The Chemtrail Conspiracy Set (Lady Justice Book 22)

by Robert Thornhill

  “So why did you wait to come forward?” Ox asked. “Why now?”

  “Because I saw that Carmine Marchetti is being tried for his murder. Carmine didn’t do it. I’ve been on the street long enough to know most of Marchetti’s goons, and the men who took Jack did not work for him. I don’t like Marchetti. He’s a pig, but if they convict him, the men that are really responsible for Jack’s death will get away.”

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying all along,” I replied. “Would you recognize the men if you saw them again?”

  “The two that took him for sure. They passed right in front of our window. They were both white, middle-aged, well-dressed and very fit.” She thought for a moment. “One of them had a scar on his cheek here,” she said, running her finger from the bridge of her nose to her jaw.

  “Let me show you something,” I said, pulling out my cell phone. “Ox and I ran the traffic cam footage for the day Jack was taken and found this SUV leaving the Royale Inn parking lot. Is this the SUV you saw?”

  “Yes, I’m sure it is.”

  “Would you be willing to testify to that in court?” Suzanne asked.

  She thought for a moment, then nodded. “I would. I owe it to Jack.”

  “Fantastic!” I exclaimed. “Without corroboration, that SUV could have been anybody, but with your testimony, the jury can’t ignore the possibility that someone else killed Jack. Reasonable doubt.”

  “Maria,” Suzanne said. “The prosecution will be finished tomorrow and we’ll begin our defense on Monday. That’s when I’ll need you in court. Would you like someone to pick you up?”

  “Not necessary,” she replied. “It’s not like I’ve never been to court before, except this time I won’t be the defendant.”

  Suzanne turned to me. “I’ll get Maria’s name on the witness list, and Walt, you’d better get some rest. You’ll be on the stand tomorrow and Grant Marshall will be going for the jugular.”

  “Thanks, I’m sure I’ll sleep well with that in mind.”

  Sure enough, I was the first person called to the witness stand.

  After the preliminaries, establishing my five years as a cop and my current position as a private investigator, Marshall jumped right in.

  “Mr. Williams, on the morning of January 12th, did you visit the office of Detective Derek Blaylock?”

  “I did.”

  “And what was the purpose of that visit?”

  “I had been working with Jack Carson on a case and he went missing. I was told by Missing Persons that I should talk to Detective Blaylock.”

  “What did the detective tell you?”

  “He said if Jack was missing, Carmine Marchetti was the logical suspect. He said Jack had been investigating some of his business dealings and Jack had been having an affair with Marchetti’s daughter.”

  “Business dealings? Come on, Mr. Williams. Wasn’t Jack Carson digging into Marchetti’s protection racket in the northeast neighborhood?”

  “I suppose.”

  “After your conversation with Detective Blaylock, did you confront Mr. Marchetti at his office later that day?”

  “I did, and he categorically denied having anything to do with Carson’s disappearance.”

  “And you believed him? He certainly had the motive.”

  “He was very convincing, plus, I was pursuing another lead as to his disappearance.”

  I was hoping Marshall would quiz me about my other lead, but he was too sharp to fall into that trap. He totally ignored my comment and continued.

  “A few days later, you had a second confrontation with Mr. Marchetti. What was that all about?”

  “Someone had abducted my wife, Maggie. I was trying to find her.”

  “And you suspected Mr. Marchetti had taken your wife?”

  “The thought crossed my mind, but I was mistaken. She had actually been abducted by Angel Alvarez, a Columbian drug dealer.”

  “Why did Alvarez abduct your wife?”

  “Because she had a computer that Hector Ramirez left in a house Maggie listed. He wanted to trade Maggie for the computer.”

  “What was on this computer?”

  “The names, contacts and details of the Columbians drug operation in Kansas City.”

  Marshall looked at a sheet of paper. “According to the police report, the exchange of the computer for your wife went badly. It seems you were both about to be abducted when Carmine Marchetti’s men intervened and possibly saved your lives. Is that correct?”

