Detective Jack Stratton Box Set

by Christopher Greyson

  Inside he hurt, but the corners of his mouth turned up.

  He still remembered when he first stood here in the doorway and Aunt Haddie said those words: “This is your room.” Jack had felt as though he’d won the lottery and gotten his own castle.

  He took off his sneakers and set them down neatly near the door. He didn’t even think about just kicking them off and leaving them scattered; Aunt Haddie ran a tight ship, and he would never lose those lessons. He pulled off his shirt, lay back on the bed, and interlaced his fingers behind his head.

  The glow from the streetlight shone in the window. One of those stickers from the sheriff’s department was stuck to a corner of the glass, to let firefighters know it was a child’s room. The light hit the sticker and cast a shadow of a sheriff’s star on the ceiling. Jack stared at the outline, as he had countless times. He used to imagine it was his own signal, like Commissioner Gordon calling Batman. Somewhere out there a person was in trouble, and it was up to him to rush out into the night and save them. He just never thought the person who would need him would be Jay Martin.

  But Jack knew Jay didn’t kill Stacy Shaw. He was just watching out for his brother. And now he might spend the rest of his life in prison.

  Jack looked over at the globe on the desk in the corner.

  Seven billion people on the planet. Out of that, only six people know Jay’s innocent. Jay, Tommy, me, Chandler, Aunt Haddie, and Mrs. Martin.

  Jack shut his eyes.

  Seven: the person who really killed Stacy Shaw.

  His chest tightened.

  He looked back to the sheriff’s star silhouetted on the ceiling. Some people called it a badge; Jack thought of it as a shield. When you’re a kid and a victim, a shield’s a good thing. When Jack was little, he wanted someone to protect him. The first night in this bed was the first time Jack had really felt safe.

  Over the next months and years, Aunt Haddie had often talked about layers of defense. He remembered her saying that in her house, she was his protector. The Fairfield police protected the town. More police protected the state, and even more soldiers protected the country. And Jack had always wanted to protect people too. He was outraged that monsters thought they could slink around in the shadows and hurt other kids. He wanted to hunt the monsters. Catch them and put them someplace where they could never hurt anyone again.

  He looked at his reflection in the window. He wasn’t a kid anymore; he was a man. He wasn’t helpless; he could fight back. He had the power to fight not only for himself but for people who couldn’t. He would protect Aunt Haddie now, and Chandler if he had to, and…people who needed his help. Even if no one believed them. Even if they were… unlovable.

  Jack got out of bed. He walked over to the desk, opened a drawer, pulled out a pocket notebook, and fanned out the pages to make sure it was blank. Then he wrote FACTS at the top of the first page.

  He began his list: Jay Martin is innocent.

  16

  So Has Mrs. Franklin

  Ford’s Crossing was an underdeveloped area of Fairfield a mile northwest of Hamilton Park. Jack parked at the side of the road where the main electric high-tension wires that ran into town cut across. The street was wide and deserted.

  Chandler shut the Impala’s door and asked, “So, what are we doing here? You didn’t tell me to wear running clothes, so I’m assuming it’s something more interesting than early-morning torture.”

  “Torture? I should tell you to drop and give me fifty.” Jack gave Chandler a playful punch, though he was dead serious about their mission. “This is the last known place Stacy was. I figured we’d start here.”

  Jack walked down the grassy slope toward a thick old oak tree. A yellow ribbon had been tied around the trunk. “This must be where they found Stacy’s car.” He pointed at a two-foot section where the bark had been broken away and fresh wood was exposed. Pieces of broken glass and plastic lay on the ground.

  Chandler picked up a piece of plastic and turned it around in his hands. “But she was killed near her office. Why’s her car here?”

  “Good question. If she wrecked her car, why head back to work?”

  “Maybe to get a ride home?”

