Death on the New Moon

by Michael Lindley

  "Alex, you need to get this cleaned up. Half the department up there is ready to take your head off."

  Alex stood outside his captain’s office, waiting for the man to get off a phone call. As he looked around the large open office space, angry and hostile faces stared back at him from every direction. Guinness ended his call and waved him in, standing behind his desk.

  "The Internal Affairs team wants another shot at you this morning. I'll let them know you're back."

  "Captain, you know this is all bullshit," Alex said, standing across the desk from the man. "Lonnie was my best friend..."

  "I really don't know what to think."

  "Someone's trying to set me up."

  Guinness looked down at the mess of papers and files on his desk, then back at Alex. "You better damn well find out who. IA wants to bring charges and lock you up."

  Alex wasn't surprised. He knew this would be the next step in the process.

  Two hours later, drained and trying to contain the panic he was feeling, Alex walked out of the interview room with the two IA officers. They had grilled him repeatedly about the events of the day of the shootings, going through every minute leading up to the attempted arrest of the paid assassin known as Caine and the subsequent death of four police officers. They had presented no further evidence implicating him tipping off the hit man. The phone found in his desk and call records of that morning were still all they had. Alex had pressed them on fingerprints or DNA or anything that could definitively link him to the phone, but they wouldn't or couldn't produce anything further.

  In the end, the lead on the IA team had set a time for the next morning for him to come back in. While he didn't say it, Alex had the distinct impression he would be brought up on charges and arrested.

  Beatty was at his desk when Alex walked past to leave. He looked away in disgust as Alex passed.

  Alex walked into the bar where his best friend, Lonnie Smith, had been killed along with three other officers just a few days ago. The bartender who had tipped them off to Caine being there was back behind the bar. He saw Alex come in and a look of anger flashed across his face. Obviously, Internal Affairs had talked to the man.

  "You got some nerve, Frank," the bartender said, walking down behind the bar to face him. "You could of got us all killed for chissakes!"

  "Jeb, listen..."

  "Get the hell outta here!"

  "Just give me a minute," Alex pleaded.

  The old man didn't respond, angrily wiping at the bar in front of him with a dirty towel.

  "That morning," Alex began.

  "I already told the damn cops ten times."

  "Well, tell me. Did this guy take a call at the bar."

  "He sure as hell did, about ten minutes before you all came chargin' in. Not long after I called you the asshole was here. He went back into the kitchen right after he hung up. When I went back there to shoo him out, he jumped me."

  Alex could still see the lump and bruise on the side of the old man's forehead. "Did you hear him say anything during the call."

  "No, I was down there, Jeb said, gesturing to the other end of the bar.

  "What did he say in the kitchen?"

  "Didn't say a damned thing! Just whacked me upside the head with his gun and stood over me like he was gonna take me out right there."

  "Did he call anybody else while you were back there?"

  The bartender shook his head, no.

  "Jeb, you know Lonnie and I go way back. You know I wouldn't do this."

  Anger came back across the man's face. "I don't know what the hell you'd do or why, but I want you the hell outta here!"

  When he walked into his front door, Alex felt the gloom of the day's events wash over him again as the quiet loneliness of the place consumed him. The blinds were all closed and there was a stale musty odor. The kitchen was cluttered with unwashed dishes and pans. Unopened mail was scattered on the dining table. He sat on a stool at the counter and checked his phone again, still nothing from Hanna.

  He squeezed his eyes tight as the pain in his neck flared. His first reaction was to reach for the bottle of pills in his pocket, but he hesitated and then pushed himself to try to get by without them. He walked into the living room, scrolling down through other calls and messages on his phone. He sat on the couch and leaned back into the comfort of the deep cushions.

  A phone message from his boss stared back at him. He pushed the button and listened to the call.

  "Alex, it's Guinness. You need to come back in. Internal Affairs is going to bring you up on charges. They've got you in a picture with the shooter."

  With Caine! Alex was shocked. I never saw the asshole 'til that morning of the shooting.

  "We can do this the hard way or the easy way,” he heard Guinness say. “Just get down here." The call ended.

  He laid back along the long couch and stared up at the ceiling. Where in hell would they get a picture like that? It had to be doctored. His heart was pounding, and he struggled to contain his anger and then fear as he felt his life spinning out of control, his career... Hanna.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Phillip Holloway's first conscious thoughts were trying to listen to the low conversation of two people in the room with him. His eyes were closed, and his head was flaring with pain. His body felt like it was weighed down with some immovable force. He managed to blink open one eye and was blinded by a bright fluorescent light above him. He held an arm over his face to shield the glare.

  "What the..." his voice was hoarse and weak.

  A voice said, "Welcome back, Phillip."

  "What's going on?" He tried again to open his eyes and this time he saw the white lab coat of a doctor standing beside his bed. He looked up and saw the face of a young woman with large glasses, dark hair and a clipboard in her hands. Then he heard the familiar voice of his law partner, James Molner.

  "We weren't sure we were going to get you back, Phillip," Molner said.

  Holloway looked over at his partner standing beside the doctor.

