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

by Brigitta Moon

  “I have always wondered what it would feel like to have your lips on mine, and so have many of the other women in the neighborhood.”

  Jesse kept his arms pinned to his sides, his hands fisted. “What about PREA? You know I can use any of the phones in here and report this. I know you have full knowledge of the officers who have been walked out of the jail and arrested because of their sexual misconduct with prisoners. And you could not have possibly missed what happened to the pregnant ones. I won’t be another statistic because of you.”

  Gina smirked. “What, baby, you’re going to call and say little Gina, the mayor’s niece tried to ride you?” She cocked her head. “Then you’ll look like the biggest sissy in here. And around all these big strapping men...” She held on to Jesse’s neck, leaned back and said, “Well you can make love to me or be their bitch. The choice is—”

  Jesse pushed her away. “I’ll take my chances.” He glared at Gina. “I have never figured out what big John sees in you. All that ass on the street and he picked you.”

  “Taste, Jesse—he has good taste.”

  “Fuck you.” Jesse pushed Gina away, headed for the glass walls with the door.

  “The drugs weren’t yours, Jesse.”

  His heart stopped. He turned to look at Gina.

  “I can prove it,” she whispered.

  “What’s it gonna cost me? My self-respect?” Jesse laughed. “No thank you. I’ll take my chances with a jury.”

  Gina ambled toward Jesse. “Keep your self-respect.” She flipped her hand as if tossing it back at Jesse. “I needed to test your integrity. Some men are easily swayed, but not you. That’s a great quality—a value I need right now. I’m on your side. I have a plan that will benefit both of us. We’ll meet again when I have everything in place.”

  Jesse nodded, turned away and headed for the wall of windows again.

  “Hey, Jesse.”

  He looked over his shoulder to see if the black widow had stayed with her web.

  “That kiss was exactly what I had imagined.” She laughed and wave at him.

  Jesse grimaced and pushed the heavy door open, surprised that it swung outward. He looked back at Gina with a puzzled look on his face.

  Gina said, “Rooms like this lock you out, not in.”

  Chapter 21

  Copeland went to her desk, sat down, and rummaged through the drawer. She pulled out a legal pad and a pen. “I’ve been working on something. Take a look.”

  Romero walked over, leaned on the desk, and took a good look at her pad. “Whatcha got?”

  Tapping the pen on the paper, Copeland said, “I’ve been working on a timeline.”

  “Would you two like coffee?”

  Romero and Copland’s heads popped up in tandem, their gaze drifting towards the door. A woman stood framed in the doorway holding onto a walker.

  Copeland hopped up and rushed to her mother. “What are you doing up? You should be resting.”

  “Oh, fuddle cakes, girl, I’ve rested enough. I need to move around, make myself useful. If I listen to you I’ll be laid up in the hospital with pneumonia or a blood clot.”

  Copeland hugged her mother. “Yes, I’ll have coffee if you’re up to it.”

  “What about you, young man?”

  “This is Romero, Mother, my partner.” Copeland pointed him out not giving a thought to the fact that there was no one else in the room her mother could confuse him with.

  “I know who he is. I’ve seen Detective Romero on the news.” She gave Romero her best after nap smile. “I feel safer every time I know you’re on the job.”

  Copeland frowned. “And me?”

  “Oh, dear,” she held on to the walker with one hand and patted Copeland’s hand with the other, “you have always been such an attention seeker. You know you’re a good detective. I don’t have to tell you that.”

  “You don’t, but, I like to hear it anyway.” She kissed her mother on the cheek. “What about that coffee?”

  “I know when I’m being dismissed. Go on, get back to work and I’ll make the coffee.” She rolled her walker in a semicircle and aimed it toward the kitchen.

  Romero said, “Okay, shoot, tell me what you have.”

  “As you can see, me and my one hand have had a lot of free time to think and do a bit of snooping.”

  Romero’s brows arched. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing illegal and nothing stupid. I had a little chat with Pool.”