  Jack squatted down and smoothed out an area of sand with his hand. Using his finger, he made a large rectangle. “This is Hamilton Park.” He marked the basketball courts down at the bottom-left corner and then, above that, the baseball field at the west entrance. He picked up a rock the size of an egg and placed it just below the bottom center of the rectangle. “That’s H. T. Wells.” He made an X well outside the upper-left corner of the park outline. “We’re way up here somewhere.” He grabbed an acorn and held it up. “This is Stacy’s house.” He placed it just above the upper-right corner of the park outline.

  “How do you know where she lives?”

  “I Googled it,” Jack said. “She lives in Morton’s Hill. It’s that house next to where we’d go sledding.”

  “The little yellow ranch with the tall bushes?”

  “Yeah.”

  Chandler pointed at Jack’s dirt map. “So it would have been faster for her to walk due east and head straight home than go back south to her office?”

  “I agree.”

  “Then why did we find her body in the middle of the park?”

  Jack shrugged. “That’s the million-dollar question.”

  Chandler sighed. “Look. I don’t think we should be doing this. No good can come from us sticking our noses where they don’t belong. Please, can’t we leave it to the cops?”

  “I would, except the cops aren’t looking anymore. They think Jay is guilty. Once they charge someone, they’re done looking.”

  “Then that’s Jay’s problem. I’m not getting jammed up because of him,” Chandler said.

  “That’s why I told you to stay home.”

  “Not gonna happen. You go, I go.”

  Jack stood up. “I want to check out her work. Did you call Makayla’s cousin? Is everything cool?”

  “Makayla called her, but I don’t think this is your smartest idea. Lori’s just the receptionist. She didn’t work with Stacy or anything.”

  “I only want to talk to her. We’ll take her to lunch. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Built in the 1960s, the brick building had been recently remodeled to house shops on the first floor, with the four floors above dedicated to office space. H. T. Wells had the top two floors to themselves. It must be a nice place to work, Jack thought, pulling up to the curb in front—great views of the park.

  Chandler craned his neck out the window to look up at the building. “Why don’t we wait until she’s off work?”

  “Let’s just go up and ask her if she wants to go to lunch. That way we get a look around inside, too.”

  “No. There is absolutely no way. I promised Makayla we wouldn’t get Lori in trouble. Besides, I hate to break this to you, but you can’t look around inside. Not even if you were a cop, and you’re not.”

  “I’m not pretending to be a cop—”

  “Then why did you put on your police academy shirt?”

  Jack looked down at his blue and white T-shirt with the police academy logo. “It’s the only clean thing I had in the car. It was in my gym bag.”

  “You could have borrowed a shirt.”

  “Thanks, I’ll remember that next time I need a pup tent. I look good in this.” Jack turned in his seat to face Chandler. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this. I’ve been reading and watching cop shows since I can remember.”

  “So has Mrs. Franklin next door, but she’s still a little old grandmother. Not a detective.”

  Jack stared out the windshield. The silence in the car became thick.

  Chandler rapped his knuckles against the door panel. “I know you—you keep going and you don’t quit. Sometimes…that’s not a good thing. Most of the time it just ticks people off and gets you in trouble.”

  “I’ll be right out. Fifteen minutes.”

 
Chandler’s eyebrows went in opposite directions; one dropped heavily on the lid while the other arched high. “Are you even listening? And why are we risking this? For J-Dog? I thought you can’t stand him.”

  “I can’t.”

  Chandler huffed. “You know the rules, Jack. You get in trouble and we’re screwed as far as the recruiter goes. One call to the cops could make them take a second look at us.”

  “Stay here.”

  “That’s not happening.”

  “I’m serious. It would look weird both of us going in anyway.”

  “I’m not waiting here. You go, I go. That’s the deal. Besides, I promised Makayla.”

  Jack opened the door.

  “Hey.” Chandler grabbed Jack’s arm. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Come on. It’s me you’re talking about.” Jack got out of the car.

  “That’s why I’m saying it.”

  They took the elevator up to the fourth floor. The doors opened onto a luxurious reception area. Jack noticed a hallway leading off to the right; to the left was a waiting area with leather couches and marble coffee tables covered with glossy magazines. A vase of summer flowers in full bloom added life and color to the impressively long teak reception desk. Jack wrinkled his nose at the odd odor—fresh flowers mixed with the synthetic smell of some kind of cleaner.

