The 13th Hour: A Marston Thriller (The Marston Series Book 4)

by Brigitta Moon

  “The man should be hands off of everything,” Romero said. He’s a nuisance and a hindrance.”

  Chief Randall rubbed his temples. “Yes, he is, try telling him that.”

  Both Romero and Billy sunk into their chairs.

  “We have four moving arms to this problem. First, we have the arrest of this spic and span, little league coach for drug possession with intent to distribute. Here is a man who has never been on our radar.” The chief sighed heavily.

  Romero said, “I suppose you have to start somewhere. Maybe he has just been lucky, and never been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar?”

  The chief stuck two fingers in the air. Second, we have the protests which started at the courthouse after Mr. Spic and Span was held without bail. And the latest; a shooting which may or may not be related. Lastly, the mayor’s niece is missing.” Chief Randall made a steeple of his fingers under his chin. “Any comments, detectives?”

  “Look on the bright side, Chief, Mr. Roy has his wife back. We found her this morning.”

  “I heard. Now, he can stop coming on the network news every week begging for the return of his wife, making us look incompetent, like we weren’t out there trying to find her.”

  “Look, Chief, it’s Sunday, we were supposed to be off. What about giving us the rest of the day?” Romero asked.

  As if the chief hadn’t heard Romero’s suggestion, he said, “First, I want you two to talk to the responding officers at the shooting. I want fresh details. Then, see what you can find out about the two dead guys. We need to know if there is any connection between all of this mess.”

  The two detective’s shoulders slumped.

  “Don’t look so defeated, Romero,” the chief said. “This will be extra money towards your wedding or honeymoon. And, Billy, you may want to take Faith on a special date. Lots of overtime to be had.”

  A knock on the door interrupted the meeting. The door slid open slowly. Becky poked her head in and said, “Becky’s sorry to disturb you, but a Ms. Gloria is here to speak with the detectives about the little league coach who was arrested.”

  Chief Randall wiped his hands down his face as if trying to scrub away the frustrating day. “These coaches are killing me.”

  Billy stood up. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Good,” said Romero standing up like Billy, “I’ll touch base with the responding officers and then I have some other things to look into.” He turned to Billy. “If there’s anything to report, I’ll call you, otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Good deal,” agreed Billy. “Tomorrow.” He turned to Becky, saying, “Give me a few minutes to get to the office and then bring the lady up. Let’s see what she has to add to this mess.”

  Chapter 17

  Freeway traffic on Sunday afternoons was becoming as bloated as rush hour during the week. Romero motored his window down, stuck his hand on the roof of the car and tapped his fingers as he thought about the call he had made to one of the responding officers. All-in-all, he was satisfied. The call had saved him an unnecessary trip. They had nothing. It was too soon for anything to have been processed; something he already knew, but to keep harmony and respect in the house, he made the call.

  Getting on with the other more important things he needed to investigate was pressing in on him. Seeing Copeland with his own two eyes would hopefully lift the fifty pounds of guilt sitting on his shoulders. He took the exit ramp, merged with the traffic, made the next right turn, and coasted the next four blocks to Copeland’s apartment, thinking about how he was going to beg for her forgiveness. It wasn’t going to be an easy task if she looked like a victim.

  Romero made a hard left onto the lot, parked in front of the building, got out, and slammed the door shut. He leaned against the fender and took a long look around. This was the first time he had been to Copeland’s apartment, and to top it off, he had not called ahead. The apartment buildings were not fancy, just your everyday box shaped, sand colored, brick buildings. The grounds were what made the area stand out: manicured lawns, tall trees with full heads of leaves, and blankets of colorful flowers. Most noticeable after spending so much time in the city was the lack of litter.

  Barking grabbed his attention. It was a little dog with curly, white fur, running circles around a woman who had a phone pressed against her ear. Romero turned away from the dog, looking toward Copeland’s building. It dawned on him that he was actually scared. If Copeland wasn’t her usual self, how would he handle it? He shook his head. This was not like him. He leaned up off the car, filled his lungs with the refreshing oxygen and took the first step towards the building.

  Romero entered through the glass door. Instead of taking the elevator, he took the steps, thinking that maybe he was putting on some pounds around the middle and this would count as exercise. He definitely wanted to avoid giving Becky any ammunition to throw at him about his weight. After all, he was hard on her about her doughnuts. He jogged up, his shoes barely audible on the commercial, brown carpet.

  At floor five, he pushed through the fire door, stepped out into the corridor and glanced at the apartment numbers. Five-zero-five was to the right. He stood in front of the door with his fist raised, ready to knock. He hesitated. The door across the way opened. Two teen girls ran through, giggling and horsing around. They saw Romero and slowed. He knocked on the door. The teens took off running.

  The door opened. Copeland posed in the doorway like a picture in a frame. She was wearing distressed blue jean shorts and a tiny tee shirt. Her left arm was encased in a navy-blue sling, the shoulder bandaged with gauze and tape. She massaged the fingers on her left with her right hand.

  Romero’s eyes drifted to her hair which was usually snatched back in a clip, except now, as she stood in front of him showing a warm smile, her hair was a bit messy as if she had just gotten up from a nap. She tilted her head, the smile widened.