  Grimacing, Romero said, “No. No, tell me I’m hearing things.”

  “Get a grip. I didn’t tell him anything because I have nothing he can use to climb the ladder. He was the one with all the goodies.”

  “And you promised him what?”

  In her most simpering voice, Copeland said, “A roll in the hay, what else?”

  Romero’s eyes popped.

  Copeland laughed out loud. “You believe me?” She rolled her eyes. “I thought you knew me better than that. A scoop, if I had it, is all I would offer the reporter. Look at me.” She pointed at her arm in the sling. “How much rolling do you think I can do. But, he got me thinking. So, I plotted out a timeline.”

  “I hope it was after he left.”

  Copeland gave him the stink eye. Romero threw up his hands.

  “Foul.” Romero said. “I called it on myself. I’ll behave from now on. See, I’m putting on my detective hat.” Romero made a show of donning a hat.

  “I never knew you had such a sense of humor.”

  Romero took a big sniff. “Smell that? The coffee must be ready. I’ll help your mother.” He started walking toward the door.

  “Hey, wait, what about my timeline?”

  “Cope, my mother always told me you never keep a good cup of coffee waiting. I’ll be right back.”

  Romero returned carrying a tray with two cups, a coffee pot, and condiments. Copeland looked up in time to see her mother walk past the door.

  “Thank you, Detective Romero,” she said as she rolled by with her walker.

  Romero sat the tray on the desk, poured coffee from the pot into each cup. He handed one off to Copeland.

  “Sugar? Cream?”

  “I prefer mine black. The cream doesn’t agree with me,” she said.

  “I’ve never been able to drink mine black,” Romero said. “My cup of Joe has to be the color of a tortilla.”

  Copeland screwed up her face. “Yuk, that’s just a cup of cream. Why bother adding coffee to your cream?”

  “Forget the cream and the coffee. Focus on the timeline,” Romero said.

  Copeland pointed again with her pen. “One shooting, one drug arrest, same store. Why?”

  “Hold up, Cope, let’s slow down so we miss nothing. There’s only one of each that we know about. We may not be on the memo because it’s out of our jurisdiction, but, now that we fell into this thing, we may find more dirt to fill the hole.”

  “Right.” Copland nodded. “We’re not going to let this one go. I want in no matter what the chief has to do to claim our rite of passage.”

  “I’m in. Something big is brewing. I feel it, right here.” Romero poked a thumb at his stomach.

  “Yeah, I have the same gut feeling.

  Chapter 22

  Monday morning crawled in like a turtle. Romero entered the station carrying his straw cowboy hat and a briefcase. Becky was sitting behind her desk, face done up as usual—apple red cheeks, thick, black tar coating her lashes, red lipstick, and a brilliant smile. Billy was perched on top of her desk, one butt cheek on with one foot dangling. He was wearing khakis and a plaid shirt.

  “Buenos Dias,” Romero greeted.

  “Working on your Spanish, Romeo?” asked Becky.

  Romero grimaced. “Why do I have to keep—”

  Becky’s cheeks shook as she let out a wave of laughter. “You’ll have to tell Becky forever. As long as Becky can get a rise out of you, your name is Romeo.” Becky snorted. “Would you like coffee? Becky has it brewing in the break
room.”

  “Thanks, I think,” Romero said walking away. “Are you coming, Billy? We have work.”

  He heard Billy slide off the desk and his foot drop to the floor. “On my way.”

  No sooner had the two detectives made it into the breakroom, the intercom was beeping. Romero went over and pressed the button.

  “You are needed at Marston General ER,” Becky said.

  “This is a joke, right? You’re paying me back for my wise crack this morning.”

  “The chief wants the two of you over there pronto. It’s an OD.”

  “Guess we should get moving. We shouldn’t keep the dead waiting,” Romero said.

  “She said OD, overdose, not dead,” Billy corrected.

  Romero sighed, “If they’re alive, they don’t need us.”

