Just Cause

by Carolyn Arnold

  Dimitre looked up to the ceiling and then lowered his head. “You want information from me? In exchange for what? Nothing?”

  “Let’s start with the lawyer. I need to know who killed Bryan Lexan.”

  “There was a man who used to come to see me. I believe he did it.”

  “We don’t have time for games.”

  “He wore a strange hat. Round top with flat edge. Bowler hat, I think they call it.”

  Madison’s heart raced. She had searched Dimitre’s visitor log in extensive detail years ago, but it had resulted in a dead end. “Why did this man come to see you?”

  “He used to be an acquaintance.”

  “Used to be? He’s dead?”

  Dimitre shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “What was his name?”

  Dimitre leaned back. “Na, you get everything while I get no deal.”

  Madison acted as if he bored her and stood.

  “I will give you one more thing because I like you,” he said. “I don’t think he went by his real name.”

  She slipped back into the chair. “What was the name he—”

  “I said one more thing, not two.”

  She dared to continue holding eye contact with him. While most feared the man, Madison knew he hid behind his reputation and his threats, wielding the mastery of intimidation and the outworking of evil. She had proved she held no fear, hadn’t she? She had stormed right into their business front and confronted his two right-hand men. She didn’t back down. She got answers, and that quest wouldn’t end because some Russian—even the head of the mafia—threatened her. Only her cold body on a slab in the morgue had that stopping power.

  She swallowed roughly.

  We simply call it roulette when we play. The Russian part would be redundant.

  Her eye contact faltered for a fraction of a second. Her ground wavered. She attempted to reclaim it. “I will be back.”

  “I count on it, love.”

  Hearing the term of endearment slip from his tongue made her stomach churn. He was trying to gain control over her. She couldn’t let that happen.

  -

  Chapter 32

  SHE BRUSHED PAST TERRY EN ROUTE to the prison warden’s office.

  “If you’re after Dimitre’s visitor log, I thought you went over that in detail many times,” Terry said.

  “I did. Years ago. But it’s not so much what’s on record that I’m curious about.” She stopped walking and waited for Terry to catch up.

  “You think Dimitre runs this prison.”

  “There’s no doubt in my mind, just as he’s behind Sergey’s and Anatolli’s deaths.”

  “But why, and why now?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, but we have to figure it out.”

  “I heard everything he said in there. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Fine, Terry.” She resumed moving.

  They knocked on the warden’s door and were summoned with “Come on in” a second later.

  A man in his mid-forties sat behind the desk. A nameplate announced him as Howard Buckley. He straightened when he caught sight of Terry’s badge.

  “We have questions about one of your prisoners,” Madison interjected.

  “Let me guess, Dimitre Petrov.” He laced his fingers on the desk and leaned toward them. “Please, shut the door.”

  Terry closed it and took a seat in one of the two chairs across from the man. Madison remained standing but passed a glance at her partner.

  “I find it interesting that Dimitre is your first assumption.”

  The warden shrugged his shoulders. “Find it how you like.”

  “We need a list of his visitors.”

  “He doesn’t get any.”

  “None? Let me guess, and no phone calls. Did he buy you too?”

  “Excuse me.”

  Terry’s head turned over his shoulder as if it sprung on a cord. She didn’t show she acknowledged the silent reprimand for her directness.

  “We’d like to get this over with, nice and quick.” Madison paced a few steps, her fingers grazing the edge of the paperwork that sat on his desk. “You share with us what we want to know and we won’t dig into your life.” She made eye contact with him and held the silence. This was what some might consider a strategic chess move, not that she ever played the game. She wouldn’t even know where to begin.

  “I can’t tell you anything,” he said, his voice fluctuating.

  “I know the man has power in here. It’s obvious. How much power? Well, we dig a little further and find out.” She noticed a photograph of the warden on a beach with a beautiful woman. She picked up the frame from the filing cabinet. “Your wife?”

  “Listen,” the warden got up from his chair and took the picture from her, “he is a powerful man, yes, I know that, but I run this prison.”

  Madison gave him a look and sat down. “Are you sure you do?”

  He cleared his throat, reset the frame, and took his seat again. His eyes shifted around the room.

  “Those must be your kids.” Madison pointed to another photo.

  “Get your focus off my family, Detective. What is it you want?”

  Madison glanced at Terry. “Like you said about Dimitre having no visitors, I believe you. At least when it comes to official visitors, but I don’t believe that he doesn’t talk to anyone. Are you going to tell us what you know?”

  “How would I know anything more? If it’s not in the book—”

  “You run this prison. That is what you just said, isn’t it?”

  The silence was a live entity in the room and it crackled with energy.

  “That man has blood on his hands. I’m not going to lie to you and say those murdered by him were all innocent, but some of them were.” Madison gestured to Terry. He pulled out his phone and extended a photograph of Lexan’s dead body to the warden.

  Buckley’s eyes fixed on the image. “Who was he?”

  “First, you tell us what you know.”

