by Chad Zunker
David wondered if Manaford had been the one to put the jacket and hat on Rebel that night after Kate entered the alley. “Could you have seen him the night Murphy was killed?”
“I don’t . . . I can’t . . . concentrate.”
David turned the TV off. “I really need you to focus. Was this guy there that night?”
Rebel ran a hand through his long hair. He was starting to breathe harder. The machine began beeping even faster, which concerned David. “I’m not sure, Lawyer. But I feel like I’ve been face-to-face with him. Like maybe I grabbed him by the neck or something.”
“Could you have had a physical encounter with him in the alley that night?”
“I don’t . . . remember.” Rebel was now tugging at his hair with both fists, as if he was getting angry at himself for not being able to pull the information out of his brain.
The machine was really beeping now.
“Rebel, you need to calm down,” David urged him.
“Think, you stupid idiot!” Rebel scolded himself. “Think, dammit!”
David wondered if he should call for a nurse.
“Rebel, relax. Take a deep breath. It’s okay.”
But Rebel couldn’t calm himself down. His face was flushed red, and his body was tense. Suddenly, his face went pale, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he went perfectly still. The beeping turned into a solid stream.
“Rebel!” David gasped. “Help!”
Two nurses rushed into the room, shoving David out of the way.
“His blood pressure is dropping,” one nurse said. “He’s crashing.”
“Sir, I need you to clear the room!” the other nurse ordered David.
“Rebel, relax!” David begged his client.
“Sir! Clear the room right now!”
David slid outside as a doctor and two more nurses raced inside to work on Rebel. He watched through the partially closed doorway, his own heart beating rapidly. After all this, was Rebel going to die from sudden cardiac arrest? Was it David’s fault? Had he pushed Rebel too far for his current condition to handle? The doctor had warned him about the irregular heartbeat and the possibility of ventricular fibrillation. When David heard the shock of a defibrillator inside the room, he cursed, then immediately began praying for his client—and his friend. It could not end this way.
“He going to die?” one of the officers standing nearby asked David.
David looked over at him. “No!”
“Good. I don’t want to get into trouble over this.”
David glared a hole into the officer, turned away, paced in a tight circle in the hallway. More shocking noises and commotion inside. Then everything went eerily quiet in the hospital room. David swallowed. Either Rebel had finally stabilized. Or his friend was dead.
The doctor stepped out into the hallway.
“Doc?” David said.
“He’s going to be okay,” the doctor reassured him.
David slowly exhaled, relaxed his hands. He hadn’t even realized he’d had both fists squeezed into tight balls. “Thank you.”
“But he needs to stay calm,” the doctor instructed. “He’s highly vulnerable right now. Whatever just happened in there with you can’t happen again. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
FIFTY
David found Thomas and Doc huddled around the entry table in the front room of their office suite when he arrived from the hospital. David had texted Thomas about Manaford right after he’d left the motel earlier, so his partner and Doc had been busy researching everything they could find on the guy. Thomas was writing things on the whiteboard while Doc was sitting at the table with his fingers pecking away at a laptop. Jake Manaford’s name was written at the very top of the board. There was a short list of bullet points below his name. David dropped heavily into a chair, rubbed his face, exhausted from what had just happened. The doctor said Rebel was going to be out for a while. Which was fine. David had no intention of even bringing up the case with Rebel anymore. It was too risky.
“How’s our client?” Thomas asked.
“I damn near killed him,” David said, shaking his head.
Both Thomas and Doc stopped what they were doing to look over at David.
“What happened?” Doc asked.
“I showed him a photo of Manaford. He definitely recognized the guy, but he couldn’t remember much else—only that he thought he’d had a face-to-face encounter. Then he got himself so worked up about not being able to remember that he went into cardiac arrest. They had to get the damn paddles out to bring him back. For a minute or so, I really thought we were going lose him.”
“Sheesh,” Doc said.
“He’s okay now?” Thomas asked.
“Yes. But he needs to take it easy.”
The mutt, Sandy, rushed out of the back room upon hearing David’s voice. He scooped the dog up and began petting him. “Your old man just scared the hell out of me,” he told Sandy. Then he began studying the whiteboard. “Get me caught up.”
Thomas began pointing. “Manaford was born in Louisiana in ’85. Found an address for him in Lake Charles. Google Maps showed it to be a run-down apartment building. Looks like he did a short stint in the navy. Manaford has a criminal record. He’s been arrested several times for petty crimes like theft, disorderly conduct, and vandalism. In and out of jail several times, from what I can tell. He doesn’t do social media—at least under his given name. No Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram accounts. Doc found something tying him to an auto shop in Lake Charles. I called the shop, and a guy there said Manaford did oil changes for them for a while but then got fired for showing up drunk too many times. That’s about as far as we’ve gotten.”
“So he’s a lowlife nobody?” David asked.
“That appears to be the case,” Thomas agreed.
