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

by John Foxjohn

  “We might as well call it a day,” Henry said.

  “What’re you doing tonight?” David asked.

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “How about meeting me at the Italian restaurant where I was shot.”

  “What time?” Henry asked.

  “About eight-thirty. We’re going back in that vacant building.”

  “At night?”

  “Yep, the shooter was there at night.”

  Chapter 26

  The Lucky Lady, a dive, occupied the middle of the block. David had been in the bar several times on calls, but never off duty. It was the type place where the owner searched everyone for a gun before entering. If they didn’t have one, he gave them one.

  He wasn’t interested in their booze or sleazy women; he needed information and he could find it here, if anywhere.

  His vehicle tires crunched on the pavement’s gravel. He closed his eyes tight before opening the bar’s door, taking a deep breath, keeping them closed until he entered. Dimness didn’t bother him, but stale sweat, cheap perfume, and vomit did. His eyes stung from the cigarette smoke hanging in the air like smog.

  A small dance floor with several tables around it, jukebox, and a long wooden bar at the rear made up the interior. Eight customers—six older men and two older females—sat on stools, and behind the bar, Jerome McPherson regaled them with outlandish tales.

  McPherson, not fat, but extremely strong, glared at David when he entered. At six feet, two-fifty, huge arms and dinner plate-sized hands lent the owner his nickname, Big Mac.

  When David strolled over to the bar, all laughter and conversations stopped. Some knew him, but the others recognized what he was. People who frequented The Lucky Lady made it their business to recognize cops.

  “What’re you doing here, Mason?” Big Mac asked.

  David rubbed his palms together. “I came by to see what’s going on in your fine establishment.” He looked around at the people sitting. When he met their eyes, they turned away.

  “Wow. Big Mac, you’ve a fine selection of clientele here. If I’m not mistaken, that’s George Mikahi at the end. Last I heard, he was on parole. Hmm, let me see,” he scratched his head, pretending to think. “Isn’t it a parole violation to be in a bar?”

  Big Mac ground his teeth together while George Mikahi and another male slipped out the door.

  “What do you want, Mason?”

  “I told you. Just looking. Hey, is that Stella Meyers?” David eased down the bar where a woman fidgeted. “I thought it was you, Stella. I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

  “I’m leaving, Mason,” she said, backing out the door. She wasn’t by herself; all the others soon followed, leaving David alone with Big Mac.

  Big Mac’s teeth were still grinding, muscles in his jaws popping out. He gripped the bar with both hands, veins in his arms bulging like ropes. “I’ve a good mind to come around this bar and beat the living daylights out of your butt.”

  David laughed with no humor. “Well, Big Mac, like you said, you’ve got a good mind. That’s why you haven’t tried it.”

  “I’d squash you like a bug, Mason.”

  “Naw, you wouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  David cocked his head, putting his hands on his hips. “Because I’d blow your brains out before you got halfway around.”

  “Whatcha want?”

  “You know everyone and everything going on in this city. I want to know who is going around shooting policemen.”

  “You have nothing on me.”

  “Want to bet? I’ll have patrol units dropping in here every hour to see how things are going. I’ve noticed your customers aren’t comfortable with cops around.” David scratched his jaw. “I wonder why that is?”

  Big Mac held his scarred hands up. David wasn’t joking about shooting this dude. He wasn’t about to let the gorilla lay his hands on him, and the bar owner knew it.

  “If I could find out, what do I get?”

  David adjusted his suit coat, making sure Big Mac glimpsed his shoulder holster. He had to keep his edge. “I’ll stay away from your establishment and I won’t bring any unnecessary heat.”

  “Cops won’t come in here?”

  David shook his head. “I didn’t say that. I said I won’t bring any more heat.”

  Big Mac folded his arms. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Hey, that’s all I asked in the first place.”

  “Would you do me a favor?” Big Mac asked.

  “Depends. I’m not in the favor-doing mood.”

  “Next time, call me on the phone.”

  “I might be able to do that. Expect a call soon. I’m hoping I don’t have to make this long trip again.”

  ***

  Henry arrived at the Italian restaurant as full darkness descended. David, who had arrived a little early, said goodbye to an old girlfriend he’d run into outside the restaurant. He hurried to his car and took out his Kel-light and an old coat he’d brought with him. They made their way under the tape to the back door.

  Trekking up to the second floor wasn’t as easy as it had been when they were there in the daylight. David turned and shined his light on the floor where they’d walked, revealing their footprints.

  Henry wiped spider webs off his face. “What’re you thinking?”

  “Look at the footprints. Our shooter had to have left prints, too. Several things about this bother me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “First, I don’t think the killer brought a broom up here with him. He must have used a coat or something he’d worn to wipe the prints away.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that, but you might be right.”

  “I want you to do something,” David said. “Go downstairs under this window. When I tell you to, time me with your watch. Stop the time when I reach you.”

