Lucas Holt Series: Books 1-3

by JP Ratto

  “Come on, Sean. You know as well as I do it was physically impossible for Kwan to put Giaconne in that dumpster. Kwan was set up by Sheppard and Burke. I’d bet my life on it.”

  “Careful what you wish for.”

  Scully snorted. “I don’t have a death wish. I’m just stating what my gut—and it’s a damn good indicator of truth—tells me. Keeler was hired to kill Giaconne, and to go after me.”

  “Then I’m wondering—not that I’d want it any other way—why he didn’t finish the job?”

  Scully slouched back in his chair and laid both his arms on the armrests. “I’ve wondered that too, and can only assume the shots were meant as a warning. Either that or our sniper draws the line at cop killing.”

  “Ha. An assassin with principles.” Sean placed the printed pages on Scully’s desk. “Ray, what evidence do you have to back up the link between Keeler and Giaconne?”

  “Nothing concrete. Keeler made contact with the same people Giaconne did. That tells me either he tailed his target before killing him or he got the information from Giaconne. At this point, the only physical evidence we have is his fingerprint on a document he handled that belonged to an Elmira lawyer—who, incidentally, is also dead.”

  Sean threw his arms in the air and let them fall in his lap. “Man, sounds like this guy is on a mission. How do we know what he’ll do next?”

  Scully grinned. “It’s cases like these that keep the gray cells active.” Scully became sullen and a frown tugged at his mouth.

  “What’s the matter, Ray?”

  “I almost forgot that all of this revolves around Holt’s missing daughter.”

  Sean nodded, understanding. He’d been apprised of Holt’s visit upstate. “Any more leads as to her location?”

  “Not yet. Maddie’s working on it, and Holt went to meet Cain.”

  Sean stood and stretched. He folded his arms across his chest. “You believe Keeler may know where Marnie is.”

  “Yeah. Holt’s worried he won’t find her soon enough.”

  “You gonna give this info to him?”

  “Sure. I’m waiting for him to call me back. It’s been a tough fifteen years watching my best friend suffer the loss of his daughter. I’d certainly like to be there when she’s found.”

  “Then why not let Keeler lead us to her?”

  Chapter 26

  Jane Turner checked her phone for the time. She slung her backpack over her shoulders and bolted out the doors of John J. Stapleton High School. If she jogged all the way, she’d be home in less than ten minutes. Five minutes more and she’d not be able to avoid Dylan and his friends.

  Barely out of breath, due in part to her participation on the school track team, Jane burst through the front door of the rundown ranch she shared with her parents and two siblings. She glanced at the large retro-style clock that was the centerpiece of one living room wall. Her father had taken it from his small office when he’d left his job as warehouse manager for a motor components company.

  Jane hurried past her sound-asleep father. With his face pressed against the sofa’s back, his snores muffled, Hugh Turner hugged the tattered cushions with one arm and one leg slung over the top. The television’s volume, too loud for the small room, masked her entrance. Jane rushed to her bedroom at the rear of the house, entered, and shut the door behind her. She let out a sigh of relief.

  “Where’ve you been, Jane?”

  Lana, surrounded by textbooks and papers, pushed aside a notebook, brought her knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around her legs. Four years younger at twelve years old, her sister was the complete opposite of Jane in looks and personality. The family always commented on their physical difference as an enigma even though they all knew Jane was not the natural born child of Hugh and Loretta Turner.

  The Turners were fair-skinned and blonde in contrast to Jane’s chestnut hair and skin that bronzed easily with the barest exposure to the sun. Tall, athletic, and no plain-Jane, the older girl was the envy of her little sister. But Jane’s maturity and protectiveness toward her younger sibling garnered Lana’s love and respect.

  “Sorry, Lana.” Jane tossed her backpack on her side of the double bed they shared. “Did you forget I had track practice today?”

  Lana shrugged. “No, I guess I remembered. But Dylan was looking for you, so it made me think you should have been home.”