  The two detectives waved at Becky as they went through the door to the parking lot. The sun was dim, the sky over cast. A Hurricane was brewing in the Gulf. Marston was feeling the effects. Humid wind gusted flapping the detective’s jackets.

  “This is what I like about this time of year, the kids will go back to school soon, and hurricanes,” Billy said.

  Romero stopped and looked at Billy. “You like hurricanes? They kill and destroy the earth.”

  “They do, but it’s the power I like. Have you ever seen the waves of one of those cat three or four storms? The power?”

  “The destruction, Billy. The loss. The money to rebuild.”

  “I agree with you, but a hurricane is a force of nature. There’s nothing to do except prepare, evacuate, and pray for everyday people, but there are those like me; the ones who admire the force. The ones who are willing to chase the storm and stand inside the eye.”

  “Let’s pray that the storm fizzles out in the sea,” Romero said.

  He and Billy began walking again toward the black Mustang. Romero pressed the key fob. The headlights flashed with the chirp. The locks clicked open. They folded themselves into the car, Romero into the driver’s seat, and Billy on the passenger side. He preferred riding shot gun instead of being pushed to the back when Copeland was in attendance.

  Billy was putting on his seatbelt as he asked, “Where’s Copeland? She’s supposed to start work today.”

  “She’s coming. Maybe she had some last-minute things to do.” The Mustang’s engine roared to life. They drove off the lot into the downtown traffic heading for Marston General’s OD.

  Chapter 23

  When Billy and Romero entered the Marston Hospital’s ED, it was like walking into the aftermath of a war zone. The noise level was sitting at an ear-splitting level, the activity constant and hurried; white coats rushing past, nurses and techs in scrubs tending to patients and families.

  “Detectives,” Nurse Beverly Brodsky, wife of the lawyer for the uptown scum, waved them over. As soon as they had made their way through the throng of people, Beverly started walking. She pressed the silver plate on the wall. The double doors parted. The detectives caught up to her, followed close behind. She tossed out words behind her.

  “This whole situation is just horrible. These are just kids.”

  Billy slowed his pace. “Dead kids?”

  Beverly stopped, turned and eyed Billy, then Romero. “Haven’t you two been given some kind of briefing of our situation here, or are you walking in blind?”

  “Blind,” Romero admitted.

  Beverly sighed heavily. “We have three kids here. They came in last night by ambo. Two were picked up from clubs in the party district down by the harbor. One came from home.”

  “You said kids,” Romero told the nurse. “Were they under-age customers at a club?”

  “No, sir, they were of age, but, Detective, they’re kids to me. They’re too young to leave the earth this way. I’ll take you to the youngest first.”

  They ambled at a slower pace than before. It was as if they were in a funeral procession. Billy’s head was bowed, his chin resting on his chest.

  “Detectives, I don’t know if you are aware of this, but these aren’t the first to show up through our doors. We have had at least five others. Some walk out, others aren’t as lucky.” She shook her head. “This new street drug is a nightmare.”

  They stopped in front a closed door. The sign to the left read—Code Room. Beverly pushed the door. The detectives stepped inside. Beverly stayed in the corridor, closed the door behind the detectives.

  “Glad you’re here,” the crime scene photographer said. “All of his clothing has been preserved in paper bags.” He pointed toward a corner with one hand, keeping the camera anchored at eye level and snapped a picture of the body lying on the stretcher. “This is sad. Man, look at him, dead in an ER wearing looney tune boxers.” He snapped off another shot. “Fucking ridiculous,” he said under his breath.

  “Is there another detective or police officer here?” Romero asked.

  “You’re the first ones I’ve seen.” He lowered the camera. “And when I’m done here, there’s another one waiting for me next door.” He threw the sheet over the body. “And my wife wonders why I drink so much after one of these shoots. I have to erase these pictures some kind of way.” He pinned Romero and Billy with a questioning stare. “Christ, man, how can this be happening right on the doorstep of the police department?”

  “Excuse me?” Romero said. “Expand that statement.”