  Henry shrugged. “Okay.” With cautious steps, he maneuvered his way down the stairs. Once he was outside and had his watch ready, Henry started timing and David disappeared from the window.

  David acted as if he fired a shot, took his coat off, wiped the window ledge clean, and backed out, bent low, wiping prints as he went. He walked out the door. “How long?” David asked.

  “Three minutes and forty-two seconds.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm, what? What were you looking for?”

  “What if I told you the police had this area cordoned off in less than three minutes?”

  “That’s fast response time, but not unexpected when a cop has been shot.”

  “Yeah, I know. I acted as if I fired a shot, wiped the windowsill and floor clean with this coat and made my way down the stairs. It took me three minutes and forty-two seconds and I moved fast. Besides, it would be quicker for me because I’ve already been in the building before.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “I’m wondering how the shooter made it through the police lines.”

  Henry frowned. “Good question. Have you considered the two shootings might be by a different person?”

  “Yeah, I have. But I don’t think so. I believe they’re the same person.”

  “Why?”

  “Not sure, a feeling. Instinct, whatever you want to call it.”

  “Do you think it’s Andrew Carlin?”

  David hesitated, “It could be.”

  “We’re going to have to find a way to put him at both crime scenes. Both shootings occurred on Saturdays. He’s off on the weekends.”

  “Yeah, but two million other people in this town were also off.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  ***

  Gail arrived at the office with her father on Tuesday morning. Henry and David sat in his office when Peggy buzzed.

  “I hope you don’t mind my father coming along,” Gail said. “He insisted, and you know how fathers are.”

  “There’s no problem with him being here,” David assured her. David introduced Henry.

  “Gail, I
hate to do this and I sure wouldn’t if I didn’t need to, but we have to read you your rights.”

  “Why?” her father asked.

  “I can assure you sir, if it wasn’t necessary, I wouldn’t be doing it.”

  “My daughter’s a suspect?”

  David put his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers together, resting his chin on his fingertips. “Sir, I don’t think Gail had anything to do with Ronny’s death, but until I find the killer— and I will find the killer—everyone’s a suspect, including you.”

  He nodded. “I can understand your logic. Go ahead. I’m not here to interfere with your investigation. I wanted to give Gail emotional support.”

  “I’m glad you came, sir.” David said.

  Henry read them their rights.

  “Gail, was anything worrying or bothering Ronny?”

  “Something bothered him. He didn’t tell me what it was, but I was worried about it because he wasn’t his usual self.”

  “Do you have any idea what it might have been?”

  “A guess is all.”

  “What guess?”

  “I think it had something to do with when you were shot.”

  David and Henry exchanged glances. “What do you mean?” Henry asked.

  “Two homicide detectives came to talk to Ronny about your shooting. I don’t know who they were, but Ronny told me they were asking the wrong questions.”

  Chapter 27

  David’s pulse raced when Gail told them Ronny had thought the investigators had asked the wrong questions. If Ronny thought they were asking the wrong questions, he must have known the right ones. David raised an eyebrow. “What questions did they ask?”

  “They asked him things like, did he know anyone you had arrested who might want to kill you. Questions like that.”

  David tapped his fingers on the desk for a long time. Why did Ronny think they were the wrong questions? It was questions in the scope of the investigation. Did he know something he was going to tell Inspector Patterson? If so, how did he find the info out? He sat back in his seat. “Did Ronny say why these were the wrong questions?”

  “No, he didn’t. But I do know he was worried about it.”

  David and Henry asked her several more questions, but she didn’t know anything else. As she left, she told David the funeral would be Thursday at four in the Blue Rock Missionary Church.

  “Henry, get Mills and Combs in here.”

  Seated in David’s office, he asked Mills and Combs about the questions they’d asked Ronny.

  Mills pulled out his spiral, flipped through pages, stopped and backed up until he found the right page. He told them what questions they’d asked, and what Ronny’s answers were.

  “Do you think the two cases are related?” Combs asked.

  “I’m positive. You’ve looked at the scene where the sniper fired the shot?”

  “Yes, but we’ve been over this before.”

  “We’re going over it again. Do you have a copy of your report?”

  Combs held up a finger. “Give me a minute.”

  David waited, drumming his fingers on his desk. He was glad Combs wasn’t a jerk on this. David had enough problems without another confrontation with him. Inspector Patterson must have talked to him.

  Combs returned a few minutes later with the report. David read it over for several minutes. “You didn’t find anything in the room where the sniper shot except the empty shell casing?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You have in your report that it was dusty in the room?”

  “It was. Building had been closed up for a few years.”

  “No foot prints, smudges, or anything in that dusty room?”

  “Nope, the shooter had something to wipe them out. We saw where he or she had brushed them away as he was leaving.”

  “Why as he was leaving?” Henry asked.

  “Because the steps were wiped clean, too.” Mills said.

  “That’s something I didn’t do,” David told Henry. “It would’ve taken me even longer.”