  "Where the hell am I?" he said, the words coming tentatively.

  The doctor said, "We're at the downtown hospital, Mr. Holloway. You're a very lucky man."

  He tried to piece together random fragments of thoughts racing through his brain.

  "Not sure what you were doing down at the docks," Molner said, "but you got a nasty bump on the head when you fell in. Probably would be at the bottom of the river right now if one of the dockworkers hadn't driven by on a forklift and seen you in the water."

  "The river...?"

  "Down at the commercial docks..."

  The images started coming back to him... the man at the tennis courts, the drive down to the docks, the file on his gambling bill contacts...and bribes, walking out on the dock with some maniac who tried to kill him. He felt a flush of fear send chills through his body and he tried to sit up, but the pain on the side of his head intensified and he lay back on the pillows.

  "Don't try to move, Mr. Holloway," the doctor said. "You have a bad concussion from whatever you hit your head on."

  He quickly decided not to divulge what had really happened. "I remember now. I was down there to look at a boat a friend is thinking about buying. I must have slipped or something."

  Molner patted him on the shoulder. "Just get some rest. The doc says you're going to be here for a couple of days. I'll check with the office to see if there's any work we need to bring down."

  "Thank you, James." He was trying to keep calm, but thoughts of the killer sitting across from him in his car and then walking out on the dock with him kept searing into his brain. What if he finds out I'm still alive?

  Holloway was dozing when he was startled by a hand shaking his shoulder.

  "Mr. Holloway."

  He opened his eyes and saw a man and a woman in business suits beside his bed. He tried to shake off the grogginess and focus on his visitors. "Who are you?"

&nb
sp; The woman spoke first, an attractive blond with a no-nonsense expression. "Mr. Holloway, we're with the FBI. I'm Special Agent Sharron Fairfield and this is my partner, Will Foster.”

  Holloway felt a sick feeling in his gut and then he remembered both of these people. They had been assigned to the kidnapping case of Hanna Walsh's son over a year ago. He tried his best to sound casual and calm. "What can I help you with?"

  The other agent said, "We have some questions about your association with Mr. Asa Dellahousaye."

  It was all he could do to keep from throwing-up. He reached for a cup of water on the bed-stand beside him and took a long drink. He finished and looked back at the two FBI agents. "Yes, I know Mr. Dellahousaye. We have common friends. I've attended some events at his house here in South Carolina."

  "Yes, we're very aware of your associations, Mr. Holloway," Foster said. "We've also learned you've been quite busy, should I call it "lobbying" on his behalf for the upcoming vote on the gambling bill in the State House."

  Holloway started choking and held up a hand to gather himself.

  The female agent, Fairfield, said, "Mr. Holloway, there's no need to dance around this. We have considerable evidence of your contacts, bribes and other illegal efforts to help Mr. Dellahousaye get this bill passed. He stands to make a considerable fortune developing casinos in the state, as you are well aware."

  He managed to stop gagging and took another drink. "I really don't know where you're getting this..."

  "Please," Foster said, "we don't have time to listen to your fabrications about this. We have a solid case and are prepared to hand it over to the prosecutors today."

  "You what!" Holloway felt helpless and weak, something he was totally unaccustomed to. "There must be some mistake."

  Sharron Fairfield moved around to the other side of the bed. "We are also aware of your work with Senator Jordan Hayes on this matter."

  Holloway started shaking his head, "No, you've got this all wrong..."

  "Let me cut to the chase here, Phillip," she said. "You have one chance to make this easier on yourself."

  "One chance?"

  "We are authorized to provide limited immunity for you in this matter if you provide your full cooperation."

  "Cooperation?"

  "You have a choice, Phillip,” the FBI agent said. "You can work with us on this or spend the next couple of decades in a federal prison.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  Hanna had reluctantly agreed to have dinner with Sam Collins. His invitation to join the trip to the Bahamas for his next photo shoot was still unanswered. She had left him at the house down on the Battery with a swirl of confusion and doubt.

  Back in her office, she was trying to distract herself with returning messages and sorting through files she would need for client meetings the next day. Thoughts of her afternoon with an old boyfriend she hadn't seen or heard from in over two decades kept interrupting her concentration. There's no way I can run off with Sam, she kept thinking. This is crazy!

  She looked down at her phone and three pink message slips, all reminders that Alex had been trying to reach her all day. She picked up the phone and pressed the button for his latest voice mail.

  "Hanna, I need to see you. I'm back in Charleston. What you saw last night is not what you think. You need to let me explain."

  She clicked it off before the message finished and sat staring out the window at the trees behind her office. She was fighting the conflicting emotions of sadness and anger. Alex seems determined to push me away and yet he wants to see me and explain his crazy behavior with that woman at the bar last night.

  She was startled when her phone buzzed. She looked down and saw it was Sam Collins.

  "Hanna, I've made reservations at seven. Can I pick you up?"

  She hesitated, looking down at all the messages from Alex.

  "Hanna?"

  Finally, she said, "Sure. I'm down at my office."

  "Great, I'll pick you up in an hour."