  The receptionist, Makayla’s cousin Lori, stood behind the desk, and three men in suits were taking turns signing their names in a ledger. When she saw Chandler, Lori held up one finger and pointed covertly to the waiting area. Jack and Chandler moved to the side.

  Lori handed lanyards to the men in suits. On the front of each card, the word Visitor was printed in bright-green text. The men chatted with Lori until a thin woman in a sharp gray suit strode down the hallway. She greeted the men, and they followed her back down the hallway.

  Now that Lori was alone, Jack was about to approach the desk, but just then a beefy custodian in navy-blue coveralls pushed a rolling recycle bin down the hall to the reception desk. His small, close-set eyes, set in a round, ruddy face, stayed focused on the ground, and his mouth hung open in a slack way. “Do you have any recycling, Lori?” he asked.

  She picked up a white container and handed it to him. “How are you today, Jeremy?” she said with a smile.

  He shrugged and dumped the container. “Still sad.”

  She patted his arm. “It’ll get better.”

  “It’ll get better,” he repeated.

  “Jeremy?” Lori pointed down at the floor. “Can you use less carpet cleaner next time?”

  Jeremy nodded quickly. “Sorry. Someone spilled. I had to get the stains out. Sorry.” Jeremy tipped the heavy bin back and wheeled it toward the elevator.

  When he was gone, Lori waved Jack and Chandler over. They walked to the desk as she scooted around.

  Medium height, a little on the curvy side, and in her early twenties, Lori looked every bit the business receptionist—charcoal slacks, pale blue top, her long, dark hair swept up in a low chignon. She grabbed Chandler’s hand as though they were old friends.

  “Look at you!” She grinned at Chandler. “I can’t tell you how grateful my aunt is for that refrigerator.”

  “That’s on Mr. Emerson.” Chandler blushed. “He’s the one who fixed it.”

  “Mr. Emerson didn’t bring that refrigerator up four floors. Anyway, she’s tickled pink, let me tell you.” Lori squeezed his hand.

  As Chandler and Lori chatted, Jack glanced down at the visitor sign-in log and his eyes widened. Detective Anthony Vargas. Under “purpose of visit,” he had written “Review security footage.” The checkout time was blank. Jack’s heart beat fast.

  “Makayla called me,” Lori said. “What’s the big favor?”

  “It’s, uhh…” Chandler cleared his throat and looked at Jack.

  Jack tore his eyes from the log. “We were wondering if we could take you out to lunch. Right now. Not here.”

  “Sure. Why?”

  Footsteps came down the hall, and Jack held his breath. But it was just two women walking to the elevator, engaged in a quiet conversation.

  Jack exhaled. “I want to ask you a few questions about Stacy Shaw.”

  Lori cast a nervous glance at the women, who were getting on the elevator, then checked the clock. “I have to wait for my cover to get here. I’ll meet you downstairs in, like, ten minutes, or you can wait—”

  “Great.” Jack moved for the elevator. “We’ll wait out front. Outside.”

  Jack’s head was on a swivel as they walked. When they reached the elevator doors, Jack pressed the button four quick times.

  “Hold up a second,” Chandler said.

  “What?”

  “I have to use the restroom.” Chandler winked.

  The elevator doors dinged and opened. “No.” Jack practically dragged Chandler inside the elevator. “We gotta go.”

  Jack reached out and rapidly pressed the bottom button.

  “I don’t get you.” Chandler frowned. “You wanted to look around, and I come up with a great idea so we can do it but—”

  Jack repeatedly mashed the button to close the doors. “That detective is here.”

  The doors closed, and Chandler’s eyes widened. “Now? Vargas?”

  Jack crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Yeah. So I figure we’d better beat feet. Did Vargas say anything to you about staying away from the investigation?”

  “No. He told me to stay away from you,” Chandler huffed. “Like I said, you rub some people the wrong way. Did Vargas tell you to stay away from this?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think he’d really arrest me. Still, you should wait in the car.”

