Justice is Dead (Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 7)

by Morgan Kelley

  Hanlon scowled as they walked away. Oh, Emma Croft and Chris Ford were definitely sleeping together.

  The news had been right.

  That pissed her off, big time. No wonder why Emma always got away with murder.

  Outside, Mace laughed. “You need to get him more of that fabric softener. Dip him in it. He was in a good mood.”

  She was aware.

  “It’s the cotton sheets. They’re very luxurious, and he slept well.”

  Mace was amused.

  “Can I sleep over?”

  Greyson’s look said it all.

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  “Good,” Croft practically growled.

  There was a limit, and he was official at it.

  Chapter Twelve

  He’d been in the ground a very long time—from Emma’s estimate, it had been around five or more years. How he died was just as important as how long ago.

  Someone had taken Biagio Desante apart and shoved his dismembered body into a large duffle bag.

  Emma would have laughed if the moment wasn’t so somber. It was hard to ignore that most mob hits in the city were just like this one.

  If you’d seen one dead Italian in a bag, you’d seen them all. In the last year, Emma had lost count of the cases like this one.

  “Doc, what do we have?” she asked, going through the motions.

  “This one’s an easy one,” he said.

  They all looked up.

  “He had his ID in the bag. We can run it against the DMV and see what pops up.”

  “Great,” she said, making notes on her phone. “How about question two?”

  They all watched as he waded his hands through the glop in the bag. Even thought he was buried, the adipose tissue had melted off the body in the waterproof duffle. It was a giant human Ziploc bag.

  It was one of the grossest things Emma had ever seen.

  “In order to give you COD, I’ll have to take him back, drain him off, and put him back together again.”

  “So, we have another body in pieces?” Croft asked.

  “Yes.”

  He pulled out a severed, skeletonized foot. “I see cut marks. Like the last one, he was cut up.”

  Well, they had two for two.

  This was turning into one hell of a puzzle—one which was confusing everyone.

  Emma looked at the lake.

  “You have that look in your eyes,” Steele said before directing his team to load up the body.

  “I want the team to drag the lake.”

  Greyson laughed, and then realized that she wasn’t kidding. “Emma, I have to explain it to my bosses for that kind of expense.”

  “You don’t bury a body here, and then not toss something in there. I’m willing to bet there’s a weapon, or something in there.”

  He stared at her. In his head, he was trying to rationalize it. Had his bosses not called him an hour ago, he would have given her what she wanted.

  Only now, he was worried.

  He wanted FBI West, and out of Vegas, and in order to do that, he had to run this one by the book. If he was given that raise, and new job title, he could ensure everyone who worked under him came with him, and was safe.

  That was his concern now.

  The team.

  Besides, he doubted a killer was going to throw a power saw in the water—especially since they had more victims on the list.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Emma got it. She knew what her husband was balancing, but that didn’t mean she was going to take no for an answer. If they were going to bury Marianna, she needed to cover every base.

  So, she pulled out her phone. “Chris,” she said, when he answered.

  Emma put him on speaker.

  “Yes, Detective?”

  “When you worked that one case about five years ago, you mentioned to me that you had a killer burying the bodies by water and ditching the tools elsewhere, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “He cut them up, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who was it?”

  Ford thought about it. “We never found him. He only turned up sporadically and never left any evidence.”

  “I need to search a lake.”

  “What do you have?”

  She told him. “I think your killer back then might be linked to our killer now. If we dredge this lake, we might solve your cold cases and mine.”

  He was good with that. Even if this was a stretch, he could justify it to his boss, and Emma knew that.

  Points for her for working the system.

  “I’ll authorize it, but I need the body sent to Hanlon. I can’t clear it with the commissioner.”

  “I’ll do it, okay?” Greyson stated. He wasn’t pissed that she’d tried to circumvent him. Instead, he was wildly turned on. Greyson hated that she’d go to another man for help, and she’d know that.

  “Thank you,” she stated. Honestly, Emma didn't care who did it, but she wanted it done. They might have a way to find the killer, and she got it was a long shot, but her gut was screaming.

  “If you need me,” Ford said, “give me a call.”

  When she hung up, Greyson leaned down to whisper in her ear. “When you go around me to other men, it makes me want to be a caveman. Do you really want me to toss you over my shoulder in front of everyone?”

  She grinned. “Maybe.”

  Emma was willing to play his game. There was no way Greyson would do it.

  Not at work.

  “Dredge the lake,” he said, much to the dismay of his team. “Process it and bring anything in that looks suspicious.”

  Steele laughed. “I’m heading in before someone asks me to go swimming.”

  “Happy, Emma?” Croft asked.

  “Yes. It’s the gift that keeps on giving. Now we can head to the interview.”

  Mace didn't say anything.

  He simply followed.

  “Doc!” Emma called.

  When he glanced over, she pointed at him.

  “Make sure you have an escort!”

  When the women next to him lifted her head, she winked at Emma. There was a familiar face wearing a tech uniform.