  “Hey, Romeo,” she said.

  Romero’s heart was flipping around in his chest. His thoughts were back at the office when he had told her he knew under that tough facade, there was a damsel struggling to get free. How he had regretted ever saying those words. She had reamed him up one side of the aisle and down the other; called him a sexist beast.

  The relief that Romero felt, just seeing that she was alive and basically well, overtook him. The fifty-pound weights on his shoulders rose, warmth of happiness bloomed throughout his being, electricity traveled up his spine, over his shoulders and down to his heart. In one sweeping motion, he stepped forward and ensconced Copeland in an embrace. He kissed her on the cheek. Their eyes met. He held her gaze. She felt his warm breath against her cheek and then on her lips. Romero kissed her hard. She kissed him back.

  Chapter 18

  Billy was sitting behind the desk when Becky returned with Gloria. Becky showed her in and left, closing the door partially behind her. She stood against the wall pretending to be reading the papers in her hand. She listened.

  “Have a seat, Ms...”

  “Gloria, just Gloria.”

  “Okay, Gloria, I’m Detective Hunter. What can the Marston Police do for you today?”

  She sat and laid her purse on her lap. “I’m here about Jesse, the coach—”

  “I know who you’re talking about, but his case is in the hands of the penal system now.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m here. He has been falsely arrested, falsely imprisoned. He has never sold any drugs. He wouldn’t do that.” A tear slid down Gloria’s face. “Please, my son needs his father. I need my man home with me. Can you tell me anything about how they were able to convict an innocent man?”

  Billy’s gaze was sympathetic. “There’s nothing I can tell you. He’s been charged with a crime and held without bail, but not convicted yet. To be honest, the arrest didn’t take place in our jurisdiction.”

  “I know, but the crimes are in your backyard. The drug war is right under your nose and no one is doing anything about it.”

&nbs
p; “I’m sorry, Gloria, but there is no war.”

  “You’re wrong. Living where I do, I hear things. The war is just beginning. My Jesse has been set up. I need your help, Detective.”

  Billy scraped at his chin. His features were finally catching up with his age. The beginnings of a goatee were between his thumb and index finger. “Just out of curiosity, Gloria, what do you think I can do for Jesse?”

  I saw you on the news when the backyard killer was on the loose. I remember the look in your eyes. I knew then, he was going down.”

  “This case is different—”

  “It’s not. I’ll work with you, Detective. You feed me and I’ll feed you.”

  Billy’s eyebrows rose.

  “Look, Detective, word on the street is someone big is getting rich and some little fish is going to take the fall.”

  Billy said, “I still don’t—”

  “Keep your eyes open and your ears perked.” Gloria stood up, threw her purse across her shoulder. “You’ll know when the time is right. Here’s my number.” She handed him a strip of paper. “Don’t lose it. We’re a team.” She began ambling towards the door.

  “Hey, wait...”

  Gloria didn’t wait. She kept walking.

  Chapter 19

  Copeland pulled away, horror dancing in her eyes. “You’re getting married.”

  Romero’s breath hitched. He could not believe what he had just done. “I’m sorry, Cope. I...I was just so happy you weren’t dead.”

  She laughed and swiped him on the shoulder. “Finally, I was a damsel in distress. You loved every minute of it, didn’t you? Admit it.”

  The skin between Romero’s eyes wrinkled. “How can you joke about it?”

  “How? I’m alive, you big goof. Come on in.”

  Romero followed Copeland into the living room. An older woman was sitting in a recliner, asleep with her feet up. Copeland walked on her toes. Romero lightened his steps. They went into her home office. She had it laid out with a desk, swivel chair, and a sofa. They sat down on the couch, side by side as if driving defensively on a busy street, one car length between them.

  Copeland chuckled. “This is silly. We’re partners and friends. Right?” She looked Romero in the eyes.

  He nodded, his gaze guarded.

  Copeland snorted. “We are friends, right?” She waited for a response.

  “Cope, I’m sorry—”

  “It was nothing but a kiss shared between friends. I’m not going to post it on social media or spread it around the station. So, lighten up.” She laid her hand on his thigh.

  Romero cleared his throat and diverted his eyes to her hand resting on his leg.”

  Copeland leaned back on the sofa. “This is absolutely ridiculous. We are acting like nervous teens. Maybe we should go back to the door and start over.”

  Romero broke out into laughter. “No, I’m good. I think we can move past this.”

  “Now that you have seen for yourself that I am not ready for the departmental parade carrying my casket, we can talk real business. Tell me what’s going on with that shoot-out?”

  Romero stood up and shook off his jacket. “Nada. No info yet.”

  “Darn, I was hoping to know something since I could have been a statistic out there.”

  Romero sat down, his eyes lowering to the floor.

  Copeland slid to the edge of the cushion. “What the hell is going on with you. There’s nothing on the floor. What happened? Did the chief pull you in for breaking protocol?”

  Romero looked around the room. She had some nice art hanging on the walls. “Are those pieces real?”

  Copeland bolted up, holding on to her arm in the sling. “I’m not liking this one bit. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Romero fished a toothpick from his pocket. Just as he was about to slip it between his teeth, he looked at the skinny piece of wood, long and hard.

