one way or another. She just had a feeling.

  -

  Chapter 28

  MADISON HAD A SHOWER AT the station and changed into an extra set of clothes she kept in a department locker. Her blood-stained clothing was taken for evidence, and she and Terry had given their statements. Now they were in the sergeant’s office, with him and the chief, both of whom appeared to be in the mood to hang someone, and it seemed that she was the first unknowing victim to stumble on the steps to the guillotine.

  Chief McAlexandar kept his unwavering eyes on her. “If you hadn’t taken things into your own hands, rushed into their business front, we wouldn’t even be talking right now. Those men were in that spot because of you.”

  The sergeant ran a hand on top of his head, mussing up the little bit of hair he had left. He had passed a glance to the chief before he spoke. “I don’t have anything else to add. You’ve left me speechless.”

  She’d always considered herself a strong person, one who never backed down from a confrontation, one who would persevere until all wrongs were righted. But right now, standing in this room, with two men who obviously had it out for her, her badge as their goal, it all seemed too much. Maybe it was the turmoil of the day with this on top of it. She expected this absurd line of reasoning from the chief, but the fact the sarge seemed to be in agreement…

  Her heart heaved in her chest, its rhythm bumping off course and bringing with it a whelming of emotion up into her throat. She sensed her eyes fill with tears and cursed this reaction as a weakness, an evident display of vulnerability. She feared speaking, believing that her voice would crack if she dared.

  “I think you’re being a little hard on Madison.”

  She glanced at Terry, who had come to her defense.

  Terry continued, and the men seemed to pay him more attention. It had her briefly cursing her gender. “Today had nothing to do with her, and the longer you keep us in this room, the further behind we get in the investigation.”

  “Well, it seems you two stick together.” The chief’s arms crossed and he took a few steps forward. He solidified eye contact with Terry. “Duly noted.”

  “Don’t be like that.” The words rushed from her mouth without thought.

  It garnered a single raised brow from the chief.

  “You’re both being unreasonable. Let us do our jobs. You do yours,” she pleaded.

  “What do you suppose that we’re doing right now, Knight?” Winston leaned back in his chair.

  “Your job is to berate your detectives?” The tension in the air carried weight, but she didn’t apologize. “Make sure that everything from this shooting gets top priority in the lab, let anything else fall down the list. It’s obvious we’ve touched close to home.”

  “Consider that request approved.” Winston’s voice had lowered from his previous register. “And if King contacts you about your response to any of this, direct him to media relations.”

  “Absolutely.” She left the room, grateful for a partner who had stepped in when she needed him. She almost lost it this time.

  -

  Chapter 29

  MADISON TRAILED TERRY. She was still in shock that the Russians had been assassinated in broad daylight. It wasn’t just about getting rid of them, it was about sending a message. But would she get it in time to make a difference? There had to be more to it than her search for closure on the Lexan case. Maybe it just started there.

  What if the Russians didn’t kill Lexan after all? What if Dimitre’s letter claiming his innocence had been sincere? Was it her fault the two men were dead?

  Terry went into the bullpen and poured a cup of coffee.

  “It just doesn’t make sense to me. Why kill his own men?” Madison asked.

  “You’re assuming Dimitre did it.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m certain of it, and this all ties back to Lexan somehow. We figure out his murder and move forward.”

  Terry pulled the spoon from his brew, but the liquid was still twirling in a whirlpool when he lifted the cup for a sip.

  “There was evidence in the Russians’ warehouse of other victims,” she said.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Please, pretend to be interested.”

  “I am, Maddy, it’s just this entire case, this scenario, whatever you want to call it, is giving me a headache. There isn’t any clear direction.”

  “That’s why we have to figure one out. Listen, we start at the beginning like I said.”

  “Then that’s a dead end.” There was the light of a partial smirk on his lips.

  She punched him in the shoulder. “Besides the Russians, let’s look at who else was around Bryan Lexan at the time.”

  “Wasn’t everyone else cleared?”

  “Yes, at the time, but—”

  Terry rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t get like that on me. The letter left in Lexan’s driveway had an eternity symbol woven into the fiber. My research led me in a couple of directions.”

  “You’re still relying on stationary to tie you back to a killer?”

  “I use whatever I can. Anyhow, Knockturnl uses the same envelopes.”

  “Knockturnl? That is the company owned by Lexan’s ex-lover, correct?”

  “Well, it’s owned by her husband. They got married a year after Lexan’s death. His name is Mason Freeman.”

  “But he was cleared, right?”

  “Just trust me. We have to talk to him again.” She wasn’t about to admit that she considered questioning Mason Freeman behind his back. “I’d still like to know why Dimitre Petrov would knock off his own men.”

