Breach of Honor

by Janice Cantore

  “This little guy is no trouble. Why haven’t you given him a name?”

  “I haven’t had a minute to think about it. I figured he’d work himself into a name.”

  “I think you’re being lazy. Cute guy needs his own moniker.”

  “Does anything come to your mind?”

  “Nope, no help here. Your dog, you pick the name. Do you want me to bring him back?”

  “Actually, I was hoping you’d be able to keep him a little longer. Just give me time to loosen up. Until after the weekend?”

  There was a pause, and Clint feared this was a big imposition.

  “If you can’t—”

  “It’s not that. I don’t mind at all. As long as you’re telling me the truth about the reason.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re not asking me to keep him so that you can be free to try to investigate the attempt on your life.”

  Her insight surprised him. “I’m not moving well enough right now to do any serious investigating. But I won’t make any promises once I feel better.”

  “At least you’re being honest. He’s a good guest. We can keep him as long as you need us to.”

  “Thanks, Leah. I appreciate it. Jack told me what happened this morning. How are you holding up?”

  “Other than lack of sleep, I’m fine. Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you know who bought my—uh, Brad’s old house?”

  “No one.”

  “What?”

  “The Drapers kept it.” He paused, wondering if he should pass on the gossip he’d heard. “The rumor floating around was that the Drapers made it a shrine, a memorial to Brad. Not sure if it’s true—”

  “It probably is.” Her voice had gone flat, with none of the exuberance he’d heard at first, and he wondered if he’d made a mistake in relaying unverified information.

  “Harden idolized Brad. It wouldn’t surprise me if that’s exactly what he’d done.”

  “I guess that’s my observation as well—they can’t move on.”

  “No, they can’t. But who would want to burn the house down and blame it on me?”

  “Someone who doesn’t want you to relax or slide easily back into your life here.”

  “Hmm. Gretchen called Haun first thing and got an apology from him. The supposed witness to the arson is in the wind. No apology from Grady yet. She plans on writing a letter to the newspaper.”

  “I like Gretchen.” Clint didn’t allow himself to think much about this next comment. “Now it’s my turn for a question.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you plan on getting your job back?”

  The line went quiet and Clint was afraid he’d overstepped. “Sorry if that’s not a fair question.”

  “No, that’s not it. At first I was going to take my time, pray, discuss it with my dad. But the other day I had an odd visit from Larry Ripley and Grady Blanchard. They seemed completely against me getting my job back. So Gretchen is going to file papers next week to petition the city for me to be reinstated. The TRO could be problematic if a judge grants it.”

  “I have faith in Gretchen to make that a tough fight. But it will be a rough road, you know.”

  “I do. Honestly, when I was released, the biggest issue on my mind was to find out what was going on with Brad when we were married.”

  “The payoff.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you want some help?”

  “Hey, you’re convalescing. I’m not going to be a bad influence.”

  “Can you be an influence when I’ve already been out asking the questions you want asked? I didn’t write you about my visit with Grant Holloway.” Clint shared with her what happened to him when he went to talk to the insurance agent and also about the IA complaint that got erased.

  “I’m glad it came to nothing,” Leah said, and then she was quiet for a few seconds. “And Racer, Patterson, and Wilcox are gone. Do you think the Hangmen really have any more clout?”

  “It sounds like Harden is still pulling strings. If he wasn’t, Grady wouldn’t have pounded on your door in the early morning hours.”

  “I’m still not worried about asking questions. They can’t threaten me with an IA complaint. And I’ve prayed a lot about this. I need answers.”

  “Prayer is the first, best weapon for any fight,” Clint said, smiling into the phone, glad Leah could see that now. “They may make it impossible to get your job back.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I am. We need to be patient, I think.”

  “One thing I learned in prison was patience.”

  “Give me a couple of days to heal up. Then we can ask together. You can drive; how’s that?”