  “It is.”

  “My, my, you and Mr. Marchetti must have become best buds for him to come to your rescue like that. Oh, wait. Maybe it wasn’t an act of altruism at all. With the information on that computer, wasn’t the drug task force able to pretty much shut down the Columbian drug trade in Kansas City?”

  “That’s what I understood.”

  “And with the Columbians out of the way, that certainly left a void in the Kansas City drug market that Mr. Marchetti’s organization was able to step in and fill.”

  Suzanne sprang to her feet. “Objection! Facts not in evidence.”

  “Withdrawn!” Marshall replied, smiling. “No further questions of this witness.”

  Grant Marshall had used my testimony to not only solidify Marchetti’s motive for killing Carson, but to also add drugs to his resume which already included protection, gambling and prostitution. Carmine wasn’t coming across as a very nice guy, but like the old saying goes, “You can’t put a flower in an asshole and call it a vase.”

  Suzanne and I had discussed the possibility of her getting into the hired assassin theory on cross examination, but decided to wait until she was presenting her defense.

  Marshall’s next witness was Carmine’s daughter, Calinda.

  “Ms. Marchetti, may I call you Calinda?”

  “Sure. I guess.”

  “Calinda, how did you first come in contact with Jack Carson?”

  “Daddy owns twelve apartment buildings around the city. I’m his property manager. I take care of all of his rental units. One day, Jack came by my office at the Bel-Air Apartments and told me he was doing a story on my father and would like to interview me.”

  “Were you aware that his story was actually an exposé of your father’s protection racket?”

  “First of all, I don’t even know what that is. The only thing I have to do with Daddy’s business is manage his apartment buildings. I have an MBA from Baker University and I take my job very seriously. You or anyone else can audit my books any time you want. I have nothing to hide.”

  “I’m sure you don’t, but surely you’re not asking us to believe that you know nothing about your father’s illegal activities.”

  “You can believe what you want. I know what people say, but Daddy never let me get involved in anything illegal.”

  “So what happened with Jack?”

  “He realized right away that I had nothing to add to his story, but during that first visit, something just clicked. We enjoyed each other’s company and began seeing each other on a regular basis.”

  “Your father wasn’t aware of those first visits, was he?”

  “No, I knew Jack was snooping around Daddy’s business, so I didn’t say anything. No need to upset him if things didn’t work out.”

  “But they did work out, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, very much so. One of Daddy’s people saw Jack and me at a restaurant. He confronted me and I told him everything.”

  “He must have been upset.”

  “He was at first. In fact, he asked me not to see him anymore, but when I told him how much I cared for Jack, he gave in.”

  “Was that about the time Jack gave up on his story about your father?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Maybe?”

  “Did Jack ever tell you why he gave up on his story?”

  “He said one of his sources had disappeared.”

  “And that didn’t alarm you?”

  “Like I said, Mr. Marshall, I
don’t get into all that stuff. All I knew was that I loved Jack, then one day he was gone.”

  “You try to come across as innocent Ms. Marchetti, but I can’t believe you are so naïve to not wonder why your lover who had been investigating your father’s illegal business, suddenly goes missing along with his informant. Surely you must have some questions about your father’s involvement.”

  “Well, I don’t!” she replied defiantly.

  “No further questions.”

  Marshall was good. His questioning made Calinda look either unbelievably naïve or lying through her teeth.

  Marshall’s last witness was Detective Blaylock.

  “Detective, once Jack Carson’s body was found, what led you to arrest Carmine Marchetti for his murder?”

  “Motive and means, Counselor. Carson was doing his best to expose Marchetti’s dirty secrets, plus he was having an affair with the man’s daughter. Everyone knows that Carmine Marchetti is the godfather of the Kansas City mafia, and the way Carson died is consistent with previous murders attributed to the mob.”

  “Thank you detective. No further questions.”

  “Cross?” Ms. Romero, Judge Weathers asked.

  Suzanne was ready for this one.

