Detective Jack Stratton Box Set

by Christopher Greyson

  Kendra frowned. “I missed it?” The twenty-four-year-old rookie was an all-round athlete and an adrenaline junkie.

  He tilted his head. “If I had known you were on tonight, I’d have left one for you.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said with a smile, resting the shotgun on her hip. “If you’re all set, then I’ll let you handle the paperwork.”

  Jack walked down the stairs and leaned in close. “I was hoping you’d volunteer to fill out the forms for the both of us?”

  As she smiled, her blue eyes sparkled and the four-inch scar that ran from the corner of her chin to her eyebrow stood out. Only a few people knew how she’d gotten it, and Jack was one of them. While on a walk with her enormous, high-strung German shepherd, the dog spotted a coyote and bolted after it. The retractable leash snapped and caught her in the face, and the rope burn never healed quite right.

  But that wasn’t the kind of story that earned a rookie cop respect. She told Jack she got it in a fight with four guys during a bust, but he knew it was a lie right away. He called her on it, but he also gave her a way to tweak the truth and make it sound cool: She got hurt training a K-9 unit. They became good friends after that.

  Kendra laughed and set her blond ponytail bobbing. “Don’t go flashing those baby browns at me, Jack. I’m not one of your girlfriends.”

  Jack knew she was teasing him. They were friends, and Jack wanted to keep it that way. Friends could all too easily change into something more, and he’d had enough problems with ex-girlfriends to know he didn’t need one at work.

  He asked, “You riding solo?”

  She lifted her chin. “Collins thinks I can handle things by myself now.”

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  She blushed. “And… Don called in sick.”

  “Don’t rush solo. Maybe we can team up again soon.” Jack winked and headed up the steps. “I have to go back in and talk to the bartender. Thanks for the backup.”

  “I’ll watch your backside anytime,” she purred, heading to her cruiser.

  Jack wrapped up the interview in the bar quickly. It was easy, because no one wanted to pursue it any further and no arrests simplified things. As he walked back to his cruiser, he made a mental note to buy some extra-large handcuffs.

  At the station, he muddled through the monotonous paperwork. When he finally allowed himself to glance up at the clock, he was glad to see he’d be home before 2:00 a.m. He finished his shift and headed to his car, whistling “Little Sister.”

  But if he had known what was waiting for him at home, he wouldn’t have been whistling.

  3

  You Suck

  Jack stopped short in the doorway of his apartment. Gina, his on-again-off-again girlfriend, stood in the middle of Jack’s crappy living room. Four-and-a-half-inch heels, tiny miniskirt, silk top showing off her cleavage, fake fur jacket hugging her waist, shiny ruby-red lips—that was Gina. All topped off by a mane of blond hair that would make any eighties sitcom actress envious. She could have been the cover girl on a hot-rod magazine, but just for now—until she got her big break, or whatever—she was working at the beauty salon two blocks down.

  She let him take a good look at her, then threw her head back and yelled, “You suck!” followed by bursting into fake tears and storming out. The echoes from the slammed door rippled along the paper-thin walls.

  Jack tossed his keys on the kitchen counter.

  Anniversary, birthday, some promise… He ran down the list of possible screw-ups he could have made, but he drew a blank. He hadn’t been on a bender for a long time, so it wasn’t that. He wasn’t cheating on her. A lie? You have to talk for that to happen, and talking’s not exactly our specialty.

  He replayed the events of the last two minutes in his head. No bags. Pocketbook, but no suitcases. She might be back.

  He shrugged and walked over to the refrigerator. His reflection brought him up short.

  Stupid mirror. Who puts a mirror on a refrigerator? Gina had said it would help her stay skinny. His brown eyes darkened.

  “Way to go, Jack. You sure know how to pick ’em.”

  Miles, too many miles, all of them hard. He was twenty-six, but felt older. After he got back from Iraq, he’d tried a round robin of vices to kill the pain: drinking, smoking, women like Gina, women completely unlike Gina... Nothing worked; the pain remained, a dull ache. He couldn’t remember eating a vegetable in the last month or the last time he’d gotten a good night’s sleep. His once happy life had spiraled out of control.