  “Like we discussed, if he did.”

  “Why must you fight me every inch of the way?”

  “This case has really messed us up. I’m swearing and you’re speaking in clichés.”

  She wasn’t amused with his observation. “All right, well, there was evidence at the warehouse of several victims.” Madison’s heart was beating rapidly. Even though Sergey and Anatolli would never serve a prison sentence, closure was needed. “Cynthia found evidence tying back to James Calin. He was the man we tracked the phone call back to.” Terry looked confused, so she elaborated. “The day the lawyer went missing, his fiancée received a call that his life was pretty much over. That call tied back to James Calin. At the time, we searched his apartment and found his blood, but his body has never turned up.”

  “You think the Russians killed him too?”

  Madison nodded.

  “Do we have forensic evidence?”

  “Cynthia found a watch with the initials JC.”

  Terry let out a jagged breath. “A watch with the initials of JC?” He laughed. “That is the forensic evidence?”

  “This, combined with everything else, Terry. The blood samples that were found are not useful beyond blood type. Cynthia’s still searching.”

  “We need to find Calin’s blood in that room before we run off accusing the Russia Mafia of this murder. And, do we even know if it is murder? We don�
�t have a body.”

  She hated that everything had ended abruptly with the Russians’ assassinations. It left her without much recourse to get the answers she needed. She grabbed Terry’s mug from him.

  “Hey.”

  She set it on the counter. “We’re going to talk to Mason Freeman. Now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he picked up his mug and took a few steps, “except back to my desk.”

  She followed him. “Terry.”

  He kept walking as if fired with purpose.

  “Terry? Would you stop? I’m talking to you.” She stopped.

  He took a few more steps and turned around. “What is it, Madison?”

  “Can we talk this out at least?”

  “We are.”

  “I mean, in private.”

  “Sure.” He headed to a conference room.

  She closed the door behind them. “Do you want a new partner?” The question gave her an ache in her chest to verbalize, the hurt reestablishing precedence over the anger.

  He took a draw on his coffee.

  “Listen, what I did—”

  “Was stupid.” He took a seat at the table.

  She sat beside him. “I did it for a reason. You know that.”

  “It was still stupid. You could have been killed.” He put his cup to his lips.

  Was he hiding his emotions behind his mug? Doctor Connor may have been right. It was a lot for him to process.

  Madison glanced around the room, her eyes taking in the side table, the framed print on the wall, the clock. “How is the baby doing?” she asked.

  The energy she sensed from him had her wondering if he was going to get up and leave. He had become good at that lately. He didn’t seem to want to confront any issue but would rather skirt around them.

  He put his cup on the table and swiveled his chair to fully face her. “We don’t know yet.”

  She wanted to tell him everything would be all right, but she didn’t dare. She couldn’t secure the future for his baby any more than she could for herself. With the thought, came the revelation.

  Nothing was worth gambling with one’s life—even justice, and especially pride.

  “I hope things get better.” She smiled, hoping he would accept the gesture at reconciling the friendship.

  “Thank you.” He rotated his cup, but he didn’t lift it for a drink. “What’s going on here anyway?” The spark in his eyes disclosed that his question probed so much deeper than she was willing to go.

  “I came out of all of this okay.”

  “I still don’t understand why you did it in the first place.”

  Madison swore his eyes were wet. “Like I said, I came out of—”

  “Just because you’re here, doesn’t mean you’re all right. You’re going to a shrink for crying out loud, Maddy. Your wrist is sprained. You’re on medication for it. Maybe it’s affecting your judgment?”

  “It’s only Aleve, over-the-counter.” She rose and took a few steps, pacing the perimeter of the conference table. “I just want them to pay for the things they’ve done, for the people they’ve murdered.”

  “And I wish you weren’t willing to do it at a sacrifice to yourself.” He wouldn’t look at her.

  Again, Connor had been right. There was no way around it. She needed to apologize.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you, Terry.” The words fell from her lips, hoping that he would accept them for their sincerity and that they could get back to the way things were before.

  He didn’t respond, and something in the heart of her knew that it was time to come clean about her past—the reason she hated the Russians, the true reason she became a cop. But she still couldn’t bring herself to verbalize it…not yet.

  He must have realized she wasn’t going to continue, so he spoke. “I have some good news for you, by the way.”

  “I could handle some.”

  “The bullet that was lodged in the wall? It came from your gun.”

  She took time to simply breathe. “I didn’t shoot Sergey.”

  “Nope.” He smiled at her and she could have hugged him.

