Detective Jack Stratton Box Set

by Christopher Greyson

  35

  A Piece of Garbage

  When Jack reached the gravel parking lot of Buckmaster Pond, driving Kristine’s car so he wouldn’t be followed, he pulled out his heavy duffel bag of gear and jogged down the path until he reached the spot where his father was murdered.

  Thick gray clouds swirled overhead. Even though the sun had risen, it was still dark and gloomy. His breath hung in the still morning air. He closed his eyes and pictured the scene that had happened here almost twenty-seven years earlier.

  He had put all the pieces in place; he could see it clearly now.

  “I know who it was,” Jack whispered. “I just can’t prove it.” He shifted the bag on his shoulder. “But I will.”

  Jack had spread out all his diving gear on the flat rock at the edge of the pond. He tied one end of the thick fishing line to the seven-inch jackknife. The only thing on the line was a weight, suspended with a round eyelet. He tested the weight to make sure it would slide along the line.

  Toss the knife out and use the weight to follow the line to where it lands. It should work.

  Jack stood and threw the knife underhand, as though he was throwing away a piece of garbage. The knife splashed into the water, and the fishing line played out behind it. Shivering, he stripped down to his underwear, then put on the suit and taped all the seams. He couldn’t tell whether it would work for the hood seam, but it would have to do.

  He poured two thermoses of hot water inside the suit, then grabbed his tank and mask. He wasn’t that experienced, but he’d gotten his dive certification a while ago, and he was comfortable with the basics. Sitting on the edge of the rock, he checked his regulator, compass, light, and the small metal detector in his left hand.

  He looked out over the still water, then bowed his head. “God, please,” he whispered, and slid into the water.

  The pond was deep, and the sides dropped off sharply. It was like a tall cup that ended in a round base. But it was crystal-clear, and the light filtered through to the silty bottom.

  Jack followed the fishing line to the knife he’d thrown. Then he began his search for the other knife. The murder weapon.

  It was a rage killing. He stabbed him multiple times. Was his hate satisfied?

  The faint ping from the metal detector would occasionally get louder, but from all his years of fishing, Jack had known he’d get lots of false leads. His search grid expanded outward.

  Soon he felt the chill on his back.

  He silently swore and checked his watch. Eleven minutes. He was on borrowed time now. He kept moving, working the grid he had laid out in his head. At the end of a line, he’d turn ninety degrees and move forward.

  Sixteen minutes. His chest was aching with the cold, and he knew his motor skills would be slowing soon. He pushed on and forced himself to move carefully.

  Twenty-two minutes. Past the mark he had set for himself. His hands trembled, and his breathing was getting ragged. He was nearing the edges of the deepest section.

  You gotta go up.

  No, just one more pass.

  Twenty-five minutes. When he checked his watch, he felt his whole arm vibrating.

  BEEP.

  He was just pushing off the bottom when he heard the ping. He frantically turned himself around. Dirt and silt blocked his vision where he’d stirred up the bottom.

  Idiot!

  He swept the metal detector around until the beep was solid once more. He followed it, pinpointed it, reached out.

  His hand closed around a long, solid object, and Jack knew he held the weapon used to murder his father.

  He pushed off again and headed up to the rocks. His chest was tight, and he had to work to breathe. The water was brutally cold, and once he started thinking about it, the cold became so intense it felt almost like being burned.

  He scrambled onto the rocks and tore at his wet suit. With numb, trembling fingers, he stripped naked and dried himself off. His clothes offered no real warmth, but he got them on quickly, his hands fumbling with the buttons and zippers.

  Only then did he inspect his find.

  It was indeed a jackknife. It was covered in rust, but even so, he could see that its tip had been broken off. A chill colder than the frigid water ran through him.

  He had found it.

  36

  Damaged Goods

  Replacement had to content herself with examining the murder weapon through an evidence bag on the desk in their hotel room.

  “That’s the bait,” Jack said. “Now we need to wiggle the hook.” He took out his phone.

