by G. K. Parks
The bell chimed, and I turned to see a tired looking cop enter. By the time he reached the bar, Jim had a mojito waiting for him. “Thanks, man,” the officer said.
“Hey, Joe. I want you to meet someone,” Jim said. “This is…”
“Alex Parker,” I said. “You’re Joe Gallo?”
“Sure am.” He tucked his left hand into his pocket, hoping I wouldn’t see his wedding ring. “What can I do for you?”
“Do you mind if we talk in the back?” I nodded toward an empty booth in the corner.
“No problem.”
I thanked Jim and led Gallo to the booth. I hated having my back to the door, but I wanted to box him in. More than likely, he wouldn’t want to answer my questions. So I had to make sure he couldn’t easily escape.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Parker?”
“Why did you call Lucien to tell him Trey Knox was dead?”
His cheeks flushed. “You’re confused.”
“Don’t deny it. Justin showed me the message. I know who you are. I know about your connection to the break-in at Knox’s house.”
“It sounds like you already know everything.” He moved to stand.
“Why did you tell Cross about the body?”
“Knox had been his client. The man disappeared. No one ever knew what happened to him. It drove me a little crazy. I’m sure it did the same to Lucien. I wanted him to know we finally found Knox.”
“Did you ever investigate Knox’s disappearance?”
“A little.”
“And?”
“And what? I’m a beat cop, not a homicide detective. As far as I can tell, Knox pissed someone off. They killed him and buried him in the field near the airport. It’s pretty open and shut.”
“Do you know who killed him?”
“Of course not.”
“The police arrested Cross for the murder. I’m sure you heard about that.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“How do you know?”
“Knox had secrets. He wasn’t a good guy. I don’t know what he’s involved with, but he had gambling debts and must have gotten mixed up with organized crime. That’s probably why he got killed.”
“Did Cross tell you any of that?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I work for him.” I showed him my business card. “I’m trying to clear his name.”
“Really? It sounds like you’re building a case against him and anyone who might have helped him.”
“Do you know how Knox’s stolen ring ended up back on his finger? That’s how you recognized him, isn’t it?”
“It is, but I don’t know how that happened.”
“Doesn’t it strike you as strange that an item found in Knox’s house after his disappearance ended up back on his finger?”
“He must have come back for it.”
“So you knew Knox didn’t die the day he disappeared?” Gallo had just contradicted himself, which made me wonder what else he might be lying about.
“I don’t know what happened. No body, no crime. Everyone knows that. Cross took off a few weeks later. He didn’t say where he was going, but he must have had a lead. When he returned, he seemed more relaxed, like he could finally put the whole Knox situation behind him.”
“Did he say anything to you when he got back?”
“He showed up for a drink one night and told me Knox wasn’t worth our time or energy anymore.”
“How did you interpret that?”
“Considering Cross had flown halfway across the world, I figured either Knox skipped town before his problems got worse or Cross’s vacation had made him reassess his priorities. Apparently, he met a girl while he was away.”
“Did he tell you about her?”
“Not really, but I could tell. That dumb grin and no interest in bedding a badge bunny. That’s got to be love, right?”
“Or herpes.”
Gallo scowled. “Like I said, Knox had pissed off some powerful people. But if he fled, maybe the ring’s the reason he came back. He was a fanatic. Crazy obsessed. He’d rather die than live without his precious collection. He’s like that freaky little dude in those movies with the gold ring.”
“You never thought Cross killed him?”
“Why would he? He did everything for that guy. Between you and me, he couldn’t stand him. He was happy to be free of him.” He cocked his head to the side, reading my thoughts. “Again, not in a rest in peace kind of way, but a he’s someone else’s problem kind of way.”
“If Cross washed his hands of this and was glad to not have to think about Knox, why did you call him on Monday and tell him Knox’s body had been discovered?”
“I already told you I thought he’d want to know.”
“You could get in a lot of trouble for that. Why didn’t you wait?”
“Cross had been the prime suspect when Knox disappeared. I knew they’d bring him in for questioning.”
“The police arrested him for murder. Do you know why?”
Gallo gulped down his drink. He thought long and hard, unsure if he should answer. “You were at the precinct last night, weren’t you? You work for him, so you already know the answer to all these questions. Why are you wasting my time asking?”
“I’d like to hear it from you.”
“You want me to incriminate myself, but I won’t.”
“I just need to know if you told Cross about the safe deposit box key they found with the body.”
“Screw you.” He picked up his drink and walked away. At least now I had my answer.
Twenty-five
I arrived at the precinct a few minutes before shift change. Moretti hadn’t left his office. From the open files on his desk, I couldn’t tell what he was working on. But I could guess. Gently, I knocked on the door.
He looked up. “Cross has been charged. He’s no longer with us.”
“I know. I wanted to talk to you, off the record.”
“What about?”
“I spent a good portion of my day looking into the murder weapon. I don’t think it’s Cross’s. It’s not registered to him. His prints aren’t on it, and according to Cross Security records, which I verified by watching the security footage, Cross hasn’t used that SUV in years. The last security team assigned to it made sure they cleaned everything out. The gun wasn’t inside a month ago.” I gave him the exact date.
