Code of Deceit: A Mystery/Detective novel (David Mason series)

by John Foxjohn

  Henry smiled at him, leaning against the wall.

  In a soothing voice David said, “Let me tell you what I’ve got and see what you say. I have the front door of your parents’ house with a size eleven and a half boot print on it. That boot print matches yours. Footprint on the front door had a blood pattern on it. Blood matches your mother’s. I also have your right boot, and it has your mother’s blood on it. You remember them swabbing your hands when they hauled you in?”

  Parker yanked his cuffed hand hard several times, but the oak chair and the steel cuffs held. He winced as the cuffs tightened. Parker decided that wasn’t the best way to protest his false innocence.

  David stared at him. He’s fidgeting. He knows I got him. He leaned forward. “That’s what we call a paraffin test. It tests to see if you’ve fired a gun recently, and guess what? You have.” David continued without waiting for him to respond. “We also obtained a search warrant and looked in your car. We found the gun hidden under the seat. It’s a .38 caliber with four spent shells in the cylinder, and there happened to be four shots fired in the house. We’ve already checked with ballistics, and the gun we found under your seat matches with the rounds we recovered in your parents.”

  David remained quiet and let Parker squirm. The idiot didn’t know they couldn’t get a ballistics test done this fast. If they were lucky, they might get it in a month. “Are you sure you don’t want an attorney?”

  “Up yours.” he yelled. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ else.”

  As he tapped his pen on the tabletop, David sat for several minutes looking at Parker. At first, he attempted to meet David’s eyes, but he turned his stare away.

  “That’s your choice, but I’m going to tell you, if you confess and tell us why you did it, it may help you out. We’re going to convict you. That’s a fact. The difference is whether or not you’re going to get the death penalty.”

  Henry strolled from behind Parker and sat. He changed his tone to a concerned, sympathetic voice. “There’s a big difference in life in prison and the death penalty.”

  Parker broke down crying. “If I make a confession, will that stop me from getting the death penalty?”

  David put his elbows on the table and clasped his palms together. OK. That’s what he looked for. Careful. Act less formal. Use his first name. Convince him he wanted to help. “I can’t guarantee that, Michael. But I’ll tell them you cooperated. District attorney’s the one who’ll make the decision, but they often go on our recommendations. They like to settle things, and not go through a lengthy trial.”

  Thirty minutes later, they had Parker’s signed confession. Walking out, David and Henry met Inspector Patterson in the hallway. “Lieutenant Spinks has been to see me again. He says you ran him off from the crime scene when he tried to stop you from making a false arrest and getting the department sued. He also said you acted disrespectful to him. Is this true?”

  “Part about being disrespectful may be true,” David said. “I asked him if he was taking over the crime scene. If not, I made the decisions.”

  “That’s true,” Patterson said. “Our young lieutenant needs to learn that. What evidence do you have on the suspect?”

  David and Henry filled him in, including the signed confession.

  “Did Lieutenant Spinks ask you what you had before he stormed away to my office?”

  David shook his head. “No sir, but to be fair to the lieutenant, I didn’t tell him, either.”

  “You two did a good job on this, but David, try to be more respectful. Spinks is a lieutenant on this police department. I’ll file this complaint where I’ve filed the rest. Now, get to work.”

  “Yes, sir,” David and Henry said.

  Patterson turned, but stopped. “Nice suit, David. You look sharp.”

  Other officers laughed and made fun of David about his height and his suits. He didn’t care if they joked about his clothes. He’d learned in the army appearance counted. In the military, the soldiers who looked the best got out of messy details the others had to do. With seething anger, though, he endured all the short jokes. Determined, he would not let them see it bothered him. He’d put up with the prejudice against his height all his life. He’d show them he was a better police officer, even though he was five inches shorter than most.

  Henry shook his head when the inspector left. “I need to get me a suit like that.”