  “Yeah. Three or four minutes longer,” Henry said.

  “What’re you two talking about?” Combs asked.

  “We conducted a trial run in the old building at night and timed it,” David said.

  “Do you have a guess what was used to wipe the prints away?” Henry asked.

  “No. Hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” David said.

  “Henry. What’re we missing on this?” David asked when the other detectives had left.

  “I’m not sure. They asked Ronny the same questions I would have asked.”

  “Yeah, I’d ask them, too, but Mills and Combs are like dogs chasing their own tails.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We have a sniper who was in a dusty room. He fired his shot and was in no hurry to get away. He took time to wipe out all traces, but he left an empty shell casing.”

  “Doesn’t make sense.”

  “I’m afraid it does,” David said.

  “Why?”

  “What’re Mills and Combs looking for?”

  “People who have bought ammo and things like that.”

  “Casing was left there on purpose. They’re out hunting squirrel tracks when the shooter’s a wolf. Remember what the guy told us. The man he overheard said he left the casing to throw us off his tracks, or something like that,” David said.

  “In other words, to use your hunting analogy, they’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “They’re barking up the tree the shooter led them to.”

  “You still think these two might be related, don’t you?” Henry asked.

  “I’d bet my life on it.”

  As Henry and David slogged out the front door, they met Inspector Patterson coming in.

  “Good morning, Inspector,” David said.

  “Good morning, David, Henry, where are you two off to?”

  “We’re going by Ronny’s bank this morning. Wanted to get there before the bank customers came in.”

  “Where’d he bank?”

  “National downtown.”

  “That’s a big bank.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you have the warrant? They’re not going to give you records without it.”

  Henry patted his coat pocket. “We have it.”

  Officers and civilians entered and left the front door, and Patterson motioned them to the side, away from the entrance. “I’ve a meeting with Chief Pores, and he’s going to want to know what progress you’re making.”

  “We don’t know anything at this moment. We suspect it may be Andrew Carlin, but we have nothing to place him at the scene.”

  Patterson frowned, cocking his head. “If you don’t have anything concrete, what do you suspect? I know you too well and something is bothering you.”

  “Inspector, several things about this ordeal bother me.”

  “Like what?”

  “Sir, I have no proof, but I’ve a hunch Ronny’s murder and the sniper attack on me are related.”

  “Hmm, interesting. I hadn’t put those two together. What makes you think this?”

  David told him what he suspected and his concern over the sniper getting through the police barricade. He explained how he and Henry had gone to the building at night and timed David coming out after wiping away the tracks. David told him about what Ronny had said to his wife about the detectives asking the wrong questions.

  Before Patterson responded, a uniformed officer strolled in the door, stood for a second looking around. David’s gaze met the officer’s, and he recognized David and ambled over. Officer Benton shook hands with David.

  “How’s the investigation going, Sergeant Mason?”

  “We have some goods leads,” David said. “Do you remember Detective Carrington?” David indicated Henry.

  David introduced him to Inspector Patterson after he and Henry shook hands. David told the inspector Benton was the offic
er who had discovered Ronny’s body.

  Inspector Patterson looked at him with his head cocked. “Have we met? You look familiar.”

  “I don’t think so, sir. I’ve only been on the department eight months.”

  Patterson’s brow creased. “I might have seen someone who looks like you. You sure do look familiar, though.”

  While this conversation went on, David thought it odd he’d had the exact same thoughts when he’d first met the young officer. His eyes had bothered David.

  “Is your father or any relatives on the police department?” Patterson asked.

  “No sir, my father lives in New York, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to bring it up. Thought I recognized you.”

  “No problem sir, I get this all the time. I think it’s my eyes.”

  “Yes, that might be it. Nice to meet you, but I have to run. I’ve several reports I have to get to the mayor’s office, and I know these two detectives need to get to work.”

  David and Henry headed for the bank. A nice-looking female employee led to the back, and they spent several uneventful hours going through all the bank records. They were looking for anything out of the norm—large sums deposited or drawn out at once or more money deposited than was supposed to be, but no red flag.

  Their search started with records from two years prior, but all banking transactions followed a prescribed pattern with a check from Houston police department deposited at month’s end. The children’s accounts were the exception. They received fifty or a hundred dollars, but these deposits always came on or close to the same dates. They checked the children’s birthdays from the records, and the deposits always corresponded with birthdays or holidays.

  No checks written on the account alerted them to any possible wrongdoing. In five unfruitful hours, they discovered where Gail did her grocery shopping, how much they paid for their utilities and mortgage, and where they did their clothes shopping, but nothing else.

  They had the secretary copy the bank records, thanked her, and left. David felt guilty going through Ronny’s private accounts and thought it was a waste of time. Ronny was not dirty. He’d stake his life on it, but realized he couldn’t overlook any possibility. The two cases were connected, but he’d look like an idiot if he didn’t check other possibilities.