“Okay, so who could have put it inside?”
“Anyone.”
“Narrow it down for me.”
“Anyone who works for Cross Security or has access to the garage. That would be everyone else in the building—building security, the police who conducted the search, janitors, repairmen, et cetera.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You said you scanned security footage. What did it show?”
“Nothing. The camera angle doesn’t cover the rear of the vehicle.”
“So Cross could have panicked and stowed the gun in there.”
“Why would he panic after eight years? Why would anyone keep a murder weapon that long? Cross is a giant pain in the ass, but he’s not an idiot. Don’t you agree?”
“This case smells like yesterday’s catch, but it’s out of my hands.”
“It’s your case,” I argued.
“I turned in my report, including my recommendation that we hold off on filing charges until we know more about who’s behind last night’s assault, but I got overruled. DA’s office went ahead with it. Evidence supports the conclusion that Lucien Cross is a killer. The murder weapon was found in his vehicle. Cross was caught on tape threatening Trey Knox. Pair that with Cross being one of the last people to see Knox alive, the visit to Knox’s house the morning he disappeared, and his mysterious trip out of the country three weeks later, and that’s that. Cross is getting arraigned in the morning.” Moretti went back to reading the files on his desk. “Go home and get some sleep. You look like death warmed over.”
“You have to do something.”
He stared down at the papers on his desk. “Like what?”
“Put a stop to this.”
“Isn’t that your job?”
Taking that as my cue to leave, I grabbed two cups of coffee before heading down to the front desk. A thin woman with a starched shirt and grey hair pulled back in a twist stepped up to the desk. She must have recognized me from last night but didn’t let on. Once she settled into her chair, she asked, “How are you tonight?”
“Sgt. Rostokowski?” I needed to make sure.
“In the flesh.”
“I’m Alexis Parker.” I pushed one of the cups toward her. “I thought you might like some coffee.”
She gave it a suspicious look. “Thanks.” But she didn’t touch it. Obviously, she was wary of strangers with gifts.
“I have a question to ask.”
“All right.”
“Did you give Lucien Cross a rubber ball?”
“That’s not what I expected you to say. Would you mind showing me some ID?”
I took out my wallet and handed it to her. She carefully examined my P.I. license before picking up the business card I placed on the counter next to the cup. “You saved his life last night. What can I do for you?”
Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure what to say. Her straightforward demeanor had caught me off guard. “Did you know he was going to be arrested?”
Her face fell. “No.”
I believed her. “Are you privy to any of the details of his case?”
She glanced around, but since shift change had just happened, most cops were too busy getting situated to pay attention to us. “Just the basics.” The look on her face told me that was the end of the conversation.
“Why the ball?”
“The benches in the holding cells are hard on his back. He won’t complain, but I’ve known him since he was a little kid. I can tell when he’s in pain. He’s just too proud to ask for anything. I offered to get him a blanket or see if I could find a pillow, but he refused.” She looked at me. “Don’t tell him I said this. He’d deny it anyway. But he’s scared.”
“And angry.”
“Wouldn’t you be if you were framed for murder?”
“Extremely.”
She raised an eyebrow, seeing the look in my eyes. “Why do I get the impression you’ve had some experience with this?”
Could that be the reason Cross wanted me on this case? I hadn’t considered it. No one knew about that. No charges were ever filed. The police who’d been hunting me ended up helping me. But Cross knew a lot about the inner workings of the police department, more than I ever realized.
“Is there anything you can tell me about Cross or Knox that might help?”
The sergeant shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wish I could, but I just cover the desk.”
“No problem. Thanks for your time.”
“Alex, wait.” She swallowed. “I’m sure he couldn’t be bothered to say it, but thanks for helping him last night.”
“I was just doing my job.”
By the time I made it home, Martin was already in bed. Relieved that I didn’t have to explain the fresh bruises and scrapes, I found his watch on top of the dresser and took it into the kitchen. Carefully, I removed the back and pulled out the tracking chip from the inside and replaced the cover. In case that asshole used Cross’s tech to follow me, I didn’t want to risk the same fate befalling Martin.
After that was done, I covered the chip in foil and placed it in a small metal case which was supposed to block radio signals. I didn’t know how well it worked, but it’d suffice for tonight. Once I was satisfied I’d minimized the potential threat, I changed into one of Martin’s shirts and crawled under the covers. He shifted in bed but didn’t rouse. Gently resting my hand on his chest, I closed my eyes, too tired to think and too confused to know where to begin.
When I woke up the next morning, Martin had already left for work. Rolling onto my back, I regretted the move immediately. But the longer I remained, the less I ached. My mind wandered and dread filled me. Did Lucien Cross survive the night?