  David laughed and the big, boyish grin spread across his face. “Naw, it wouldn’t do you any good. No matter how much you spent on one, you’d never look as good as I do.”

  “Forget you, you little shrimp. I’d look great in those get-ups you wear.”

  With mock sadness, David shook his head. “Hate to tell you this, but they don’t make them in bean pole sizes.”

  ***

  Inspector Patterson fumed about Spinks as he marched up the steps to his office. He opened the door with “Chief of Homicide Division” stenciled on the glass, and told his secretary to get Lieutenant Spinks in his office right away. While he waited, he ruffled through clearance reports he had to send to the chief.

  Crap. He had enough work to do without baby-sitting a lieutenant who ran crying to him every time something happened he didn’t like, and this occurred every day. If it only involved David, he’d mark it down as a personality conflict, but Spinks marched into his office about all the detectives. Someone wasn’t being respectful to him, or this one didn’t obey him. Another one told him to take a flying leap.

  Lieutenant Spinks sauntered into the inspector’s office five minutes later.

  “Take a seat, Merle. I talked to David and Henry.”

  Spink’s face lit up with a satisfied, smug look. “Did they release the boy Mason arrested?”

  Patterson raised one eyebrow. “Nooo. Don’t think they’re going to.”

  The smugness left Spinks, replaced by narrowed eyes. “Why not?”

  “Lieutenant, they charged him with capital murder.”

  Spinks jumped from his seat. “They can’t.”

  “Sit—down lieutenant.” Patterson said through clenched teeth. “Sure they can. With all the evidence, and the signed confession, they’ll convict him.”

  Spink’s held his arms out, palms up. “Are you telling me the son committed those murders?”

  Patterson massaged his temples. Spinks had no business in homicide. He shouldn’t’ve left public relations, but they threw a party when he transferred here. He’d never have gotten here if his father wasn’t on the city council. Patterson wished ranked officers had to take a test to be eligible like the detectives did. He took a deep breath. “Yes, lieutenant. They had enough evidence to bring him in.”

  “They didn’t tell me about any evidence.”

  “Did you ask?”

  “Well, uh, no, I didn’t. I assumed they didn’t have nothing.”

  Patterson dropped his head. Dang, he’s dumber than a box of rocks. He leaned back in his seat. “Lieutenant, leaders don’t wait for their men to tell them. They ask. How long have you been in homicide?”

  “Uh—three months.”

  “How many homicides has David cleared with arrests in those three months?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I do. Twenty-three. Has he brought anyone in who hasn’t been convicted?”

  Spinks, red faced, looked at the floor and shrugged.

  “I do. Answer’s no. David and Henry’s clearance rate is the highest in the police department’s history. You do what you want to, but I’ll tell you this, I think you need to concentrate your efforts on the other detectives. We have homicide detectives out there who do nothing, or don’t have a clue what to do. David spends half his time instructing them.” Patterson pointed his finger at Spinks. “He’s doing your job.”

  “Yes, sir. You’re the boss.”

  “Yes, I am, and I’m telling you for the last time, leave David and Henry alone.”

  Chapter 5

  Paulo’s Italian Restaurant on Broadmore
sat four blocks from downtown police headquarters. Without fancy trimmings or atmosphere, Paulo’s served great food at low prices.

  Patterson, ten minutes late, stepped in the door and looked around. He hated being late, but couldn’t get away from Spinks. He spotted Pores sitting in the back.

  He and the chief had been friends for years. Pores had trained Patterson when he graduated from the police academy, and they both rose through the ranks. His success, in part, was due to Pores.

  Friday night supper had become a ritual between the two and their wives respected this, a time for both to get away from the office and talk. This informal get together had started when Pores received his promotion to assistant chief and continued when he became chief. They shook hands and Patterson sat.

  When the waiter set hot bread and butter along with a large glass of water for each, steam rose from Italian bread, a Paulo’s staple. Both tore off a hunk and spread a mass of creamy garlic butter.

