Detective Jack Stratton Box Set

by Christopher Greyson

  “And you’re sure it came from there?”

  “A hundred percent.” They each considered the ramifications of this certain fact in silence for a moment. Then Replacement asked quietly, “So what’s our next move?”

  Jack was ready for her. “I’m going back out there tomorrow to talk to Dr. Meth—I mean, Franklin. There’s also Hahn.”

  “You think Michelle’s boss might be involved somehow?” She seemed horrified.

  “The person in charge either knows everything or nothing.” Jack sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Hell, it could also be a student or a janitor. And I need to find this Lennie kid. But right now, Franklin is the best fit. He also does research with meth, so he knows how to cook it.”

  Replacement looked like she was following a swarm of ideas down the corridors of her mind. “I bet Michelle found the video of that poor guy in the psych center.”

  Jack paced back and forth. “She was overhauling the computer systems. She’d have access to everything.”

  “Hey, remember that guy at the funeral who talked about Michelle tracking him down when he stole her bike? She was like that—she never gave up. If Michelle found that video, she’d keep digging. And there’s no way to log in to the center from the outside so she had to do it there.”

  Jack stopped pacing. “That’s why she was there so late.”

  Replacement crossed her arms. “I’m trying to get into the computers there right now.”

  “Trying? Don’t you have access already?”

  “No. The lab computers are completely separate from the college system. I have a student’s account that has limited access, so I wrote a Trojan.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, like a virus. I named a file SuperHotPornBabes. The antivirus program flags it and moves it to a holding folder. Most computer administrators are horny computer geeks, and when they see a title like that, believe it or not, nine times out of ten, the blood rushes from their brains and they open it to see what it is. Once they run it, it runs under their permission. Get it? It will run on and on, mining their system for data, with administrator rights, and it will create another admin account for me.” She held up her hand for a high five, but he disappointed her.

  “I got about half of that. You wrote a program that will give us access?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Not yet. I only put it on today. I was hoping to get a hit by tomorrow, and I have to go there to log in.”

  “No way. Can you talk me through it?”

  Replacement shook her head. “As discussed, I can’t even get you to use your phone. No. Let me. I can be in and—”

  “No. That’s off the table. I have the next two days off. I’m going to the campus in the morning by myself. I’ll need the car.”

  Replacement turned back to the computer while Jack headed with his verbal victory back to his room.

  “Good work,” he muttered as he shut the door. He knew he was facing yet another night of tossing and turning and trying not to think about the beautiful, stupid, fearless woman outside the door—who made everything so absurdly complicated.

  37

  Pendulum

  Bark, bark, bark. Bark, bark, bark.

  “Hello? Stratton,” Jack answered the phone sleepily.

  “Jack? Undersheriff Morrison. Can you meet me down at the morgue?”

  Jack straightened up. “Yes, sir. How soon?”

  “How soon can you get here? It’s eight now—eight thirty?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  No time for a shower. He shaved and brushed his teeth and dressed quickly in some semi-preppy clothes for going out to White Rocks later. He rushed into the living room to get his coat and Replacement was looking out the window.

  He yelled excitedly, “I just got a call to go and meet the undersheriff at the morgue.”

  “What… the undertaker?”

  “No. Undersheriff. The guy who’s next in line to Collins.” He grabbed his coat from the door.

  “Okay, cool, um… I was going to run a couple of errands.” She bit her lip. “But I’ll just walk.”

  “Are you sure? I can drive you when I get back.”

  “It’s not far.”

  “Okay, I’ll see ya later.”

  As he pulled out, once more master of the Impala, he looked up at the third floor. Replacement was still standing at the window.

  In the black-tiled crypt, Jack stood next to Undersheriff Morrison beside a stretcher with a corpse laid out on it. Robert Morrison, a tall African American man in his late fifties, wore the tan uniform of the Sheriff’s Department, without the hat. His curly black hair was short and graying at the temples. The coroner’s assistant, a petite woman in a white hospital coat, stood at the head of the stretcher.