  “Detective Blaylock, did your crime scene investigators or the Medical Examiner find any physical evidence tying Carmine Marchetti to Carson’s death?”

  “No.”

  “So really, everything you have against Carmine Marchetti is circumstantial.”

  “I suppose, but ---.”

  She cut him off. “Jack Carson’s editor said they had a file folder full of threats against Mr. Carson. Did you investigate any of them?”

  “We looked at them, but the most recent was two months old.”

  “So the answer is ‘no.’ In your estimation, no one could hold a grudge more than two months.”

  “Well, I ---.”

  “When Walt Williams came to you asking about Jack Carson’s disappearance, did he not present you with another theory about his disappearance?”

  “He had some cockamamie story about a government conspiracy and tried to get me to buy the idea that hired assassins had killed Carson. It was just too far-fetched and he had no concrete evidence.”

  “So let me get this straight. Your department failed to investigate written threats because you considered them too old, you dismissed Walt Williams’ lead because he had no hard evidence, and yet you arrested Carmine Marchetti even though you had no hard evidence yourself. Is that about right?”

  No response.

  “I can’t hear you, Detective.”

  “Yes.”

  “Sounds like a witch hunt to me!”

  “Objection!” Marshall roared.

  “Withdrawn,” Romero replied, giving him a wink.

  The prosecution’s case was weak, but given Marchetti’s reputation, it might be enough.

  CHAPTER 15

  I was so ready for the weekend and a break from the trial. Kevin and Veronica’s wedding and spending time with my friends and family was just the tonic I needed to take my mind off gangsters and hired assassins.

  I had just settled in with my morning paper, anticipating a quiet Saturday morning, when the phone rang.

  “Walt, you ready to go?”

  “Go where, Dad? I don’t remember making any plans for this morning.”

  “Of course you do. You’re the best man, aren’t you?”

  “Well yes, but ---.”

  “But nothin’,” he interrupted. “Tonight is Kevin’s bachelor party. I’ve been doing your best man chores all week, but now it’s time for you to pitch in.”

  “So what do you need?” I sighed, visualizing my quiet Saturday morning going down the tubes.

  “Tables and chairs, Sonny. We’ve got to get the Teamster’s Hall set up for tonight. I borrowed a pick-up from a buddy and reserved what we need from a rental place. Meet me downstairs in ten minutes.”

  “But Dad!” I tried to tell him I didn’t even have my pants on yet, but he had hung up.

  Fifteen minutes later, I met him at the curb tapping his watch.

  “You’re late! Let’s hit the road. We’re burnin’ daylight.”

  On the way to the rental place, I asked, “So what exactly do you have planned for the evening?”

  “The usual,” he replied. “A boys night out before old Kevin ties the knot.”

  “Just the boys? What are the girls going to do?”

  “Maggie said something about having one of those bridal shower things for Veronica. That’s all I know.”

  I thought it odd that we weren’t all celebrating together, but since I left the planning to someone else, I really couldn’t complain.

  At the rental store, Dad signed for the table and chairs and the clerk handed our order to a kid who looked like an extra for a horror movie. His head was shaved and tattooed, his earlobes had those big hole things in the lobes and there were studs in his tongue and sticking out of every orifice on his face.

  “Why don’t you boys have a cup of coffee and a donut while Ritchie gets you loaded,” the clerk suggested.

  Since Dad had rousted me out of the house before breakfast, it sounded like a good idea.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ritchie stuck his head in the door. “Gotzths yuzz stutth luddded,” he mumbled.

  I took that to mean we were ready to go, so I gulped down the rest of my coffee and headed to the truck.

  I wanted to check our load, but Dad was in a hurry. I should have insisted.

  Seeing a break in the traffic, Dad put the pedal to the metal and merged onto Broadway. No sooner had we cleared the curb, when I heard a deafening crash. I looked back, and to my horror, tables and chairs littered the street. Cars behind us came to a screeching halt.

