Stone Cold

by James Glass

  “So let me see if I got this right,” Francisco said, pointing a finger at Hogan. “When the captain learned Allen was the chief of the guard he didn’t hesitate to bring charges against him.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  Francisco raised a brow. “What wasn’t simple, bringing an innocent man on trumped-up charges or getting everyone to buy off on it?”

  Hogan glared at him. “You’re an asshole, you know that, Detective?”

  “Comes with the job. Now tell us the truth.”

  “Captain Williams had Grogan and Baxter on board. But he needed more. He had Baxter find a dirty judge. It didn’t take long. I’m not sure where he got his information, but he discovered Judge Wiggins, the commanding officer of the JAG office there, liked kiddie porn. Instead of turning this evidence over to NCIS he gave it to the captain.”

  Carrubba braced his hands on the table. “So now you have Grogan, Baxter, and the judge on board. What dirty laundry did he have on you, Ned?”

  “I’m not telling you. Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  Carrubba laughed. “Iʼd say The Silencer would disagree with you there, but anyway, how did he convince Allen to agree to a court-martial without a jury?”

  “That’s where his lawyer, Green, came into the picture. The captain convinced Green to instruct his client to have the judge decide his fate. That and fifty thousand dollars.”

  Carrubba turned to Francisco. “This reads like an episode of NCIS. There’s no way the public would believe this.”

  “I’m listening to it and I have a hard time grasping it.”

  “It’s all true,” Hogan protested.

  Carrubba looked at him for a long moment. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m buying what you’re selling because this cockamamie story stinks.”

  Hogan waved a hand in the air. “Believe what you want. I don’t really care anymore.”

  Francisco pressed his lips together, thinking. “Okay, let’s say we believe you. What kind of evidence do you have to back it up?”

  “Before the trial started, Wiggins found out about the bribe between the captain and Green. I think he wanted some insurance in case the captain decided to welsh on him, so he kept a file. Find the file and you find your evidence.”

  “It’s still slim.”

  Hogan shrugged. “So what happens next?”

  “For starters, would you be willing to go into protective custody?”

  “No way. I’ve got a pig farm to run. Besides, I was born and raised in Texas. If Allen comes knocking on my door, he’ll be looking into the other end of a double-barrel shotgun.”

  Francisco waved a hand at the one-way mirror. A moment later, Banks appeared through the door.

  “Would you be willing to park a patrol unit outside Mr. Hogan’s property?”

  Banks nodded. “I’m sure we can swing it for twenty-four hours. After that, I’ll have to run it up the chain.”

  “So now what?” Hogan asked no one in particular.

  Carrubba tapped his fingers on the table. “We try not to let you get killed.”

  ****

  The last time I’d eaten at Sully’s, I sat across the table with my ex-husband, Michael. He’d returned from a tour in Afghanistan the day before. When the waitress arrived to ask for our drinks, he told me he had filed for divorce. I should have seen it coming, but to tell you the truth, I didn’t. That was two years ago.

  This time I was sitting across from Jake Johnson.

  The restaurant was filled almost to capacity. Sully’s is a nice place to have dinner where suit and tie are required of the men—dresses for the women. I’m more of a jeans and boots kind of girl, but I didn’t mind tonight. I thought the lavender pencil dress with cut-out shoulder fit nicely. My hair was pulled up, exposing the pearl necklace around my neck with matching earrings. I didnʼt get many opportunities to dress up, so was making the most of it.

  The waitress came by. Jake ordered a gin and tonic. I stuck with my usual beer.

  Jake smiled. The candlelight reflected off his perfect teeth. His hair, the color of coffee, was parted down the middle, not a strand out of place. His baby-blues held me in a hypnotic trance.

  His eyes zeroed in on my breasts. “So how long have you been with the police department, Rebecca?”

  Whatever attraction Iʼd felt to him a moment ago passed.

  “I’ve been a cop for fourteen years, the last seven with homicide.”