  “Fair enough. I think I have some stuff to do with Gretchen anyway. But promise me you’ll take it easy until then.”

  “Promise.”

  After the conversation with Clint, Leah knew she needed to stay busy or her patience would dissolve. It was time to finish sorting through her things and find a key for that odd gun case. Besides the boxes of miscellaneous stuff she had piled in the spare room, there was also a storage unit she’d have to visit. But there was no rush for that.

  With the pup on her heels, she started to open up boxes. Her summer wear she left boxed up. All of her winter gear she laid out so it would be easy to get to. The gun case was problematic. Curiosity made her start searching pockets, hopeful she’d find a key and get the thing open.

  She’d gone through almost everything—still no key—when a knock at the door made her jump.

  The pup looked at her with big brown eyes.

  “Sorry about that, little guy. I told my dad I’d be okay. And I will be.” She picked the dog up and walked to the door. “Who is it?”

  “Agent Falcon, FBI.”

  Frowning, she peeked out the side window and saw a man on the porch in a long winter coat. He had a folder wedged under his arm and he wore dark gloves.

  “Can I see some ID?”

  He dug into his jacket and held up a federal ID card.

  “What can I help you with?”

  “Any way I can come inside and discuss this?” The agent rubbed his gloved hands together.

  “I’m a little gun-shy.”

  “You have nothing to fear from me. I’m on your side.”

  “How so?”

  “The Hangmen. I want to get to the bottom of that group. There’s more to it than a social club. And it may have some bearing on what I am here for.”

  Leah thought a moment. She couldn’t mistrust all law enforcement for the rest of her life. Especially if she wanted to be in law enforcement again. Still, she let him stand on the porch. “What do you know about the Hangmen?”

  “Not as much as I’d like.”

  She hesitated. “I need to call my lawyer.”

  “I spoke to her yesterday. Please confirm. It’s cold out here—hurry.”

  Leah punched in Gretchen’s number.

  “I apologize, Leah. Yes, he did call me. You have my blessing to talk to him.”

  Leah opened the door and poked her head out. “Would you like some coffee?”

  He nodded. “You bet.”

  She led him back to the kitchen and started a pot. “I’m surprised you’re investigating the Hangmen. I thought the state cops had the case.”

  “They weren’t the reason I was originally sent here,” Falcon said. “I’m here looking for a fugitive.”

  As they waited for the coffee to finish, the agent told her about the fugitive, Colin Hess. While he never mentioned Clint’s name, she recognized that he was talking about the raid on Larkspur Farms and Clint’s smuggling arrests.

  “What does all that have to do with the Hangmen?”

  “Answer my questions and I’ll answer yours,” Falcon said.

  The coffee finished and Leah poured two cups, nodding for Falcon to proceed with his questions.

  “Before your hu
sband’s death, he was assigned to an anti-smuggling task force, wasn’t he?”

  “He was.”

  “Did he interdict much smuggling?”

  Leah frowned. “He made some arrests, yeah. I’m still not seeing what this has to do with your fugitive.”

  Falcon opened the file he had with him and pulled out some papers. “Your husband hit our radar unexpectedly. Six years ago, he paid off his mortgage in full. Out of the blue he came up with $275,000 in cash.”

  Leah had to think for a minute. “His parents are wealthy. Maybe the money was a gift?”

  “You didn’t know the house was paid off?”

  Leah shrugged. “We never talked about money. Except that I was not to touch his. I made my own and that’s what I spent. I assumed he was still paying on the house.”

  “He made good money, but not that good. That was quite a chunk of cash, and there’s no indication anywhere it was a gift from his folks.” He paused and Leah felt her brain freeze. What on earth had Brad been into and up to?

  “Our fugitive disappeared with an estimated $500,000 cash, maybe more,” Falcon continued. “He’s been well hidden, so we believe he purchased a new identity. He had the money for it; he just had to find the right person or people to help him. In your court testimony you said you saw your husband take a payoff.”

