Rebels and Thieves

by Russell Williams

  “Stop giving me the runaround. I’m sick and tired of it.”

  “Huh?”

  “This week, it’s a bad headache. Last week, it was a bad stomachache.”

  Missy leveled her gaze at him. “I’m going to sleep downstairs, on the couch.”

  “Get back into this bed.”

  “No, we’ll talk about this over the weekend.”

  “That’s fine with me. We’ll spend this weekend together. Just like old times.” Benson knew over fifty percent of marriages ended in divorce. When infidelity was the reason, it was always accompanied by lies and deceit. For the past three Saturdays and Sundays, she claimed she’d been at the mall all day, but her car hadn’t been in the parking lot.

  “I already have plans. So, that’s not going to work for me.”

  “You don’t want to be with me, do you?”

  Missy seemed nervous. “No, I didn’t say that.”

  Benson read between the lines. He knew she was in love with another man. “You’d rather spend your time with someone else, right?”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  “Stop lying to me. I’m sick and tired of it.”

  Missy hesitated. “I go to the mall every weekend with my girlfriends. You know that.”

  “Like you’ve been doing for the past three Saturdays and Sundays?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Benson jumped out of bed, grabbed her by the throat, and slammed her head against the wall. Two pictures fell onto the wood floor, the glass shattering. Overcome with rage, Benson slapped her across the face, knocking her to the floor. Missy lay on her side, cradling her head in her hands, crying.

  “If you don’t stop cheating on me,” Benson said, “I’m going to kill you.”

  Missy got to her feet. She looked terrified. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Break it off with him.” Benson clenched his hands into fists. “Or I’ll kill both of you.”

  “I’m not being unfaithful to you.” Blood oozed from her mouth. “I love you, I promise.”

  “Prove it.”

  Missy took off her housecoat and climbed back into bed. She switched off the light on the nightstand. Trembling in the darkness, she slipped out of her nightgown. Benson climbed on top of her, all the while kissing her. He entered her slowly, gradually opening her up. When he was deep inside her, he heard her burst into tears.

  Chapter 9

  Malone sat at his desk, glancing at articles from various financial magazines—Fortune, Kiplinger, Money. Even though he wasn’t in the financial industry, he was still interested in economics, particularly in how economies went through periods of expansion and contraction. Using economic indicators, these cycles could be predicted, and it fascinated him to no end. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Officer Jones coming into the squad room, carrying a cup of coffee. He set the Styrofoam cup down on the side of Malone’s desk. Eyes narrowed, he grabbed a chair from an empty desk, rolled it across the aisle, and sat down.

  “Take it easy,” Malone said. “I’m not going to interrogate you.”

  Officer Jones clenched his jaw. “I’ll go head-to-head with you, if that’s what you want.”

  Malone held up his palms. He didn’t want to get into an argument with him. “Knock it off, kid. You don’t have anything to prove to me.”

  “I didn’t like how you treated me before, when you read me the riot act.”

  Malone knew it was time to have a heart-to-heart discussion with him. He wanted to explain to him why he’d come down so hard on him at the crime scene. “Listen to me for a minute. You want to become a good detective some day, don’t you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m molding you, kid. I’m helping you to become a better police officer.”

  “I don’t like your methods.”

  “Most people don’t.” Malone gave him a frank look. “Join the crowd.”

  Officer Jones took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He removed a notepad from his top pocket and opened it. “You wanted to know who Jason Roberts called before he was stabbed to death at Lemon City Park.”

  “That’s what I’ve been waiting for.” Malone crossed his legs. “Let me hear it.”

  “I checked the cell phone records and found that he had telephoned Steve James.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Steve is forty-two. Married. Works at Black Capital Investments.”

  Malone didn’t think that was a coincidence “That adds fuel to the fire, doesn’t it?”

  “He placed twelve calls to him, each one minute apart. But he never reached him.”

  “It sounds like he was in a grim situation.” Malone mulled this over. Roberts and James had both worked together at Black Capital Investments. On the night that he was murdered, Roberts was desperately trying to reach him. “That’s an interesting development. I’ll question Steve James as soon as possible.”

  Officer Jones looked at him. “Now, that I’ve had time to think it over. I don’t think the Lemon City Park murders are related.”

  “That’s right. The first victim, Dennis Miller, was shot to death by a family member.”

  Officer Jones looked surprised. “Who did it?”

  “Earlier today, his brother came in, surrendered his pistol, and confessed to killing him.”

  “What was his motive?”

  Malone knew crimes of passion were on the rise in Miami. Over the years, he had seen a lot of people die from being involved in a love triangle. “He shot his brother to death for having an affair with his wife.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible.” Officer Jones shook his head. “It’s a crazy world.”

  “Ballistics matched his gun to the slugs found in Miller’s chest. Open and shut case.”

  Officer Jones grabbed the Styrofoam cup, crossed his legs, and took a sip of his coffee. He looked down, at a framed picture of Brett Favre, sitting on Malone’s desk. He was silent for a moment before he said, “Is he a fan of yours?”

  “You bet.”