“We can’t find a connection yet,” Doc chimed in. “But Larue just texted me. He said he showed a photo of Manaford to Skater, who confirmed this was the same guy who tried to bribe him the other day—and then threatened his life if he said anything.”
“Maybe he’s just a hired gun,” Thomas suggested.
David shook his head. “No, we’re missing something. If he was only a hired gun, I think Manaford would’ve come into town, handled his business, and then left. But he has continued to stay intricately involved in this whole thing.”
“We’ll keep digging,” Thomas said.
“Okay, thanks.” David set the dog on the floor. “I’ve got to go talk to a drummer to see if I can finally find Mia Martinez.”
FIFTY-ONE
David entered the Parish music venue on Sixth Street. He took the stairs up to the second level and could hear a band playing in fits and starts as they did a sound check. The Dragon Parrots were set to perform later tonight, so David hoped to catch them early in order to talk to the drummer, Scott Harrison. He found a group of guys on the small stage that looked just like the band members on the website with their long, grungy hair and all-black wardrobe.
David stood in the back of the room and watched. The band guys kept giving out instructions over live microphones while the two guys in the sound booth made various adjustments. Then they would jam out at full volume for a couple of minutes at a time as they made their way through a set list. David studied the drummer. It was definitely Harrison. His black hair was the longest in the band.
David scanned the rest of the near-empty room, seeing if he could spot Mia anywhere nearby. There were a couple of young girls over on the side, chatting away, but neither of them was Mia. One was blonde, the other brunette. The sound check took another twenty minutes before the band finally finished, and a set of new guys strolled onto the stage and began setting up.
David stepped over before Harrison could go anywhere.
“Scott, right?” he said, standing next to the drummer.
Harrison was busy packing up some of his drum gear.
He looked up. “Yeah, what’s up?”
&nb
sp; David just came right out with it. “My name’s David Adams. I’m an attorney. I need to find Mia ASAP.”
David studied Harrison closely. The guy seemed startled by the request, his eyes widening for a second, before he tried to act casual and play it off.
“Mia?” he said, zipping up a small bag.
“Yeah, Mia Martinez. Your girlfriend.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know where she is right now. Why’re you looking for her?”
“I’m trying to save her life, Scott. So don’t play games with me.”
Harrison paused, pitched his head. He didn’t act puzzled, which led David to believe the guy already knew something serious was going on with Mia. For a second, Harrison didn’t even seem to know how to respond to David.
“I don’t . . . What do you mean . . . ?” Harrison stuttered.
“Her life is in danger. Where is she?”
“Look, man, I don’t know what the hell is going on, okay? So leave me alone.”
Frustrated, David took a business card from his pocket, held it out for the guy. “If you care at all about Mia, you’ll get this to her right away. Tell her to call me. I may be the only chance she has to make it out of this alive.”
The guy hesitantly took the card.
FIFTY-TWO
When he returned to the office, David was surprised to find that Dana had joined Thomas and Doc in the front room. David could tell something big was going on. Upon his entry, each of them looked up with the widest eyes—like they’d seen a damn ghost or something.
“What’s going on?” David asked.
Dana handed him her phone. “Take a look at this.”
David took the phone. She had a video ready to play. “What is this?”
“City camera. The night of Murphy’s death. Tell me if you recognize someone.”
David pressed “Play.” It was a security camera view pointed up a sidewalk. The street looked familiar. People were casually strolling. The date-and-time stamp at the top of the video was approximately the same moment that Murphy had been gunned down in the alley. A few seconds into the video, a small collection of people suddenly scrambled out of an alley, like they were running away from something. Most of them looked like homeless vagrants. The fourth man caught his attention. He was bald, bearded, and wore a white T-shirt and jeans. David cursed. Jake Manaford. He rewound the video and watched it again. Manaford’s face was as clear as day in the glow of a lamppost while rushing out of the alley. He quickly sprinted out of view of the camera. Two seconds later, another familiar figure appeared from the alley. Rebel. His client looked frantic. Rebel glanced left, right, and then hurried down the sidewalk.
“Where did you get this?” David asked Dana.
“I made some threats, threw my weight around. I’m probably going to get fired.”
“No wonder they didn’t want to give this to us,” Thomas stated.
“Manaford had to have put the jacket and hat on Rebel,” Doc said. “Nobody was out that night in nothing but a T-shirt. It was cold as hell.”
“Has Mason seen this yet?” David asked Dana.
“Hell no!” she snapped. “I don’t trust anyone over there right now.”
“Okay, good.”
“There’s more,” Dana said. “After you texted me his name and photo earlier, I began digging around into his criminal background. I found a name that looked familiar to me from one of the times Manaford was bailed out of jail several years back. A woman named Margaret Jackson posted for him.”
“Who is Margaret Jackson?” David asked.
“Manaford’s mother. She changed her name to Margaret Nelson when she remarried.”
“You’re kidding?” David said. “The mayor’s wife?”