  “It’s nothing but a vice, Romero. We all have something that holds us together. Yours just happens to be a little piece of wood.”

  “That almost got us killed,” he said standing and pacing in front of the art.

  “But, it didn’t. We’re alive.” She went to him, stood in front of Romero, and held his hand. “We’re alive. You hear me?”

  Romero reached out for Copeland, drew her into him. “I’m sorry.” He held her close. “I promise, I’ll give up the toothpicks.”

  Copeland heard his words, but her attention was on the heat between them. They had never shared their personal space. She had never thought of him as anything other than a partner. Until now.

  Part IV

  Chapter 20

  Ethan dismissed the group after telling them he was working hard to get each of them the freedom they deserved. Gina appeared to be watching Ethan as he spoke to the group, although she wasn’t. She was deep in thought. The men rose and turned toward the door and began to file out. Jesse brought up the rear.

  “Jesse, hold up,” Gina said as he turned to acknowledge her words. “I need to talk to you.”

  Ethan looked over at Gina. “I have to get back to my post. I do not have time to stay here while you remanence on the good old days.”

  Jesse’s gaze went to Ethan. Gina smiled. “It’s not like that, Ethan.” She winked at him. “You owe me. Go on to your post. I don’t think Jesse is too dangerous.” She swept him over with a sultry gaze.

  Jesse took a step toward the door. “This doesn’t seem like a good—”

  “Don’t worry,” Gina said. “You’re in good hands. Just think of me as your insurance policy.”

  Ethan gathered his files, grunted, and left, pushing the door closed until he heard the lock engage.

  Jesse looked around, plotting in his mind the misadventures that could drag him under the jail. Since the front of the room was walled with floor to ceiling windows, including the door, he felt secure. And he knew big brother was watching. Cameras were everywhere, but the way Gina was looking at him like he was the best piece of chocolate in the candy store made him feel as if a tarantula was creeping up his back.

  Gina picked up her files and started walking. “Come on, Jesse. I won’t bite.” She stopped at a row of file cabinets, opened a drawer, and dropped her folders inside. “Stop,” she told Jesse. “Cameras are aimed at the file drawers.”

  Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Jesse waited. As far as he was concerned nothing could happen. They were on display—windows for everyone passing by to see in and cameras to observe the rest. Him and all the other prisoners were under the watchful eye of the all-seeing digital age. He huffed out a breath.

  “Getting impatient?” Gina asked. She slammed the drawer, traced her steps back to the center aisle, and turned left. “Follow me.”

  Jesse followed Gina past four cubicles, and more file cabinets, all the way to the back of the room. The tarantula began digging in at his cervical spine, at the control center, the almighty medulla, where life or death is determined based on its ability to function. The all-seeing windows shrank with the distance. He scanned the corner where her cubicle was located for a camera.”

  “Relax, no cameras here. This is my little office. Home away from the convicts.”

  The comment was supposed to relax Jesse, help him to throw his guard down. Instead, it only served to do the opposite.

  “I resent that. I’m not a convict.”

  “I know, and the others,” she said encroaching on Jesse’s space, standing toe to toe with him, “they’re innocent too, right? Even the one who killed a man for sticking a gun in his fucking face?”

  “If you don’t believe in their innocence, why are you doing this whole group thing?”

  “It’s all about benefits. Isn’t that why anyone gets involved in anything. It’s an easy job; one I won’t break any nails on. To sum it up for you, it is a means to a happy ending. Payback is a bitch. Isn’t that how the old saying goes?”

  Gina smiled up at Jesse. He grimaced. She was spinning a web, sticky strands he knew
he would have to struggle against to free himself. She swept her hands up and down his biceps.

  Jesse felt the web wrapping around him, pulling him in. “Payback? Who and for what?” Jesse asked trying to buy time.

  “You have something I want.” Gina tipped her gaze up to Jesse’s. “Something all those little league mothers want, but you keep it to yourself. Refuse to share it with even the sexiest and prettiest woman—”

  Jesse took a step back. “That’s not why I’m there. My purpose for being there is to—”

  Gina pressed two fingers to Jesse’s lips. “I don’t care about your philanthropy.” Her breath hummed like a spring tune as she encroached on Jesse’s space. “I want what I want, and I always get what I want. And you know why?”

  He kept his eyes glued to Gina’s, refusing to avert his stare.

  “Hmm, I like a man in control. A man who’s not afraid to look me in the eye. We can help each other.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jesse said. “I know your type. The entitled. You think because you’re the mayor’s niece, you can have whatever you want and do anything without repercussions. I feel you, Gina, but I’m not white like you, so, there are repercussions for me. And I refuse to fuck a white woman in jail so I can then be charged with—”

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. That’s the trouble with people like you—they think they know everything. You don’t know jack shit. You don’t even know how you ended up in jail.”

  Jesse opened his mouth to speak. Gina stood on her toes and covered his mouth with hers. She leaned into him. Jesse felt the completion of the sticky web when Gina wrapper her arms around his neck and he had to work hard to ignore the lust stirring inside him.