  Buckley refused to look at her.

  Madison snapped her fingers.

  Slowly, his eyes lifted from the phone. He took a deep breath and let it out on a long, steady exhale. “These days only one man comes to see him.”

  “One man?”

  He nodded and finally looked in her eyes. The truth was there. He knew the identity of the visitor well, but fear was buried deep within his irises. Dimitre had guaranteed loyalty with this man.

  “What you tell us doesn’t go beyond this room. He will never—”

  “He will never know? Is that what you’re going to tell me, and try to have me believe? Ridiculous. That man,” he jabbed a pointed finger to the back of his office door, “knows everything. He knows where I live, where my wife works, that her dream vacation is to go to the Australian outback for a month. If he finds out that I told—”

  Madison signaled Terry and he brought up photographs of Sergey’s and Anatolli’s lifeless bodies.

  Satisfied Buckley’s eyes were on the picture, Madison continued. “You likely saw the news? Well, those were Dimitre’s men—his right-hand men. How do you really figure you fit in? Don’t ever think you are out of his reach. When you have satisfied your usefulness, poof, you will be finished too.”

  “And this is to encourage me to talk?”

  “This is to help you make the right decision, to make a difference.”

  “What can I do?”

  “If you help us out, you may be able to point us in the direction of a killer.”

  The warden rose, his fingertips pressed against the top of his desk. “I can point you in the direction of a killer. He resides in cell three seventeen, D block. His name is Dimitre Petrov.” He shook his head rapidly. “I’m not talking.”

  Madison studied his face, ab
sorbed his body language, and tried to read his thoughts. He wasn’t simply fearful of Petrov, he was petrified.

  “If you could please go.” Buckley gestured to the door.

  “All right, but if you think of—”

  “I won’t.”

  Madison slipped her card onto his desk.

  “SINCE WHEN DO YOU BACK down so easily?” Terry skipped to keep up with her as she hurried down the hallway.

  “I didn’t back down.”

  He jacked a thumb over his shoulder. “It looked like you did.”

  She stopped walking and spun around. “That man is terrified. There is nothing that could make him talk, short of suspending him over the Hoover Dam. Unless he believes his entire world is going to come to an end, we’ll get nothing. We have to go about this another way.”

  “You’re giving up.”

  “I’ve never given up a day in my life, and I’m not starting now.”

  “Then what?”

  “This is knowing when to move on.” She resumed her steps toward the exit.

  “Where are you going now?”

  “We’re going to see Mason Freeman.”

  “Mason Freeman?”

  “Yes, the man who married Bryan Lexan’s fiancée less than a year after his death. We did talk about this before. You do remember?”

  “And you think you’re going to get something there after all these years?”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  -

  Chapter 33

  KNOCKTURNL WAS NESTLED ON THE outskirts of Stiles. It was a single-story warehouse with ample parking for at least a hundred vehicles. When Madison did a quick background, the business employed seventy-three, with Mason Freeman as the CEO. He’d inherited the company when his father passed a couple years ago.

  The receptionist was in her early twenties, with lively brown eyes and bleached-blond hair. Her physical features and perky attitude made Madison think of a young Britney Spears. “Welcome to Knockturnl.”

  Madison flashed her badge, and so did Terry.

  “We’re here to speak with Mason Freeman,” Madison said.

  The receptionist’s lips formed a pronounced pout. “I’m sorry, but he’s not in. He’s in Jamaica.”

  “Jamaica?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “When is he expected back?”

  There was a flash in Britney’s eyes. “He went to a worldwide conference. Everyone in the beverage industry is going to be there.”

  “When is he back?” Madison repeated her question.

  “Oh, well, he should be back tomorrow. That is unless he prolongs the trip. He has done that before.”

  “Did his wife go with him?”

  “Not this time.”

  “We’ll be back.”

  “Sure. We’ll be here.”

  Madison slid behind the wheel, pulled the car door shut, and looked up Freeman’s residential address. Maybe they’d get lucky and find the missus at home.

  FREEMAN’S HOUSE WAS TWO-STORIES and beige-sided. A covered porch went the width of the house, and the supporting columns sat atop a river-rock foundation. There was an attached three-car garage, which seemed more dominant than the house.

  The doorbell chimed a fancy classical piece, and not long later, a woman answered.

  Madison had no doubt it was Jessica. She was simply an older version of the one from about five years ago. She was still tall and slender, with blond hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Both of her hands gripped the door and her fingernails were french-manicured. She wore a white pantsuit made of flowing fabric that draped on her frame.

  Her mouth opened like she was going to speak, but she didn’t when a little boy of about four wrapped his arms around her legs.

  “Mommy!” He stared at them, his blue eyes enlarging when they settled on Terry’s gun holster.

  “What can I do for you?” Jessica asked.

  “Detective Knight and this is Detective Grant.”

  Jessica’s painted eyelids lowered as she analyzed them. “Yes, I know very well who you are. You told me Bryan was dead. Twice. I asked why you’re here.”