  “I’m not much of a sports fan. I mean, I like sports, but I’ve never followed the players.”

  Malone took a deep breath. “Favre’s my all time favorite quarterback.”

  “Did you want to be like him?”

  “You bet. But I was dealt a bad hand.” Malone took a deep breath and sighed. When he played college football, he was an outstanding quarterback. He wanted to play in the NFL, but a serious knee injury ended his career.

  “I’ve never wanted to be anything but a good cop.”

  “You’d better keep your eyes on the ball. And don’t get off the path.”

  Officer Jones shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “That’s not going to happen to me.”

  Malone knew the rookie cop was still making light of the monkey on his back. Often times, people who gambled got mixed up in the wrong crowd and ended up owing money to dangerous people. “You have a serious gambling problem. And it’s kicking your ass.”

  “I said I’m going to take the bull by the horns. So, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “So, what’s your plan?”

  “I’m going to cut back on my gambling, especially going on Stillwater Cruises.”

  “So, that’s where you do most of your gambling, huh?”

  “It’s a hot spot.” Officer Jones’ face lit up. “It draws a lot of people, like a big party.”

  “You don’t have to be part of that scene. You can choose to stop going there.” Malone felt like a hypocrite. On the one hand, he was giving the rookie cop good advice, telling him not to engage in destructive behavior. But on the other hand, Malone wasn’t trying to stay away from his own vice—booze.

  “I’m going to get my act together, Sergeant. But I’ve already booked another trip with Stillwater Cruises. So, I have to keep it. But after this trip, that’s it. I’m calling it quits.”

  “Has anyone ever threatened you there?”

  Officer Jones rubbed the back of his ne
ck. “No, that’s never happened to me.”

  “Roberts spent a lot of time on Stillwater Cruises, too. No doubt drinking and gambling.” Malone got up, moved to the window, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black dress slacks. Outside, it was a bright, sunny day. In the distance, a uniformed police officer led a man toward the station, handcuffed. No matter what time of the day he looked down at the parking lot, it seemed like he saw someone being escorted into the building.

  “Every day, they offer two five hour cruises. One in the morning and one in the evening.”

  Malone considered this. “Do you think Roberts could have got into trouble there?”

  “It’s possible.” Officer Jones looked uncomfortable. “Anyone can get in over their head.”

  Malone was relieved the rookie cop was going to stop going on Stillwater Cruises. Since he was only going on his last cruise, he didn’t see the harm in asking him for a favor. “I want you to follow up on a lead for me.”

  Officer Jones leaned forward in his chair. “I’m listening.”

  “Poke around on the cruise ship. See if you could find anyone who knew Roberts.”

  “No problem.” Officer Jones put his notebook into his shirt pocket. “Consider it done.”

  “See if there’s someone who hurts people for not paying their gambling debts.” Malone immediately felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Because the rookie cop had a gambling addiction, he had second thoughts about asking him to get involved in the case. He thought about calling the whole thing off, but he really wanted to get a lead on the murder investigation.

  “You got it, Sergeant.” Officer Jones got to his feet. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Remember.” Malone shook his finger at him. “You’re cutting down on your gambling.”

  Officer Jones gave him a confident look. “I’ll be all right, Sergeant.”

  Malone got a bad feeling in his stomach. He knew that quitting an addicting was easier said than done. “Don’t bring a lot of cash or your credit cards with you. This way, you can’t lose much money.”

  “That’s the plan.” Officer Jones drained his cup of coffee and left the squad room.

  Malone felt like he was being a hypocrite for giving the rookie cop advice about his gambling addiction. Malone was having a hard time dealing with his own demons. Once he put alcohol in his system, it seemed to have a mind of its own. Even though he realized this, he still looked forward to getting off work and knocking back several drinks. He looked forward to the booze clearing his head, relaxing his muscles, and getting rid of his stress.

  Chapter 10

  Peterson came into the homicide squad room, carrying a manila folder. She wore black dress pants and a white sleeveless top. Straight-faced, she sat down at her desk and opened the folder. Malone could tell she had a lot on her mind.

  “What do you have to report?” Malone asked.

  “I spent a few hours at Roberts’ condo, looking through his things.”

  “Nice section of town. He must have lived pretty well.”

  “No, it was appalling how he lived.” Peterson shook her head. “The place was a wreck, with dirty dishes, clothes, and papers everywhere.”

  “Single life, I guess.” Malone folded his arms across his chest. Since his wife moved out, he hadn’t lifted a finger to clean up his place. It was starting to look like a war zone.

  “He turned one the bedrooms into a business office. I think someone ransacked it.”

  “Any sign of forced entry?”

  Peterson closed her eyes, obviously deep in thought. Using her right hand, she extended her fingers, one by one—index finger, middle finger, ring finger, pinky. She made a similar gesture with her other hand. “The place has four doors and seven windows. All locks intact.”

  “Did any of his neighbors see anything suspicious?”

  “No, he kept to himself.”

  Malone knew it was common for criminals to keep a low profile. Privacy was the name of the game. “It sounds like he was a bit antisocial.”

