The Fiercest Enemy

by Rick Reed

  Jack didn’t think the guard was kidding. Liddell pushed his way through the door and yelled, “FBI. Make room boys.”

  The happy expressions suddenly turned sullen but they stepped back and opened a path to Jerrell’s hospital bed. Last night Jerrell had lain unconscious with tubes and wires and whatever stuck in or to him everywhere. He had looked like death warmed over. Now, he was sitting propped up slightly and most of the devices had been removed. He had an IV drip going, and something on his fingertip to check his oxygen level.

  Liddell said to the gathered officers, “Give him a remote and turn the game on and he’s good to go.”

  Everyone laughed except Jerrell. He said to everyone, “Guys, I need the room. Thanks for coming but you don’t have to hang around.”

  When they didn’t move he said, “I’m still the ranking officer of this fine department and I want you to get your asses back to work. We have a city to protect. Remember?”

  That got them moving and told Jack that Jerrell was truly on the mend. The room emptied and Liddell shut the door. When they were gone Jerrell closed his eyes and Jack noticed a fine patina of perspiration on his forehead and upper lip. He’d had his ass kicked and was putting on a brave face for his troops. Army strong.

  “Shaunda?” Jerrell asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack answered. Actually, he was sorry she’d lived. But they needed someone alive to testify.

  Jerrell’s eyes closed again and Jack saw a fat teardrop run down his cheek.

  “I’m sorry she got hurt, Chief,” Jack said hurriedly. “She was shot, but she’s alive and in the secured room down the hall.”

  “What are you sorry about? You the one that shot her?”

  Jack told Jerrell what had happened at the mine and why he’d gone there with Shaunda. He told Jerrell about Sergeant Ditterline and that he was dead. Jerrell said nothing until the story was finished. He took a shallow breath and grimaced. Liddell pushed the “Call” button by Jerrell’s bed and when the nurse came in he asked if she could bring something for Jerrell’s pain.

  “How’s Pen?” Jerrell asked, when the nurse came in.

  “Crocker and his wife took her home with them,” Liddell advised him.

  Jerrell’s eyes welled up again. “I should have been there for her. I did something stupid and now that little girl’s got to suffer for it.”

  “Let’s get this straight,” Jack said. “You didn’t do anything but your job. This is all on those three idiots. I’m just sorry that Shaunda’s the only one who’ll be answering charges. They killed seven men. Almost killed all three of us.”

  Jerrell reached out his good hand to Liddell. “I think I owe you my life.”

  “You do,” said Liddell. “I expect you to pay that back by staying in this job and being proud of yourself and your people. I think half the city is out there waiting to see their hero. You’re a lucky man, Chief.”

  Jerrell seemed to want to say something but the words must have gotten stuck in his throat. He just nodded and squeezed Liddell’s hand.

  “Now for the bad news,” Jack said.

  Jerrell’s mouth tightened into a straight line.

  “The bad news is we are going back home in the morning. Angelina is putting us up overnight. She seems to have fallen in love with Greene County.”

  “That’s the bad news?” Jerrell said sarcastically.

  “Oh, and Crocker is the Acting Chief until you get back,” Jack added.

  Jerrell silently mouthed, “God save us.”

  Chapter 47

  Jack and Liddell had gone to check on Shaunda after they’d talked to Jerrell. She was in a ‘secure’ room just down the hall from the man she’d shot and left to die. They didn’t go into her room when the officer assured them she was still alive and out cold. They spent the evening with Angelina, eating pizza and watching old westerns on the big screen television. It seemed that Cline had a dozen or more DVDs of westerns. Gunsmoke, Palladin, The Rifleman, Bonanza, etc.

  The evening was uneventful except for the fact that Liddell had too much garlic on his pizza and during the night created enough gas to run a turbine engine. Jack had to sleep with the window open and his T-shirt pulled over his face.

  The next morning, they said their goodbyes to Angelina and found their way to highway 41 going south.

  “It really is beautiful around here. I prefer small cities. Less noise. Less crime. Less people and cars and there’s always a Pizza Hut or an Arby’s nearby,” Liddell said.

