Just Cause

by Carolyn Arnold

  “You would have spoken to them.”

  “Of course, but with Lexan being murdered for real, that aspect muted to the background. It became irrelevant.”

  “So you’re thinking we should go back to the university and see what we can find out. Maybe there’s an assassin roaming the grounds?”

  “Stop being sarcastic.”

  “Well.”

  “Yes, exactly what I’m thinking. There was one name on Dimitre’s visitor log at the time, a Mitch Hanover. We never found him. But I’m just thinking, what if that wasn’t his real name?” She thought back to Dimitre’s words. “Although, if he was involved, I bet he’s dead, along with James Calin. I just have a feeling.”

  “I love it when you run by your gut.”

  She glared at him. “Cut it out.”

  “I’m just being honest.”

  “Calin was behind the phone call saying Lexan was in danger, part of the staged attempt at disappearing. What if this Mitch Hanover played both sides? Lexan made him a better offer.”

  “He must have huge cojones.”

  “When I spoke to Dimitre, he offered up a characteristic of a man who would visit him. He said that he wore a bowler hat.”

  “Not a popular accessory these days.”

  “If Dimitre was pleased with the guy, he never would have given me that piece of information.”

  “Yeah, good point.”

  “We need to go to the university.”

  She was peeling out of the lot before Terry replied.

  -

  Chapter 34

  STILES UNIVERSITY TOOK UP ACRES of land and had a campus that rivaled those in larger cities. Madison had called ahead, and she and Terry were set to meet with Luke Sullivan, the head of staff.

  His secretary, a petite woman, who wore her blond hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, escorted them into his lavish office.

  Sullivan sat behind a mahogany desk that had a lamp on the corner, with an emerald green shade. Between this and the ornate touches of original wood trim, Sullivan suited the setting as if he were staged for a magazine shoot. He had a wild mane of white, and the corners of his mouth curved upward, even in a relaxed state. He wore a gray suit and paired his white shirt with an orange tie. It told Madison he conformed to the ideals of his career but housed an adventurous spirit.

  “Good day, Detectives.” He gestured to the chairs across from him.

  They both took a seat.

  “How long have you been with the university?” Madison asked, her eyes darting around the room to the dark wood bookshelves and filing cabinets. The heritage of the building was kept alive and well within these four walls. Madison looked back at him.

  “Most of my career.” He screwed up his brow and glanced at the ceiling. “Probably easily thirty years by now. Time just flies when you’re having fun.”

  “We want to ask about the staff that worked here five, six, years ago and would have had access to the cadavers.”

  “I know every member of this faculty very well. What is their name?”

  “We’re hoping you can help with that.” There was no point in mentioning Mitch Hanover as she had inquired about him years ago. Hopefully between mentioning the bowler hat and access to the morgue, though, the picture would come together.

  “Ah, I remember talking to you before now, come to think of it. You were asking after a Mitch Hanover if I remember correctly. And I told you then that no person by that name worked here.”

  “Great memory, and you did.”

  Sullivan scanned her eyes and smacked his lips. “Not sure what I can do for you.”

  “Do you have, or did you have, a staff member who wore a bowler hat?”

  “Ah...no.”

  Madison remained silent and studied the man. “That was a quick response.”

  “Five or six years ago? That’s a long—” His eyes seemed to spark with a recollection. “Ah, yes. Darrell Kinton. He was in charge of the morgue.”

  “The name doesn’t sound familiar. Was he on the employment records you provided at the time?” Even though they didn’t fully investigate the matter, they had come to question the university staff and everyone had checked out.

  Sullivan averted eye contact. “He wasn’t on the list.”

  “And why wasn’t he?”

  “Well, he disappeared. We thought he went to take care of his mother.”

  “So you withheld information from an investigation?”

  Sullivan adjusted the lay of his tie. “We didn’t know for sure, and you were on the hunt. The university has a reputation to uphold. You came in claiming that one of our cadavers was used to stage a murder. Bad publicity.” Sullivan shook his head and accompanied it with a tisking sound. “I had no reason to believe that Darrell was involved in any of this.”

  “So the timing of his leave never struck you as odd?” Anger boiled within her.

  Sullivan shook his head. “No, please, it wasn’t intentional. I’m sure you know what happened to him, though? The real reason he disappeared.”

  “Can’t say as we do.”

  Sullivan’s jaw went lax and his mouth gaped open. “He died around that time. Rumor was, he killed himself.”

  -

  Chapter 35

  MADISON HURRIED TOWARD the department car.

  Terry performed a slow jog to catch up. “You sure can move when you want to.”

  “I’m driven, Terry. That’s all.”

  “But you’re not driven in a running pursuit?”

  “Given the right motivation, possibly.” She glared at him, playing up the threat against him. “What can I say, I’ve never liked running.”

  Inside the car, she typed in the name Darrell Kinton and sure enough, his body was found in his apartment five years ago. A bullet to the brain had proved to be the cause of death, but the case was closed a suicide. The report says that Kinton inserted the gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger. There was no evidence of foul play.

