Blind Retribution

by K. T. Roberts

  “No, but thanks for the offer. We’re here on a private matter.”

  “Let’s see.” His eyes focused on the screen. “It looks like he’s on the thirty-second floor, unit 3212. I’ll call Mr. Hughes and let him know you’re on the way up.”

  Max tapped her foot impatiently while waiting for the elevator to stop. Outside the apartment door, Max gave a hard knock. After a few seconds, Jack Hughes answered. He was a handsome man in his late thirties to early forties with sandy-blond hair, a full mustache, and rimless glasses that showcased deep blue eyes. “Can I help you?” They held out their badges and introduced themselves. “What can I do for you?” he said, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Do you know Helen Barrett?”

  His lips thinned. “What about her?”

  “May we come inside, Mr. Hughes?” He begrudgingly pulled the door open the rest of the way to a magnificent view of the Empire State Building out his windows. Max took a look around his apartment. She was more interested in answers than his décor, but it was so beautiful, she couldn’t help herself. The accent wall was painted a dark brown and set the theme for the color palette. On that same wall was a stucco fireplace with a crackling fire that cast a golden glow across the floor. Art deco pieces were scattered throughout the living room, with overhead spotlights highlighting the most appealing parts of the room and intentionally drawing the eye to remain and linger, but his question drew her attention.

  “What about Helen Barrett?” he asked impatiently.

  “She’s dead.”

  The expression on his face sagged into disbelief. Muscles in his jaw flickered, making it obvious he was struggling to hold back tears. He swallowed hard, his hands fisting at his sides, and then he opened his mouth to speak. “That son of a bitch . . . he finally did it?”

  “Who is he?”

  “Jeffrey Barrett. That’s who.”

  “You say that like you know he threatened to kill her.”

  “He’s told her on numerous occasions that he wished she were dead,” he said with authority.

  “Did she tell you that, Mr. Hughes, or did you actually hear him say it?” Howie asked.

  “No, I’m afraid I can’t make that claim. But he’s been mistreating her for a long time. I just had this feeling something was going to happen.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “How did she die?” he asked in a low somber voice.

  “A car bomb.”

  Caught by surprise, the man gasped. “He actually put a bomb in her car?”

  “It wasn’t her car; it was his car.” Max noticed Hughes’s eyes begin to smolder with anger. Max continued. “He’s really suffering over the loss.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just bet he is. That’s bullshit. He’s acting. He should be your lead suspect.” Hughes hesitated, and the sudden reality of Helen’s death seemed to remove the wind from his sails. He crossed his arms and pressed them against his stomach then ambled toward the sofa and slowly sat down in a trance-like state without inviting either of them to sit. “Helen wasn’t allowed to drive his fancy car, let alone ride in it,” he blurted out. “Was she standing next to the explosion?” Max could see he was distraught over the news.

  “No, she was about to drive it,” Howie said.

  He seemed momentarily confused. “Really? Since when?” He made a disgusted noise. “Oh, I get it.” His mouth moved to the side. “Barrett promised her the moon to convince her to stay with him.” Hughes became silent again, a tear rolling down his cheek. He swiped at it with the back of his hand. “But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”

  “How well did you know Mrs. Barrett?” Howie asked.

  “Well.”

  “How well is well?” Max’s head automatically tipped to the side.

  “Intimately.”

  “As a couple?”

  “Yes, as a couple.”

  “Mr. Barrett told me that after your breakup with Helen, you visited him at the hospital. Would you care to tell me what that was all about?”

  “I wanted him to know that I was going to watch him.”

  “Did you threaten him?”

  “No. I thought he’d get the message by the way I stared at him.”

  “To freak him out, so to speak?” Howie asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “Can you tell us where you were last night between the hours of nine o’clock and ten this morning?” Max asked.

  “Right here,” he answered quickly, then clamped his mouth shut while his expression grew sterner. “For God’s sake, you can’t actually believe I had something to do with her death?”

  “Please answer the question, Mr. Hughes,” Max said.

  “Sure, I can answer your question, but hell, it isn’t going to make me any less of a suspect. Like I said, I was here. All night. By myself.”

  “Is there anyone who can verify that?” Howie asked.

  “Like I said, by myself, until the early morning hours, licking my wounds after Helen dumped me for Jeffrey. I guess she didn’t love me as much as I thought she did. And now, I’ve lost the greatest love of my life and can never get her back.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his legs, cradling his head as though blocking out the news. “Oh my God, I can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “You had no visitors, saw no one in the hallways?” Max asked.

  “How many ways do I have to say it? Alone is alone. Check with security if you don’t believe me.”

  “When was the last time you saw Helen?”

  Jack swallowed hard, causing his Adam’s apple to flex. He opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut and paused, obviously struggling to get the words out. Tears formed in his eyes. “I . . . I guess it was yesterday.” Using his thumb and forefinger, he swiped the tears from the corners of his eyes inward toward the bridge of his nose.

  “Is that when Helen told you it was over between the two of you?” Max asked.

  “No. She told me on Friday.”

  “But you didn’t want to take no for an answer?”