  “Don’t start on the pizza,” Jack warned him.

  “My momma always said, “Better out than in.”

  “Your momma didn’t have to sleep in the same house with you last night.”

  “Wasn’t that bad,” Liddell griped.

  “I thought we had another crime scene. I was getting ready to call Rudy and Barr and maybe that K-9. Get out the caution tape…”

  “Now that’s just mean,” Liddell said.

  “Don’t ask me to stop anywhere on the way home. That is unless you feel another gastric nuke coming on. I swear I’ll pull over and leave you behind.”

  “You still love me, don’t you?”

  Jack said nothing.

  “You wouldn’t be mad unless you loved me.”

  Again, Jack said nothing.

  Liddell said, “Pull my finger.”

  Epilogue

  One month later…

  There are adages that sometimes seem very appropriate. Such as “Time waits for no man.” Jack and Liddell had come back to work to find their entire caseload had been left unworked, and new ones added. At least no one was trying to kill them here.

  Jerrell hadn’t stayed in touch, but Jack hadn’t really expected him to. Jerrell wasn’t the ‘keep in touch’ sort of guy. He didn’t envy Jerrell cleaning up all the bodies and doing reams of paperwork. The Feds had turned all the cases over to the local agencies. The only one the Feds could charge was Shaunda Lynch, and it didn’t make the national news. Jerrell had his work cut out for him. The rest of this was like shooting fish in a barrel but the paperwork was enough to make you want to shoot yourself.

  Jack was eventually forgiven by Katie for not assisting with the wedding plans. He had, in turn, forgiven himself and didn’t tell her that he’d made his own plans for their wedding. The downside of not telling her was that he’d put a rather large non-refundable deposit down for their wedding-moon in Maui. He’d have to tell her soon.

  Liddell had assumed the role of daddy, which meant Jack had to listen to his incessant stories about Little Janie’s teething, or the color and consistency of her stools, or how formula was good, but breastfeeding was better, and so on and so forth. Jack was Janie’s godfather, and he loved the little girl, but his ears were bleeding by the end of each day. He didn’t think he’d be that way when little Jake was born.

  This morning Jack and Liddell arrested a burglar that had broken into a seventy-year-old widow’s home, took her jewelry and cash, and then stabbed her because she wouldn’t stop crying. He had left her for dead, but she’d been acting. She called police and within a half hour Jack and Liddell ran him to ground. He was still carrying the stolen goods.

  “Can we put this guy on America’s Dumbest Criminals?” Liddell asked after they’d booked him.

  “This wasn’t our case, Bigfoot. We officially poached on the turf of Violent Crimes or Property Crimes or whatever they call themselves this week.”

  Deputy Chief Richard Dick was the commander of Personnel and Training but somehow, he’d been allowed to rename the investigative units in the Detective’s Division. He was having a grand old time coming up with names he considered more appropriate for the specialized units. He’d renamed the Burglary Unit as Property and Breaking and Entering. He’d changed Vice to Gambling and Prostitution. The only unit he’d left alone was Sex Crimes. He didn�
��t have enough imagination to come up with something different that could still be politically correct. Some detective had suggested the “Me Too Unit” but that was shot down pretty quickly. Chief Pope was in the process of changing things back and taking Dick’s new power away.

  A uniformed officer caught the detectives in the hallway. “The chief wants you. I heard him asking for you. If you’ve done something wrong you’d better hotfoot it out of here.”

  They thanked the officer and decided they’d done nothing that could be proven. They went to the chief’s office. The chief’s secretary, Judy Mangold buzzed them in and told them they were expected. Jack heard voices coming from the chief’s office and they knocked on his door.

  The door was opened by Captain Franklin. Franklin was smiling. Jack thought maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. Jack was wrong.

  In the room were Chief Pope, Deputy Director Toomey, and two suits. The two suits were a man and a woman, both dressed in FBI attire, blue suits, starched white shirts, red ties, and highly polished wing tip shoes. Jack didn’t know them and that worried him.

