by Deanna King
“Skip started to cry, you know, the tears of a drunk who had a burden to release. That was when I found out what had happened to Jo. He killed her, but it was an accident.”
“Skip killed her, he killed JoAnn?”
“No, I’m getting to it.” She felt spent, but she wasn’t about to stop her story.
“Skip told me what happened and made me promise not to tell a soul. Just like that, he sobered up. He had worked at the Crystal Barrel for several years when it just a regular club, and not a front for hookers and gambling. He knew too much, and he had to keep his mouth shut. They had threatened him with his life.”
“If he was worried about threats then why did he tell you?”
“Jack, please,” she wheezed, “you saw what I used to look like, and he was drunk, and I think he needed someone to tell.”
“What did he tell you?”
“One night, a man he knew told him he had heard that a john had killed one of the hookers. Skip wouldn’t tell me who told him this, because it was too dangerous. He told me he did some asking around. Hell, no one ever thought Skip was smart enough to figure out that two and two are four, not eight. You know, people talk to their bartender same as they do with their hairdresser. He found out who the john was. He knew the name of the man that was in the room when the hooker was accidentally killed.”
“Did he say who?” Jack was not going to leave here without a name.
“I wanted to know who was such a big shot that a murder needed to be covered up, accident or not, and he told me it was that young fella, they call him The Big Bad Wolff, he was a badass lawyer.”
She saw the look register in his eyes, it was more than shock. Jack opened his mouth, but closed it letting this new information sink in before he spoke. Holy Mother of God, did Judge Troy Wolff have something to do with this missing whore? This was preposterous, Jack had known the man for years, and never had he ever dreamt that he was like that, not even back then. The judge was refined and distinguished.
“I can’t go accusing him, for God’s sake the man is a respected judge in Houston.”
“You said you want justice and I thought you meant that.” Her breathing more labored, the sweat on her brow heavier, she was upset.
“Okay, I do, I do, Daphne, but this is…I would need proof.”
“Let me finish this because I am getting tired, Jack, tired of everything. That’s when I realized it, when Skip said he would be sure to tell her. I knew.”
“What, you knew what?”
“That Bullard and Simpson covered up a load of crap. No one ever found Jo. Now here you sit, looking into a cold case that got buried and forgotten, but Skip said she wasn’t dead. Celeste hadn’t gotten out, and Jo was her body double.”
This was ludicrous.
“Why would she fake her death?”
“There was major ‘pillow talk,’ I mean, every john I had I got talking. I ‘sex-talked’ them out of any information they’d tell me. Word was that someone put a contract on her life, she had to get out, sell out, or die.”
“Why not leave town, or leave the country?”
“I can’t answer that. But they needed proof that she was dead.”
“Who, Daphne, tell me who and stop beating around the bush?” Jack was literally sitting on the edge of his chair.
“I heard it was the Buccella family, mob family from Chicago.”
“The mob wants you killed, Daphne, you’re dead.”
“Scottie may have been a Buccella, Jack, but I know something not many know.”
“What?” Jack’s head was spinning with the story. Was it true or not?
“He had a thing for Celeste back then. He no more wanted her dead than he wanted his own mother dead. I was his hooker one night, Jack…men talk, and Scottie talked. He told me that if something ever happened to Jed, he would make a move on her.”
“Why didn’t he have Jed whacked then, I mean, if he had mob affiliations?”
Daphne scarcely moved her bony shoulders in an upward motion. “Love is an odd thing because I asked myself that same question and never came up with an answer.”
“So, where is Scottie Buccella now?” Jack was thinking he needed to talk to him.
“Jack, he’s dead, been dead now for at least fifteen years.”
“How’d he die?”
“Contract murder. They said it was someone from Chicago, that’s all I know. I wasn’t sure what to believe. I always thought it was a local hit. Now, will you go get Troy Wolff and arrest him? I want to know if you are going to look into this or not?”
“On the word of a moronic bartender as you call him, and you, pardon me, an ex-prostitute, I will do no such thing unless can you elaborate a bit more, because I’ll be damned if I am going to start pointing fingers at an official figure, Daphne.” Now he was sweating and worried.
“Harve, set me more upright.”
Harvey hit the button, and the hospital bed brought her into a full sitting position, so she was more eye to eye with Jack.
“They said it was an accident, Jack, but I didn’t believe that. JoAnn was a crazy whore in the sack, but she told me she was safe. She didn’t want to die. I always warned her that she was taking too many risks. Her style of sex got her killed, and I believe it was all a cover-up. Wolff was married and his father-in-law had big bucks, and I think he was backing him in a political sense. Wolff had aspirations on being a Supreme Court Justice. It was his dream to have a lifelong term in the court system. Funny though, isn’t it?”
“What do you find funny, Daphne, because I’m in no laughing mood right now?” Jack’s jaw flexed as he began grinding his teeth.
“No, not ha-ha funny,” she whispered, her voice getting weaker, “weird funny. He was all for law and order, but his sexual pleasures got in the way. His real dreams faded away.”