  The mention of her older brother’s name made her cringe.

  Dylan had recently changed from quiet and brooding to obnoxious and, at times, lewd toward her. Jane suspected his latest group of friends was responsible for the transformation. Dylan appeared to forget that despite the lack of a blood relation, they were brother and sister. They’d always loved and respected one another. Lately, she found it hard to afford him any affection. Whenever he and his friends were in the house, they made her uncomfortable with the way they looked at her and their overt sexual remarks. It had gotten so bad, she avoided being in the house alone with him.

  She found it futile to confide in Lana who, aside from being too young to understand, adored Dylan. Her father, out of work for over a year, was either sleeping or inebriated. Loretta Turner worked hours-long shifts as a waitress and was the sole breadwinner. Jane couldn’t add her problem with Dylan to her mother’s other worries.

  In addition to track, Jane spent a few afternoons a week at the local elementary school as a homework helper and Mathematics tutor. On weekends, she babysat. Her father insisted most of what she earned go to the household. Loretta took the money, but told Jane she would keep it aside and only use it in an emergency.

  “I’m hungry,” Lana said, getting up from the bed and throwing her books to the floor. Mom’s working, and there aren’t any leftovers.”

  Jane knew she couldn’t hide in her room all night. At least there were others in the house. “C’mon, I’ll cook something for both of us. Why don’t you bring your Math homework and keep me company.”

  Lana grabbed her notebook and followed Jane. The younger girl sat at the kitchen table while Jane defrosted chicken in the microwave.

  “Jane, why are you being so mean to Dylan?”

  The question caught Jane by surprise. She placed the defrosted chicken on a cutting board and began to remove fat and gristle. Both her parents had worked full time since she was eight years old and Jane learned to cook. She had a natural talent for self-sufficiency. Without turning to look at Lana, she said, “I’m not mean to Dylan. What makes you say that?”

  “You act like you don’t want to be in the same room with him. Like he has cooties or something.”

  “Cooties?” Jane finished pounding the chicken with a mallet and took an egg from the refrigerator and a can of breadcrumbs from the pantry.

  “Yeah, those are his words.”

  “He told you he thinks I’m being mean?”

  “Well, he didn’t say mean, just that you were acting strange.”

  She smiled at Lana. “I don’t think he has cooties, but when he’s here with his friends I like to give him space. That’s all.” She laid the breaded chicken into a pan of hot oil.

  Lana stared at Jane for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to believe her. “Okay,” she said and turned her attention back to her homework.

  The conversation was uncomfortable for Jane, and the fact that Dylan noticed that she avoided him gave her an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was familiar with drug abusers and, while her brother and his friends didn’t pose any immediate threat to her, she preferred to keep her distance. Perhaps it was time to talk to her parents. She had already tried to persuade Dylan that what he did was harmful to himself. At first, he denied doing anything wrong. Then he admitted to experimenting. But it was more than experimentation. He was high every day. She knew it affected his schoolwork and warned him that he was ruining his future. Dylan had scoffed and said, “What future?”

  It was true that the college attendance rate for her school was little more than fifty percent, b
ut Dylan was a decent student. At least he was until this year. She noted Dylan’s new friends and his change in behavior happened at the same time her father lost his job.

  “Smells great.” The breathy words so close behind her startled Jane. She reflectively shrugged when two large hands touched both her shoulders. “Hey, chill,” slurred Logan, one of Dylan’s latest friends. He was older than the others. Jane thought he might have repeated a grade at some point. Tall and good looking with a grunge-look beard and hairstyle, if he hadn’t been wasted all the time, she thought she could like him. Right now, he creeped her out.

  “Give me some space, Logan. I’m working with a hot pan here.” She tried to make her voice sound light and playful. Dylan entered the kitchen and saved her from further attention.

  “C’mon, Logan. The guys want to go out and get something to eat.”

  Logan squeezed the back of her neck with one hand and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Maybe we can hook up some time.”