  “According to this, we are chasing a ghost.” She slammed her hand into the steering wheel. “Another dead end.”

  Terry snickered and she pointed a finger at him.

  “Don’t even get started. You know I always had a feeling that the guy was dead, but without having his real name or anything to go on...”

  “There’s no way that you could have verified it.”

  She looked over at Terry, but her eyes went through him. “I have an idea.”

  “Maddy?”

  She scrolled down Kinton’s background information and found next of kin. “His mother.” She clicked some keys and waited for the screen to fill in.

  “Talk to me.”

  “Kinton’s mother is still alive. She lives at Pleasantview Retirement Community.”

  “And what’s she supposed to do for us?”

  “Well, we know for certain that Kinton is dead, but I never got anywhere with James Calin. Now, I wonder if that’s his real name. Nah,” she shook her head, “I’m getting carried away. His identification was confirmed…”

  “You’re thinking that Kinton and Calin were working together.”

  “I pretty much guarantee you they were. James Calin was the man who made the call to say the lawyer was dead. His body, as you know, has never been found. After we had stormed his apartment, all we found was his blood. He never returned.”

  “Maybe he killed Kinton and took off?”

  Madison shook her head. “Looking at the detailed report on Kinton, I’m in agreement with the ruling. He did kill himself.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Stop it.” She gave him a warning glare.

  “Were you ever able to track down any friends or family of Calin?” Terry asked.

  “Nope. Calin was orphaned at a young age, and his landlord described him as st
icking to himself.”

  She started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “It’s time to get some answers.”

  -

  Chapter 36

  PLEASANTVIEW RETIREMENT COMMUNITY WAS NESTLED on a few acres of land that backed onto a wooded area. Paths of concrete snaked through the property, allowing even those in wheelchairs easy access to the grounds. Reading the signs on the way in made it obvious they took pride in their natural setting.

  Nina Priest managed the center and greeted them with an extended hand.

  They shook hands and Madison proceeded with the formal introduction.

  “We’d like to speak with Melanie Kinton,” Madison said.

  “But of course,” Priest said with her attention on Terry. “This way.”

  She led them down a hall and past a common area, where several senior citizens played chess, watched TV, or stared off into space. Madison had to shake the feelings of sadness that crept in. She thought of her grandmother, briefly, but it was more the thought that people came to these places, not to enjoy their last few years on earth, but to wait for death.

  “Mrs. Kinton, you have company.” Priest cleared the doorway with Madison and Terry right behind her.

  Melanie Kinton’s bed was inclined and she was watching a popular television talk show. The topic of discussion was eating healthy.

  “Mrs. Kinton?” Priest repeated.

  “Yes, I heard you.” Kinton didn’t make a move to turn down the volume, but she glanced at them, her eyes a dull brown. “I don’t know you.”

  “These two are from the Stiles PD, Mrs. Kinton.”

  “Please, stop calling me Mrs. It makes me feel old.” Her voice wavered and combined with her long white hair, belied her claim to youth. She rested her gaze over Madison and Terry. “What do you want?”

  “We want to talk about your son, Darrell.”

  “Bah. That there is a good-for-nothing nobody. Shamed that he came from my womb.” Kinton waved a dismissive hand and went back to her program.

  Priest passed Madison a brief look, her eyes saying good luck before she left the room.

  Madison had faced much worse.

  “Mrs. Kinton—” The older woman glared at her, and Madison corrected her address to a less formal one. “Melanie, we’re here to talk about your son and—”

  “My boy is dead and buried. Nothing left to say.”

  With her mouth shut, it would be possible to deceive one into believing Melanie Kinton was a sweet, older woman. But once she started talking, the contortion of her face, the arch of her brow and the darkness in her eyes, made it apparent she had seen a lot in her life and she could have easily slipped into a role on Grumpy Old Men.

  “We wanted to ask if you’ve heard of a man named James Calin.”

  “Ha.” Melanie waved two arms in the air and then turned the television volume up a couple notches.

  Madison raised her voice. “James Calin.”

  Melanie’s eyes snapped to Madison. “Never heard of him.”

  Madison pulled up the dated DMV photo of Calin from five years ago—the fact it was never renewed was just another aspect that made his death seem all the more likely. She held her phone in front of Melanie. “Does he look familiar?”

  “No, and if he was a friend of Darrell’s, I wouldn’t know.”

  “You weren’t close,” Terry said, stepping a few feet toward to the bed.

  “Your name Sherlock, boy? ’Cause you’re one hell of a detective.”

  Madison passed Terry a placating glance and put her phone away. There was one more thing she wanted to know. “Have you heard of the name Mitch Hanover?”

  Melanie laughed. “Have I.”

  “Mrs.—Melanie.”

  “That was one of Darrell’s favorite aliases. He probably made good on that name over and over. The kid was such a screwball, he probably believed Mitch was his real name.”

  Madison glanced at Terry. They were one step closer to getting this case pieced together, even though there was a lot of string left to stitch.