  “No, everyone said he was pleasant enough. Nice smile, polite, charming.”

  “What about his ex-wife?”

  “I called her a few times, left a few messages. But she hasn’t bothered to call me back. She lives by the beach, on the corner of 60th Avenue and 20th Street.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Malone reflected on his thoughts. He knew interviewing ex-wives could be an unpleasant experience, but he suspected she might know something about the murder investigation. “I’ll pay her a visit.”

  “Why do you think someone raided Roberts’ home office?”

  “Someone was probably trying to cover their tracks, to get rid of incriminating evidence.” Malone got up and moved to the counter. Standing in front of the white coffee maker, he grabbed a mug and poured himself a full cup, black. He sat back down behind his desk and watched the wisp of steam rise in the air.

  “Everything was stolen. His computer, jump drives, files, copy machine, fax machine.”

  “First, you get rid of the evidence. Then you get rid of the witness.”

  Peterson gave him a frank look. “It looks suspicious. I’ll give you that much.”

  Malone worked out the details in his mind. Even though there wasn’t much to go on, he had a working theory. “Well, let’s try to put some of the pieces together.”

  “I’m at a loss for words.”

  “We know Roberts must have known the perpetrator.”

  “He didn’t have any defensive wounds on him. So, I’ll go with it.”

  “Someone stole sensitive data. Bank statements, financials, tax returns, stuff like that.”

  Peterson’s eyes gleamed. “That type of information is usually kept in a business office.”

  “We also know that Roberts worked at Black Capital Investments, too.”

  “On the night he died, he even called one of his co-workers a bunch of times.”

  “That’s right.” Malone took a sip of his coffee. “All roads lead back to the hedge fund.” Malone knew corporate corruption was at an all time high. He didn’t think the circumstances surrounding Robert’s death were a coincidence—his employment at Black Capital Investments, his twelve calls placed to one of his co-worker, his home office being ransacked, and his financial information being stolen.

  Peterson looked thoughtful. “It looks like Black Capital Investments is in trouble.”

  Malone thought about the hedge fund industry. Most hedge funds were designed, marketed, and sold on the premise that they would return a profit, regardless of how good or how bad the global economy was performing. In truth, hedge funds were failing at record paces. Several massive hedge funds had collapsed for being on the wrong side of the trade—Long Term Capital Management, Amaranth Advisors, Bear Sterns. To make matters worse, this was only the beginning. Many more of these monsters filled the pipeline, primed to lose billions and billions more of investor’s funds. This had triggered a wave of panic on Wall Street, causing a flood of investors to pull their money out of these funds. With insufficient cash to operate, more hedge funds were closing their doors every day—no cash, no customers, no business.

  Peterson went on, “You’re convinced Kemp is dirty, aren’t you?”

  “Black Capital Investments can’t be up twenty percent for the year.”

  “What’s the next step?”

  “We’ll pay Kemp another visit tomorrow afternoon. Around two P.M.”

  “But we don’t have anything on him.”

  Malone crossed his legs. Part of catching criminals had to do with asking the right questions. “We don’t need anything else to stir the pot.”

  Peterson gave him a little grin. “Oh, is that right? What do you have in mind?”

  “We’ll hit him with these accusations. See if he admits something bad about his firm.”

  “That sounds good to me.” Peterson sounded excited. “I’ll meet you there tomorrow.”

  “You got it.”

  Ma
lone got to his feet and moved to the window. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his black dress slacks. Outside, the sun was setting in the evening sky. Two uniformed officers jumped into their police cruisers and tore out of the station, lights flashing, sirens blaring. Even though the crime rate in Miami kept soaring, Malone felt good his department was doing everything within its power to lower it.

  Chapter 11

  Martha Roberts opened the front door and crossed her arms. She was stunning, with long jet-black hair, heart-shaped lips, and soft brown eyes. She was wearing tight black jeans, a blue T-shirt, and color-coordinated sneakers. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Malone,” he said, flashing his gold badge. “Miami PD.”

  Roberts seemed irritated. “What do you want?”

  “It’s about your ex-husband, Jason Roberts. I’m afraid he’s been murdered.”

  “Oh.”

  “We found his body in Lemon City Park. Someone stabbed him to death.”

  “You could have called me on the phone, Sergeant.”

  Malone felt a flash of irritation. He just got done telling her that someone had killed her ex-husband, and she was acting like she couldn’t care less. “We have a lot to discuss.” His tone was serious. “Perhaps we could talk inside.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Roberts held up her hand. “Don’t impose on me.”

  “It’s probably ninety degrees out here.”

  Roberts looked offended. “You chose your profession. Stop complaining about the heat.”

  “Well, hurry up and get your things together. I don’t have all day.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Malone decided to play hardball with her. It was one of the few perks that came with being a detective. “We’ll finish this conversation downtown, at police headquarters.”

  Roberts looked shocked. “You can’t be serious, can you?”

  “Get your things together.” Malone checked his watch. “I don’t have all day.”

  “All right, Sergeant.” Roberts frowned. “You win. I’ll let you come inside.”