  “Who’re you calling?”

  “Jeff Franklin.”

  “The reporter?”

  Jack grinned and put the phone on speaker as he punched in the number.

  “This is Jeff.”

  “Hi, Jeff. This is Jack Stratton. How’d you like a stop-the-presses exclusive?”

  “Like a tick likes a dog!”

  Very appropriate, Replacement mouthed.

  “I just have one condition,” Jack said. “This story has to be on the front page of tomorrow morning’s paper.”

  Jack sat alone in his room at the inn, after just a few hours of sleep. He’d barely slept last night. He was up until after midnight, making phone calls and shoring up plans. Replacement insisted that he get a couple of hours of sleep, and he finally lay down at two.

  He’d found the weapon that had been used to murder his father. Now he just had to confront its owner.

  There were footsteps in the hallway, followed by a soft knock on the door. Jack stood up, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck. Another knock, louder this time.

  Jack strolled over and opened the door. Lieutenant Frank McCann stepped into the room, followed by a uniformed state police trooper.

  “You’re wrong about this, Stratton,” McCann grumbled.

  “No, I’m not.” Jack held up the evidence bag. “Do you recognize this, Frank?”

  McCann stared at the knife. The muscles on the side of his head flexed as he chewed the inside of his mouth. “It’s a scout knife. I lost mine years ago. Camping,” he quickly added.

  “I know it’s not yours. But I want you to see it, and what you hear will convince you who it belongs to.” Jack opened the side door that connected his room to the adjoining one. “Everyone’s waiting in the other room,” he said.

  The occupants of the adjoining room had checked out the day before, and Kristine had happily agreed to let Jack use the room for today’s operation. Right now, Kristine, Replacement, Jimmy Tanaka, two more state troopers, and Officer Kenny were gathered there. McCann and his trooper now joined them. The show was about to begin.

  Before Jack closed the door again, Replacement gave him a thumbs-up. Jack winked back.

  Everything was in place. Jack sat down at the desk, once again alone, and waited.

  The minutes ticked slowly by. The sky outside was just starting to lighten when there was a firm knock on the door.

  Jack leapt up, more than ready. He opened the door unsmiling. “Chief Wilson.”

  “Morning, Jack.” The chief wasn’t smiling either. “So, you found the knife?”

  Jack pointed to the evidence bag on the desk. Dennis marched over and glared at it.

  “It was in the pond,” Jack said. “The tip is busted off. I’m sure it will match.”

  “Nice work. The newspaper said you were sending it to the state lab for some type of new testing. Did you get anything else?”

  “I uncovered some interesting witness testimony. Turns out, multiple witnesses saw emergency lights out at the pond the night my father was killed.”

  Dennis scoffed. “That ain’t new, son. Police, ambulance—heck, even the fire department came out there that night.”

  “Yeah. In fact, they came out twice.” Jack saw Dennis jump a little when Jack spat out the last word. “Witnesses saw the police show up and leave . . . and then a half hour later, they saw them again.”

  Dennis looked down at his f
eet. “You got a name for these witnesses?”

  Jack ignored the question. “There was nothing in the police report about a cruiser being anywhere near Buckmaster.”

  Dennis looked up at Jack, and his eyes shifted left, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts. “What’s your theory . . . Henry Cooper? He was the officer on duty. He knew Steven. Cooper’s a drunk. He was Steven’s scout leader. That’s a scout knife, right? The leaders all got knives.”

  “Shut up, Dennis.” Jack’s voice was a low growl. “You need some acting lessons before you try that BS story.”

  Dennis’s hands curled into fists. “Watch your mouth, boy.”

  “Save it. All the scouts had a jackknife, too. Including you. There were three police cruisers in town. Cooper was fifteen minutes away from the pond. He checked in regularly. McCann was home. Your father was at a convention.”

  “You flunked math, I take it?” Dennis scoffed. “You just accounted for all the police cars. So tell me this, Sherlock. How’d these witnesses see police lights if none of the cruisers were there?”