  “Last question. Did he like to wear a bowler hat?”

  Madison’s question warranted another heartfelt laugh.

  “I think that boy came out with one on his head.”

  “Thank you, Melanie.” Madison extended a card.

  Melanie ignored the card and looked back to the TV. “Don’t interrupt my program again over him.”

  Madison dropped the card on the corner of the bed. “Just in case you remember James Calin.”

  The older woman mumbled something indiscernible, but Madison suspected it contained some profanity.

  -

  Chapter 37

  WHO PULLED THEIR GUN FIRST?

  The sergeant’s question continued to wreak havoc on her conscience. She knew she should know the answer, but it was all fuzzy and muted into shades of gray.

  She shut her eyes for a moment.

  She had gone into Homeland Logistics. She had asked for Sergey and then the girl at the front desk put up the closed sign and left.

  There was a noise coming from the back...

  “Maddy?”

  She blinked heavily, Terry’s voice jarring her, and she looked across at him.

  “It looks like you’re getting a lot done there,” he said.

  They had discussed their next course of action. Autopsies still needed to be performed on Sergey and Anatolli and, until then, they had to keep moving forward. Madison reasoned if Dimitre killed Lexan, it was possible there were other dead lawyers in his wake. She knew that Blake Golden hadn’t been representing Dimitre as far back as the trial, so someone else had to come in between there. Madison expected to find that he’d died “accidentally.”

  “I’m just thinking about a few things.”

  “Your time with the Russians? I mean, it’s understandable if you are.”

  His eyes went back to his monitor when he must have realized she wasn’t going to elaborate.

  She sensed there was more to his inquiry, and it led her to think about the two men that were willing to testify she went in, gun drawn.

  She remembered hearing a noise. She went back and…

  The rest wasn’t coming to her yet. She had to let it go. “We should also look into the two men who signed the affidavits against me. They are likely lifetime criminals, or they were convinced to do it—either monetarily or with fear for their lives.”

  “We know Sergey and Anatolli were behind bars when they signed the paperwork.”

  “They likely saw them beat charges many times. They figured they’d be out again and were thinking ahead. They’d be dead—literally.”

  “You can’t be running on assumptions. You and I might know that it isn’t a stretch, but proving it might be.”

  “What about the room where they held me? Is it not proof enough that blood was found in that room? It proves their violent nature. By default, the men in the warehouse would know what they were capable of.”

  “Again, assuming they knew about it. Just playing devil’s advocate here.”

  “And, you’re good at it, Terry. If only we could find someone the Russians manipulated. It might get us all our answers, who killed Lexan, and what happened to Calin.”

  “And where are you going to find this someone?”

  Her computer beeped and she touched the monitor. “His name is Emanuel Douglas. He was Dimitre Petrov’s lawyer after Bryan Lexan.”

  ACCORDING TO THE RECORDS, Emanuel Douglas was alive and doing quite well for himself. He owned a medium-sized firm in the downtown area and his company prided itself on defending the guilty.

  Quite the thing to be proud of, Madison thought.

  The receptionist was a woman in her early thirties with brilliant red hair and a bright smile. “Mr. Douglas has not come in yet today
.”

  Madison glanced at the clock behind her. It read two. “It’s the middle of the afternoon. Are you still expecting him?”

  “Well, I don’t know what to say, Detective. He said he would be in this afternoon. I’m not paid to pry into his personal business, but he has been different lately.”

  Madison glanced at Terry.

  “Different how?”

  “Well, he’s been really quiet, and jumpy, anxious? Yes, that would be the right word.” The woman was soft spoken. She had a calm spirit.

  “Do you know why?”

  She shook her head—a little too fast.

  “You do know.” Madison leaned on the counter.

  “Not really, but there’s been this guy,” the receptionist said, splitting her time looking between them, “He’s been calling for Mr. Douglas a lot in the last few days.”

  “Have you seen this man?”

  “No, but he’s Russian. I can tell by his accent, and the way he drops words.”

  Madison’s heart sped up. “I need the number where he called from.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

  “You want a warrant? We don’t have time to—”

  “No, not that. I don’t have it. He never left it, and before you ask, we don’t have caller ID.”

  -

  Chapter 38

  OUTSIDE, MADISON UNLOCKED THE CAR and she and Terry got in.

  “I find it hard to believe they don’t have caller ID, but I can’t see why she’d lie to us. She said he never left his number but called a lot. He’s Russian,” she said. “This is probably the assassin we’re looking for. Douglas is in danger.”

  “Is in danger? So you think the lawyer’s still alive?”

  “You like making bets, Terry. In this case, I’d wager we’re not going to have anyone to talk to.”

  She pulled in front of Douglas’s huge estate. The front lawn was landscaped with more money in stone than the median selling price in Stiles’ housing market.

  “His car is here.”

  Madison huffed it up the incline of his driveway, chastising herself for lack of discipline when it came to exercise. She thought of Troy Matthews’s defined pectorals and abdominals and shook it just as quickly.