  “Arrest you?” Chandler stomped, and the whole elevator shook. “You need to get serious. Don’t mess this up. Did he use that word? Arrest?”

  “Can you not do that in here, Stampy?” Jack glanced at the weight capacity of the elevator. “I won’t screw anything up.”

  The elevator dinged. Jack and Chandler faced the doors they’d entered through, but it was the doors behind them that opened. Embarrassed, they turned and walked out of the elevator.

  Jack looked around, puzzled. They weren’t in the lobby. The dark concrete room they found themselves in led to a loading dock. The large corrugated roll-down door at the end was closed, and five recycling bins were lined up in front of a dumpster against the wall. A concrete hallway lay to their left. The deep thrum of machinery reverberated off the bare walls and ceiling.

  The elevator doors closed behind them.

  Jack spun around and pressed the button. It didn’t light up.

  They heard the elevator going back up.

  Chandler pointed to the elevator button panel. “You need a key. What button did you press to get us here?”

  “The bottom one,” Jack said.

  “You mean you pressed B? B’s for basement. Not for the lobby.”

  “I wasn’t looking at the letters, I just pressed the bottom button. Sorry.”

  It felt like a cave—humid, stale, and musty. “Let’s cut through here,” Jack said. He walked over to the loading dock door. He tried the door handle but it didn’t budge. There was a badge reader next to it.

  “Great,” Chandler grumbled. “I bet we’re not allowed down here.”

  “Calm down,” Jack said, half to himself. “Let’s see where the hallway goes.”

  The elevator behind them dinged. A moment later, the custodian they saw earlier wheeled the recycling bin out and headed toward the bins along the wall.

  Chandler hurried toward the elevator, but Jack started toward Jeremy.

  “What are you doing?” Chandler’s voice was filled with caution, as if Jack was getting too close to a cliff.

  “He’s the custodian. If he worked that night, he might have been the one who saw her before she left.”

  Chandler grabbed his arm. “Vargas is in the house, man.” The elevator doors beeped and started to close. Chandler�
��s hand shot out and stopped them.

  “You go,” Jack said. “I just need a couple of minutes.”

  The elevator doors beeped.

  “I’ll meet you outside,” Jack said. “Go.”

  “I’m not leaving.” Chandler yanked his hand away from the doors and let them close. “Aw, no, I’ll wait. Hurry it up.”

  Jack nodded.

  As they walked over to Jeremy, Chandler whispered, “And please don’t get this guy upset.”

  “I won’t.”

  Jack waved at Jeremy. “Hello.”

  Jeremy waved back. “Hi.” He hefted the heavy recycling bin up in one quick motion and dumped the paper out into the dumpster.

  “I’m Jack. You work upstairs at H. T. Wells?”

  “Yes.” A big smile crossed Jeremy’s face. “You were just there. Both of you. Didn’t you see me?”

  “I did.” Jack nodded. “I was wondering if I could ask you some questions.”

  “Okay.” Jeremy wiped his nose with the back of his thick hand and loudly sucked in the snot dripping into his sinuses. Chandler turned away, gagging.

  “Did you know Stacy Shaw?”

  “Yes.” Jeremy slammed the lid on the recycling bin. His brows drew together and his small eyes became dots. “I talked to the police.”

  “You talked to the police? About what?”

  “When Mrs. Shaw went home.” Jeremy wheeled another bin over to the dumpster.

  “Oh, you saw her leave?”

  “Yes.” Jeremy jerked the bin up and dumped it in a fluid motion. Paper poured out into the dumpster. He let the bin land with a loud bang.

  “How did she look?”

  Jeremy’s smile rose and fell, as if he couldn’t make up his mind how the memory made him feel. “Pretty.”

  “I mean, how did she seem? Was she happy or tired or…?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Happy.”

  “What time did she go home?” Jack asked.

  Jeremy’s head jerked to the side and his arm twitched. The sudden, spastic movement made Jack step back.