  No shock that he looked rough, but Gina dug that type of guy, the “dangerous” type. She’d stormed out a few times before, but each time she’d returned. And when she did… she was wild. Jack’s smile broadened into a full grin. They’d trashed the bedroom the last time.

  But his smile evaporated when he looked in the fridge. Unless he was in the mood for a few drops left in a bottle of spiced rum and some crusty mounds where something had spilled long ago, he was going hungry. Gina wasn’t much for keeping a well-stocked kitchen, and he wasn’t much for keeping the rum bottle full.

  He was debating going out for takeout when he saw the front door was still open. Wouldn’t be the first time it had rebounded, especially after one of Gina’s tantrums.

  “Stupid lock,” he muttered. No way would he ask the landlady to get it fixed again. She’d been mad enough the last time it got broken.

  Jack trudged over to the door. Whether or not from excessive slamming by the resident diva, now you had to jiggle the handle for the latch to engage. He fiddled with the knob and pushed at the latch until it popped back out. Yawning, he shut the door, turned around, and then—shrieked.

  “You squeal like a baby, Jack,” said the young woman standing in his living room.

  Jack’s mouth fell open. He’d seen a lot in his life and had thought he was beyond instant shock, but all his training went out the window as he gawked at the pretty young woman standing smack-dab in the middle of his living room, wearing nothing but a towel.

  She moved closer. “You’ve got nothing to eat—”

  “What the hell are you doing in my apartment? Get out!” Jack grabbed the young woman by the arm, pushed her out the front door into the hallway, and slammed the door behind her.

  She knows my name?

  A moment later, BANG! BANG! BANG! He could actually see the door shaking, and the walls along with it.

  She must be slamming her whole body against the door.

  Jack panicked when he thought about what would happen if someone found a half-naked woman outside his apartment, so he yanked the door open and she charged headlong into the living room, tripping and sprawling across the floor.

  Jack heard feet stomping up the stairs.

  Oh, no, just what I don’t need.

  He peeked into the hallway, and sure enough, his landlady was sailing down the corridor in her extraordinarily large plaid flannel nightgown, her face flushed bright red. He ducked back inside and locked the door. But a few seconds later, the heavy footsteps came to a stop just outside his door.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  Behind him, the young woman scrambled to her feet and adjusted the towel around her torso. “You jerk,” she growled, and shoved both hands into his chest. Caught off-guard, Jack staggered back and crashed into the door.

  “Mr. Stratton, what is going on? Was that a girl in the hallway?”

  “What’s your problem, Jack?” the young woman demanded. Wait, I’ve seen her before. She shot him an angry glare.

  “That’s it, Mr. Stratton. I’ve had it with you! And your wild antics! I’m evicting you this time! You’ll hear about this…” The landlady’s threats faded down the hall.

  Jack waited until he could no longer pretend to be listening to Mrs. Stevens stomping back to her troll’s lair on the first floor. As he tried to choose among the questions he wanted to ask the interloper—Who are you? What’s your problem? Where have I seen you before? —he tried to keep his
gaze on her face and block his view of… everything else. Her shoulder-length brown hair was dripping wet, but it was her piercing eyes that finally grabbed his full attention: emerald-green, flecked with gold.

  Jack blinked and focused. “Who are you and why are you in my apartment?”

  She adjusted the towel, her eyes darting to the floor and her voice softening. “You don’t remember me?”

  “No. Should I?” He had a feeling he definitely should.

  “I’m Chandler’s sister.”

  Jack was confused. “Michelle’s his sister.”

  “Yeah. So am I.” Her hands tightened into fists.