  Jane didn’t respond as she removed the golden chicken and set it on paper towels. She held her breath when Logan let his hand slip from her neck and, with one finger, traced a line down her back, stopping at her lower waist. He moved away and left with Dylan. Jane noticed the troubled look on Lana’s face. Shaken but relieved, she served the chicken with canned baked beans and potato chips. She and Lana ate in silence.

  Chapter 27

  Between conversations with Douglas Cain, I called my former Delta Force commander, Charles Gates. I’d helped find his missing grandson not two weeks before, and he’d been extremely grateful. I anticipated a quick exit from the city back to Elmira, and with Gates’s assistance, arranged for a charter out of a Westchester Airport to be ready on short notice.

  As soon as I hung up with Cain, I’d hailed a cab and ridden downtown through the city’s usual heavy traffic. At home, I’d changed into dark clothes, holstered my Glock, and got the Rover out of the garage. Rush-hour congestion made the drive north toward White Plains slow going. Using the car’s Bluetooth, I called Maddie to give her an update, and she answered right away. I knew if she’d found Marnie she’d have let me know.

  “Lucas. Glad you called. I worried about you meeting with Cain.”

  I could tell by her voice that she hadn’t any luck yet.

  “Hi, Babe.” The endearment passed my lips naturally and without forethought. “I finally got what I wanted out of him and need to check if it jives with any of the leads you came up with.” I gave Maddie the address Cain gave me, and she shrieked with excitement.

  “Yes! It’s on my list. Do you want me to wait for you?”

  I considered it. As silly as it might sound, I wanted to be the first to see my daughter. On the other hand, Cain’s hired assassin might get to her before I did. I didn’t completely buy the fact that this killer was interested in Marnie. Cain was the easy money. I didn’t put it past the lawyer to make up a story so I could take care of his blackmail problem. But I wouldn’t take any chances with my daughter’s safety—or with Maddie’s.

  “I’m on my way to the airport. Gates set up a charter for me. I should be in Elmira in less than two hours.” I repeated some of my conversation with Cain, leaving out the deal I made for the information. “Have you got your gun with you?”

  “Of course. Am I going to need it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “It might be a good idea to drive to the Turner home and keep an eye on it till I get there. Use your own judgment. The important thing is Marnie is safe. But please don’t engage if you see anyone who appears threatening. Call the local police.”

  “Okay, I’ll be careful. Have a good flight.”

  Next, I called Ray. Driving along the FDR Drive, I listened to him relate the details of the man I had promised to kill.

  ***

  “Son of a bitch.” Emmett Kerrigan cursed as he scrolled through his phone contacts for Ben Mueller’s cell phone number. He loosened his tie and paced, waiting for Mueller to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Ben. It’s Emmett. We have a problem. I just heard from my friend in the department and one of the detectives is conducting an unauthorized investigation. He’s identified Cain’s guy.”

  Kerrigan heard Mueller sigh. “Emmett, if you have to be so cryptic perhaps we should have this conversation in person.”

  “I don’t have time for all these meetings. I’m just giving you a heads up. It might be time to divest ourselves of the attorney’s services.”

  “Like we divested ourselves of Sheppard?”

  “Careful with your accusations, Judge. The cause of the commissioner’s death hasn’t been confirmed.”

  “I just want you to know that I’m not naïve.”

  “Right now, Cain is my concern. He needs to be removed as Todd’s counsel.”

  “You need Grayson’s approval for that.”

  “I know. I’ll make him see how crucial it is that he cut all ties to Cain.”

  “Thanks for letting me know, Emmett. Good luck.”

  ***

  Ray Scully motioned to Sean, who was pulling files on the other side of the room.

  Sean nodded and returned to his desk. “What’s up?”

  “Forget about following Keeler. Going to the Bronx would be a fool’s errand. Holt just called. He thinks Keeler is on his way to Elmira. Holt’s flying up there too.” Scully shook his head. “Wish I was there to back him up.”