  Toomey made introductions and the suits stood and held out a well-manicured hand each.

  “Jack Murphy and Liddell Blanchard. This is Special Agent Saundra Lane and Special Agent Steve Offerman.”

  Jack barely resisted saying, “Well, isn’t that special,” but Liddell beat him to it. Chief Pope looked at the floor, Toomey looked uncomfortable, Jack was just glad Liddell hadn’t told them to pull his finger.

  The two Special Agents stood like statues. Jack shook their hands. Agent Lane’s grip was strong, but Agent Offerman wanted a contest to see who could crush the other one’s hand. Jack pegged Offerman as passive aggressive and let him win.

  “If you’re here to arrest us, I want my attorney,” Jack said.

  The agents didn’t crack a smile.

  Toomey cut the tension. “They’re not here to arrest you, Jack.” To the agents he said, “I told you these two were wiseacres.”

  Chief Pope asked everyone to take a seat. Franklin shut the door. Their only way out.

  Chief Pope said, “Before we tell you why the Special Agents are here, I want to once again tell you how impressed we all were with the way you handled those cases up north.”

  Toomey said, “Excellent results.”

  Franklin stayed by the door. Jack thought maybe he should make a break for it. He was being fattened up for the slaughter. The Special Agents looked like paid assassins for the IRS. Paid for with Jack’s tax dollars.

  “Thank you all,” Jack said. “If we’re through here we’ve still got a lot of paperwork.” He and Liddell started to get up but sat again seeing the look on Pope’s face.

  Toomey said, “I thought you should know that Angelina’s new software was a big success. We’re still—I mean she’s still tweaking it, but I have no doubt it will be helpful for years to come. We found another victim thanks to Angelina’s due diligence. This one was murdered by Rosie right after Shaunda left town. We’ve confirmed that Shaunda was in St. Louis having the baby when this one was killed. Who knows how many more they would have killed if you two hadn’t stopped them.”

  Jack noticed the two Special Agents were giving Toomey an impatient look.

  Jack asked Toomey, “Did you find out who Sergeant Ditterline really was?”

  Toomey gave a weak smile. “We ran him down. He was Eunice Lynch’s son, Danny Lynch.”

  He went to prison right after Shaunda left her aunt’s house. He was convicted of premeditated murder and got a life sentence. He made friends with another inmate in prison and made some kind of deal to trade identities. They looked alike. He got away with it until the other guy was stabbed to death and the prison discovered the dead guy’s prints didn’t match Danny’s. By then Danny had created another identity for himself, all fake, but it held up to a police background check. He’s worked for Linton PD for seven years.

  The same amount of years since Baker, the first victim, was killed.

  “We were never informed about the lab results on the phones or the other evidence,” Jack said.

  Toomey pulled out a notebook. “You got nothing on the phones as far as DNA. The sim cards were missing from all but the Dillingham kid and it had nothing useful. The dispatch tapes were inconclusive as to a match, but we don’t have Rosie Denton’s voice to compare with, and Shaunda’s wasn’t very clear either. I’m only the messenger. Oh, but the drill bit was matched to all the head wounds of every victim except the last. Of course, that’s not conclusive either because all we had to work with were photos and X-rays. The bullet that struck Chief Jerrell was from the gun you took from Shaunda. As was the bullet that killed the last victim, Anderson.”

  Jack saw Offerman was even more impatient so he decided to push it. “One more thing, Director. Is Shaunda cooperating, or is she just trying to avoid the death penalty?”

  “She’s cooperating. It’s the only way we’ll let her daughter have visits.”

  Jack asked, “Is Penelope still with Sergeant Crocker and his wife?”

  Offerman interrupted. “We have other matters to deal with today Director if you don’t mind.”

  Toomey said, “Cut right to the chase. That’s how these boys operate. I think you all were made for each other.”

  Special Agent Offerman smiled at Jack. “I can see that. I’ll be glad to take him off your hands for a while Chief Pope.”

  “Oh boy!” Liddell said.