“What about Jenna? Daphne, what more does she know? She knows more if Sarge stayed on and they live together. I’m sure they had their own pillow talk. I am going back out to Waller and grill both of them. I’ll charge her with obstruction to an investigation.”
She had lied to him, and he was damn well pissed.
“I can’t stop you, so I’ll just tell you. One night Jenna came up to the Crystal Barrel, Sarge was working there, and she came to pick him up. Her and I had a few drinks and waited for them to get all the receipts in order. Five months later Jo went missing and Celeste ended up dead. Jo liked Jenna, even though Jenna didn’t care for Jo, so I wondered if she had heard from her.”
“Had she heard from Jo?”
“No, Jenna said she thought Jo was gone for good and that she must have left town. I out-and-out cracked up at that and said the only thing that would keep Jo out of Houston and this line of work was if she was dead. When I said that, Jenna’s face went pale, she fumbled her words, and right then Sarge walked up. He looked at her, then at me.”
“What did he say to you?”
“That I needed to mind my own business like Jenna was told to do, and there wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“Why, what trouble? What did he have to do with it?”
“I think he helped with the cover-up and he was in too deep. Jenna was bugged out, always looking over her shoulder kind of behavior. About a week later I called her, I wanted her to know that I was going to the police about Jo because I thought someone had killed her. She started crying. I asked her what was wrong, and if she didn’t tell me I was going to come out to Waller, Texas, and beat the living shit out of her.”
More excitement, more coughing, took a few minutes for her to be able to talk again. Jack waited.
�
��She told me not to go to the police, that she knew Jo was gone. Then she told me that Sarge had her sneaking around stealing Celeste’s car. There were some of her clothes in the car, and she took them to Sarge. She didn’t go in, but she got a tiny glimpse into the room.”
“What did she see?”
Daphne puckered her forehead. “A naked woman’s feet on the bed, and not much more because Sarge was blocking her view, he’s a big man. All she claimed to have seen were feet. She just guessed it was Jo, but she really didn’t know.”
“Daphne, what motel was this?” Jack already had an idea of the one she meant.
“Off Southwest Freeway, All Occasions, it was out there, and not much was built up around it back then. So that’s it, Jack. I felt bad all these years for not coming forward, but with crooked cops and people who were just plain mean, I was worried about my own ass. I didn’t know who to trust, so I buried it all. I guess this is my deathbed confession because I owe it to Jo, to get justice for her.”
This was an amazing story, how would he be able to get all the facts and the proof? He thanked Daphne for telling her story, and then Harvey walked him to the front door.
“She doesn’t have long. Hospice is coming. She’ll be taken off her meds because she wants it to be over. She told you her story. Other than the fact that she can’t just free herself of cancer, or hang on just for me, she says she’s ready to die. You know, Detective West,” Harvey was back to formalities, “I got a few more days with her because you didn’t return her call right away. She told me she couldn’t die without telling someone on the police force her story. Your delay gave me about an extra week or two, thank you for that.”
“Good luck, Harvey. I know you’ll be happy when she is no longer in pain, but losing her will be heartbreaking.”
Harvey Walden offered Jack his hand, and Jack thanked him for letting him into their home.
Sitting in his truck, he felt a sense of sorrow for Harvey Walden and admiration for Daphne. She had told him one of the most bizarre stories he had ever heard sans movies that were make-believe stories written by writers who had outlandish imaginations.
He looked at his watch; he had been there for over three freaking hours. He taped it all, and he even had to turn the blessed tape over. Her story was long and it was almost unbelievable.
He wanted to call Lucky, but he didn’t. Not everything was a sure thing, and he had to get all his notes in order before he shared Daphne’s story. A missing whore and a dead Madame, who was not dead, and Troy Wolff’s name linked to the case. That had to be the worst part of her story. He did not want the proverbial shit to hit the fan, not yet…he had to make sure it was not his shit hitting the fan and him losing his career.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jack literally got zero sleep; he tossed and turned, and decided at three in the morning that he would get up, dress, and head to the station. His mind was in a whirl, he had plenty of notes to transcribe and a report to write on his most enlightening interview, ever. It was almost a confession of sorts.
“Here kind of early, aren’t you, Jack?” one of the night shift officers asked when he saw Jack in the break room pouring his fourth cup of coffee.
“Yep, Dutch, too much to do today, figured I’d get an early start.” Jack yawned.
“That sludge we make here ought to open your eyes, and choke you to boot!” Dutch snickered and poured himself some of the same sludge. “It will keep me awake until I get home.” He stifled a yawn.
“Any exciting happenings while you were on your shift last night, Dutch?”
“Nope, sort of quiet for a change, we got a few domestic and drunk calls, none for homicide. No one got popped last night in our sector for a damn change.”
That was not normal news—no new case coming in—but it was better than a new murder. It would cost him his job if people stopped killing one another. If that ever happened, he knew hell would freeze over and that kind of job security was a bit morbid.
