Darby continued. “Rees fled Texas the moment Harper’s dad took her to the cops. Dallas PD put out a BOLO and multi-state warrant for his arrest. Days later, someone here in Berry Springs called in someone sleeping in their car on the side of the road. It was Seagrave who responded. He recognized Rees and arrested him on the spot. Rees was extradited back to Texas where he was charged with first degree battery and sent to jail.”
My heart was a steady pounding by the time Darby finished.
Revenge.
Kenzo Rees was going down the damn list of people who’d been part of putting him in jail.
Rees killed Seagrave.
Rees had Julian attack Sunny as initiation into his gang, The Collars. Maybe a scare tactic, or a failed kidnapping.
Kenzo Rees was my fucking Black Bandit.
“How do you know this?” I asked.
“I spent last night going over Sunny’s—”
“Miss Harper.”
“Sorry. Miss Harper’s file from her attack. Like you said, the fact that Rees had just been released and all of a sudden she’s attacked and her home vandalized seemed like too much a coincidence.”
How the hell had I missed Seagrave’s name in the report? You’ve lost your focus… too many balls in the air… Colson’s words slapped me in the face.
Darby continued. “I tried to find any link to Rees and witchcraft, or interest in the Cedonia Scrolls but found nothing. That’s the only thing that still seems odd. I’m going to research the gang he’s associated with more this morning. See if they’re connected to buying and selling pagan art. Never know. I’m also gonna see if I can track down one of their members and ask if they know the Black Bandit.”
“Why don’t you leave that part to me, Darby?”
“You think I can’t handle it?”
“I didn’t say that. But when you start poking around gang members, you best know what you’re doing.”
“I do.”
“You don’t. And I’m telling you to back off The Collars. We need to place Rees at both scenes. We’ve got means and motive, for both Sunny and Seagrave, and now we need opportunity. We need Rees to be linked to that damn blue sedan. It’s his, I know. If we can verify the link, that puts him at both Seagrave’s and Sunny’s scene. That’s where I need your focus. I need you to leave The Collars alone and follow up with the dealerships again. Find where the hell he got the car. Extend the search.”
Darby’s lips pressed into a thin line, displeased with my orders. Bottom line, the kid wasn’t experienced enough to interview ex-cons or gang members. Gotta crawl before you walk. All of us had. I just happened to walk a bit sooner than most.
“What about—”
“No, Darby. Dealerships. Focus on that damn car. Go. I’ll find Rees.”
I glanced at the clock, then gathered my phone and keys and started out the door.
“Keep me updated, Darby.
I didn’t wait for a response because I had an appointment to get to.
35
Darby
“I’ll find Rees.”
I grit my teeth as Jagg’s words echoed in my head.
No, Detective Max Jagger, I’ll find Rees.
While Jagg had been busy doing what he did best—playing knight in shining armor with Sunny, Miss Harper, my ass—he should have been tracking down the lead I uncovered earlier in the day while doing the long list of to-do’s he’d given me. One of the many leads the perfect, infallible Detective Jagger had missed. That’s right, me, the rookie, the nobody, the loser, the pissant, had spent the morning casing a trailer park on the outskirts of town where it was rumored that Kenzo Rees was temporarily living. I’d gotten the information by spending the afternoon the day before getting an oil change—that I didn’t need—at an off-the-books garage run by former inmates. Thought it was a good bet. Gave it a shot.
I’d worn my most wrinkled Grateful Dead shirt, holey jeans and flip flops, and offered them fifty bucks for service. Once my truck was in the bay, I slipped on my headphones to make them think I was lost in my own Franklin’s Tower, but instead, I listened to the chatter while they worked. I caught bits and pieces, including Sunny’s name—no Miss Harper there, trust me—Griggs’ name, and finally, “trailer number eight-forty-three.”
Bingo. A lead. One that Jagg should have hunted down.
You see, while brute strength and intimidation might be Jagg’s asset, mine was that I went unnoticed. I was just a regular, boring, normal nerd who could sneak through the shadows without so much of a glance.
As I’d already proven in spades.
Jagg was slipping.
And I was going to be there to pick up the pieces… and his badge.
36
Jagg
I set a paper bowl of water next to the edge of the patio outside of a coffee shop named Deja Brew, then settled into a corner table shaded by a massive maple tree. Max lapped up the water, leaving a trail of slobber across my boot as he plopped down next to my chair.
Fuck, it was hot.
I’d felt like an idiot ordering a bowl of water with my cup of coffee, but what was I supposed to do? I could only assume wearing a coat of fur in this blistering heat was nothing short of torture. That, and Sunny would have my ass if the dog got dehydrated while under my care. She probably had a test for it or something.
I looked down at the furball at my feet, his long tongue hanging out of his mouth, drooling with short pants of breath. He looked up at me and his tail thumped against the chair. I ruffled his ears and wondered how Brute’s vet appointment was going.