Corrupt cops who were caught often died in prison. A lot never even made it to trial. Cross wasn’t a cop, but his father was top cop. Any repeat offenders Cross encountered would have served their first stint under his father’s command. Hopefully, the offenders Cross encountered were as clueless as I’d been, except most of the cops on the force knew Cross. And since a good percentage wanted to mop the floor with him, they’d make his identity known. I had to get him out of there. I just didn’t know how.
Dragging myself out of bed, I popped a few pain relievers, took a hot shower, and slathered on the arnica. After that, I grabbed my notes and studied the case against my boss. The look on his face couldn’t be quantified, but he was guilty of something. I saw it in his eyes. Even desperate and losing it in a holding cell, a part of him believed he deserved to be punished.
“Did you do it?” I stared at the paper, hoping it would answer me. But it didn’t.
He wouldn’t have hired you if he did. Justin’s words came back to haunt me.
Ripping the top sheet off my pad, I balled it up and tossed it onto the table. The only way to catch the killer would be to determine who wanted Knox dead. Except I’d already spent hour upon hour digging through the man’s background and coming up blank. The police had years to do the same, but they never found anything damning.
Knox had no criminal record. But Cross thought he was involved in smuggling. And since Knox managed to disappear to a tropical island, he must have had already established identities. I just didn’t know what they were.
Thomas Gunn, the name ripped through my brain like lightning. That was the alias Knox had used to open the safe deposit box. Back then, banks didn’t require as many steps to verify a person’s identity, but the man had to provide at least two forms of ID, like a birth certificate, driver’s license, or passport.
During my career, I’d come across several expert forgers and paper guys. To fool a bank, the fakes would have to be pristine. I’d have to run the name.
Grabbing my computer, I searched for Thomas Gunn. Several existed, but I couldn’t find much on them. I needed resources. Since the police already executed the search warrant, I could use Cross Security resources without issue, so I grabbed the tracking chip from Martin’s watch and headed to the office.
Thomas Gunn never traveled to Vanuatu, which meant Knox must have had more than one alias. He must have gotten his papers from a pro, and only so many operated at the level necessary to trick customs. So I called my contacts.
It took the entire morning and most of the afternoon, but I finally tracked down the man who created Thomas Gunn—Barry Chessin. I’d run up against him a few times while working at the OIO. He was an excellent forger. He specialized in fake IDs but dabbled in counterfeiting wine. That’s how he’d gotten on the OIO’s radar. The best thing about Barry was he kept copies of everything. He liked to admire his art.
When I arrived at the tiny shop, Barry wasn’t pleased to see me. But I had enough proof of his illegal activities that he couldn’t deny it.
“What other IDs did you make for Trey Knox?” I asked.
“C’mon, Alex, you know me. I’m on the straight and narrow now. Let’s not talk about the before times.”
“You’re right. I do know you.” I looked around his shop. “Unless you want me to call my friends and have them examine that printer you have in the back and those inks you have hidden under the counter, I suggest you answer my question.”
“I’m not a narc.”
“I’m not asking you to narc. Knox is dead.”
“Well, no kidding. Why do you think he needed the IDs?”
“Whose idea was Thomas Gunn? That doesn’t sound like one of yours.”
“It wasn’t.” He watched anxiously as I moved around his store, which specialized in tie-dye and screen print t-shirts. He should have come up with a better cover for his illegal activities.
“Give me some credit.”
“Gunn’s burned now,” I said. “I just want to know what other names this guy might have used. Winchester? Colt? Smith or Wesson?” He rocked on the stool where he had perched. “I’m not on the job anymore. I work private security. We play in the grey too. I bet some of our clients could use a good paper guy. What do you say?”
“It sounds like entrapment.”
“Does it? I didn’t mean for that to happen. Y’see, that was the carrot. It’s much nicer than the stick.” I picked a golf umbrella up from the bin, giving it a test swing, like a baseball bat. “The stick’s worse.”
“What are you going to do? Trash my store?”
“I’m thinking about using your back room as a pinata. I’ll just whack away until some goodies fall out. Then I’ll call my old pals at the OIO and tell them what I found.”
“You’d really do that?” He kept a shotgun behind the counter, but he wasn’t stupid enough to reach for it. The last time we played this little game, he’d nearly gotten his head blown off.
“You help me out, and in the future, if someone needs some work done, I’ll send them your way. We both win. No one has to know you squealed. Like I said, Knox is dead. Not figuratively, but rotting in the morgue, doornail dead.”
Barry got up, flipped the lock on the door, and changed the sign to closed. “Follow me, and leave the umbrella out here.”
I put it back in the bin and followed him through the back room. He unlocked a hidden door and led me into the room where he actually worked. Between the amount of paper and ink, business must have been booming.
“You’re not printing money, are you?” I felt the paper, but it didn’t feel cottony.
“No.” He looked up from his computer screen. “For the record, I wouldn’t tell you if I was.” He hit a few keys. “Thomas Gunn. Phil Namath. Jerry Marino. And Dan Rice.”
“Did you pick those names?”
“No, but they were easy enough. And he paid extra to customize. He said since he’d become one of these people, he should get to choose what his name would be. I couldn’t exactly argue with that.”