  “You drove Steven there.”

  “What? Why would I drive him? He lived just down the street. He walked to the pond all the time.”

  “Because Steven suspected something was up,” Jack said. “Terri invited him out to the pond, and Steven asked his best friend to come along with him and watch his back. It’s what I would have done. And since your father was out of town, you drove his personal car. The one with the bubble light that you’re so proud of.”

  Dennis’s face morphed into a deep scowl. “So, you think you have it all figured out?” he spat.

  “Most of it.”

  Dennis’s eyes darted to Jack’s holster on the table, then his hand went to rest on his gun. “Why don’t you tell me all you have then, smart guy? What’s this new test?”

  Jack shifted his weight.

  Dennis drew his gun. “Don’t even think of moving, kid. You’re not that fast. Put your hands up. Get on your knees.”

  Jack lowered himself to the floor and held his hands out and up. “I just need to know something first,” he said.

  “I thought you had it all figured out,” Dennis sneered.

  “Like I said, most of it.”

  “Ask away. It’ll be our secret. Then I’ve got a couple of questions for you.”

  “Here’s what I know,” Jack said. “Steven went to talk to Terri while you waited in the parking lot. When Terri’s brothers jumped him, you heard the fight. You grabbed your father’s bubble light, turned the siren on, and scared them off. I figured that part out, but—”

  “But you don’t know why,” Dennis sneered.

  Jack let a cocky grin spread across his face. “Oh, that was easy once I was sure it was you.”

  “Really, smart guy? Why do you think I did it?”

  “Well you see, here’s where things get tricky. I know I’m right about this, but if I tell you why you did it, you’re going to get so mad that you might just kill me right away. So”—Jack flashed a big smile—“I’m gonna need you to promise you’ll wait until I’m completely finished.”

  “You arrogant little snot. Just say what you gotta say.”

  Jack settled back on his legs and cracked his neck. “You loved Patty.”

  Dennis’s eyes widened, and then he scoffed. “What? You’re way off, kid. I’ve been with the same gal since junior high.”

  “Yeah, I know all about your wife. Mayor’s kid marries the police chief’s kid? That’s right out of a storybook, except you really loved Patty. I found the valentine that you gave her. It didn’t click at first, because you wrote ‘DJ.’ I thought the J stood for someone’s last name. But that’s what they called you when you were little, isn’t it? DJ is short for Dennis Junior.”

  “What valentine?”

  “The one you gave Patty. It had three arrows in it. That’s a lot of love.”

  The corner of Dennis’s mouth turned up, but his face was red and sweaty. “Yeah, maybe I gave Patty a valentine one time. So what?”

  “But then Patty’s scumbag father molested her. A police report was filed, and that means that your father looked into it. Is that why you dumped her?”

  Dennis snapped, “I had to break up with her. Patty was damaged goods.” There was a look of disgust on his face.

  Jack fought back a snarl. “So, now I’ll tell you what happened. You drove Steven to Buckmaster Pond that night. You waited in the car. You heard the fight. You turned the bubble light on, and everyone ran away. And then you walked up. Steven was lying there, beaten.”

  Jack paused. “And that’s when he told you. Steven told you that Patty, the girl you loved, was pregnant—with his kid. Your best friend knocked up the girl you loved. And the hate just went right through you. Patty was going to have Steven’s child. She loved Steven, not you. Everyone loved Steven more than you. Even your father—”

  “Screw you!” Spit flew from Dennis’s mouth. “You don’t know crap. Everyone talks about my old man like he was some great guy, but he wasn’t. I was his son. But it was always Steven. Steven did this, Steven did that. He never paid any attention to me. I always had to bring Steven along whenever we did anything, and then . . .”

  “Then what?”

  Dennis’s voice was cold. “Steven shouldn’t have gone near Patty.”

  “You have to be kidding, right? Did Steven even know you loved Patty? Did you ever tell him?”

  Dennis shrugged, like he’d never really given it that much thought.