  “I guess you didn’t get the memo. There’s a drug war out there. It’s happening right under your nose. Those clubs are within a four-block radius of your station. You guys are pathetic. I’m sick of taking photographs of dead kids; kids that would be alive if the hot shot Marston police handled their business.

  Romero held up his hand. “Wait a minute, buddy, I can see you’re upset about this, but we’re here to help. I don’t take any pleasure in seeing dead kids either. Take a breath. Relax. We have to work together if we want to stop this thing.”

  Billy asked, “Do you know what kind of dug these kids are taking?”

  “Naw, man, I just take the pictures. I can tell you one thing; I don’t see any needle marks.”

  “So, pills or blow,” Romero said.

  “These bodies will be going to Doc. He’ll definitely have an answer for you, man.”

  “Anything else you can tell me?” Romero asked.

  The tech shook his head and started gathering his gear.

  “What’s your name, buddy?” Romero asked.

  “Charlie,” the tech answered reaching out to shake Romero’s hand.

  His grip was firm. “I’m Romero. This here,” he pointed at Billy, “is my partner, Billy. I guess we’ll be seeing a lot you if we don’t get a handle on this thing.”

  “Ugh,” said Billy, “that’s a horrible thought.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Charlie. “Sorry to run out on you, but I have to get next door.”

  “No problem, I’m sure our paths will cross again. Don’t keep the dead waiting.”

  The tech took his gear and left. Romero and Billy looked at the body outlined under a white sheet.

  “Don’t keep the dead waiting? What does that mean?” Billy asked.

  “It’s like this, the longer we keep the dead waiting, the longer it takes their families to see them that final time. The family needs to see the body so their minds can start processing that yes, their loved one is in fact gone. He’s not going to be walking through the door or running down the stairs ever again. It pushes the grieving process forward.”

  “Makes sense,” Billy said.

  The door opened. Beverly stuck her head inside. “I saw the photographer leave. Are you ready to visit with the kid who made it through? He’s awake.”

  “You gave him Naloxone?” Billy asked.

  “Yes. He responded well. The problem is, sometimes the half-life of the opioid is longer than that of the reversal agent, so we have to keep the patient longer for observation to make sure that once the naloxone wears off, the opioid doesn’t kick back in and they stop breathing.”
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br />   Beverly led the detectives to the patient’s room. “He’s a nice kid. Let me introduce you to make it easier for him.”

  Inside the closet sized room was the patient lying on the stretcher and a young woman sitting in a chair close by. The woman had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, her legs folded under her. She took note of the nurse and the two men with her. Cops, she thought to herself. She sat up straight in the chair, reached over and nudged Ryan. “Cops,” she whispered.

  Ryan lifted up on his elbows. “We’re not talking to the cops,” he whispered back.

  Chapter 24

  “Ryan, these detectives would like to speak with you about what happened to you last night.” Beverly indicated Romero and Billy who were standing behind her. She took note of the patient’s defiant expression and the way he laid back on the stretcher with his back toward them. “Ryan, your information may save lives. There are kids dying out there. We have two in here tonight. You were lucky.”

  Ryan turned over, eyes wide. “They’re dead?”

  “Oh, gawd,” exclaimed the young woman covering her mouth with her hand.

  “Anything you can tell us will get us one step closer to stopping these deaths,” Billy said moving into the room. He and Romero had decided that since Billy was the younger of them, he should take the lead.

  “Not much to tell,” Ryan said.

  “Is this young lady your girlfriend?”

  Ryan and the young lady chuckled.

  “She’s my sister, Andrea.”

  “Nice to meet you, Andrea. Were you with your brother before he became ill?”

  She nodded.

  “Where did the ambulance pick you up?”

  “We were at a clu—”

  Ryan reached over and grabbed his sister’s arm. “We have nothing to say.”

  Billy cocked his head at Ryan and then his gaze slipped to Andrea. “That’s unfortunate. Today, two families are waiting on two young men who won’t be coming home. And you have nothing to say?”

  “That’s right,” Ryan said. I’m taking the fifth.”