  “Something like that. I was madly in love with this woman. I knew Jeffrey was giving her a line of bullshit, and I just couldn’t give up what we’d spent time cultivating.”

  “Is that the same day you visited Jeffrey at the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see Helen anymore after that?”

  “I did. I called and invited her to lunch on Saturday.”

  “Can you tell me where you had lunch?”

  “It was La Fontaine on Twelfth. A favorite place of ours and one we frequented quite a bit.” He pursed his lips together tightly. “That was my last-ditch effort to convince her she was making a mistake. I thought . . . well, never mind what I thought.” He stared wordlessly. “Do I need a lawyer?”

  Max jotted down the name of the restaurant. “Do you think you need a lawyer?” She asked with raised brows.

  “No. Dammit, I have nothing to hide.”

  “That’s good, Mr. Hughes, because if you do, we will find out, so you might as well tell us now.”

  “I have nothing to tell you. I swear, we broke up and that was it.”

  “How long had you two been involved?”

  “A year, two months, three days, and”—he checked his watch—“nine hours.”

  His specifics about how much time they’d had together caught Max off guard, and Jack didn’t miss her expression. “That was to show you how much I loved Helen.”

  “I’m sure you loved her, Mr. Hughes, but after being involved all that time, you expect me to believe you broke up just like that?” Max’s voice was curt. “No fallout? Just cut and dried?”

  “No,” He shrugged. “I took it harder than she did. I couldn’t convince her Jeffrey was pulling the wool over her eyes, but she bought it.” He sucked in a breath. “And now she’s dead.” His head shook in disbelief. “I guess it’s true that you can’t make someone love you,” he said, his voice cracking.

  Max didn’t know why she thought Jack’s sad act w
as for her benefit. “We checked your record, Mr. Hughes,” she said, “and it appears you have a few priors. Care to tell us about those?”

  “Just barroom brawls over some broad.” He gave a dismissive raise of his shoulder. “I was much younger then. That’s all. No biggie.”

  “Hmm, not quite, Mr. Hughes. Our records indicate one of the victims filed a complaint against you, so it wasn’t, as you say, ‘no biggie.’”

  “So I have a temper! So what?”

  “A temper that has gotten you into quite a bit of trouble. Did you ever hit Mrs. Barrett?”

  His eyes widened in complete surprise. “Of course not,” he exclaimed vehemently. “I get into trouble trying to protect women, not abuse them. Those priors were over men treating women badly in my presence.” He stopped talking and stared out the window, tears spilling from his eyes. “I can’t believe she’s gone.” He wiped his tears with a tissue he’d pulled from the box on the end table.

  “So you’re a regular Prince Charming, huh?” Max mocked.

  “I’d like to think I am. But as you can see, it hasn’t made a bit of difference. I still don’t have Helen, nor will I ever.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Max noticed a photograph on his bookshelf. She picked it up and scanned it, glancing at Howie, who came over behind her and looked over her shoulder. It was a picture of Hughes in his military uniform standing in front of a warning sign that read Explosive material, authorized personnel only.

  “Looks like you were in the military.”

  His brows furrowed together. “Yes. Why?”

  “Because we believe our killer has military training in the use of explosives.”

  “Detective, you’re trying your damnedest to make me the primary suspect here, aren’t you?”

  “So I guess this answers my next question about you having explosives training in the military?” The words spilled from her mouth.

  He blew air from his puffed-out cheeks. “Yes, I did. Are you happy now?”

  “I’m trying to solve a murder here, Mr. Hughes.” Max tapped her pencil on her pad and looked at Howie. “Okay, I think we’re done for today.” Tired from standing, Max shifted her weight onto her other leg. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Hughes. Don’t leave town.” Hughes didn’t reply, but he didn’t have to. His peeved expression said it all.

  Stepping into the elevator, Max blew out an annoyed breath. “Let’s stop at the security office. I want to see the surveillance video myself to find out whether our suspect is telling the truth or not about being in his apartment all night.”

  “Those guys aren’t going to let you see anything without a warrant.”

  “I know, but it’s worth a try. You know, the old cliché, you wash my back, I wash your back?” Max gave him a questionable look. “It’s worth a shot.”

  “I think this is going to be a high-profile case and we need documented proof we did this by the books,” Howie said, giving her a side glance.

  “What did you think of Jack?”

  “I was having a hard time trying to read him. He seemed genuinely upset, but I’m just not sure. He could just be a good actor. What did you think?”

  Max paused for a few seconds. “If his intent was to kill the doctor and he found out he’d killed her instead, I would think he’d have a hard time trying to control his emotions. What has me concerned are all those priors and his military background.” The doors opened and they made their way over to the front desk.

  “Where is your security office?” Howie asked.

  “It’s down on the basement level.”

  “Thank you.” They headed back to the elevator and pushed the Down button. “When we get back to the station house,” Max said, “I want to check his financials—Barrett’s too, for that matter.”

  “Why are you checking those so soon?” he asked.

  “Something Barrett said about Hughes losing his money from a bad investment that has me curious. Judging from that swanky apartment, he must have had plenty of money to afford it. Either one could have paid someone to plant those bombs. Maybe that’s what we’ll find in the financials. What really boggles my mind is a husband forgiving his wife after she’d been cheating on him for more than a year, especially with his archrival.”