  “I’ve got him. No worries.”

  Croft laughed. “Of course it’s Natasha. That girl gets around.”

  She certainly did.

  And for that, they were grateful.

  * * * Croft & Croft * * *

  Terrace Glen

  When the phone rang, he was asleep. One of the dreams that haunted him fought hard not to let him escape its icy cold grips. Yet somehow, Dimitri won, pulling away.

  “Gideon,” he said into the phone.

  A part of him was glad for the interruption. It saved him the pain of reliving it again and again. This was his one weakness, his one shame, and he couldn’t stop it no matter what he did.

  The invisible enemy was living in his head.

  “Hey, Dimitri, it’s Grey. Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I was sleeping. I needed to crash before tonight.”

  He ran his hands over his face as he tried to wipe away the visions still playing out in his head.

  “What do you need?”

  Greyson gave him the details on Biagio DeSante. “Have you ever heard of him?” he asked.

  Dimitri headed toward his adjoining bathroom. As he stood in the mirror, he checked out the surrounding reflection. Across his shoulders and back were vicious angry scars that reminded him of his past. They were deep, violent, and molded him into the man he was today.

  A killer.

  He remembered each one, who delivered them, and the screaming pain they had caused.

  They were a part of him.

  While he’d survived that torture, it still haunted him when he closed his eyes.

  “I recall the name. It was from a while ago. I may have to dig, but I believe that Biagio was muscle. Was he big?”

  “Yeah, I can’t tell. When we saw him, he was
in pieces.”

  He closed his eyes, still fighting the horrors he relived every night.

  “Dimitri, what’s going on? You don’t sound right. Do you need us to come back?”

  No, that was the last thing he wanted. For now, he needed to regain his composure.

  He needed to forget.

  “I’ll be okay. I’m just waking up. I didn’t get much sleep, so give me a minute. My brain is mush.”

  That was a lie.

  He was awake but haunted.

  “I’ll put someone on it. Don’t worry about it,” Croft said, concern in his voice. In the last few months, he’d never heard Dimitri sound so…shaky.

  “No need. I’m okay. He worked for Marianna. He was a bodyguard. I remember him now.”

  Greyson didn’t believe him. Something was going on. He could tell. Dimitri was hiding something.

  “Can you do some research?” he asked, cutting him a break. Later, he’d dig when he had more time.

  “Yes. I have to go.”

  The call was ended.

  Dimitri splashed water on his face and prayed he could hold it together.

  He needed to do it for his family.

  With each dream, it was getting harder and harder to pull it off. He knew the man he was working with, and the truth would come out.

  Maybe staying there was a bad idea.

  Dimitri might have to rethink it, and soon. He might be forced to run anyway.

  * * * Croft & Croft * * *

  Emma pointed at the house up ahead as Mace pulled into the parking spot. They were ready to do their interview with Brenda Metcalf. Hopefully, she could tell them something they didn't already know.

  As they got out, Greyson remained in the back.

  “Hey! Are you coming?” Emma asked.

  Greyson snapped out of it.

  “Yeah, I’m ready. I was just handling something. It can wait until later.”

  He hoped.

  He was worried about Dimitri. He really didn’t sound right, and as an ex-soldier, he knew that feeling. Greyson recalled the dreams that haunted him.

  Hell!

  To that day, he still had them when he least expected it. A smell, a sound—something would kick it off in him.

  And they would be bad.

  For some reason, that worry nagged at him.

  For now, it would have to wait.

  Walking up to the house, they noticed it had once looked nice. Now, it was bordering on the side of shabby.

  Before they could knock, the door burst open and a teenager raced out, some harried woman on his tail.

  When she saw them, she stopped.

  “Brenda Metcalf?” Emma asked.

  “Yeah, who wants to know?” she said, shouting after the boy who peddled away at breakneck speed.

  They all pulled their badges.

  “I didn’t do nothin’,” she said. “That lady pushed me first, and I needed to get me my smokes,” she stated. “When I go through nicotine withdrawal, it’s ugly.”

  Emma didn't even have a comment. She was accustomed to the likes of Brenda Metcalf. She interviewed at least four prostitutes a week.

  This woman reminded her of one. Her breasts were practically hanging out, she didn’t have a clue what a bra was, and she had less than a half dozen teeth.

  That screamed drugs from her past experiences.

  Heroin and meth did that to a person.

  “Were you once in a relationship with a man by the name of Deshawn Le Donne?” asked Greyson.

  “Yeah, that brat is his. All I knows is we were knockin’ boots and making the Benjamins, and he tooks off, leaving me with that little thug!”

  Tooks?

  Oh, Emma knew this was going to be one hell of an interview. This woman was ghetto to the core. She was pretty sure this woman was making Greyson’s head spin. Her grammar was atrocious, and she had just scratched a part of her anatomy that shouldn’t be touched in public.

  This was going to be funny. Her husband was a neat freak and carried hand sanitizer in every suit pocket.