  Patterson ordered a Caesar salad and Osso Bucco a la Milanaises. Pores had a house salad with spaghetti and meatballs, another Paulo’s specialty.

  Pores tapped on the table with his fingertips for a moment. “You look upset. Let me guess, Spinks again.”

  Patterson nodded, after swallowing. “Yep.”

  Pores shook his head. “Bill, I looked over the clearance report you sent me this morning.”

  Patterson half smiled. No one in the world called him Bill, except Carl. He took in a deep breath. “Numbers aren’t good.”

  “Yeah, sixty-three percent. Why?”

  Patterson rubbed his hand back and forth across his mouth. His friend always came straight to the point. If he liked a person, it was immediately noticeable. If he didn’t like someone, he spotted that, too. “Carl, to figure out the problem, you need to start at the top and work your way down. I’m the top, and I’m responsible.”

  “Let’s start below you and work our way down. You aren’t the problem.”

  Patterson rubbed his neck. “I don’t want to make excuses.”

  “You don’t make excuses, and I knew you’d take responsibility. I need to know what the problem is.”

  “Next step from me is Spinks. He’s useless and he only wants to supervise David and Henry, two detectives who don’t need supervision.”

  Pores nodded. “Their clearance rate is sitting at ninety-two percent. If you take their numbers out, you are sitting with forty-eight.”

  “I ran them the same way, too. I have fifty-two detectives assigned with twenty-six leads. Four are a year from retiring and don’t want to make waves. At least eight are outright alcoholics, and with the exception of David and Henry, the others are young. I have two outstanding detectives teamed up. I’ve wanted to separate the two best and get them to train the young ones.”

  “Makes sense.”

  They dug in when their salads arrived. “James Beal’s a young, black detective with potential to be dang good,” Patterson continued. “I need someone to train him. I’ve tried to get Henry to lead a team, but he has all but refused.”

  Pores chuckled. “That’s my fault.”

  Patterson frowned. “Your fault?”

  “Yep,” Pores laughed. “You may not be aware of this, but Henry and I go back a ways. I headed the burglary division right before they promoted me to assistant chief. Before I left, young Henry arrived, and I think I spoiled him.”

  “How?”

  “If you remember, Burglary used to handle all major thefts including auto, before we split the two.”

  Patterson nodded.

  “Anyway, I assigned Henry to partner with Larry Finnery. They’d worked together a few months when our auto thefts jumped through the roof. We averaged about six or seven a month and overnight they jumped to fifty or sixty.”

  Patterson whistled and nodded, remembering when it happened.

  “I assigned Finnery and Henry to the case. They investigated and I felt Finnery sat on it, but I didn’t know why—a gut instinct. I had to make a decision. I made Henry the lead. Henry didn’t want to under those circumstances, and my decision ticked Finnery off.”

  Patterson chuckled. “I imagine it did make a veteran mad.”

  “Henry’s wife had given birth to their first son,” Pores continued. “Henry worked off- duty jobs, including Ramada West by Hobby Airport. One Saturday night he was ambling around the parking lot toward the exit when a tow truck approached towing a car. Henry stopped the driver and identified himself. Driver had a written tow order from the owner, but Henry arrested him on the spot.”

  When their food arrived, they ate, but a Houston Post reporter and several other people stopped by the table to chat with the highest and third highest-ranking police officers in the city. As Pores rolled his spaghetti on his fork, Patterson asked him why Henry arrested the tow truck driver.

  He chuckled. “Car belonged to Henry.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a reason Henry doesn’t want to be a lead,” Patterson said.

  “Henry had the tow truck driver transported to the station and got a warrant for his yard and business. He found over fifty stolen vehicles in the tow yard, and hundreds of different parts in the shop.”

  Patterson nodded. “A chop shop.”

  “Yep, and a huge one. They later estimated over thirty million dollars worth of stolen parts came from the shop.”

  Patterson raised both eyebrows. “Wow. Major bust.”

