Death Comes to Main Street (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 3)

by Felice Stevens

  “We have a murder investigation. Just because we aren’t a large city doesn’t mean you should ignore us.” Paul drummed his fingers on the desk, impatient with the unnecessary delay.

  “I’m sorry, Detective,” one of the security-division heads apologized. “I have no excuse other than we got busy. I assure you the information on Mr. Cartwright’s gambling debts will be forwarded right away.”

  Half an hour later, Paul’s email dinged, and he opened the zip file from the first casino. He printed the reports, and forty minutes later, he and Rob were looking at the information all the casinos had sent.

  “So.” Paul shuffled the papers. “Our friend owed a nice round number: Seven hundred and fifty K. That sounds like enough of a reason to torch your business. Clear your debts and then move far, far away.”

  “Damn. So it wasn’t a hate crime after all.”

  “Doesn’t look like it. Plus, what do you want to bet Cartwright was the one to pay bail on our friends when we picked them up the first time?”

  “I’m sure you’re right. So.” Rob chewed the last piece of his morning Danish. “Do we call Bratton and tell him? We have to tell Trish.”

  Paul’s phone rang. “We’ll need to decide sooner rather than later. That’s Legal Aid.” He picked up the phone. “Monroe.”

  “Detective, this is Sherwood Bratton. My client and I would like to talk about a deal.”

  “Fine. I’ll let Ms. Hancock know, and we’ll see you in about an hour?”

  “Yes.”

  He hung up and grinned at Rob. “Bingo. They want to play Let’s Make a Deal.”

  “Can’t wait to see their costumes.” Rob cackled.

  * * *

  He, Rob, and Trish sat across from the public defender dressed in his Gucci loafers and thousand-dollar suit, with his slob of a client, Travis, who, from his pallor and red-rimmed eyes, hadn’t had much sleep in the holding cell.

  “So you want to make a deal? Let’s hear it.”

  Trish, hair pulled back in a sleek chignon, elegant and cool in her black linen suit and shiny black pumps, cocked a well-groomed brow.

  Travis shifted and coughed, but Sherwood spoke. “Mr. Falk will agree to speak to you and give you information on the fire at the Wild Orchid in exchange for throwing out the sexual-assault charge.”

  Paul’s rage bubbled, but he had agreed to allow Trish to handle the case, as it was her job, so he bit the inside of his cheek and said nothing.

  “No,” Trish said, sounding bored. “We can reduce it to third degree, but he’ll still have to register as a sex offender. We can give him time served on the hate-crime charge and lower the burglary charges from burglary two to burglary three.”

  A muscle jumped in Sherwood’s jaw. “And the felony murder charge?”

  Trish’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t push me. We’ll ask for twenty-five-to-life with the possibility of parole. That’s more than the judge would give him, and you know it.”

  “What?” Travis jumped, and Paul and Rob shot out of their seats.

  “Don’t move, Travis.”

  “No. I don’t wanna go to jail.”

  “Travis, sit down and be quiet,” Sherwood barked out. “I told you this is most likely the best they’d offer you. Remember?”

  To Paul’s amazement, the man began to sob, but he felt no sympathy.

  “Guess you should’ve thought about that before you agreed to be a part of this. You think you can go around terrorizing store owners with threats, stealing their merchandise, burning down places, and attacking people?” Trish voiced every emotion he felt in a rational, cool manner.

  “We’re sick and tired of these people coming here, pushing us out and taking jobs away. They don’t belong here.” Sniffling, Travis slumped in his chair, and his expression hardened. “That bastard’s gonna get life, right? We ain’t gonna take the fall for him.”

  “News flash, Travis. You’ve been sitting on your ass doing nothing but drinking and getting high for years. No one pushed you out. You were never in. Whoever ‘they’ are, they belong in Thornwood Park as much as you or anyone else does who upholds the law. And sending threatening notes with that hate symbol…” The audacity of it made Paul shake his head even as his stomach twisted in anger. “What gives you the right to determine who does or doesn’t deserve the right to live where they want? People want to live in peace.”

  “Tell us, Travis,” Rob said, picking up the previous thread of questioning, “how did you and Cartwright meet? What’s the connection?”