  “I have another job for you,” Toomey said.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to acknowledge some special people for their help with research and for allowing me the use of their names as characters and/or locations in this story. Shaunda Lynch, Troy Jerrell, William Ditterline, Rosie Benton, Nonnie Murray, The Dugger Coal Museum and Dugger Town Library showed great patience with me. They are all wonderful people and new friends who have allowed me to take liberties with their personalities. I would also like to give a special thanks to John Cline and Kenneth Dowling at Pleasant Grove Farm in Lyons and Jeff Thom at Francisco de Borja Café in Linton where the beginning of this book was written.

  I would also like to acknowledge the men and women of the Linton Police Department and Dugger Police Department. This book does not come close to giving these officers credit for the hard and professional work they do. I can’t imagine a world without law enforcement. Be safe. Thank you for everything you do.

  The existence of this ninth book in the Jack Murphy thriller series is due in no small part to Michaela Hamilton, my editor, who I consider my friend and mentor. And kudos to my excellent team at Kensington who are experts at publicity, marketing, proofing, editing, legalese, cover design, distribution, publicity and so many other things. Without all of you this book would still be a file on my computer.

  If I have not mentioned you, I hope I have thanked you in some way and that you will forgive my omission.

  This novel is a work of fiction and is not intended to reflect negatively on any law enforcement agency or person. Any resemblance to people, groups, businesses, or agencies is purely coincidental. I sincerely hope readers will understand my taking poetic license. If there are any errors in this book they are all mine.

  USOC, or Unsolved Serial and Organized Crime, is not a real FBI Task Force and is solely my creation.

  Sneak Peek

  In case you missed the first Jack Murphy thriller, keep reading to enjoy an excerpt from the book that started it all . . .

  THE CRUELEST CUT

  WHEN A KILLER PLAYS MIND GAMES WITH A COP, THERE ARE NO RULES.

  The first victim is attacked in her home. Tied to her bed. Forced to watch every unspeakable act of cruelty—but unable to scream. The second murder is even more twisted. Signed, sealed, and delivered with a message for the police, stuffed in the victim’s throat. A fractured nursery rhyme that ends with a warning: �
��There will be more.” For detective Jack Murphy, it’s more than a threat. It’s a personal invitation to play. And no one plays rougher than Jack. Especially when the killer’s pawns are the people he loves . . .

  Prologue

  The late-May rain came down hard as the Evansville PD detectives, uniformed officers, and SWAT team staked out the downtown alley behind Turley’s Jewelers. Thanks to a tip from a reliable informant, today they would take down the Solazzo gang, armed robbers who had done a Godzilla on the downtown small businesses recently.

  Bobby Solazzo had recruited the team carefully, finding only the most vicious and psychotic bastards and leaving the ones with an ounce of compassion in them to join Kiwanis or Civitan. Solazzo’s crew were the kind of guys that said, “Give me the money and I’ll kill you.”

  Solazzo and company had already eluded authorities in a high-speed chase and a shoot-out at a liquor store that left two employees dead in a pool of blood, and had been lying low for the past ten days, but now they were ready for their next heist.

  Detective Jack Murphy was in charge of the stakeout. He was crouched uncomfortably behind a Dumpster, wiping rain from his eyes, while the deputy chief of detectives was on the store’s rooftop, along with a reporter from the local rag who was pressing for the perfect shot for their headline: SOLAZZO GANG GOES DOWN. Other sharpshooters were strategically located in vantage points overlooking the alley, already designated the “kill zone.” They didn’t have to wait long.

  An older black Suburban with darkened windows slid into the mouth of the narrow alley and eased along, coming to a stop directly behind Turley’s Jewelers. The next two minutes seemed to run in slow motion, beginning with the doors of the Suburban flying open and four large and well- armed men emerging.

  One man approached the back door of Turley’s and pointed a sawed-off shotgun at the door’s lock. The shotgun blast that shattered the lock on the door spooked one of the cops, who had his pistol pointed into the alleyway, and some reflex caused him to yank the trigger. Jack half-stood and looked around, thinking, Must be the deputy chief. Leave it to him to screw things up.