Victoria Cross: United Federation Attorney (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 9)

by John Bowers

“Shoot.”

  “Why did you retire from ACBI?”

  “I guess I’m too independent to be a government agent. It was a good job, but it was a little too regimented for my taste. Like being in the army.” He waved a hand around the room. “And I can make a lot more money working in the private sector. I have no regrets.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Victoria stood and Nancy followed suit. “Sorry about your partner’s death. I’m sure that came as a blow.”

  He nodded. “It was, but not entirely unexpected.”

  “How is that?”

  “Like I said, Lloyd was an alpha male. Sooner or later, every alpha dog is bound to run into another, meaner alpha dog. I’m afraid that’s what happened to Lloyd.”

  “You think Frie killed him?”

  Jones looked surprised. “Don’t you?”

  “The evidence is certainly pointing that way. Thank you for your time, Mr. Jones.”

  Jones stood up and shook hands with both of them.

  “Happy to help. Feel free to come back any time.”

  Lucaston Dept. of Corrections – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2

  Victoria’s pocket phone buzzed just as she and Nancy returned to the hovercar. She answered it.

  “Victoria Cross.”

  “Hi, this is Doug Hitlin. I found Mickey Tullis.”

  “Great! Where is he?”

  “Lucaston DOC. It seems he spends quite a bit of time there.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “No, I was under the impression you wanted to do that.”

  “You were under the right impression. Anything from NCF yet?”

  “No, I thought Tullis might be quicker so I took a shot at him first. Turned out I was right. I’ll call you later on NCF.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Hitlin.”

  “Call me Doug.”

  “Thanks, Doug. Talk to you later.”

  She put the phone away and glanced at Nancy Swift.

  “How would you like to go to jail?”

  Nancy blue eyes expanded in surprise.

  “Only if you go with me.” She laughed. “And I want my two hundred terros.”

  “Sounds like a deal. That’s our next stop.”

  Victoria hadn’t called ahead, so the Department of Corrections didn’t have the prisoner ready. They had to wait twenty minutes.

  Nancy looked around in disgust.

  “This place makes my skin crawl.”

  “You’ll be fine. Just don’t touch anything. God knows what you might catch.”

  Nancy made a face. “Really?”

  Victoria grinned.

  “You never know.”

  They eventually found themselves in the same conference room where Victoria had interviewed Nicodemus Downing. Mickey Tullis was approaching fifty. He was pasty and obese, his long hair looked as if it had never been washed, and his skin had a waxy look to it. A faint musky odor emanated from him, as if he had bathed fully clothed but without soap. From his general look and demeanor, Victoria half expected him to break out in farts and belches.

  He stared at the two gorgeous women across the table as if trying to think of something clever to say.

  “Goddamn!” was all he came up with. “What did I do to rate a visit by you two?”

  Victoria dropped her business card on the table.

  “How about perjury?” she said.

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  He glanced at the card, then stared at her with raised eyebrows.

  “U.F. Attorney? You work for Andy Gabel?”

  “Before we get to that…what are you in for?”

  “Oh, nothing too serious. Just a little insider trading.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Insider trading?”

  “Yeah. You know, I walk inside somebody’s house and pick out what I want to trade.” He grinned. “Get it?”

  “Yeah, I get it. Residential burglary.”

  “Residential, commercial…who’s keeping track?”

  “How many convictions does that make now?”

  “Five, six…ten. Like I said, who’s counting?”

  “How long is your sentence?”

  “Eleven months. I like to keep ‘em short.” He grinned again and swiped some greasy hair out of his eyes. “What can I do for you ladies?”

  “Twelve years ago, you testified against Wallace Frie. Remember that?”

  “Who? Oh, the old black guy. The cargo pilot.”

  “Right. You were both in the same cell?”

  “Naw, we were next door to each other. What about it?”

  “You said he threatened to kill the man who arrested him.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. And looks like he did. I hear he got picked up again.”

  “Have you seen him since he came back in?”

  “Naw, they’re holding him in isolation. Suicide watch and all that shit.”

  Victoria drew a deep breath.

  “Mr. Tullis, when you testified, what did you get in return?”

  He gazed at her a moment.

  “So that’s what this is about. I got six months shaved off the sentence I was serving then.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah. I asked for cash and a broad, but nobody was listening.”

  “What did Wallace Frie really say to you?”

  Tullis stared at her a moment as if unsure what she was asking. Finally he smirked.

  “He said pretty much what I testified to.”

  “Pretty much?”

  “Yeah. Pretty much.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “I just repeated what he said. Of course…I may have rearranged the words a little.”

  Victoria felt a tingle down her spine.

  “Rearranged how?”

  “Hey, hold on now—I was working for your side, so what’s your beef with me?”

  “I don’t have a beef with you. I wasn’t there and I just want to know what happened.”

  “Maybe you should ask Andy. He’s your boss, isn’t he?”

  “Not anymore. Mr. Gabel has retired.”