  “What cases are you working?”

  “Nothing much at the moment,” I said, a bit annoyed. “How about you?”

  “That’s nice,” he said, still focused on my chest. The man wasn’t even listening to me. The thing is my breasts weren’t even that big. In fact, I’d be lying if I said they were normal size, whatever that means, but my new push-up bra was stealing the show, clearly making them appear bigger than they really were. “Jake,” I said, my voice an octave higher.

  He raised his head, eyes looking into mine.

  “What?” he finally said as if staring at my tits was a compliment.

  Our drinks arrived. I wanted to guzzle mine down and order another but decided against it. I probably shouldn’t make a scene. This was our first and last date.

  The waitress asked if we were ready to order.

  Mr. Ogle ordered the grilled salmon. I got a double cheeseburger.

  Jake scrunched his nose. “Order lobster, steak, or something else. I spare no expense.” His eyes zeroed in on my breasts again.

  The waitress walked away, shaking her head.

  I crossed my arms. Jake’s gaze met mine. He must have read my mind because his face flushed.

  I waited a moment then said, “We may be at a classy restaurant, but I like the simple pleasures in life.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said as if he understood. I doubted it.

  My cell vibrated on the table.

  “We’re having dinner. Let it go to voicemail.”

  You’re not the boss of me. I glanced at caller ID.

  Thank you, Veronica.

  “Sorry, gotta take this,” I said. “Whatcha need, Veronica?”

  “Have you heard the news yet?”

  “What news? What are you talking about?”

  “Lucius stabbed his lawyer in lockup. Crane is dead.”

  Chapter 33

  8:15 p.m.

  I fired up the Jeep. Rolling down the window, I slapped the flashing blue light on the roof. Although the Renegade wasn’t an official police vehicle, the captain allowed me discretion from time to time. A dead lawyer at the hands of his client seemed appropriate.

  The tires screeched across the pavement of the parking lot as I stomped on the gas. A moment later, I was roaring down Highway 90, a good twenty miles an hour above the speed limit. The warm night air flowed across my skin, and the scent of pine lingered in the air. My hair started to come apart from the clips, so I removed them and tossed the clips on the passenger seat.

  My cell dinged. Marcy Crowder. She’d been assigned as one of the two detectives to man the incoming calls on The Silencer case. She and her partner, Jamie Gumm, manned the phones in 12-hour shifts, which meant they got overtime.

  “What do you have for me, Marcy?”

  “It may be nothing, but I got a call about an hour ago. A man who claims to be our killer relayed to me that you need to back off the investigation.”

  An eighteen-wheeler moved to the shoulder so I could pass by.

  “So he wants us to back off. What’s the problem?”

  “He didn’t say you in the figurative sense. He called you by your name, Rebecca,” she said with concern.

  I wondered how the caller got my name. Maybe the press had mentioned it in the paper.

  “What does your gut tell you, Marcy?”

  “I think this is your guy.”

  Several more vehicles veered toward the side of the road, allowing me to pass.

  “Did he give you any details to think otherwise?”

 
“He said if you don’t back off, he’ll cut your tongue out, too.”

  I stared at the phone for a second. Goosebumps popped up on my forearms. It felt like the temperature plummeted in the Jeep. Only the killer would know that particular detail.

  “Were you able to trace the call?”

  She sighed. “No,” she said in a low voice as if she’d let me down.

  I pulled the Jeep into the DA’s parking lot and killed the engine. “Okay, thanks for the call, Marcy. I’ll talk to the chief in the morning. And for what it’s worth, you and Jamie are doing a great job.”

  Veronica sat behind a well-worn desk speaking on the phone when I walked into her office. She looked as though she’d gone 12 rounds with someone. Her brown hair was frazzled as if it hadn’t seen a brush in days. The navy-blue jacket she’d worn to the trial was slung over the back of a chair. Her white dress shirt was unbuttoned, exposing the cotton T-shirt underneath. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy.

