The Murder Book

by Lissa Marie Redmond

  “Who is she?” Reese asked, cutting the audio.

  “Rita Walton. AKA Rita Williams. AKA Monique Jones. AKA Peaches. Hooker, crack head, informant extraordinaire. If she says she’s got information, I’d bet my life it’s good. Are these tapes current? I can’t believe she’s still alive after all these years.”

  Reese stuffed his cell back in his pocket. “Do you know where we can find her?”

  Charlie turned his watery gray eyes on him. “You’re the one still on the job, right? Get on your fancy computer and do your job. She shouldn’t be hard to find. Had a rap sheet forty pages long.”

  “I never should’ve doubted you’d know whose voice that was,” Lauren told him, cold fingers wrapped around the hot coffee mug. “You knew everyone on the street.”

  “I was on the street for a long time,” he said. “Wouldn’t know any of the players now. All their grandparents, maybe.”

  “You think she’ll talk to us?” Reese asked.

  Charlie shrugged. “It’s been so many years, I can’t say what she’d do. Back in the day, she was funny about who she’d talk to in person. But I will tell you this: she sounded afraid on that recorder. And that woman has seen a lot of shit. So whatever scared her, scared her big time.”

  “The DA’s office had the cell phone tracked to a tower over on the West Side,” Lauren told him. “Does she have people there?”

  “She had people everywhere. That’s what made her such a good informant. I can’t believe she’s still alive, that one. She lived hard.”

  “About how old would she be?” Reese slipped in. Lauren could tell he didn’t want to get chewed out for not doing his own homework again.

  “She was around my age. I used to tell the guys she was my senior prom date. That always got a laugh, especially from her. I turned sixty-eight in September.”

  He’s sixty-eight and still built like a locomotive, Lauren thought. I’m thirty-nine and can’t walk up my stairs without getting winded right now. “I’m going to give you my cell phone number, Charlie. If she won’t talk to us, would you be willing to come out of retirement and help me out?”

  “For you, Lauren, of course I will.” He pulled out his cell and handed it to her so she could punch her number into his contacts list.

  “Thanks, Charlie,” she said, squinting at the phone. She had forgotten to bring her readers along.

  “And that prick you used to go out with, that Wheeler guy? You know for sure he’s not the one who ambushed you?” She couldn’t believe Charlie remembered she was with Joe when she hooked for him. They didn’t break up until after her undercover detail was over.

  “He has a solid alibi.” Joy and Ben had assured her of that before she left the hospital. She returned Charlie’s cell, complete with her number stored in it. “Why would you ask about Joe Wheeler, of all people?”

  He gripped the phone and started scrolling across the screen with his index finger before handing it right back to her. “Because he made the paper today.”

  There on the screen was the Buffalo News app. The headline of the local section read: Injured Officer’s Alleged Harasser to Keep Police Job. Arbitrator Rules 30-Day Unpaid Suspension Punishment Enough for Harassment and Trespass Charges.

  The article went on to say that Joe Wheeler had pled guilty in Buffalo City Court to two violations, but the arbitrator in the disciplinary case sided with his union lawyers, saying the violations did not meet the standards for Conduct Unbecoming an Officer. The Garden Valley town supervisor stated they would appeal the decision. Police Chief Bernard Ritz was also quoted, saying that, “Detective Joseph Wheeler will not only return to active duty but will also be entitled to the eleven months’ worth of back pay lost while on suspension.”

  “That snaky bastard.” Lauren gave the phone to Reese, who quickly scanned the article.

  “How can his department do this?” Reese asked, voice raising a notch. “You caught the guy in your backyard with a loaded gun.”

  “Which he was allowed to have because he’s a cop. And it’s not a domestic because we haven’t been in a relationship in years. And him punching me in the mouth only constitutes harassment because I wasn’t seriously injured.” Lauren’s face flushed red with anger. “He’s not the guy who stabbed me, just the guy who gets away with hitting and threatening me.”