  “That’s him,” Jack said.

  “You sure?” Morrison asked.

  Jack nodded. He looked down at Bennie the Goon. His face was heavily bruised, but he was sure it was Bennie.

  Morrison nodded, and the woman pulled the sheet back over the corpse.

  “Did he have anything on him, Mei?” Morrison asked.

  “Just these.” She adjusted her rectangular blue-and-pink glasses and pulled a metal cart closer.

  Jack couldn’t tell much from the items: a crushed package of cigarettes, a fast-food receipt, three quarters, a scrap of paper smeared with black ink.

  “Might have had to bum a light?” Morrison pointed. “No lighter.”

  Jack leaned down so he could read what was on the scrap of paper.

  “It looks like an address,” Mei offered, smiling sweetly at Jack.

  “It is.” Jack smiled back tightly. “Mine.”

  Morrison’s eyes narrowed. “You never saw him before that night?”

  “No. I noticed him when I came out of my apartment and he started following me.”

  Morrison thanked Mei and left her to her work: covering Benny, straightening his toe tag, lowering the stretcher, and sliding him back into his drawer.

  The two men walked out into a slightly warmer hallway. Morrison took out a pack of gum and handed Jack a piece.

  “You’d just been clipped by the drunk driver, right?” Morrison pondered out loud.

  Jack nodded.

  “And you hurt your leg. You still have a little limp; how’s it feeling?”

  The observation took Jack aback. “Much better, sir.”

  “You can save the sir stuff for Collins. Call me Bob.” Jack gave him a short nod of respect before Bob continued, “Anyway, is it possible that maybe the guy thought you were an easy mark?”

  Jack bristled at the comment and straightened up.

  Bob looked at him and chuckled. “Then again, maybe not.”

  “No cause of death yet?” Jack looked back into the room.

  “Preliminarily, it’s an OD.”

  “Where was he found?” Jack asked, a hunch forming.

  Bob stuck two more pieces of gum in his mouth. “Imperial Motor Lodge.”

  Bingo. Now we have two bodies found there.

  Morrison’s phone rang. “Morrison.” He listened for a second. “I’ll be over as soon as I can.” He hung up. “Fatal car accident on the highway. Two semi tractors.”

  Jack nodded.

  “Jack?” Morrison’s voice got even deeper. “I’ve been doing this too long to think that two close calls in short order don’t warrant closer attention. Do you think they’re related?”

  Jack scratched his neck and looked down the hallway before he admitted, “Yes, sir, I do.” He just couldn’t bring himself to call the man Bob.

  “If you have any ideas, now’s the time to speak up.” Morrison eyed Jack for a moment. “I don’t know you that well, Stratton, but all I can say is… trust your gut. If you think I’m the type of guy who’s going to jam you up or throw you under the bus, shut your mouth. If you think you can trust me, tell me what you’ve got, and we’ll take it from there.”

  Ja
ck respected the man’s forthrightness, and made his decision quickly. He laid out everything. Morrison cracked his gum occasionally but remained silent. It took a while, but when he was done, Jack was more sure than ever that he needed to tell somebody this, and now was the time.

  “Okay, you have this video?” Morrison said when Jack finished.

  “Yes. The guys in the IT lab have it. They also have the password. I don’t know if they’ve looked at it yet.” Jack clenched and relaxed his hands.

  “If the guys at the lab haven’t seen the video yet, then neither have you,” Morrison stressed. “Chain of custody is already gone with the phone, but it’s explainable given the circumstances. Davenport gets back tomorrow. I’ll call the lab and the forensic people, and we’ll all sit down first thing in the morning.”

  “Thank you,” Jack replied, truly grateful.

  “Do you have any idea who at the university it could be?” Morrison asked.

  “Nothing definite.”

  “Okay, we’ll go over it all again tomorrow.”

  Jack shook his hand, and Morrison’s phone rang again. “Morrison… I’m on my way.” He nodded back to Jack and then headed out the door.