  Travis’s brows shot up, and Paul allowed himself a thin smile. “Yeah. We know. So tell us.”

  Sherwood nodded. “Go ahead. The prosecutor has spoken in front of witnesses. The deal is in place.”

  Travis belched and rubbed his face. “He said he’d tell the cops we stole the jewelry if we didn’t.”

  Paul’s pulse quickened. “Oh, yeah? So he caught you at the scene?”

  Travis checked first with Bratton, who gave him a go-ahead nod. “Yeah. Wellie and Bear had come outta the jewelry store, and I picked them up and drove the truck to my place. This guy in a Mercedes pulls up behind me. I get out, and the two others stay inside the truck. I thought he wanted to rob us, you know? But he says to me, ‘What were you doing coming out of the jewelry store at ten at night when it’s closed?’ ”

  “And that was Cartwright?”

  “Yeah.” Travis’s mouth pulled down in a frown. “He said he knew what we were doing, and that he could go to the cops and get us all arrested. Then he said he had a proposition for us. ’Course we were gonna listen. We ain’t stupid. We went out to the back, where he told us he needed a job done. He wanted a fire started at the Wild Orchid, and he’d pay us ten thousand dollars each. Just throw and boom. But we didn’t mean to kill nobody. That was an accident.”

  “ ‘Throw and boom.’ ” Paul’s gut twisted in disgust.

  “Yeah, but ain’t nobody supposed to get hurt.”

  “You throw a firebomb into a crowd and think it’s not going to hurt people? It doesn’t matter, Travis. Someone died.” The edge in Rob’s voice could cut glass. “Go on.”

  “Me ’n the guys talked it over and told him sure. I mean, it was a load of money. We ain’t gonna say no to that. We ain’t stupid.” He paused and drank from the paper cup of water in front of him.

  The irony of that remark wasn’t lost on Paul, and his hands curled into fists. How badly did he want to hurt Travis? So very badly, but not enough to lose his job over a lunkhead.

  “So you said yes,” Rob pressed him to continue.

  “Yeah. Night before the fire, Cartwright said he rented us a truck so I wouldn’t have to use my pickup. I’d pick it up at a municipal parking lot. I waited at home while Wellie and Bear threw the firebombs. I was supposed to be there at eleven, but I fell asleep and was a little late. I picked them up as they were running down the street. We came back here, and Cartwright called later and told me to drop the car off at the municipal lot. That’s all I know.”

  Paul remembered Cliff hearing the screech of tires that night, and from the security-camera footage, the sight of Travis running out of the house.

  “So you’re saying Mackenzie Cartwright hired you to set fire to his business. Did he tell you why?”

  Travis snorted. “Nah. Just said he’d pay us in full once everything cooled off, but gave us each a thousand bucks to start. We figured why not. Easy money.” He met Paul’s eyes. “No one’s gonna care.”

  “Is that so?” Pain shot through Paul, thinking of Shelby and Ryan running through the club, frantic with fear if they were going to make it out alive. All the other people inside as well. The families, not knowing if their loved ones were alive or dead. “Well, news flash, Travis. People care.” He really had to get out of there before he punched Travis in the face. “Get him out of here.”

  He walked out and left them all, needing a moment to himself. He went to the locker room and pulled out his phone.

  “Hey.�
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  “Hi. What’s wrong?” Cliff asked sharply.

  “I just needed to hear your voice.” Paul leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.

  “It’s Travis, right?”

  Hearing Travis dismiss the lives of so many people brought home how fragile life was with even greater clarity, and that every minute needed to be spent making sure the people he was with knew how important they were to him.

  “I just wanted to tell you I love you.”

  “That’s nice to hear. I love you too. But you’re a very bad liar, Detective Monroe. What’s going on? Did you make a plea deal?”

  Paul hated to say it, but the man was too damn perceptive. “Yeah.”

  “I know it had to be done. Don’t sweat it. Now I’ve got a meeting. I wasted enough time at lunch today with Mackenzie Cartwright.”

  “You’ve never mentioned him before.” Paul senses went on alert.

  “I forgot to tell you because of everything that’s been going on, but yeah. He came to the hotel, and we had lunch. There’s other stuff, but not over the phone.”