Dana nodded. “Manaford is the mayor’s stepson.”
“A family affair.” David shook his head. “Did you talk to your Ranger friend?”
“Yes. Mike’s going to his boss. He wants us to come in right now.”
“You trust him?”
“I do. We’ve got to get Manaford off the streets before he kills someone else.”
“Agreed. Let me reach out to Kate.”
But before he could even text Kate, she texted him. He pulled his phone out, read her message, and felt full-blown panic race through him. “I’ve got to go!”
FIFTY-THREE
David drove like a madman down Rainey Street and slammed on his brakes right outside of a casual bar with an outside patio called Clive. He peered left, right, searching for Kate. Her text said when she’d come home to her downtown high-rise apartment tonight, she’d found it completely ransacked. So she’d immediately rushed out of the building and was hiding in the back of the bar across the street.
Kate stepped out of the bar seconds later, jumped into the passenger seat, and ducked down really low. David could see that she was shaking.
“You okay?” David asked.
“Please, just drive,” she begged him.
David pulled off the curb, circled a side street.
“Was someone still inside?” he asked.
“I heard something. But I was too shocked and scared to stick around to find out. If someone was in my apartment doing this, it means they know about me, David.”
“You’re right. It’s time to pull the plug.”
“Where are we going?”
“To meet Dana and her Texas Ranger friend.”
Kate rubbed her face in her hands. “I just want this to be over with already.”
“Me, too. Believe me.”
“Still no luck with Mia?”
“No, her boyfriend wouldn’t give her up. But we can’t afford to wait around any longer. Not with what we found out about your stalker today.”
David quickly explained what had happened at the motel earlier, along with the discovery of Manaford’s real identity and his familial connection to the mayor.
Kate sank even deeper into the seat. “So who is this Carter guy?”
“I don’t have a clue—and that makes me really nervous.”
David turned onto Cesar Chavez, eased into evening traffic. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, stared at the random number. He’d been answering all calls since he’d given his business card to Scott Harrison earlier, each time hoping it might be Mia, only to be disappointed when it was someone else.
“This is David.”
At first, there was no response. Then a quiet voice.
“This is Mia Martinez.”
David swerved his truck into a nearby parking lot, stopped, put his phone on speaker. “Are you okay, Mia?”
“I’ve been in hiding for almost a week. What do you think?”
“I want to help you.”
“How? You’re just an attorney.”
“I know people, okay? I’m actually in my truck right now, taking another witness to get her under police protection. I can do that for you, too.”
David heard a click. Had she hung up?
“Mia?” he said.
A long pause but no dial tone. She was still on the line. David had to keep her talking. She was likely the final piece of the puzzle. Plus, he could not allow another innocent person to be taken out because of this crime. Too much blood had already been spilled.
“Mia, please talk to me. You’re not safe.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry—”
Kate spoke up. “Mia, you can trust David. I promise.”
“Who are you?” Mia asked.
“Someone who’s scared, just like you.”
“You know who is behind all of this?”
“We think we do,” David answered. “But you can probably help us fill in the gaps.”
“They killed my brother.”
“I know,” David said. “I’m sorry. They killed my friend, too.”
“Luke Murphy was your friend?”
“Yes. They also tried to kill my client last night.”
“I saw that on the news today.”
“Then
you know you’re in serious danger out there by yourself.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Tell us where you are,” Kate said. “We’ll come straight there.”
Mia was silent again. David could hear her breathing heavily. He looked over at Kate, who sat there with wide eyes. They both knew this was the moment of truth.
“Mia?” Kate said.
“AMLI Downtown,” Mia said. “Apartment 414.”
She hung up. David put the truck into drive and punched the gas pedal.
FIFTY-FOUR
The AMLI Downtown was a traditional seven-story apartment building located on Second Street in the heart of the restaurant-and-shopping district. David swerved his truck in and out of traffic and arrived in under two minutes. He pulled into an open spot along the curb, and they jumped out. He could tell Kate felt the exact same thing he did—this was the pivotal moment. David didn’t even bother paying the parking meter. He couldn’t waste a single second. They raced around the corner of the apartment complex and found a metal-gated entrance to the building between two busy street-level restaurants. They bypassed an elevator and instead took the outside stairs. David bounded up two and three steps at a time with Kate nipping at his heels.
David found Apartment 414 midway down the hallway. He paused for a moment, took a breath, peered up and down the hallway, and then gently knocked. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through him. Mia didn’t answer right away, which made him nervous. Could she have gotten cold feet and bolted within the few minutes it took them to get there? He was about to knock again when the door cracked open, and he found a woman in her early twenties peeking out.
At first, he didn’t think it was Mia—even though she had the same brown eyes as in her Facebook pictures. All her online photos showed her with medium-length black hair, but this girl had very short hair that was dyed blonde. She must have cut and colored her hair to hide better.
“Mia?” David asked.
She hesitantly nodded. He could see the fear behind her eyes.