  She looked at the clock on the wall. "Sure, I'll see you then."

  Hanna sat across from Sam Collins. He didn't look much older than her memories of the man when they were back in college together so many years ago. She had been thinking of their time together at school in Chapel Hill and how much she had cared for him, probably even loved him. Then, he had left her. She had aborted their baby... and twenty years had gone by without a word. Now he was back and trying to rekindle what they had been together.

  "Hanna?"

  She came back to the present and looked across at him.

  "I've been trying to tell you about the trip to the islands for the shoot and you seem a million miles away."

  "I'm sorry... Sam, I really can't get away and..."

  "Of course you can."

  "No, really. I have so much work and there's a case I have pending with a young girl..."

  "Hanna, I know you have help down at your clinic. You can get away for a few days."

  "No, actually I can't!" she said, growing angry at his naive insistence.

  He poured more wine into her glass and she reached for it to take a sip. The deep flavor of the red wine was soothing, and she took another longer drink.

  "We need some time together, Hanna."

  She tried not to think about how she might actually enjoy a few days away in some tropical paradise with a man who she had obsessed over for so many years. And now he was back and wanted to be with her again and what, just drop everything and run off with him? There was more work than she could keep up with... and there was Alex Frank, an unresolved issue she still couldn't sort out.

  Sam said, "Our client is sending his jet for us. It's going to be a marvelous trip. Have you been to the Abacos?"

  "Sam, this is crazy. You come back out of nowhere after all this time and I'm supposed to just drop everything and fall into your arms and live happily ever after? It just doesn't make sense."

  "We'll never know if we don't try."

  She couldn't answer and looked away from his prying gaze. She took another sip from her wine. Finally, she said, "Sam, give me some time, please. I need to be in the office first thing. Let me see what I can do to make sure everything is covered. No promises!"

  "That's great! We're not planning to leave until noon, so you'll have time to get things in order. Hanna, you have to come." He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "We'll never know unless we try, Hanna."

  Sam pulled his car to the curb in front of her office and apartment. In the dim light of the darkened street, Hanna looked over at Sam before opening her door. He leaned across and kissed her on the mouth, and she let her lips linger there. He kissed her again. She pulled back, trying to regain control of the situation. "I'll call you as soon as I can in the morning," she said.

  She got out quickly without looking back and as she was unlocking the door to the office, she heard his car pull away. She went in, closing the door behind her.

  She didn't see Alex Frank sitting in his father's old truck down the street.

  Chapter Forty-four

  Alex watched Hanna close the door and then the car drove away with the man who had just kissed her. If he had been feeling like his life was cascading out of control, he held on now to the steering wheel like it was the only thing that would keep him from totally free-falling into an abyss. He closed his eyes and tried not to see the scene unfold again... Hanna pulling up in the car, kissing this man goodnight.

  He had been waiting over an hour for her to come home after Molly told him earlier, she was out for the night. With all that was crashing down around him, he needed her to understand how he'd been feeling after Lonnie's death, how crazy he'd been trying to deal with the grief and guilt, and then the damn pills making him act like a total idiot. He thought he could explain why he had been trying to drive her away and yet he knew for certain, up until a few moments ago, that it was the last thing he wanted. He needed her. He loved her.


  He fought the urge to rush to the door, to do whatever, to say whatever it would take to help her understand, to forgive... to put her arms around him and hold him. Then, a sudden sense of clarity swept over him and he knew his life was not only in a tailspin but would likely drag Hanna down with him. He would be brought up on charges in the morning by his own department and he had little hope of proving his accusers wrong. If he was convicted of accessory to the murder of Lonnie Smith and the others, he might never see the outside of a prison again. In his heart, he couldn't ignore the clear signs he was going to have another tough climb out of the dependency of the damn pain meds... and the booze, just like he had struggled with them in the past.

  Isn't she better off without all of that, without having to live with all that anguish and calamity?

  At that very moment, he wasn't sure he had ever felt more hopeless, more lost, more alone.

  He looked ahead at the dark street and then put the truck in gear and drove slowly away.

  He pulled up to his father's house in Dugganville just past ten. Under the lights along the docks he saw that the Maggie Mae was back. The lights were out in the house, but he doubted his old man was asleep. He was surely down at Gilly's spending some of his take on the day's shrimp run. His first thought was to get some sleep and get up early to deal with Captain Guinness and the Internal Affairs Department back in Charleston. He should have turned himself in tonight but couldn't bring himself to surrender, keeping some distant hope alive that this was all just a bad dream.

  Despite the sharp pain in his neck, he'd been holding off on the meds, knowing he had to get the truck back home tonight. He pulled out the bottle from his jeans and held it up to the light. He shook the bottle and saw a dozen or so pills left.

  All the way back up to Dugganville, he had been trying to get his head straight about screwing up in Lonnie's and the other men’s deaths, the sergeant from his old platoon bringing his past failures to everyone's attention on national news, and then the investigation and the very real likelihood he would be charged as an accessory to the killings of his fellow officers... and what about Hanna? It was all just too much to sort through. He looked at the pill bottle again. What the hell!