  About a dozen books, case law or some other type of law I wouldn’t understand, were scattered along the round pine table and on the worn brown shag carpet below, probably old enough to be from the ʼ60s. She gestured for me to take a seat in the only chair that didn’t have any files in it.

  “Okay, I’ll speak with Judge Meeks in the morning.” She hung the phone on its cradle. “My, my, aren’t we dressed to the nines tonight. Must be nice. Who’s the lucky guy?”

  I ignored her. “Tell me what happened, Veronica.”

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. “That was the District Attorney. He’s at the jail. The investigators told him Lucius and Crane were eating dinner in the galley. Several inmates, and this hasn’t been confirmed, said an argument ensued between the two of them.”

  “What were they arguing about?”

  “Earlier tonight I went to the jail and offered a plea to Crane. Told him we would take life off the table if Lucius agreed to second degree murder, with the stipulation his client wouldn’t be eligible for parole until he served twenty years.”

  I stared out the only window in the room. The full moon illuminated the night sky with its bright glow. A flashing red light sailed across the horizon. Maybe it was a passenger jet.

  “I take it Lucius didn’t like the deal.”

  Veronica picked up a ball-point-pen and tapped a yellow legal pad on her desk. “That’s what the so-called argument was about. Apparently, Lucius refused to listen to him and when Crane insisted, Lucius stabbed him in the neck with a shank.”

  “Do you think he planned to murder him?”

  Veronica squinted. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. But Lucius has been clinging to the idea of winning the retrial, so when Crane offered the deal, he must’ve snapped.”

  “It’s certainly a motive worth pursuing.” She jotted some notes on the pad. “I’ll let the DA know. Maybe he thinks if Crane dies, he’ll get a mistrial.”

  “Do you think it could work?”

  She finished writing, then looked up at me. “It would be one for the books if it does. I’ll be meeting with the judge in the morning to discuss the trial and where we go from here.”

  “What are you going to say, Veronica?”

  “After what Lucius did to his lawyer, I doubt any private practice will take the case, which means it will default to the public defender’s office.”

  “Like I said, what are you going to say?”

  “That the trial continues.”

  “Do you think Meeks will go for it?”

  She scratched her scalp. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  Chapter 34

  9:05 p.m.

  After leaving Veronica’s office, I wondered if I even needed to appear in court tomorrow. Freefalling by Tom Petty played on the radio. It was one of my favorite songs. As the moon kept a vigilant watch, I sang along to the music.

  My cell vibrated. It was Marti, probably no doubt wanting to know how my date went. I turned the music down.

  “Hello, Aunt Marti.”

  In a flat voice she asked, “Can you swing by tonight?”

  “Sure. You sound a bit off. Are you okay?”

  There was a pause.

  Then a thought popped into my head. My hand shook. “Is Aunt Tess okay?”

  “She’s with me.”

  A sigh of relief escaped me. Thank you.

  “I should be there soon.” My stomach gurgled. The thought of making a pit stop for food seemed tempting, but something was off with Aunt Marti. Maybe she and Harry got into a fight. That had to be it.

  As I went to turn up the volume on the radio, another call came in. It was Boston PD.

  “That was quick. I hope you’re not calling to give me bad news.”

  “It’s only a courtesy call. Anyway, when I went to pull the file on your dad’s case, it wasn’t there. After some digging around, turns out the lead detective, a guy named Kyle Moore, checked it out.”

  “Is he working the case?”

  “That was my first thought, but Moore retired from the department six years ago.”

  “When was the file checked out?”

  “The day he retired.”

  “Do you think it’s the one case that haunts him?” We all had at least one of those and some detectives couldn’t handle being retired—knowing they’d never work another homicide. They would try fishing or some other hobby to fill the void, but it wouldn’t last. So Boston PD hired several retired detectives who came in twice a week to work cold cases.