  Paul didn’t like the sound of that, but he knew Cliff wouldn’t want him to go into full-on protective mode. He struggled but in the end merely said, “All right. But beware of him if he shows up again. All I’m going to say.”

  “Duly noted, Detective. And I hear what you’re not saying.” Cliff blew out a breath. “I really am okay with the plea. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

  “It’s hard to sit there listening to him speak about people like they’re nothing.”

  “But you know not to pay attention to someone like him. He doesn’t matter. Not to us. We know who we are.”

  “You’re pretty smart. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “I have you, don’t I?”

  Paul smiled. “Yeah. You do. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye.”

  He pocketed his phone and walked out to the bullpen area, rejoining Rob, who sat at his desk, typing out something on the computer. A little embarrassed by his outburst, Paul met his partner’s sympathetic gaze. “Sorry about that. I let him get to me, and I shouldn’t have.”

  “Don’t apologize to me. I was a step away from punching that smug face. I left them with Trish to iron out the plea details. For some reason, he seems to think he’s not going to spend the next twenty years in jail.”

  “Let him think what he wants. I don’t care.” Paul booted up his computer. “As long as we get Cartwright, they can think the moon is made of cheese for all I care.”

  “Incredible to think this was all a money grab.” Rob shook his head. “People suck.”

  “Not so incredible. Money, sex…it’s all about power. And the first thing we learn is that whoever has the money has the power.” He allowed himself a thin smile. “No more, though. Let’s look through all the evidence we have against Cartwright.”

  Rob scooped up the papers on his desk. “I’m ready.”

  “Drowning in debt. At the scene of the jewelry-store break-in. Hired the truck we’ve identified as being at the scene. Enormous insurance policy on the business.”

  “Check, check, and double check,” Rob said, rustling the pages. “Ready to call in for the warrant?”

  “I think we should run it all by Kraft. With Cartwright acting the hotshot, we need to step carefully. No one but us knows the emperor has no clothes.”

  “You’re right. Make the call.”

  Paul spoke with Kraft’s secretary. “He said to come right in. Bring what you’ve got.”

  They set their files in order and hurried through the bustling station, down the hall, to where his office was located.

  “He’s ready for you two.” Marcia nodded to them.

  “Thanks.” Paul knocked on the dark wooden door with Lieutenant Henry Kraft embossed in large gold letters.

  “Come.”

  When they entered the office, Kraft had his jacket off and shirtsleeves rolled up. Paul had never seen the dapper lieutenant so casual, and though he attempted to school his expression, he failed as Kraft’s eyes twinkled.

  “I know, I know, but I figured you two have little enough desire to see me, so when you ask for a meeting, I need to prepare myself.”

  “You might just, sir,” Paul said as he and Rob waited.

  “Sit, sit, and tell me. I have a feeling it’s going to be a hell of a conversation.”

  Paul and Rob took the two chairs in front of his desk, and they laid out the information they’d collected over the course of the investigation. As each point was made with the evidence they uncovered presented, Kraft shook his head and muttered, “I’ll be damned,” until they were finished, and he wiped his face with several tissues he swiped from his desk. He read through all the notes and reports, occasionally shaking his head.

  Paul glanced at Rob, who raised his brows and shrugged. It took restraint to keep his foot from tapping on the floor as they waited for Kraft to reread and process all their evidence.

  “Well, you both have certainly been busy.” And despite having only seconds before mopped his brow, sweat gleamed once again on Kraft’s forehead.

  “It wasn’t what we expected to find, certainly. But the evidence is irrefutable. Plus, we have the statement from Travis Falk.”

  “Have you spoken to any of the other men involved?”

  “When one of the others, Arnie Hogan, nicknamed Bear, was arrested along with Travis for the liquor store incident, we tried to get him to confess, but he shut up and asked for a lawyer. Then both he and Travis got bailed out. We’re assuming it was Cartwright paying for their continued silence.”

  “I’d agree with you there. So next steps?” Kraft pinned them with his famous steely gaze. “I know that’s why you’re here, and I appreciate you letting me know. This time.”