  “That’s what I thought I saw.”

  He pulled a photo out of the folder. “Is this the man you saw?”

  Leah studied the grainy photo. There was something familiar about the figure, but she couldn’t say for certain it was the man she’d seen that night.

  She shook her head, then stood. “Let me show you who I saw.” She went to the other room and grabbed her sketchbook. Opening it up to the page where she’d drawn the bearded man, she put it on the table in front of Falcon. “This is the man I saw that night.”

  Falcon arched an eyebrow and studied the drawing. “You did this?”

  “I had a lot of time to work on the sketch. From my memory of that night, that is the closest I can get.”

  “It’s a good drawing. It could be our guy; height looks about right. But he’d have bulked up a lot. A possibility.” He studied the drawing thoughtfully for a moment before handing it back to her. “Nothing your husband ever said gave you pause, maybe an inkling that something was not right?”

  Leah shook her head, a little numb. It was bad enough she’d married an abuser. Was he also sheltering a fugitive cop killer?

  “Is there anything you can think of, in retrospect, that might give us a clue to what your husband was involved in?”

  “Ask Larry Ripley or Richard Chambers—or Grady Blanchard for that matter.”

  “The new sheriff?”

  “Yeah, he, Brad, Larry, and Duke Gill were tight back then. Larry and Duke are Hangmen for sure. I don’t know about Grady or Richard.”

  Falcon sat back and rubbed his chin.

  “Have you talked to Richard Chambers?” she asked.

  “He won’t speak to us. He lawyered up and we don’t have enough to issue a warrant. The other names you’ve mentioned have given us boilerplate statements basically saying they don’t recall.”

  “I know that they know what was going on. To borrow a saying, they were all thick as thieves back then.”

  CHAPTER 49

  After he finished talking to Leah, Clint considered his promise to her to take it easy. The gun on his hip said that he wouldn’t, but did he have a choice? Alone with his thoughts, he poured a glass of water, picked up the pain pills that had been sent home with him, and sat in his recliner, trying to get comfortable. He hated taking pain meds but knew he wouldn’t get any sleep if his whole body ached. Later would be soon enough, he decided.

  As he sat in the quiet room, partially dark because of the boarded-up window, it sank in that someone had tried to kill him, and they’d come very close to accomplishing their wish. Fear vibrated through him—fear and a little shame that he’d not been more careful. Taking off after that truck had been foolhardy. He’d told Leah to be patient. Could he follow his own advice?

  He was glad she called; it made him change his focus. Clint reflected on the three Leahs he knew: the beaten, lost Leah that horrible day; the questioning, growing Leah from her letters; and the free woman, a believer now, committed to uncovering the truth. She had a foundation, he realized. She understood how important prayer was. Every time he learned something new about Leah, Clint found himself drawn even more to her, the desire to learn everything there was to know about this amazing woman overpowering.

  He also realized his own foundation needed to be firm, his own guidance clear.

  His Bible was on the end table next to his chair. He picked it up and let it fall open in his lap to one of his favorite passages, Ephesians chapter 6. Clint reflected back to how Leah’s faith had been destroyed by the indictment and how his faith had been devastated by her conviction. She’d come full circle and her faith was strong. Where was he? He’d felt renewed when she won her appeal and thought he was back on solid ground when she was acquitted.

  I thought it was all over, he mused. That things were right again and everyone could move forward.

  I was wrong.

  Like so many years ago when he’d lost the fight to save the girl in Kyrgyzstan, thinking that it was all up to him, only to learn painfully that it was up to God and God hadn’t dropped the ball, Clint realized he’d been taking everything upon himself again. Leah, the smugglers, the Hangmen—he wanted to protect one and defeat the others all in his own strength. He’d forgotten what he just told Leah, that prayer was the first, best weapon in every battle. He didn’t think he could have stopped the truck, but the truck was definitely a wake-up call. Whatever happened with Leah and the Hangmen, Clint needed a strong faith in God’s work and ability, not in his own strength.