  Jack opened and then closed his mouth. There was always a steady stream of kids in and out of Aunt Haddie’s foster home. Most stayed for only a few weeks, but one girl lived there for a few years. Aunt Haddie had taken her in long after Jack had moved out and been adopted. She’d worn her hair in a ponytail on top of her head and was always following Michelle and Chandler around whenever Jack came for a visit. And… yes, now he remembered. Chandler had insisted she had a crush on him.

  She must have been twelve or thirteen then. That would make her almost twenty now.

  “… Replacement?” Jack said her nickname out loud as he tried to reconcile his memories of her with the curvy young woman who stood before him.

  “Yes.”

  He could hear Chandler: “Leave it to my Aunt Haddie. We’re the only poor black family that goes and adopts a white kid.”

  Chandler’s gone. The pleasant recollection faded as the memory that still stabbed him in the heart took its place and he swallowed down the bile in his throat. He’d spent the last six years trying so hard not to remember. Not to remember the war. Not to remember all the death he saw. Not to remember anything—including his friend.

  “Sorry. I—didn’t recognize you,” Jack said.

  “Whatever. I need to talk to you.”

  “Listen, I stayed away for a reason. You can’t just barge in here and—take a shower! What are you doing here? ”

  “Aunt Haddie sent me.”

  Jack’s heart thumped. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Hold on.” She clutched the towel. “I need to get dressed and my clothes are soaked from the rain. Do you have a clothes dryer?”

  “No. There’s a laundromat around the corner.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m in a towel.”

  He could see that. “Wait a second.” Jack walked past her into his bedroom. On the right side of the closet, which Gina had coopted entirely, were all the outfits she complained didn’t fit her anymore. He grabbed a green-and-white dress, marched back into the living room, and held it out to Replacement awkwardly. “Here. It might be a little big.”

  She took the dress, hardly giving it a glance. “Thanks. Can I change in there?” She nodded toward the bedroom.

  “Sure, be my guest,” said a haggard, sleepy Jack. She went into the bedroom and shut the door behind her.

  With a massive headache about to crest, he rubbed his temples as more memories came flooding back in. He and Chandler—his best friend since the day Jack arrived at Aunt Haddie’s, aged seven—had been about to graduate from high school, just a summer away from enlisting…

  Another disturbing memory surfaced—a woman had been murdered. Jack and Chandler found her body, out by Hamilton Park; they helped solve the case. Such a strange time, so many hormones… his first “real” girlfriend, Kelly…

  Suddenly he remembered he and Chandler running out of Haddie’s kitchen door and Replacement crashing into him on the back porch. She dropped her groceries and they bumped heads when he went to pick up the bag… He felt the bump on his forehead; saw her huge, star-struck eyes staring at him. She was called Replacement because…

  Jack’s heart thumped again. She had been an abused kid when Aunt Haddie took her in—night terrors, painfully shy, the whole nine yards. Jack had to break her door down one night when she locked it and was screaming in her sleep. Michelle sat up with her all night, rocking her, singing to her.

  Chandler had named her. She was supposed to be his replacement, if ever he wasn’t there to take care of Haddie and Michelle. The nickname stuck.

  Something must be terribly wrong. Jack put his head in his hands. Aunt Haddie? She wasn’t his real aunt, or anybody’s real aunt for that matter, but everybody called her that. Haddie took him in as a child, after he’d been preyed upon, neglected, abandoned, and she healed him—loved him back to health with great cooking, life lessons, faith, and hugs.

  He could always conjure up the big black woman’s bright smile and knowing, young-old eyes, but now they wouldn’t come to him. He hadn’t seen Haddie in years.

  He jumped up anxiously and went to the bedroom door. He was just about to knock when it opened and Replacement stood there, hands on hips. She still looked peeved, but at least she was decent. The dress was a little long for her petite, five-foot-four frame, but it fit her slender figure well. Looked better on her than on Gina, actually.

  Before he could get a word out, she said sternly, “Aunt Haddie needs your help.”

  He knew he should have gone to see her. He’d been back and in the area for over six months now, but he always hesitated. His memories of Chandler were too raw.