  Every time she touched his arm, he looked like he was ready to bolt.

  “What can you tell us about the last day you saw him?” he asked.

  She cleared her throat and spit a giant loogy on the ground.

  Emma and Mace were struggling not to laugh—not at her, but at Greyson.

  He was definitely at a loss.

  Brenda rattled off the day, and Mace wrote it down. It was hard not to notice that Greyson was glaring at them—as if he wanted them to jump in.

  They had no intention.

  Both Emma and Mace figured he could have the fun with this one. In homicide, you met all different kinds of people. Croft sat in an ivory tower, untouched by the crazies.

  This was like hazing.

  “What was he like?”

  “He was hung like a freaking horse.”

  Emma couldn’t help it. The laughter bubbled up and slipped past her defenses.

  “You’s think that’s funny?” she asked, her New York coming through.

  “No, ma’am. There’s nothing funny about the size of a man’s penis.”

  Greyson stared at her.

  “He used to give me so many orgasms I was wet all the time. You haven’t lived until a man made you…”

  “Stop,” Greyson said. “Let’s keep this relevant. I don’t need to know about your wetness.”

  “It was more all day moistness.”

  Again, Emma snorted.

  “Jesus,” he muttered.

  “Well, come to think of it, yous pretty hot yourself. You wanna take me for a slip and slide?”

  Even Mace was on the verge of laughter.

  Normally, he was hit on by the women of Vegas as Emma did the interview. So, this was what it looked like as a bystander.

  “She’s the only one I slip or slide with—ever,” he said, pointing at Emma. “Now, back to the man who left you and the brat.”

  If the man wasn’t dead, Croft wouldn’t blame him for hightailing it the hell out of there. This was a nightmare.

  He wanted to run.

  “All I know is he was bringing home lots of money. He boughts me ‘dis house and paid in cash.”

  Emma saw the look Greyson was giving her, so she opted to jump in to help.

  “How much was he making a year?”

  “One hundred G easy. We was rolling in the bucks.”

  Greyson was getting a headache. He would never think he had a harder job than his wife. Just trying to translate was making him want to weep.

  “What did he do?” she asked.

  “He was the shit when it came to Blackjack. The man had fingers of gold.”

  Greyson had to escape before he commented on something that would be construed as rude. He rattled off a text to his brother.

  ‘How much do we pay the blackjack dealers?’

  He waited for the reply.

  ‘Forty eight thousand. Why?’

  That was a big difference.

  ‘Interview reference from ten years ago. How hard is it to steal money while dealing?’

  He was hoping he was onto something.

  ‘Easier then. Harder now.’

  Greyson put away his phone. Now he only needed one more thing from Brenda.

  “Ms. Metcalf, can you tell me what casino Deshawn worked at when he took off?” he asked. Yeah, there was no way in hell he was going to tell this woman he was dead. She would likely try to cry all over him, and he didn’t want wandering hands.

  Not happening.

  He’d send a newbie agent for that hazing.

  “Oh, that’s easy. It’s dat big one with da windows.”

  Great.

  She just described all of Vegas.

  “Can you be more specific?” he asked. “Maybe a name or a street address?”

  “The one with the sexy woman sitting on the martini glass.”

  Croft smiled.

  It wasn’t one of his and Emma’s casinos.r />
  So that meant...

  “We’ll be out of your hair.”

  She fluffed the thinning mass of hair as she winked at him. “You feel like ditching da stick and gettin’ some meaty goodness, you come see me.”

  He’d rather eat his own penis in a stale bun as he drowned in a pint of his own blood.

  “Have a good day.”

  They got out of there, and fast.

  Once inside the Navigator, Emma and Mace began laughing uncontrollably.

  “Ha ha ha. Yeah, laugh it up. That was mortifying, and you two are horrible human beings.”

  That made them laugh even more.

  Then, Emma saw the look.

  “I’m sorry, babe. She was hitting on you, and it was too funny to pass up. It was wrong.”

  “But, oh, so funny,” Mace stated.

  Greyson leaned back. “Well, while you two were hazing the Fed, I found a few things out.”

  “Like Brenda wants you to take a ride in the slip in slide?” Emma asked.

  They snorted and Emma had to wipe her eyes on her sleeve.

  “When the next woman flirts with me, and she’s sexy, you’ll be singing a different tune as I pay you back, kitten.”

  That shut her up.

  Emma wouldn’t like that at all.

  “Anyway, Deshawn was making way too much money. She said one hundred thousand. We pay our dealers less than fifty, and this is ten years later.”

  “So, he was stealing.”

  “Yep. Want to guess from who?” Greyson asked.

  “Dominic Marianna?” asked Mace.

  “Yep. There’s your motive.”

  It was falling into place for him.

  “Yeah, the only problem, babe?”

  “What?”

  “You have a better chance at cleaning up Brenda Metcalf and getting her to win the next Miss America pageant than proving it.”