  “Some bastards know all the loopholes. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, kid.” Charlie took his phone back, setting it on the table.

  “We should go. Call my cell so I have your number.” Lauren stood up and gave Charlie a one-armed hug. She was trying to suppress the rage that was building up in her chest, already causing her pain every time she took a breath. “It was great to see you again, Charlie. Thanks for your help with the phone calls.”

  “You always had rotten luck with men. I remember you going out with Wheeler when you did the prostitution detail for me. I thought he was a nasty weasel even then. I always knew you were too good for him.”

  “I wish you would have said something at the time,” Lauren said.

  “You were young and in love. Would you have listened?” Charlie asked, but Lauren didn’t answer. She picked up her and Reese’s coffee mugs, setting them in the sink for Charlie. The ice maker in his refrigerator rumbled loudly while it deposited a load of cubes into its internal bucket.

  “Probably not. Anyway,” she switched the subject, “we’ll be seeing you.”

  “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you sooner rather than later.” Charlie winked at her but didn’t get up.

  She cracked a smile for his sake. “I think you’re probably right.”

  “It was good meeting you.” Reese stuck out his hand and Charlie gave it a pump.

  “You too, boss,” he replied, not bothering to show them out. Charlie reached back, grabbed the coffeepot, and gave himself a warm up as they closed the door behind them.

  Lauren could still feel the heat that had risen to her face as they made their way down the narrow staircase, the burning feeling raw in her chest. Joe Wheeler succeeded in sticking it to her again. Would it ever stop? Would she ever be done with him?

  I should have pulled the trigger, she thought, as Reese held the front door open for her, when I caught him in my backyard and had the barrel of the gun pressed against his temple. It would have been far more merciful than whatever he had planned for me.

  “Sorry about Wheeler,” Reese said when they got back into the car.

  “Why be sorry?” She shook her head in bitter resignation. “Why wouldn’t his department give him back his gun and reward him with back pay? I’m the stupid one for thinking anything different would happen.”

  Reese pulled out, heading toward the cemetery gates. “Let me get you home. We shouldn’t have come here today. I should have taken you home to rest after the meeting with the DA. You’ve had enough.”

  “Don’t start that crap with me,” she snapped. “We have a solid lead on someone who may know who attacked me. I’ll just add Joe to the list of guys who want to kill me.”

  “Don’t you start with your bullshit,” Reese shot back. “Everything is not about you. You got stabbed because you were in the office. It wasn’t personal. If I had stayed late instead of you, it would have been me. You’re a cop. Your job is dangerous. I can rattle off the names of ten guys I’ve put away over the years who’d love to put a bullet in my brain first chance they got. Remember, I got a fake tooth and a screw in my finger from getting beaten with a two-by-four in a backyard. That guy screamed at his sentencing that he should have finished me off. Don’t start boo-hooing at me.”

  “It just seems like everyone I associate with is a psychopath.”

  “That’s bullshit too. You don’t associate with anybody but cops, lawyers, and criminals,” he pointed out. “Who else is going to make your life miserable? Besides Dayla, you have no non-law-enforcement friends. I
t’s a numbers game. If every person who crosses your path is an apple, all the bad apples are going to come along too. You just keep biting into the worms.”

  “Why—”

  “Stop, okay? You’re a good-looking woman. You probably used to be totally hot, when you were younger. But not every guy is obsessed with you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been busting my ass trying to figure out who stole that Murder Book and why. Every day since it happened. Because I know if I can figure out who wanted to steal that book, I’ll figure out who attacked you. Get over yourself already.” He took the next turn a little too hard. “And you’re welcome, by the way.”

  Lauren crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the passenger-side window. He was right. She wasn’t the only cop to ever have been attacked on the job, man or woman. Reese had still been on patrol when he caught a robbery suspect in a backyard. They had wrestled over Reese’s gun, which had become jammed in the fight. The suspect grabbed the nearest thing he could, a piece of wood, and bashed Reese with it repeatedly until his backup found him, bloody and half conscious, but still holding onto his useless gun. The guy got sentenced to fifteen years in jail; the DA’s office had asked for twenty-five. Every cop knew what it was like to be on the losing side of a court battle.