  “Yeah, it does seem suspect. Do you think our victim was playing them both?” Howie asked.

  “In what way?”

  “Obviously, I’m speculating, but if the doc’s rival is Jack, and the Barretts’ marriage was on the skids . . .” Howie shook his head. “Was our victim using Jack to get what she wanted from her husband?”

  “That’s a damn good question,” Max said, happy to see that Howie was taking the initiative—something he hadn’t done since announcing his retirement. “I’m not sure we’ll ever figure it out now that Helen Barrett is dead.”

  Howie knocked on the door of the security office. The smell of nicotine hit Max like a windstorm when a hefty guard opened the door. Stepping inside, Max crinkled her nose. A curling stream of smoke from his lit cigarette lingered overhead like fog. Noticing her expression, his yellow-stained fingers crushed his cigarette out in an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  Howie was the first to show his credentials. “We’d like to see your surveillance from last night. Specifically, the thirty-second floor.”

  “Do you have a warrant?” the guard asked.

  “Okay, so you’re going to play tough. All right,” Howie said, “we’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Sorry, detectives, but we have to protect the privacy of our residents, you know that.”

  “Yeah, and what about protecting the health of your residents?” Howie asked sharply. “You realize you’re breaking the smoke-free work environment law, don’t you? If de Blasio finds out, you’ll be fined up the wazoo.” The guard remained silent.

  Back at the precinct, Max called Brian, their A/V technician, and asked him to set up the machine for the Barrett surveillance. Summoning Howie, they anxiously marched into one of the rooms to watch. “It appears that most of the wedding day deliveries were from a variety of service providers,” Howie said after watching it for a while.

  Max squinted her eyes to focus on the screen when she saw Jeffrey pull into the driveway at four o’clock in the afternoon. She watched him get out of the car. As soon as he walked to the front of the house, an older woman met him, and it appeared as though he was being scolded.

  “That’s probably his mother,” Howie said with a chuckle. “I can almost hear my mother doing the same damn thing.”

  “Yeah, but we don’t know that for sure,” Max pointed out. “Are you ready to do some flatfooting over the next week or so?”

  “You mean like my last hurrah before I leave?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” she said.

  “You know how much I’ve always hated canvassing?”

  “I do, and that’s why I’m suggesting we do that as your last assignment. It’ll really make you happy about getting out of here. You’ll have no second thoughts.”

  Howie laughed. “Not to worry. Having second thoughts has never been an issue. Not getting out of here fast enough has.”

  The pair continued to view the screen when the video turned to nightfall and the screen blackened. “It doesn’t look like anything is happening here,” Max said.

  Brian shut the machine down to allow it to cool. “That’s the end of the file,” the technician said.

  “Okay. Thanks, Brian.”

  “Phew.” Howie sat back and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Boy, I’m bushed. The granddaughter is taking drama at Hunter College, and we sat through her first performance last night, and we were up way past my bedtime.”

  “I’ll bet your family is happy about you retiring,” she said.

  “Yeah. You remember that little cabin we have in the mountains of North Carolina?” Max nodded. “Well, as soon as I get that golden handshake, we’re out of here. I’m so ready to go where there’s peac
e and quiet. No sirens, no break-ins, just good old country living. I think we’ll even spend the holidays down there.”

  “The whole family?”

  “Yep, the kids and grandkids. It should be fun. You’ll have to come visit us sometime when you want to get away from this rat race.”

  “I’d love that. How many bedrooms do you have in the cabin?”

  “Four. Plenty of room for you.”

  “Well, I might just take you up on that.” Max yawned. “Oh, excuse me.” She covered her mouth. “Your yawning is contagious.”

  “My sentiments exactly. Listen, I have a few more things to do and then I’m leaving,” he said and waved to her. Max wasn’t thrilled Howie had been leaving early over the last month, but she told herself that after thirty-six years in the NYPD, he deserved it.

  Her first order of business would be to fill the boss in on what was happening. He liked to be apprised of every detail, and she didn’t mind. It actually helped her organize her thoughts about what had been done and what needed to be done. Making her way to his office, Max passed several detectives talking on phones at their desks and others who roamed around the office chatting with coworkers or checking databases.

  She remembered the first time she’d walked into the precinct. It was nothing like she’d imagined. No frills, just a huge room with steel desks lined up in rows, open seating with partners’ desks facing one another, and file cabinets surrounding the perimeter of the office, ceasing only when there was a doorway to an interrogation room.

  “Hey, Bower,” she said to one of her coworkers. “How’s your day going?”

  “Probably not any better than yours,” he said dryly.

  She laughed and continued toward the boss’s door. Lieutenant Wallace was a tall, dark-skinned man who dressed impeccably. Every day he wore a tailored suit with a different pocket square that matched his tie. He’d been with the department for a few years, and was very adept at leading his people. He took no bullshit from those who defied him, and he got the job done. Max had no problems with the man, though some of her peers did.

  Lieutenant Wallace was filling out a form. Without looking up he called her inside.