  “I don’t know, but even if it is, he shouldn’t have kept the file. Another thing that’s weird is he’s never once looked into the case since then. There’s no trace of him or anyone else logging into any of the police databases.”

  “That’s a bit odd.”

  “Yeah, it is. Anyway, I’m going to meet with him tomorrow.”

  “Does he know you’re coming?”

  A giant bug slammed into my windshield, turning into a putrid, yellow mush across the glass.

  “Of course not. I want to see the reaction on his face when the subject of the file comes up.”

  “So you think there could be something shady going on?”

  “I don’t know, but I plan to run it to ground. If something pops up, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks for the call. It means a lot that you’re taking my request seriously.”

  “No problem. I’d want someone to do the same for me if the role was reversed.” There was a long pause and for a moment, I thought he disconnected.

  “There is one more thing that doesn’t add up. Several weeks after your dad’s murder, your mother cashed in a life insurance policy on him. It was for half a million dollars. But because he was murdered, the policy doubled.”

  I wasn't surprised. Still… “Okay, you lost me. What’s odd about that?”

  “Moore had a deposit of one hundred thousand dollars the next day.”

  Chapter 35

  10:15 p.m.

  I turned and walked under an awning of towering palm trees. It was like passing through a dark tunnel, but there was light at the other end—home and strength. When I finally reached the front door, I was dizzy with excitement. There was a possibility my mother had been involved in my father’s murder and paid the detective or detectives on the case. I so badly wanted to taste closure.

  I tossed my duffel bag on the porch, held the bag from Musso’s behind my back and reached for the doorknob. The aunties wouldn’t be mad at me for making a pit stop. After all, they loved Musso’s as much as I. Besides, there was more than enough to share. The door was locked. I knocked and waited. It wasn’t like them to lock the door.

  “Aunt Marti. Aunt Tess,” I shouted.

  A dog barked next door.

  “Quiet, Rufus!” I ordered.

  I set the bag on the porch, hiked up my dress a little, and scaled the chain-link fence. Please don’t let me rip this dress. My right foot knocked over the trashcan. A bag of garbage rolled onto the manicured lawn.
My aunties wouldn’t be happy, so I put the bag back in the can and tilted it upright.

  The dog barked again.

  “Will you shut up, Rufus?”

  The backdoor was locked. Things were getting really weird. The voice in my head told me to call for help, but I ignored it. No need to panic.

  There was an extra key under a potted plant next to the door. My aunts figured if I ever had a real need to get in the house, the key needed to be in an inconspicuous place. What they were really saying was if you want in our house, you’ll have to scale a fence and knock over our trash. Should have brought my spare.

  My stomach twisted. What if the lights are off and the doors are locked because a burglar broke into the house? I took a deep breath and swallowed the fear. Quit working yourself up.

  I unlocked the door and stepped into the darkened house.

  Okay, so it’s a surprise party…maybe?

  I flipped a switch, turning on the lights to the dining room. After several seconds, no one popped up from the couch or around the corner. Don’t overreact, Rebecca. Everything is fine.

  Everything was not fine.

  There was a thump in the back bedroom.

  I walked down the hallway and listened through the door of the master bedroom for a few seconds. Muffled noises came through. Something felt creepy.

  The voice in the back of my head screamed, Dial 9-1-1! I shook it off. If the cops arrived only to find out it was a false alarm, I'd be joke of the week. How many times had that voice in my head been right?

  None, that's how many.

  I reached down, but my Glock was in the jeep.

  I sighed. Get a hold of yourself, Watson.

  I turned the knob and walked in.

  “Didn’t y’all hear me?”

  No response. I found both aunties lying in bed under the comforter. Very odd, since they had separate bedrooms. The television was muted.

  “What‘s going on? You two are acting very weird.”

  Aunt Marti’s eyes darted across the room. She was trying to warn me of danger. I reached for my phone, also unavailable. I’d left it in the Jeep.