  His wry grin didn’t fool Paul, who knew Kraft was thinking of the Ulrich murder and how they used Ulrich’s son to flush out the real murderer without giving him advance notice. Not going to happen this time. They were only allowed one surprise arrest without Kraft going off on their asses.

  “No need to flush out the guilty party. The evidence and statement by Falk are enough. We’ll call the judge and get an arrest warrant. Then we pay Mr. Cartwright a little visit.”

  “Good. See it done.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  On their way out the door, Kraft stopped them. “Monroe, Gormley.” He and Rob reversed course and faced the lieutenant. “Damn good job, you two.”

  He and Rob relaxed into smiles.

  “Thank you, sir,” Paul said.

  “Don’t let it go to your heads,” Kraft said gruffly. “There’s still the matter of the Sweeten case. The DA will be retrying Ellison, so there’ll be no rest for the weary, I’m afraid.”

  Rob’s face hardened. “Happy to do everything I can to see that son of a bitch behind bars.”

  “I know you will. Let me know when the deed is done today, although I’m sure I’ll be getting a call from Cartwright’s lawyer.”

  Paul nodded. “We will, sir.”

  They left and closed the door behind them. On their way to their desks, they saw Trish and Bratton walking side by side, talking. Trish held up a finger to them, then said a few final words to Bratton, who merely jerked his head in their direction and stormed out of the station.

  “He still asking you out?” Rob snickered. “Or should I say, is he still striking out?”

  “He’s such a pest.” Trish rolled her eyes. “That man couldn’t handle me if I was sleeping.”

  “So do we have the plea deal wrapped up?”

  “Yes, all approved by Howie, and he’s happy as a kid in a candy store. He needed some good news after Ellison’s case was thrown out on appeal.”

  Howard Demmings, the District Attorney, ran on a platform of justice and fairness, and Paul knew the former cop turned lawyer wasn’t going to rest until Ellison was behind bars. He’d been a DA for over twenty years, and Paul respected him immensely.r />
  “Great. We’re going to write up the warrant for Cartwright and go to the courthouse,” Paul said. “Shouldn’t take us more than an hour.”

  “Sounds good. Keep me posted. Good work, guys.”

  She departed, and he and Rob went to work on the arrest warrants, making sure all the facts were correct. Cartwright’s, being the most complicated, needed to present his involvement in the clearest terms possible. The others for Bear and Wellie were also prepared and would be given to officers to carry out. Paul had them notarized, and then he and Rob set out for the courthouse several blocks away.

  They greeted the court officers and traveled the length of the hallway where Paul had spent so many hours cooling his heels, waiting to testify in various cases. They reached the secure area where the judges’ chambers were located. A security guard greeted them.

  “What’s going on, you two?” Freddy Carson grinned at them. The man was six-foot-six of pure muscle and smiles, and Paul remembered him taking down a prisoner, who tried to make a run for it, without breaking a sweat.

  “We have several arrest warrants we need signed. The judge in?”

  “Yeah. Judge Kramer’s here. I’ll let him know.”

  Freddy sauntered away, and Rob chuckled. “I like to fool myself that I’m in good shape, and then I see Freddy.”

  Paul snorted. “You don’t need to see Freddy to hear that noise. I’m happy to tell you.” Paul poked Rob in his side. “Annabel’s going to get on your case if you don’t cut out eating all that crap.”

  “More of me to love, I tell her.”

  “How’s that working out for you?” Paul could only imagine.

  “We’re on salads and grilled chicken for the next month. I may not make it.” Rob’s face was a study in pain.

  Paul’s lips twitched. “Poor baby. Well, I won’t be aiding and abetting you in the crime against your waistline. If Annabel asks me if you’re cheating, I’m going to tell her the truth.”

  Rob opened his mouth to respond when Freddy motioned to them. “Come on. Judge is waiting.”

  Knowing Judge Kramer suffered neither fools nor latecomers to his courtroom, Paul and Rob hurried down to his chamber and entered through the door Freddy held open. Kramer was around seventy, tall, gaunt, and possessed little in the way of humor. He was an old-timer who was a stickler for rules and getting to the meat of the issue without any extras. No schmoozing or joking around. Paul knew they had one shot to get it right.