  -

  Chapter 30

  HE TOYED WITH THE RING on his pinkie finger, the Scotch having successfully lulled him into complacency, where right and wrong didn’t exist, only instinct for survival. He was starting to lose count of the times he revisited the same thoughts, the same fears.

  He lifted the crystal tumbler for another sip, his hand shaking as he did so. There would be no need to make a confirmation phone call saying the job was completed. The story was the evening’s headline on every news station in a hundred-mile radius—if not farther.

  He looked to the report playing out on screen, once again, the volume on mute as the cameraman panned the chaos that had unfolded at the courthouse that afternoon.

  Despite having only occurred mere hours ago, it felt infinitely more distant in the past.

  With each replay of the assassination, he knew that he had essentially pulled the trigger. The lives of those two Russians were taken at his hand—even if he only provided the necessary information.

  While he knew what was going to transpire, reality was harder to accept. He had started out with his ideals and morals—but money, it had the magic spell necessary to thwart any good intentions. He quickly came to realize with money, came power. With power, came authority. With authority, came control.

  In fact, the highest price was paid to those willing to sell their soul, and this statement could define him. Its premise had lined his pocketbook well.

  He gulped down the last of the Scotch, the amber liquid burning all the way down his throat.

  He wondered when he would assume full dominance. A good friend of his had assured him very soon, but, as is the case with those in control, could he be trusted?

  MADISON REMEMBERED CYNTHIA’S OFFER TO get drunk and it held appeal right now, but she would be tied up in the lab all night, processing evidence. Madison only had two options—go home and drink alone, or go out and drink alone. At least with the second choice, she would have people around her so it wouldn’t be quite as bad. Somehow the thought of going home made her feel lonely and isolated after the hell of a day it had been.

  If Dimitre wanted Sergey and Anatolli dead, why now? Was she getting too close to the truth, to the evidence that would shut them down for good?

  Something like this only served to propel her forward, to fire her determination—didn’t he know her enough to realize that?

  She paralleled parked in front of the Cracker Jack, a popular watering hole on the edge of downtown. They played good music and the lighting was always dim. The crowd they drew were in their thirties and up, and they typically stayed to themselves.

  After deciding to go out to be around people, she realized the irony when she sought out privacy in a corner booth.

  She ordered a large red wine and appreciated that the music had a good beat, and, being a weeknight, the bar wasn’t too busy.

  “Here you go.” Her waitress, a thin rail of a woman, put Madison’s wine down and walked away.

  Madison took a long draw on the wine.

  She watched a couple at the bar flirt with each other. The man’s arm was wrapped around the woman, his fingers caressing the top of her arm. She was leaned toward his chest, her fingers pointing at him as she broke out into laughter at something he had said.

  Madison took another swallow of her wine. Maybe she was being too hard on Sovereign. She had loved him at one time, a part of her still did but was it enough to overlook all the pain he had caused her?

  Another sip of wine.

  There was no way she could find it within herself to forgive him to the point she would offer up her heart again. Why would she be so stupid as to risk her feelings for a second time?

  As her dr
ink soothed her, she realized she could forgive Sovereign, and even forget—to an extent—but she wouldn’t let the lesson be overlooked.

  At the bar, the man nibbled the woman’s ear and she batted her hand in the air before he placed his on her jaw and put his lips on hers.

  Madison took a deep breath. She needed more wine and signaled the waitress. The way the alcohol was hitting her head and empty stomach, maybe she should order something to eat too. So, she ordered an appetizer sample platter—she was too hungry and too relaxed to decide on one.

  She pinched the stem of the glass and, despite trying to keep her eyes off the couple, they kept drifting back.

  She had to let Sovereign go completely. Hadn’t she promised herself many things when facing the end of her life? She was supposed to forgive, forget, and heal. She was to trust people and love with all her heart.

  Maybe that was the trick. She needed to find love.

  Her gaze settled on the couple.

  Time heals all wounds, but it hadn’t in her case. Or was it that she hadn’t allowed it to? She’d let it make her bitter and let it keep her from fully opening up to new relationships.

  She spotted her waitress coming with her wine at the same time she saw him. What was he doing here? A part of her wanted to sink into the booth and disappear. Dang physics made that impossible.

  He headed straight for her. He gestured across from her but didn’t wait for a response as he took a seat. “What are you doing here?”

  The waitress set the refreshed drink down, and Madison directed Troy Matthews’s attention to the glass.

  “Great idea after today.”

  The waitress turned to him and the reflection in her eyes had jealousy surging through Madison. “What can I get you?”

  Madison took a long draw on the wine.

  “I’ll have a couple shots of Irish Whiskey. Neat.”