  “We have a few questions for you.”

  Jessica placed a hand on her son’s head. “Is this about Bryan still?”

  “Yes, it is.” Madison held eye contact with her.

  “I put this behind me a long time ago, Detective. I’ve moved on with my life. I’m happy now. If you would please excuse me.” She inched the door shut.

  “Are you police?” The boy let go of Jessica’s legs and stepped onto the front porch.

  “Come on, Michael. In the house.” Jessica almost had a grip on the boy’s arm.

  He shuffled over to Terry and bent his head back as if he were looking at a giant. Madison supposed, to the kid, that’s what Terry was.

  “I could be a cop one day,” the boy said.

  Terry smiled at him. “You can be anything you want to be.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I can be a cop.” Michael circled Terry.

  Madison noticed the happiness on her partner’s face. He was going to make a terrific father.

  “Michael, get in this house. Now.” Jessica stared at her son.

  He responded with a pout and stomping feet.

  “In the house,” Jessica repeated.

  Michael let out a puff and ran past his mother into the house.

  Jessica went to close the door. “Good—” Jessica pried her eyes from Madison’s foot, up to her face. “Detective?”

  “No one was ever charged with Bryan’s murder.” Madison studied her eyes for a reaction. They were vacant.

  “I told you, I had to let it go.” Arms crossed.

  “He was a man you loved most of your life.” She pulled from phrasing she remembered Jessica using years ago. Madison had interviewed Jessica and Mason in depth but wondered now if it had been tainted with her suspicions being focused on the Russians.

  “I thought his case went cold.”

  “Well, it had, but let’s just say it’s warmed back up again.”

  Jessica placed her right hand on her hip. “That is good. I just don’t know what more I could possibly offer.”

  “That day, when Bryan first went missing, you received a phone call.”

  “Yes.” She looked between Madison and Terry.

  “You said he had a Russian accent?”

  “Yes, we’ve been through all of this, years ago.” Pain flickered across Jessica’s irises.

  “We even discussed how, in thinking back, it sounded like a fake accent. Sometimes, when we’re too close to a situation, we can miss things.” Madison had to approach this delicately. Mason Freeman, now her husband, could be the man who killed Bryan. She knew if she came anywhere close to exposing that suspicion, the door would slam in her face.

  “I did see something.” Her eyes lifted to Madison’s. “It was in Bryan’s den. I haven’t told anyone about it all these years.”

  Terry’s face registered surprise, which she was sure hers did. What had she been holding back all these years?

  “What did you see?” Madison asked.

  “Do you think I killed him now?”

  “I never said that.”

  “You must fail to remember that I didn’t benefit monetarily when he died, so why would I kill him?”

  Madison wanted to say there are many reasons people kill, but she didn’t. “Please, tell us what you saw.”

  “One morning, I woke up and went to Bryan’s den. He was always in there. He didn’t see me right away and I watched him. He looked fearful and he held something in his hands, a white piece of paper. He noticed me and shuffled it into a drawer and slammed it shut. He tried to brush it aside by whisking me away for the weekend.” Jessica took a jagged inhale. “He proposed to me that
weekend.”

  “Did you go back to see what he put in the drawer?”

  “The first opportunity I had.”

  “What did you find?” Her patience level was running low.

  “There was a letter. I’ll never forget what it said. It was printed in a bold red font and said ‘I pay with my life. You pay with yours and with those of whom you love.’”

  “You remember exactly what it said?”

  “I do…to this day.”

  “What happened to the letter?”

  “I don’t know. I put it back in his drawer.”

  “And you never approached him about it?”

  “By then it was too late.”

  “Why didn’t you bring up this letter from the start of the investigation?”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know. I was scared I guess. I knew it came from the Russians and it didn’t seem important. I knew who was behind it. You seemed to be focusing the investigation on them. By the time I went back for the letter, it was gone. I figured that Bryan destroyed it. I mean, who knows, maybe that was part of Bryan’s rouse too?”

  “You remember what the letter said clearly. Was there anything special about the stationary?”

  “The paper? I don’t think so.”

  “It was regular grade, white?”

  “Actually.” Jessica began. “Come to think of it, the sheet had a pattern…”

  “Did it look like a sideways number eight?”

  “The infinity symbol? Yes, I think so. I didn’t know what to do with this knowledge, or even if it would bring you closer to his killer. I figured charges would have even been laid by now.”

  “Why did you withhold this?”

  “Like I said,” there was a catch in her throat, “I didn’t think it—”

  “You didn’t think.”

  Jessica’s eyes fell to the porch.

  Madison was beyond the point of offering any sympathy, of feeling any compassion for this woman. A man she had claimed to love for most of her life was six feet under and she’d withheld a potentially vital link all this time.

  Madison was certain her eyes were steel when they matched with Jessica’s. “Don’t leave town.”

  “PART OF LEXAN’S ELABORATE SCHEME involved using a cadaver from the university,” Madison said to Terry.