  “Yeah, but Henry didn’t leave the case alone. He interrogated the guy he caught and made a deal. For a lesser sentence, he gave up the ring’s leader.”

  Patterson looked at the chief for a moment. “Who led the ring?”

  “Larry Finnery.”

  “Ah, that’s why Henry refuses to lead.”

  “Yep.”

  “I need to figure a way to separate David and Henry, not because I want to—they make a good team, but I want them to train these young ones.”

  Pores glanced up from his food. “Circumstances may demand forcing them to separate.”

  ***

  Lieutenant Spinks asked several officers to go get a beer with him at the Pig Sty, but they refused. As usual, he went by himself and sat in the back, away from everyone. All the officers laughed and joked around. The place swarmed with women, but none glanced at him. He sat brooding in his beer thinking about the last time he came to the bar. Mason had strutted in like a king entering his castle.

  The attention Mason received from the other officers in the bar ate Spinks up. He dressed in his fancy clothes and not a hair messed up, marched like a soldier. Confidence radiated from him, but the cocky grin stretching across his face irritated Spinks the most.

  To make matters worse, the most beautiful woman Spinks had ever seen in his life sat at the bar. Sex appeal gushed from her, and he’d planned how he’d approach her.

  All the officers in the bar hit on her and got nowhere, and King David swaggered in.

  She couldn’t keep her hands off Mason. Spinks burned as she whispered something in Mason’s ear. Thirty minutes after Mason entered, he left, laughing, joking, and with handshakes from the other officers. Mason being Mason, he didn’t leave alone—the woman went with him.

  If Mason hadn’t come in the bar, he believed he would have had a chance with her. He hated the jerk. If Mason turned up now, he’d—Spinks slammed his beer bottle down on the table.

  ***

  David found Henry getting ready to go home when he returned to the office at five-thirty. They talked for a few minutes. David decided he’d better go home and shower and change before he met Terry.

  David lived in the Tradewinds Apartments, a four-year-old complex located in South Houston close Hobby Airport. He’d lived there for two years. A friend in the third precinct had told him the owner needed a policeman to live and do off-duty security.

  They’d given David a small one-bedroom apartment with a bathroom and a combination living room and economy kitchen. He lived rent-free and didn’t do much security du
ty. He strolled the parking lot every once on a while and talked to people at the pool, which he didn’t mind at all.

  More for publicity than security, having a cop on site enabled the apartment complex to tell people interested in renting they had on property security who happened to be a Houston police officer.

  Owners wrote the apartment off on their taxes, and the low paid cops had a rent-free place to stay. Of course, cops had to dispense free legal advice.

  Brought up short at his front door, David held his key poised for the lock when he saw Cindy on the steps. He frowned. “What’re you doing?”

  A small pout formed on her face. “You never called me, and I thought I’d come by and wait on you.”

  His eyes widened. She wants something. He nodded, opened the door, and gave her a small peck on the mouth. “I’ve been busy. I planned to call you tomorrow.”

  “Why not today?”

  “Cindy—I’m in a hurry. I need to meet someone.”

  “It’s a woman, ain’t it?”

  David took in a deep breath and let the air through his nose. “An old friend from the army is in town, and I need to shower and change.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “I got a ticket today from one of your friends,” she blurted out.

  He nodded, mouth pursed. He knew she’d waited for something. He’d gone through this since the time he graduated from the academy, and he hated it. Family, friends and anyone else he met other than cops, wanted something from him. How do I get out of this? Who do I complain to about so and so? How do I fight this? And of course, the big question followed: can you help me with this? He took a deep breath.

  “Why won’t you give me a badge?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. They’d discussed this many times before. The Houston police officers issued what they called chippie badges. Cops gave them to their girl friends, and if a cop stopped a badge-toting woman, she flashed the fake badge, and the police officers let her go. Training officers taught this first to rookie patrolmen in Houston—they had to honor the badges.