  Jack held up his hands. “Yes, of course, I’ll try, if I can.” He only owed Aunt Haddie everything, after all. Maybe she needed money.

  “It’s about Michelle…”

  Oh, no. Replacement’s knee bounced and her eyes restlessly searched the room behind him.

  “Michelle is gone. She’s missing.”

  Jack felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. “What?”

  “She’s gone!”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “We haven’t heard from her in over two weeks. She got accepted at White Rocks Eastern College, and then…” She sputtered like an engine that was revved too high. “… I tried going up there, but when we went to the police…” Her eyes welled up with tears. “They said…”

  Jack’s heart was pounding, but he forced himself to slow down and breathe. “Wait a second. Michelle has to be, what, twenty-four? And she’s in college?”

  “She got a work scholarship. It was her first year. She always wanted to go before, but she couldn’t afford it.” She sniffled. “She didn’t come home and… we went to the po–police station—”

  “It’s okay. Take a breath.” He pushed a box of tissues toward her on the coffee table. “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time.”

  He let Replacement blow her nose and calm down a little. “What day was she supposed to come home?”

  “Four days before Christmas.”

  “Okay. You went to the police. What did they tell you?”

  “They said she transferred to Western Tech out in California and just left. But she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t just—go.” Replacement threw her hands up. “She had just started at White Rocks and she had a full scholarship. Why would she leave?”

  “Did she ever talk about transferring?”

  “No. And she didn’t transfer. After Chandler died, do you think she’d just take off to the other side of the country without telling Aunt Haddie? Do you honestly think Michelle would just leave and not tell her?” Her voice trembled.

  Chandler and Michelle, biological brother and sister, were at Haddie’s when he first arrived, and after he left, the siblings had remained with Haddie, because they were never adopted.

  Jack sometimes felt guilty that he’d been adopted and they weren’t. Part of it was because they were black and he was white, but the other reason they were always passed over for adoption was that they refused to let anyone separate them.

  To Michelle and Chandler, family was everything. Replacement was right. Michelle would never leave Haddie in the dark.

  “I didn’t realize she lived nearby.”

  “That’s because you cut us off.”

  She was right. He’d had nothing to do with them lately. Gu
ilt had driven a wedge between him and Michelle and even Haddie. He couldn’t face them. How could he possibly go back home to Aunt Haddie without Chandler? Jack had failed him, failed all of them.

  I should have…

  He couldn’t think about that now. He pushed back his feelings and walked toward the kitchen. “What can I do?”

  He meant to sound eager to help, but she took it the wrong way. “I don’t know; you’re the cop.” A pair of blazing green eyes ripped into him. “Aunt Haddie still thinks of you as family, and you were Chandler’s best friend, for whatever that’s worth.”

  He knew he deserved that, but Jack was a new cop. Rookies didn’t get missing person cases; they were the gophers for the detectives who did.

  “Who’s handling the case?”

  “Aunt Haddie filed a missing person report in the Fairfield County Sheriff’s Department. The detective there said they would ask someone over here to look into her last known address. They said his name’s Gavin… Devin…”

  “Davenport,” Jack said.

  Replacement nodded.

  Joe Davenport was an older detective in Darrington with not many years to go until he retired. Joe wasn’t a bad guy, but at this point in his career, Jack thought he was coasting to the finish line—or the fishing line, more like it.

  Still, a missing person case involving the university… he must have given it a solid going-over. “If Joe looked into this—”

  “I knew it. I knew it. You don’t care!” Replacement marched over and jabbed her finger in Jack’s face. “You don’t give a flying—”

  “Just shut up for a minute. Now, you listen—”

  “Listen to what?”

  Jack leaned in, but he hardly knew what he was doing—this woman, with her smoldering scorn, ticked him off more than Gina could with an hour of screeching. Jack couldn’t believe it when she stuck her head forward, even closer to his.

  “Well, what?” Her lips quivered, not out of fear, but with fury. They stared at each other, nose to nose, like two prizefighters waiting for the bell.