  “Should we call Ben and Joy? Let them know about Rita?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  He glanced at the time on the dash display. “They’re probably gone for the day. Tomorrow I’m going to find Rita Walton. One way or another.”

  “Just keep them in the loop. Don’t go all lone wolfy.” Which was rich, coming from her.

  “I really think this is the break in your case we’ve been looking for,” he said. “I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize it. Believe me, I’ll fight fair.”

  If I expected everything to be fair, I shouldn’t have become a cop, she told herself as they passed by the Basilica again.

  20

  Later that evening Reese picked up Lauren’s parents from the airport. The only flight Erin could catch brought her in at eleven that night, so she Ubered it to Lauren’s house. Dayla came over, making drinks and telling funny stories while Watson charmed everyone he could. Dayla’s two sons and their families were taking her and her husband to dinner at the Roycroft Inn in East Aurora for Thanksgiving dinner the next evening.

  Both of Dayla’s sons lived out of state, but somehow she seemed much better at the whole empty nest thing than Lauren. Lauren suspected that might be the cause of Dayla’s plastic surgery addiction, along with the fact that she refused to offer up that she was a grandmother to two toddlers. She called herself their “Mimi” instead. Anything to avoid admitting she was middle-aged.

  Lauren hadn’t really thought much about being middle-aged until she got herself laid up in the hospital. Now it was something she clung to late at night in bed. She was still alive. That felt like no small accomplishment to her in the wake of her near-death experience.

  Someone, probably her dad, had put a recorded football game on the big flat-screen TV over the fireplace. Looking around her full living room—Reese sitting on the carpet trying to wrestle Watson away from Erin, her parents sitting together on her floral couch, Dayla gesturing grandly as she regaled them with one of her wild tales—it occurred to Lauren that almost getting murdered had brought her family closer than it had been in years.

  Lauren’s mom and Dayla began making plans to take Erin and Lindsey Black Friday shopping at three in the morning. “I’ll drive,” Dayla told Erin. “We’ll go to the outlets in Niagara Falls. My Escalade can hold oh-so many bags,” she squealed.

  “I want to get a new ski jacket,” Erin said. “The stuffing is literally coming out of mine.”

  “I can’t believe you guys would get up at three in the morning to fight those crowds just to go shopping,” Lauren said from her seat on the side chair near the front picture window.

  “It’s like going hunting,” Dayla said. “You have to strategize and plan to get the best deals. You have to know the layouts of the stores, where the best stuff is located, and be ready once those doors open up.”

  “It sounds like too much work just to buy Christmas gifts,” Lauren said.

  “If I were you,” her mother piped up, “I’d skip the Christmas presents and update your wardrobe.”

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?” Lauren demanded, looking around at all the heads nodding in agreement.

  “Nothing,” Dayla said into her drink, “if you like looking like you’re wearing a potato sack all the time.”

  Ohh, Lauren thought. She going to try to shame me into shopping.

  “Yeah, Mom. Let me pick out some clothes for you,” Erin joined in. “You’re too pretty to look so frumpy all the time.”

  Reese snorted a laugh from the other side of the room. She glared at him for a second, then turned back to the rest her attackers. “I have a closet full of clothes upstairs—”

  “From the year 2000,” Dayla finished.

  “I like the way I dress. I’m not interested in high fashion.” Being thin and almost five-nine meant that most pants were short on her, so every purchase involved a trip to her seventy-year-old Italian seamstress to have the waist taken in and the hem let out. It seemed like so much time and effort, especially since Lauren had put a moratorium on dating when she broke off her affair with her ex-husband a year ago. Now that she had a beautifully puckered and angry-looking chest-tube scar, she definitely wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

  “Clearly.” It was Dayla again with the shot.