At 8:00, with most of the tape transcribed and his body wired after six cups of coffee, he was starving.
Luck walked in as Jack was walking out.
“Hey, Jack, Whatdaya do, sleep here?”
“Why, do I look like something the cat dragged in or what?”
“Your eyes are bloodshot, and you have a coffee stain on your shirt, and your hair is a mess.”
He had no sleep, too much coffee, spilling some on his shirt, and ran his hands through his hair as he went over Daphne’s statement. He had energy, even if he looked like hell.
“Wonderful detective work, man, I almost slept here, been here since about four or so.”
“Why so early, partner, something came in, and you didn’t call me? What gives?” Luck took his seat at the desk.
“Grab your missing girl case. When the captain gets in his office we all need to talk.”
In the captain’s office, Jack finished telling Daphne Walden’s story. Captain Yao and Dawson Luck sat there, mouths opened, stunned into silence.
“Jack, this is more than…I mean, we can’t, I mean…” Davis Yao ran his hands through his hair. “This is the craziest story I’ve ever heard.”
“Judge Wolff had something to do this. That’s crazy, man, ca’razzy.” Lucky whistled.
“Look, all I am saying is that this case wasn’t worked, and we have to check it all out. I’ve heard rumors about the judge and always dismissed them as that—rumors. If he was involved back then, shouldn’t we find out the truth?” Jack sat on the edge of the chair and leaned in at Davis Yao, then looked at his partner.
“Jack, you can’t go question Judge Wolff, and hell, who are you going to start with?” Davis Yao was getting a new ulcer; he felt his stomach begin to burn.
“We need to get Jenna Berrie and Max Renner in here. No, wait, we go to Waller, surprise visit, catch them off guard before they can concoct a story between them.”
“Yep, start there and keep me posted. Boys, there’s one thing I do know for sure, you better get some damn concrete evidence before we even think about speaking with the judge. If this blows up in our faces, we might not be demoted, but fired. I don’t want to be anywhere near the judge if this goes sideways.”
Captain Yao sat pensive for a moment, his brow wrinkled. Jack knew he was not finished with his impromptu speech.
Yao stood up, put both hands flat on his desk, and leaned in. “Jack, if Judge Troy Wolff was involved, nail his hide to the floor, and I mean it, have concrete evidence and do it. People like that disgust me, rising to the top with more skeletons in their closet than a graveyard, and hiding behind their black robes. How people get to the top by covering stuff up pisses me off. Money, it’s always about money and power, those that don’t have it end up faceless with cut-off fingertips in a car, left to rot.”
“Captain, we’ll do the best we can, I promise you that.”
Davis Yao rubbed his temple. A new ulcer gurgled, and a freaking headache was building in his head.
“I want to get to the bottom of this, but keep this on the down low. I don’t want any, and I do mean, any, gossip to start. Secondly, report to me and no one else. Boys, let’s hope you stay freed up because we have to have all of our ducks in a damn straight row.”
. . .
At the small mom-and-pop diner, they took the back booth, furthest away from the door. “Jack, this is ludicrous, I mean, she is an ex-whore, you think she is out for revenge?”
“Listen, I was thinking about something that has bothered me about my own case and what they found in her purse. The witnesses back then said my vic was a timid girl and didn’t have a boyfriend. If she faked her death why did the purse in her car have a
roll of unopened condoms, and why were there zero pictures in her wallet, everyone carries pictures in their wallet?”
“You think that your vic is my vic and they used her as a body double to make it appear your girl was dead? My missing Princess Layya, I’m betting she used condoms. So they had to have been hers.”
“If that were the case and they needed a body double, then to me that’s premeditated, and they planned for her to die that night. Here’s what we do know. A whore goes missing, they find a dead Celeste Mason, who, if Daphne is telling the truth, is not dead at all. Pete Bullard and Ian Simpson are crooked, and Bullard whacks Randy Simpson. Scottie Buccella is the new boss. Daphne Walden thinks Judge Wolff had something to do with the missing whore. Skip, with no last name, spills his guts to her one night because he’s drunk.”
“It’s a complicated story, Jack. I have to admit. This Walden woman said that this Mason woman was getting threats, like what, did she say?”
“No, she didn’t know who, but she thought it was mob related. When we get back to the office let’s look up this Scottie Buccella, see what pops.”
“The cops paid for the hookers too, you think Simpson was one of the cops?”
“Who knows? He’s in an old folk’s home. Apparently, he has dementia. I was thinking, I’d like to talk to him—”
Lucky cut him off. “Jack, there’s a chance he won’t remember what happened back then if he has dementia.”
“Listen, you know the mind is a strange thing and some stuff, bad stuff you can’t forget, wish you could, but you can’t. Look, no one worked the case back then like they should have. Daphne’s story points that out clearly. That motel owner, Tully Cranston, said that Simpson and Bullard never came back to question him, not at all. The body was found behind his place, you’d think they would have grilled him more, wouldn’t ya?” Jack paused, and Lucky jumped into his thought pattern.