  Jack turned to go.

  “Officer Stratton?” Mei ran around the corner after him.

  “Yes?”

  “Oh, I’m glad I caught you.” She smiled up at him and adjusted her glasses. “We also found a baggie with some money hidden in his left shoe and a small piece of paper.”

  Jack looked down at the evidence bag. The piece of off-white paper was card stock, about two inches by one inch, jagged where it had been ripped. Only three printed letters remained: lin.

  Not much to go on.

  “Thanks.” Jack nodded. “Can you make sure these get over to Undersheriff Morrison’s office right away?”

  “Of course.” Mei grinned.

  Jack eased back on the gas as the Impala swung into the turn. He had a stranglehold on the steering wheel. Bennie the Goon had been his best lead. Best living lead. He could have led Jack to whoever hired him to watch his apartment.

  No money to follow. They’d have paid him in cash. And what would he have gotten? For fifty bucks, he’d have watched my place all day and night.

  Jack was still bothered. It felt as if something was about to break. He’d felt that way before.

  Weird.

  He was apprehensive, as though time was slipping away.

  Think, Jack, think. A crushed package of cigarettes; typical. Fast-food receipt; could be nothing, but maybe he met someone there. The money. nNothing unusual about that. The scrap of paper; stock paper… card stock. Why would a junkie have—

  “Business card!” he shouted.

  Jack watched the Impala’s speedometer rise as he headed toward the college. The three letters, lin, clicked into place.

  His hand pushed a Johnny Cash CD into the player. “God’s Gonna Cut You Down” blared over the speakers as he flew out to the psychology center. The ride took fifteen minutes. He went through “I Walk the Line,” “It Ain’t Me Babe,” and “Busted.” “Ring of Fire” was just finishing as he pulled into the parking lot.

  Jack combed his fingers through his hair as he walked into the center and smiled at the blonde behind the counter.

  She leaned forward and looked Jack up and down. “How can I help you?”

  Jack grinned. “I’m here to see Dr. Franklin.”

  “Is he expecting you? He’s in class right now.”

  “I just have a quick question. Is he in the new classroom upstairs?” Jack was guessing. “Can you show me?” He leaned in close and smiled.

  “I can’t leave the desk.” The girl shrugged and leaned closer.

  “That’s fine.” Jack smiled. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Stacy.”

  “Do you have a long shift ahead of you, Stacy?”

  “Yeah.” She pouted. “I have to work until noon.”

  Three hours? Killer shift. Wait until you graduate, kid.

  “That’s rough.” Jack tried to look sympathetic. “Do you ever have to work a late shift?”

  “No. We close at seven every day.” She put her chin on the back of her hand as she looked up at him.

  “Does the whole center close or just the reception area?”

  “People with card access can stay after hours, I guess. Why?”

  “I’m just curious. I hate those cards. Your picture always looks funny.”

  She sat up straight. “Mine doesn’t look funny.”

  Jack gave her an exaggerated wink. “Sure.”

  “It doesn’t. Look.” She handed Jack her card.

  Computer chip inside. Card reader. No key punch access. All doors monitored and recorded. The cards are color-coded. Hers is yellow.

  “It’s a beautiful picture, but it doesn’t do you justice.” Jack made sure that he brushed her hand as he handed the card back to her.

  “Thank you.” She sighed.

  “You said Dr. Franklin was in Room…”

  “Two ten,” she said.

  “I’ll only be a second. Be right back.”

  “You have to sign in… and you can’t go unescorted,” she called out.

  “It’s our secret.” He winked and hurried up the stairs, but the girl still reached for a phone.

  Jack took the stairs two at a time without looking back. When he reached the top, he quickly scanned the posted room assignments and headed to Psychology Classroom 210. He opened the door and slipped inside as quietly as he could.

  It was a small classroom and a dozen students were there now. Franklin stood behind a desk at the front of the room. Apparently the class was just coming to a close.