  Lauren smoothed down her favorite gray sweatshirt self-

  consciously. “I’m not going shopping at three in the morning,” she said. “You ladies have fun. It’s not like I can buy off the rack, anyway,” she added, but she wasn’t sure anyone was listening.

  “I’m going with them,” Reese added jovially. Lauren’s dad clapped him on the shoulder. They’re all ganging up on me, she thought. Thank God I’m here for them to do it.

  “Like I said, you ladies have fun.” Between the DA’s office, headquarters, and Charlie’s graveyard, it had been a long day and it was past midnight. Lauren struggled against the exhaustion that had been creeping in. Seeing her family and friends together was well worth it, but she could barely keep her eyes open. “I hate to leave the party,” Lauren announced, rising from her chair, “but I’ve got to get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”

  Erin bounced up from the floor, giving her mother a careful hug. “Goodnight, Mom.” Her voice was light and happy.

  She kissed her cheek. “See you in the morning.”

  “I’ll clean up down here, don’t worry,” her mom called to her. She had bought a twenty-two-pound turkey and left it in Lauren’s fridge to thaw before she had gone back to Florida the week before. Lauren knew her mom would be up at the crack of dawn no matter what, puttering around the kitchen, apron on, cooking for the family.

  “Lock the door when you leave, Dayla,” Lauren reminded her. Dayla was famous for exiting and leaving the door wide open in her wake.

  Patting her thighs as she stood at the foot of the stairs, Lauren expected Watson to come running. Instead he was lying across Reese, letting him scratch his belly while his back leg kicked with every stroke. “Sorry.” Reese shrugged. “There’s no loyalty when it comes to belly rubs.”

  Walking up the stairs to her second floor, looking forward to coffee with her family in the morning, Lauren tried to keep the positive vibes going. Ever since their return from Lackawanna, Lauren kept hearing the sounds of the three phone calls play over and over in her head. There was a feeling from them that she just couldn’t shake.

  Lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, the woman’s voice from the phone call flooded her brain. Where are you, Rita? Lauren thought. And what did you see?

  21

  “Mom, you look good!” Lindsey wrappe
d her arms around Lauren’s neck carefully, the enthusiasm in her voice at being with her mom unmistakable. A cold rain had started to fall outside and Lindsey’s coat was damp against Lauren’s cheek. As if to combat the precursor to snow, turkey smells from the oven permeated the entire house even at ten in the morning, giving it a warm, cozy feeling. Lauren’s mother had dug out all of Lauren’s fanciest dinnerware—her wedding-to-Mark china and her crystal wine goblets—setting the table for an extra special feast. With her oldest daughter home in her arms, it really felt like Thanksgiving to Lauren.

  “You’re lying, but I don’t care.” Lauren hugged her back as much as she could muster. “I’m just glad we’re all together.”

  “I’m sorry Aunt Jill couldn’t come,” Lindsey said, rolling her pink suitcase into the middle of the living room, the wheels leaving two thin, wet trails behind. Watson sniffed it carefully, decided it wasn’t something he could eat, and moved on.

  “It would have cost her and her family a fortune to fly to Buffalo over a holiday, plus she was just here last week.” Lauren resisted the urge to smooth a stray piece of blond hair out of Lindsey’s eye, the way her mother had always done to her growing up. I guess we all really do turn into our mothers in the end, she reflected.

  “I get it. But we’re doing Christmas at their place this year, right?”

  That was another thing the family had apparently arranged while Lauren was hospitalized: a trip to the Pacific Northwest. Who knew what other adventures they had planned while she was unconscious? “Why not? I’d love to see Seattle at Christmas time.”

  “Is Shane going to come too?” Lindsey asked coyly.

  Lauren knew she was trying to needle her. “No. Reese has his own family. The only reason he’s with us today is because his parents are on a cruise to Mexico.”

  “Hey, big sister.” Erin ran out from the kitchen and caught her sibling around the shoulders in a bear hug. “I’ve missed you so much since last week.”