  It was close enough to the truth for her present purpose. Hopefully she would get what she needed before Tullis had a chance to check it out…if he even took the trouble.

  “Well, Frie was pissed at that agent…I forget his name.”

  “Lloyd Randal.”

  “Yeah, him. Frie said Randal had planted a weapon on him and was framing him for smuggling.”

  Victoria scribbled notes.

  Tullis continued.

  “Then he said something like, somebody ought to kill that motherfucker.”

  Victoria pinned him with her gaze.

  “Is that an exact quote? ‘Somebody ought to kill that mo-fo’?”

  “Yeah, only he didn’t say mo-fo.”

  “Did he at any time ever say that he was going to kill Randal?”

  Tullis stretched and sighed. He clasped his sausage-like fingers behind his head.

  “Maybe not in so many words. I sort of insinuated the rest.”

  “Mr. Tullis, I read the trial transcript. You said in no uncertain terms that Frie threatened to kill Randal, which means he was going to do it himself. Did he, or did not, ever say that?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “Then why did you say he did?”

  “Wait a minute—what’s the statute of limitations on perjury?”

  “Three years. You’re in the clear, so tell me the truth. Why did you lie?”

  “Because I knew what Andy Gabel wanted me to say.”

  “How did you know that? Did he tell you what to say?”

  “No, of course not. But he was a prosecutor. Prosecutors only want to hear bad things about their defendants. I gave him what he wanted, and he gave me what I wanted.”

  Her nerves singing, Victoria scratched a few more notes. She looked at Tullis again.

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

  “Sweetheart, you knock el
even months off my sentence and I’ll say whatever you want me to say. Just tell me what you want to hear.”

  She stared at him another few seconds, then glanced at Nancy. They both stood up.

  “Thank you, Mr. Tullis. I have what I came for, but if the need arises, I’ll be back.”

  He grinned.

  “Don’t take too long. If I’m still here in a couple of months, the offer is off the table.”

  Victoria winked at him.

  “I’ll be sure and remember that.”

  Chapter 14

  75th Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2

  Nancy Swift shuddered when they reached the parking lot.

  “I think I need a shower,” she told Victoria.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “It was horrible! Even the air in there smells greasy.”

  “Is this your first visit?”

  “Yeah. I’ve never had to come over here before. Don’t ever want to again.”

  They returned to the Federation Building and Victoria uploaded her notes. She had just finished when her pocket phone rang.

  “Victoria Cross.”

  “Miss Cross, this is Officer Benedict of Lucaston PD.”

  The name clicked instantly. Benedict had arrested the guy who tried to mug her.

  “Oh, hi! I was wondering when I would hear from you again.”

  “Did any detectives call you?”

  “No. Since I talked to you, I haven’t heard from anyone.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Benedict muttered. “Well, I’ll give someone a nudge. You should have been contacted by now.”

  Victoria frowned. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, it’s a little complicated, and just a little embarrassing…”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It turns out that our young Mr. Whistler is connected. His uncle is on the city council.”

  “Are you kidding me!”

  “No, I’m not. And it gets worse.”

  “How much worse?”

  “Whistler made bail this morning. He’s on the street right now.”

  Victoria felt a chill ripple across her skin.

  “Should I be concerned?”

  “Concerned, yes. Worried…probably not.”

  “Okay.”

  “Whistler made no specific threats that I’m aware of, but at the moment you’re the only witness against him, so…do the math.”

  Victoria nodded slowly.

  “Well, you should be aware that I always carry a weapon, and if you run into Uncle City Councilman, you might advise him that I won’t hesitate to use it.”

  “Glad to hear that. Don’t take any chances, Miss Cross.”

  “When is Whistler due in court?”

  “He had his arraignment yesterday and he’s due back in three months for a prelim. You would be expected to testify at that.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Okay. I didn’t want you walking around vulnerable, which is why I called. Like I said, watch your back.”

  “Thank you, Officer. I appreciate it.”

  Benedict disconnected and Victoria sat back in her chair.

  Jesus! As if she didn’t have enough going on!

  Her desk comm rang.

  “Victoria Cross.”

  “I got the background check you asked for,” James Dillon told her. “NCF Freight.”

  “Can you shoot it to my terminal?”

  “I just did. You should have it already.”

  “Thanks, James. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been tracking those CTP cops. One of them was killed in a traffic accident three years ago. Another one was in the Colonial Defense Force and got mobilized during the war. He was killed in action.”

  “Shit! What about the third one?”

  “My best information is that he’s alive, but no longer with CTP. I’m on his trail as we speak.”

  “Do you have a name?”

  “Tommy Tobias, age forty-four. He left CTP two years ago after being injured on the job. He’s partially disabled and gets a check from the Colonial government, but the only address I have on him isn’t current. I’ve got a couple of leads, though, and I should have something by tonight.”

  “Okay. Let me know. Thanks.”