  Perfect.

  “The assignment is due next class,” Dr. Franklin was saying. “As always, thank you.” Franklin’s attention immediately turned to a young girl who had hopped up and rushed to his desk.

  As the rest of the students got up to leave, Jack weaved his way to the front. The girl now stood at the edge of Franklin’s desk. She kept leaning in toward the professor, who was quite obviously appreciating the view her low-cut blouse gave him.

  Jack waited. Dr. Franklin looked up and frowned. So did the girl. She picked up her books, gave Jack a dirty look, and stomped past him.

  “Dr. Franklin? Jack Stratton.” Jack smiled. The doctor didn’t.

  “Yes?” He looked past Jack, eyeing the girl as she walked out of the classroom.

  “I have a couple of quick questions for you.”

  “I’m sorry, I have another class.” Franklin turned back to his desk.

  “I spoke with Mike Leverone—”

  Franklin’s hand slammed down on his desk with such force that everyone left in the room turned and stared.

  Damn. I should have said Hank Foster.

  The doctor’s voice was clipped and rapid fire. “Mike Leverone making his own meth lab and blowing his face off had nothing to do with me. Who are you? Get out.”

  That was a mistake. Take it down. “I didn’t say you had anything to do with it. I just need to ask you—”

  “You need to get out of my classroom. Are you a lawyer? I’ll call security.” He stepped around the desk toward Jack.

  Jack shook his head and held up his hands. “You have it wrong. I’m here for your professional opinion. I’m a police officer and I’m looking at a missing person case. I’ve spoken with a few different people who recommended I speak with you, including Hank Foster.”

  Franklin glared at Jack for a moment, and then it was as if someone flipped a switch. He smiled. “My apologies, Jack. The situation with Mr. Leverone was… traumatic for me as an educator. You said you’re a police officer? You’re working a missing person case? I don’t see how I could be of any assistance with that.”

  “I’m looking for a girl who did meth. One time.”

  Franklin frowned and looked at Jack with a mixture of scorn and pity. “People don’t do meth one time.”

 
“They do if they die.”

  “That’s a trick question then.” The doctor’s lips pressed together.

  “The question I had is, how does meth influence someone the first time they take it—psychologically?” Jack added the word psychologically at the last second to try to hook the doctor back into the conversation.

  “Another trick question. There are too many variables and too many inconsistencies. What’s the person like physically? Tall? Short? Fat? Thin? What’s their emotional state? The drug? What’s the mixture? How much? How taken? I could go on and on. A trick question again.” Once more his hand came down on his desk.

  Whoa, off the rails. “Doctor, thank you for explaining the complexity of how meth affects people. Since there are so many variables, how do you figure them out?”

  “There have been a number of studies on the effects of meth and the mind, including my own,” Franklin said. “Although my personal study has been placed in a status of indefinite hold, thanks to the aforementioned Mr. Leverone.”

  “That’s unfortunate—”

  “You’ve no idea of the hours wasted. Not just mine, but my students’. The whole study was frozen, just like that. Now the data is useless. You can’t just pause a study. Gone. All of that research is gone.”

  “Doctor, for the test subjects, did you accept volunteers?”

  “Of course. We don’t pay more than a small stipend, if anything, but—” His eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “This supposed missing person case… who? Who’s missing?” Dr. Franklin pointed a finger at Jack.

  “I can’t divulge—”

  “Get out. Now. I have a class.” He took two steps toward Jack.

  Is this wacko on meth? “Doctor, I’m sorry I imposed. I just have one more question. Do you know a Lennie Jacobsen?”

  “Yes… no… maybe. I have so many students,” he spouted, his head shaking. “Get out!” He waved his hands at Jack.

  Jack forced a smile. “Thank you for your time. You’ve been very insightful.”

  Franklin looked confused for a second and then smiled. “I’m glad I could be of assistance. You can make an appointment, and we can discuss this further. I have another class. Good day.” He turned his back on Jack and arranged his desk.