  He prayed for clarity, forgiveness, and the wisdom to recognize which battles were his to fight and which battles he needed to leave to prayer. He began to read Ephesians chapter 6 and didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until much later when something jolted him awake. He blinked in the darkness as pain roared through his body. He would need to keep his promise to Leah and take it easy, he thought, as he slowly stood and limped to bed.

  Over the next couple of days, he mostly kept his promise to take it easy, but he wasn’t going to do nothing. He fired up his computer to uncover any information he could about the two Russians he’d arrested and Larkspur Farms.

  While he worked, he made sure it was obvious that he was home and working. If the guys wanted to try again for him, he’d give them the ride of their lives.

  He had no luck whatsoever finding out any more information about the Russians. Once they were released, they disappeared. What he’d learned the night they were arrested was about all there was. Larkspur Farms was also a mystery. He vaguely remembered the couple Leah had mentioned, the Hubbards. They’d been running the farm when he came to live with GiGi. Known for their peaches and pears, they set up a booth at every farmers’ market and sold their produce. After they sold the place, Clint didn’t know who bought the farm.

  He sat back in his chair, trying to remember, but it was at least six or seven years ago those people went bankrupt and left the farm. Eventually he found an article about the couple leaving the valley, saying that the family couldn’t make it anymore; the farm wasn’t paying the bills.

  Clint thought he’d read that the place had been bought by a pot farmer. An hour later, after a painstaking search, he did find a new owner. LHR, LLC, had purchased the farm at auction for peanuts. But whatever the corporation was, it never developed the farm; it simply maintained the buildings until letting the property go into foreclosure a few years later.

  Was Harden Draper somewhere in the mix? Clint wondered. He had extensive real estate holdings. It would be no problem for him to buy the farm and hide the smuggling. Clint wouldn’t be surprised if somewhere down the line, there was a connection between the farm and Draper.


  Monday morning, Gretchen filed a petition to the city for Leah’s handguns to be returned. She’d owned three at the time of her arrest: a .45 caliber—her duty weapon—a 9mm, and a small five-shot .38. She also filed for Leah to be reinstated. Citing her firing as “without cause,” she additionally asked for back pay spanning from her arrest and dismissal to the present.

  “That’s a lot of money,” Leah said, shaking her head. “Is that request really necessary?”

  “We need to get them to the table, so yes. This is the opening round of negotiations.” Gretchen turned to Leah, eyes earnest. “What happened to you was wrong on so many levels. The Hangmen perverted the justice system. I believe in the system. This wrong needs to be righted.”

  “I agree. Justice has to matter for everyone or it matters for no one.”

  “I’ve also written an op-ed for the local paper about the sheriff coming to your door in the middle of the night. That too was wrong.”

  “I’d be surprised if they print it. Harden Draper and the publisher are great friends.”

  “I told them if the word didn’t get out locally, there were some cable news outlets who would be interested.”

  There was no way to know how long they would have to wait for a response to the two petitions. They stayed in the courthouse because there was also the matter of the temporary restraining order demanded by Harden Draper scheduled to be heard in the afternoon. Because Draper was trying to slap an extreme risk restraining order on Leah, it was important that she win the case and have the judge deny the TRO. If the order were put in place, Leah could be denied her guns. If she was denied her guns, she would not get her job back. Unfortunately, the judge hearing the TRO case was Judge Revel.

  “I wish it were a different judge,” Leah lamented to Gretchen.

  “We have to count on him being impartial.”

  When Leah and Gretchen arrived in the courtroom, Harden was already there, along with Rachel Clyburn and two other lawyers. Leah also saw Blanche and Ivy. Ivy’s appearance shocked Leah. Normally a pretty woman, today she looked haggard and as if she wanted to be anywhere else. Blanche looked heavily medicated.