  “I hear ya.” Sean turned at the sound of rattling blinds. Captain Burke yanked open his office door and stepped into the bullpen. “Uh oh, here comes the captain. Don’t worry; I’ve got the Jackson update right here.”

  Sean skirted around his desk to grab a file when Burke moved in between him and Scully. “Detective—”

  “Got the Jackson report for you, Captain,” Sean interrupted.

  Burke twisted to glance at Sean and waved his hand in dismissal. “Not now, McCarthy.” Turning back to Ray Scully, he placed his two palms on the desk and leaned in close to the detective’s face. “Detective Scully,” he said through gritted teeth, “my office. Now.”

  Captain Burke pushed off the desk and stormed back to his office. Scully ignored the look of worry on Sean’s face and followed the captain. He entered the office and closed the door. Captain Burke stood behind his desk, his arms crossed over his chest. Without being told, Scully sat down in one of the guest chairs. Burke’s arms swung down to his sides and then pounded his desk with tight fists.

  “Who the hell do you think you are using department resources for a private investigation?”

  Scully remained silent. He knew what was to come and had no defense.

  “I should take your badge and gun right now, Detective. Your actions could have jeopardized an important ongoing investigation.”

  Scully had to speak. “What investigation?”

  “I’ll ask the questions,” Burke said and moved to the glass that separated his office from the bullpen and pulled the blinds shut. “Why are you accessing data on Thomas Keeler?”

  “I believe he could be the sniper who took a shot at me.”

  “Really? And how did you happen to come up with his name?”

  Scully tried not to show his agitation at the inquisition, though Burke had cause to question him. What could he tell the captain? He would have to reveal that he was working with Holt.

  “I got an anonymous tip.”

  Burke’s face reddened. “You’re full of shit, Scully. You and Holt are back to stirring up trouble. I know about the trip to the lab. I know about the license plate you ran.” The vein in Burke’s forehead pulsed. His voice rose. “You’re neck-deep in shit, and I’m not going to let you make a mockery of me and this department. Haven’t you learned your lesson? Remember what happened the last time you and Holt went rogue.”

  Scully sat up straight in the chair and glared at Burke. “Are you threatening me, Captain?”

  Chapter 28
/>   Maddie slowed the rental car as she passed the house on Roberts Street. The sun hovered above the horizon, giving off enough light to illuminate a row of white vinyl-sided homes on the wide, curbless street. Maddie noticed there were few street lamps and it wouldn’t be long before the neighborhood eased into darkness. As there were also few trees, sitting in a parked car might draw unwanted attention.

  Deciding it would be better to give curious neighbors the impression she was a guest of the Turners, Maddie parked across the street and ambled to the front door. She stood under a portico, dimly lit by a bug-filled overhead light. She could hear the television loud and clear and rang the bell. She prepared to be greeted when the voices on the TV became inaudible and someone yelled, “Who’s there?”

  Before she could respond, a large man wearing worn jeans and a rumbled, unbuttoned shirt over his undershirt opened the door. He scratched his whiskered face, narrowed his eyes, and growled, “Who are you?”

  “Hugh Turner?”

  “Yeah. Who’s asking?”

  Not usually intimidated by surly men, she stepped back when Turner closed the space between them. The man smelled of sweat and scotch. He straightened, ran his fingers through a mass of brylcreamed, gray hair, and folded his arms over his chest.

  “My name is Madeline Grange. I’d like to talk to your daughter.”

  “Why?”

  Maddie wasn’t ready to answer that question yet and avoided it. “She’s about sixteen. Is that correct?”

  Hugh Turner appeared confused. “I have two daughters, but I’m not going to talk to you about either one of them until you tell me who you are.”

  “Dad?”

  Both Turner and Maddie followed the sound of the young voice. A pretty, blonde-haired girl, Maddie thought to be in her early teens, stood behind her father. “Go finish your homework, Lana.”