After wiping my palm on my pants, I picked up my phone to check if I had any missed calls or texts from Sunny. I didn’t. I pulled up an image of Kenzo Rees. My jaw clenched. I clicked into my videos and watched the grainy black and white video of the Black Bandit sneaking out the back door of Mystic Maven’s Art Shop. I flipped back and forth between Rees’s image and the video, then rewound the video ten times watching the smooth movements of the heist, the speed, the single focus of the Cedonia Scroll, then the jog down the steps—and that damn limp.
The left hip…
The left hip…
Mind racing, I slid my phone into my pocket then took a sip of my eight-dollar coffee, the heat of the paper cup less than the temperature outside. Everyone ahead of me had ordered some sort of frozen or iced concoction, half of which I couldn’t even pronounce. Never was a fan of fancy drinks, or iced-anything for that matter. I liked my coffee black, strong and piping hot. No matter what the weather.
I’d chosen the outdoor patio for two reasons, one, I didn’t want to leave Max in the Jeep. God forbid PETA show up at my doorstep, and two, I wanted privacy for the meeting I was about to have.
I was scrolling through my unread emails when clicks on the hardwood told me my company had arrived. I looked up to see a striking blonde in a grey skirt-suit thing and black heels that added four-inches to her already tall frame. Her hair was pulled back in a tight little bun, a pair of thick, black, trendy glasses over blue eyes. I don’t know what I expected when I’d scheduled a meeting with an art investigator, but that wasn’t it. Add red lipstick and a loose tie and this chick could have walked straight out of a Poison video. And, yet, my dick had no response. Not a single salute.
Sunny. Sorcery. There was no other explanation to it.
I stood and thrust out my hand.
“Agent Morgan.”
“Briana.” We shook hands, hers strong and commanding as if to let me know that although she was one of the few women in an industry dominated by men, she was no fool. Briana had an air of confidence about her as pungent as her spicy perfume. I knew her type, and I knew exactly how to do this dance.
“Cute dog.” She kneeled down and pet Max’s head, to which he responded with a groan of satisfaction instead of a growl of warning that a stranger was getting too close. The dog didn’t care about my safety. Sunny was his only master. Got it.
I motioned to the chair across from
me. “Please. Sit.” As she did, I said, “Sorry about the choice of seating, but—”
“Discretion. I get it.” She set her designer purse on the chair next to her. Business must be good.
“Would you like some coffee?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Briana had learned long ago that the best way to work with her male counterparts was to keep meetings short, sweet and direct. No coffee. No drinks.
“No, thank you,” she politely responded.
“You’re a tough gal to get ahold of.”
“I’m busy.”
And important, I get it.
“Well, thanks for squeezing me in,” my ill attempt to sound impressed leaked through. “As I said when we spoke earlier, I wanted to talk to you about the Cedonia Scrolls your company insured and your investigation surrounding the heist of the pieces.”
“You want to talk about Lieutenant Jack Seagrave’s murder.”
Briana came to play.
Good.
I leaned forward. “Miss Morgan, the piece you’re investigating is currently tied to a local homicide. Your cooperation here is not only appreciated but expected.”
“Do you have a warrant for my notes on the case?”
Okay. Miss Morgan was not only no man’s fool, but smart too, and therefore, damn good at her job, I imagined, which made me even more eager to learn what she’d uncovered so far.
“Alright,” I narrowed my eyes. “Let’s just cut through the bullshit here, then. I want you to help me find the Black Bandit.”
“And what do I get in return?”
“Not to be charged with obstruction of justice.”
Her perfectly plucked brow arched. “Or, I could turn you in for threatening a potential informant. I believe they call that police misconduct. I’m sure your boss and Chief McCord would love to hear about this little meeting.”
Apparently the Cedonia Scrolls weren’t the only thing Briana had investigated before calling me back.
“Have you ever lost a loved one, Briana?”
The flicker in her blue eyes told me yes.
“Me, too.” I said. “Most whose cases have been shifted into the freezer—gone cold, in case you didn’t catch that. And you’re right. I technically need a warrant for information you might have to help me solve a murder. And I’ll get it, you can bet those diamond studs you’ve got in your ears on that. But I’d rather not spend the rest of the day cutting through red tape. So, Miss Morgan, to answer your question—what do you get if you help me out right now? A solid fucking night’s sleep after knowing you did everything you could to bring a slain officer justice.”
Her stare was loaded with calculated calmness.
“How did you know I was the one working the Cedonia Scroll case?”
“How did you know McCord wants my badge?”
A moment ticked by before she finally nodded, deciding to grace me with a little give and take.
“I’ll help you. Under one circumstance.”
“Name it.”
“I want to be credited for helping find the Lieutenant’s murderer.”
It shouldn’t have surprised me. The woman wore her career goals as blatantly as the label on her purse.
“Done.”
“What do you want to know?”
“There are four Cedonia Scrolls total. Were all four scrolls stolen from the same man?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve uncovered three so far. I want to know how.”
“The scrolls were stolen together, but then sold off piece by piece. Each scroll was worth more separately than all four together. I recovered the first three before they even touched their buyer’s hands.”
“Impressive.”
“I like to think so.”