  “So Steven didn’t even know! He never saw it coming, did he?”

  Dennis said nothing.

  “Looks like your father was right. Steven was the better man.”

  Dennis raised the gun. “I’ve had enough of this. Now, you tell me everything you know, and I promise I’ll make it fast.”

  “I haven’t asked all my questions yet. You killed Steven—”

  “Who are the new witnesses?”

  “That comes at the end, Dennis,” Jack said. “I’m not done yet. There’s more.” He paused because he still found the next part of the story shocking. “Your father was looking into the murder. And he figured it out, too. He figured it out and—”

  Dennis took a step forward. “He wouldn’t let it go! He kept on digging. Then one day he came home and . . . and I knew he’d figured it out. He knew it was me.”

  Jack spoke softly. “How did you kill him?”

  Dennis grinned as if he were sharing a fishing tip. “See, my old man had a bad heart. Everyone was telling him to take a vacation, but no, he wouldn’t stop. He had to know who killed his precious little Steven. He used to call Steven his ‘other son.’ Night and day, that’s all he talked about, moping around like someone had killed his real son!” Dennis snorted derisively. “I always knew he liked Steven more than me, but now everyone else in town knew it, too. I was sick of it. So I switched his heart medicine. The old fool didn’t even notice, but it didn’t kill him.”

  “You didn’t have the guts—”

  “Shut up, boy. Like I said, one night he came home and I knew he’d figured it out. He looked broken. He came upstairs so we could talk. He started crying, but I knew he wasn’t crying for me. He said he was going to take me in. Me! He wanted to arrest his real son. So, at the top of the stairs . . . I gave him a little push.”

  Keep talking, you fat idiot.

  “I hoped he’d break his neck. The heart attack was a bonus. He was lying there, begging. I watched the whole time, until finally he shut up and his eyes went gray. Then I knew I was free.”

  “Until I showed up.” Jack clicked his tongue. “It was you who took the shots at me at the pond.”

  “And you were too stupid to leave. I wouldn’t have to kill you now if you’d had the sense to just go. Why didn’t you? You know I didn’t want it this way. You’re Patty’s son. I tried to scare you off.”

  “You butchered my father!” Jack bellowed. “You think I would just go away and let
you live your miserable life? I stayed to avenge him.”

  Dennis laughed. “You’re not avenging anything, boy. They’ll look for your killer, but they’ll never find him. I can make it look good. Just like I did before. See, my dad was wrong. I ain’t stupid. I’ll pull out all the stops, call in everyone I know. Heck, I’ll even set my son up to console that pretty little pet who follows you around everywhere, and I’ll make sure he takes good care of her.”

  Jack’s body went rigid. His cold, level stare was meant to shut Dennis up, and it worked.

  “I forgot to tell you the best part, Dennis. This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

  Jack savored the moment, let the silence build.

  “You’re under arrest.”

  Both doors to the hotel room burst open. “FREEZE!” Four voices shouted the command as the state troopers leveled their guns.

  Dennis looked around, bewildered, then a look of resignation crossed his face. His shoulders slumped, and he threw his gun onto the bed.

  Finally Jack was able to get up and stretch to his full height.

  Dennis looked up at him. “Why didn’t you just leave?”

  Jack scoffed. “How can I explain it to you? My whole life I wanted to know who my father was . . . but you killed yours. You wouldn’t get it.”

  McCann motioned to Kenny. “Cuff him, Kenny.”

  Tank grinned broadly. “You’re still crazy, Stratton.”

  “Thanks for the assist. Did you hear everything?”

  Tank nodded. “Every word.”

  “Good work, everyone,” McCann said. “Kenny and I will take him to Rosemont. Billings and Tank will stay to pack up.”

  Kristine slipped into the room and held up a slender hand. “Before you go, can you please help me move this armoire back where it belongs? And be careful. It’s delicate.” She gave the captain a smile fraught with worry.

  Kenny had stepped up behind his former boss. He took out his handcuffs. “Hands behind your back, Chief,” he said.