  Victoria disconnected and pulled up her v-mail on the computer display. Dillon had sent her the information on North Continent Freight. Victoria opened the file and dived into it with high hopes.

  Fifteen minutes later, she sat back again, frowning in disappointment.

  North Continent Freight had been established over half a century earlier by one Andrew Martin, now deceased. When Martin died, the company had passed to the control of his son, Marty Martin, who was now fifty-eight. Second in command was the grandson, Richard “Dickey” Martin, thirty-three.

  Victoria dug through the corporate details and found nothing amiss. As Dillon had said, NCF paid their taxes and filed their forms on time. They had no accidents on record and no citations beyond the occasional weight violation on some of their rigs.

  She opened their financials and spent several minutes perusing them. Everything looked in order, and their CPA firm stood behind them.

  Frowning, Victoria next moved to the personal backgrounds on Marty Martin—Martin Martin?—and his son Dickey.

  Neither had a criminal history.

  Which could mean they were upstanding citizens.

  Or they were very good at sweeping away the bread crumbs.

  She scrolled through the files again, looking for personal financials on the Martins, but Dillon hadn’t included them. She had specifically requested financials…

  Maybe Dillon thought she only wanted financials for the freight company. He could have misunderstood.

  She grimaced.

  Was she barking up an empty tree?

  She sat back again, staring out the window.

  Shit!

  She didn’t have time for this.

  She glanced at her watch. Almost four.

  If she had a life, she might be anticipating going out tonight, or doing something this weekend. One downside of being single and unattached was the lack of a social life; that had never bothered her much in the past, but now—right this moment—she felt suddenly and inexplicably sad.

  She wasn’t sure why.

  It wasn’t the case that was bothering her, or the warning that Whistler was back on the street. It was something else, and after a moment’s reflection, it dawned on her—Nick Walker. She hadn’t seen him in a decade, but in a corner of her heart she still loved him. Lately, with the Groening case, the Downing case, and her conversations with Kopshevar, Nick’s name was suddenly on everyone’s lips. It was hard to push him out of her mind when everyone kept talking about him.

  She stood up and walked to the window, gazing east across the city. She drew a deep breath and released it in a sigh. Unrequited love. She hated to be dramatic, but that’s what it was. She had loved Nick and lost him, and that was a fact. He had made it clear that he wanted nothing more to do with her, and nothing she could say or do would likely change that.

  If only she could go back and relive that cold February night in SoCal! But such thoughts were pointless.

  With a puff of her cheeks, she returned to her desk and sat down. She was twenty-eight now, a big girl. Life wasn’t always fair and sometimes it sucked. People made mistakes and had to live with the consequences.

  That’s all this was—living with the consequences.

  She had better get used to it.

  She clenched her jaw and turned to her computer again.

  She had work to do.

  *

  Around five-thirty, Godney stuck his head through her door.

  “You coming in tomorrow?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “Good. I wanted to go over the witness list with you, in case I missed anything. If you have time.”

  “I can give you an hour in the morning. A
fter that, I’ll be out of the office for a while.”

  “Okay! Have a great evening.”

  “You, too.”

  Godney left. Thirty minutes later, Victoria followed suit.

  Both suns were down as she walked home. The breeze off the river whipped at her face, a cool, relaxing breeze that seemed to drain some of the tension from her body. She would still need the gym, of course, but this was a good start.

  As she crossed the bridge, her senses were on alert. If Jerry Whistler was on the street again, he could be anywhere. She had no direct reason to think he might come after her, but as Benedict had said, she was the only witness against him, so…

  She felt just a crawl of dread as she started across the bridge. She wasn’t worried as long as he didn’t have a weapon, but the last time she saw him, he did have one. A knife. Fortunately, she had a gun, and wasn’t afraid to use it.

  But she crossed the bridge without incident, and twenty minutes later was in the basement gym running through her exercises. She worked through several sets of squats, lunges, muscle-ups, sit ups, box jumps, and ring dips. After forty minutes she was sweating freely and breathing deep. She returned to her apartment and showered, then heated the last of her casserole and had dinner with tea.

  Then it was back to her laptop to continue her trial prep.

  Saturday, February 6, 0444 (CC)

  75th Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2

  Victoria reached the office a little after nine in the morning on Saturday. Brian Godney was already there and pulled her into the conference room where his trial-prep materials were spread out on the table. He also had a visual-aids projector set up, and ran through his strategy with her.

  “Because he’s a busy man, I’ll start with Marshal Walker. Get him on the record and release him. That way, if I need you in the courtroom, you won’t have to run into him.”

  “Appreciate that.”

  “Next I’ll call Carrie King. She was with Walker at the quarry where the stoning took place. Then Nicodemus Downing. The three of them should take most of the morning. In the afternoon, I want to call Drusilla Downing and maybe Dorcas, too.”

  “Do you really need Dorcas?”

  “I’m not sure. What do you think?”

  “Her testimony would probably add weight to the old lady’s, but it would be essentially the same thing. I think the girl is the stronger witness.”