“How did you do it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t reveal my sources, surely you understand that. Besides, this isn’t about the first three scrolls, this is about the fourth, stolen from Mystic Maven’s Art Shop.”
“Why has the fourth been so hard to track down?”
“It was the most valuable of the group. It’s changed hands several times since it was stolen.”
“How did you recover the first three so easily?”
“By a little quid pro quo.”
“Seems to be the theme in your career.”
“Didn’t get here by the color of my hair, no matter what you think.”
“I don’t doubt that, Miss Morgan. I can spot a snake when I see one. And I respect it. Now, tell me, all four scrolls are connected to the same underground buyer, aren’t they?”
She stared back at me, blankly. That answer was yes.
I continued. “Being able to recover three pieces of stolen art so quickly suggests you had inside knowledge of this buyer. You’re working with someone to recover the scrolls. Who?”
Her head tilted to the side as she took a moment to respond. Bingo. Briana Morgan was working with someone.
“Who?” I repeated.
“Someone with a lot to lose,” she said, finally.
“Like going back to prison?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Your informant is the Black Bandit, isn’t it?”
No response.
I continued. “The Black Bandit is stealing the scrolls for you, isn’t he? Because, as you said, he’s got a lot to lose, and it’s tied to those scrolls.”
A slow blink. This definitely wasn’t her first rodeo with law enforcement.
“Give me the name, Morgan.”
“I wish I could.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know it. My informant communicates with me through a burner phone. A new number every few days.”
“Give me the latest number.”
“Sure, but it won’t do you any good. All of a sudden this person has clammed up. Won’t return my calls, texts. It’s as if they’ve vanished into thin air.”
“But you’ve met the person. Tell me what they look like.”
“No, you’re assuming. I didn’t technically meet the person. We arranged a drop for swapping information. I staked out the place for two days before.”
“So you think you saw who it was?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Describe the person. Tell me what you know.”
“I won’t, Detective, because I’m not one-hundred percent sure that who I think it is, is it.”
“Bullshit.”
Her brow slowly cocked. She was playing me now. She’d met with the Bandit. I knew it in my bones. But she wasn’t going to share this with me. Why?
“Is Kenzo Rees the Black Bandit?”
“I can’t confirm or deny that, Detective.”
“Well, for your sake, I hope it isn’t, Morgan, because if so, you’ve struck a deal with the devil and I’d keep one eye open if I were you.”
We stared at each other for a minute. It was like looking in the damn mirror. The woman was not going to break.
“What about Julian Griggs? Does that name ring a bell to you?”
“The victim in the Slaying in the Park?”
So fucking glad that had caught on.
“I don’t know him personally,” she said. “Just heard the gossip.”
“What about a blue four-door sedan? Ever seen one of those at your clandestine meetings with the Bandit?”
She flipped over her palm and shook her head. “Not that I’ve noticed.”
My patience cashed out. I popped my fist against the table, sending my coffee toppling over. Max skittered to the corner. Briana Morgan didn’t flinch.
“The Black Bandit is either the person who killed Lieutenant Seagrave, or is the key to finding out who did it. I also believe they’re involved in the Slaying in Park. I’m going to ask you again, Miss Morgan, tell me what you know about the Bandit. Tell me what you know about Kenzo Rees.”
“The Black Bandit…” she tilted her head thoughtfully to the side, her voice as calm and madde
ning as the flippant look on her face. “Who picked that name, anyway?”
“An anonymous witness to one of those heists, but I’m willing to bet money it’s you. You did.”
“Interesting.” She stood, grabbed her purse and gaze down at me. “Look closer, Detective.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She turned away and sauntered across the patio.
Look closer.
“Hey, Morgan?”
She paused at the door but didn’t grace me with a glance.
“I’ll have the warrant in your hands by this evening.”
“I have no doubt you will, Detective. Good day.”
37
Jagg
Max whimpered in the back seat as my Jeep bottomed-out in a pot hole. My grip tightened around the steering wheel as I barreled down the dirt road, a cloud of dust spinning up from my tires and melting into air that seemed as still as a rock. Dusk was on the horizon, a ball of fire resting on the mountain peaks.
The full moon and the Moon Magic Festival was tonight, and so far the stars were aligning for a major shitshow.
My pulse hadn’t slowed since I’d left Deja Brew, and in fact, had only gotten faster as I’d tried to dance around the red tape to get a warrant for Briana Morgan’s files. I’d left a voicemail with the judge, who’d called the chief, who then called my boss and had me stonewalled, engaging in a pissing match about who should submit the warrant. McCord was trying to delay it, to spite me.
He wanted me off the case. He wanted me out of a job.
Well, the mother fucker had another thing coming.
Despite him, I’d gone by the judge’s house myself, where his wife assured that he would get back to me as soon as possible, then asked me to never come by with business again, punctuated by a slamming door in my face.
The Jagger popularity streak was hitting new highs.
It wasn’t until I got pulled over after leaving the judge’s house, for doing seventy in a forty-five, that I decided to get the hell out of dodge for a bit.
Jagger (Steele Shadows Investigations) Page 25