  “Holy crap!” Dad muttered, bailing out of the driver’s side.

  As I joined him, I saw Ritchie, open mouthed, staring at the mess. Our eyes met and I saw the fear register on his face just before he fled into the bowels of the building.

  I hoped Dad wasn’t carrying his 9mm. He might have been tempted to give Ritchie another orifice in which to put a stud.

  After fifteen minutes of utter embarrassment, amid jeers and other unsavory epithets flung our way by passing motorists, we were loaded and on our way.

  I just hoped this wasn’t a harbinger of things to come.

  It was nearly four in the afternoon before Dad was through with me. I was bushed and looking forward to a hot shower and maybe a quick nap before the evening’s festivities were to begin. But it wasn’t to be.

  Maggie greeted me at the door.

  “Hi Sweetie,” she said, giving me a peck on the cheek. “If you’re not too busy, I’d really appreciate it if you would run by the hotel and pick up Mary. I’d do it myself, but I’m finishing things up for the bridal shower.”

  Mary Murphy was our dear friend and the housemother at my Three Trails Hotel, a twenty sleeping room abomination on Linwood Avenue. The twenty scruffy residents share four hall baths. Not ideal living conditions, but when all you can afford is forty bucks a week, it’s a roof over your head.

  I figured I might as well give Mary a call to see when she’d be ready. If I was lucky, I still might have time to catch a few quick winks.

  “Mr. Walt, I was just getting ready to call you. Maggie said you’d be picking me up. I need you to bring Willie with you. Tell him to bring his snake. Mr. Feeney stopped up the #3 crapper again.”

  “Swell.”

  Willie was my maintenance man when I owned a portfolio of apartments. When I sold them and became a cop, he retired --- sort of. He lives rent free in a studio apartment in our building in exchange for taking care of things around here and at the hotel. We became close friends over the years and he actually saved my bacon more times than I want to remember.

  I called to give him the good news.

  “Dis jus’ ain’t right,” he moaned. “I’se done showered an’ got all dressed up fo’ de party
, an’ now I gotta go deal wif ole man Feeney’s poop!”

  “I feel your pain,” I replied, trying to be supportive. “Meet me out front.”

  When we arrived, Mary was in good spirits.

  “Ohhh, I’m so excited! I just love wedding showers.”

  Willie stomped by without saying a word.

  “What’s his problem?” she asked.

  “Well, he was excited too, until I told him about the number 2 in number 3. Now, not so much.”

  She giggled. “He’ll get over it.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Feeney came busting out the door.

  “Whoa! Slow down old-timer. What’s the rush?”

  “It’s Willie,” he replied looking furtively over his shoulder. “He told me if I did that again, he was gonna run that snake thing up my butt. He wouldn’t really do that, would he?”

  “I can’t make any promises,” I lied.

  At that moment, Willie appeared, brandishing the snake. “Where is dat ole man?”

  Wide-eyed, Mr. Feeney stared at the snake in shock. “Gotta go!” he muttered as he leaped of the porch and tore across the lawn.

  Willie grinned as he watched him disappear around the corner. “Bet de ole dude hadn’t run dat fast in years. Mebbe it was worth de trip after all.”

  I packed my charges in the car and headed home.

  So much for a nap.

  At six that evening, Dad was ready to launch Kevin’s bachelor party.

  In attendance were Dad, Kevin, Jerry, Ox, Willie, the Professor and myself.

  Our mouths were watering as the aroma of bar-b-cue brisket and beans wafted through the big hall.

  “I’m ready to tie on the old feed bag,” Ox announced.

  “Oh, no! Not yet!” Dad said. “We’ve got a few things to do before we feed our faces.”

  He brought out a chair and ordered Kevin to sit.

  “The bachelor party is a time-honored tradition. It represents the groom’s last evening of freedom before being hooked to the old ball and chain. His last opportunity to indulge in some activities that later on might be frowned upon as a violation of the marriage vows. So, without further ado, it’s time to get this shindig started.”