DEATH ON THE NEW MOON (A Troubled Waters Suspense Thriller Book 6)

by Michael Lindley

  "No, I didn't," Hanna replied. "Phillip hanging out with a gangster?"

  "Apparently. I'm having my dad drive me down to Charleston later this morning to have a word with Holloway. I still don't want to drive with these pills I'm taking."

  "You think he might be involved in any of this with Lonnie and the killer?" she asked, surprise clear in her voice.

  "I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to find out."

  They ended the call with promises to touch base at the end of the day. Alex was out at the end of his father's pier now, standing beside the shrimp boat, the Maggie Mae. He couldn't get the thought of Hanna with her old boyfriend out of his mind and yet he thought, maybe it's best. I'm dragging her right down with me... if I don't get her killed in the meantime.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The Reverend Jeremiah Townsend said good morning to the gathering of church workers at their desks on his way back to his office at the back of the massive church complex that he oversaw. He was dressed smartly in an expensive blue summer suit with gray pinstripes, all set-off by a bright red silk tie. He walked with a slow and confident gait, comfortable in his role as the senior pastor of one of the state's largest churches. He was also feeling particularly good about the publicity he'd been seeing the past few days since taking a very public stand against the proposed gambling bill currently being considered at the state capital. His parishioners were solidly behind him, other community leaders were joining the bandwagon and most importantly, contributions were flooding into the call center to support the church's "courageous" efforts to stare down the expanding scourge of gambling in their state.

  Townsend walked into his palatial office and closed and locked the door behind him. He had several confidential calls to make and didn't want any interruptions. He took off his suit jacket and placed it on a hook on the coat stand behind his desk. He sat down and began logging into his computer, the lush leather chair moaning at the extreme weight of the man. He reached for the phone on his desk and began dialing his first call.

  He didn't hear Caine coming up behind him from the small kitchen attached to the office and jumped when the man's hand reached from behind him to disconnect the call. The reverend turned quickly in alarm.

  "Who are you?" he bellowed.

  Caine placed his finger to his lips. "Not so loud, Reverend. Don't want to alarm your congregation." He walked around the desk and stood facing the church leader. He had a large backpack hanging from one shoulder.

  "Again, who are you and what are doing here?"

  Caine just smiled back at the man, then said, "I was at your press conference, Reverend. You really are getting people riled up about the gambling bill."

  "Well I hope so!" Townsend said, the arrogance and self-righteousness dripping off him. "This state has enough vices. Our good people don't need more opportunities to make poor decisions."

  "I think you've made a poor decision, Reverend," Caine said, his eyes narrowing and smile disappearing.

  "And how is that, sir?"

  Caine reached into his pack and pulled out a long hunting knife. He watched as Townsend's eyes grew large in surprise and then fear. The man tried to get up, but Caine came quickly around the desk and forced him back into his desk chair with the tip of his knife against the man's nose.

  "I'm going to call security..."

  "Just shut-up, or I'll slice that nose off your face," Caine hissed.

  Townsend sat back in his chair, his hands visibly trembling.

  With quick movements, Caine placed a long piece of silver Duct Tape over the man's nose and mouth then secured him to the chair with a length of rope from his backpack. When Townsend would squirm or try to get up, he was quickly subdued with the point of the knife held just in front of his face. Caine pulled out another long length of thick rope from his pack. He stepped back and threw one end up and over a large exposed beam twelve feet above the desk and spanning the high peaked ceiling.

  He came close to Townsend's ear and whispered. "You've made some friends of mine very unhappy. When they get unhappy, people usually have to pay a price. Are you ready to pay the price, Reverend?"

  The man stared back with frantic eyes, moaning some garbled response beneath the tape over his mouth.

  "Are you good with the Lord, Reverend?" Caine asked. "I would hope so, a man of the cloth such as yourself."

  In an instant, Caine had one end of the rope around the man's neck and quickly secured a tight slipknot. Townsend struggled and tried to rise again, but the knife point quickly forced him back into his chair. Caine loosened the restraints holding the man to the chair and pulled the other end of the rope tighter until the tension on his neck pulled the man to his feet behind his desk. His free hands quickly went to try to release the choking tightness of the knot around his neck. Caine pulled harder and watched as the man lifted off the ground, his feet kicking and his hands frantically trying to remove the tightening rope around his neck.

  When Townsend was four feet off the ground behind his desk, Caine secured the rope to a doorknob on the nearest wall. He stood back and watched the man continue to kick and squirm as the rope cut into his neck and cut-off his last gasping breaths. Townsend's face was now bright red, his eyes bulging in terror. Urine leaked out from the bottom of one of his pant leg openings.

  Caine came around and faced the dying Reverend Jeremiah Townsend. "Your suicide will be seen as an act of deep regret for your corrupt life running this church and stealing your congregation and television ministry blind," Caine said. "I hope you rot in hell, pastor."

  The killer kicked the desk chair over to make it look like the Reverend had stood up to secure the rope around his neck before kicking it away to kill himself. Asa D had wanted him to make this look accidental or self-inflicted, as one more death of a vocal critic of the gambling bill might be one too many.

  As Caine picked up any remaining evidence of his presence and prepared to leave out a back door, he looked up to see Townsend had stopped moving. He hung now with his hands at his side, his head tilted above the slipknot of the rope. He had a distant and vacant look in his bulging eyes. Caine smiled, satisfied with his handiwork and left silently out the back.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Just before noon, Hanna had worked through a couple of client meetings and the files that needed attending to for the morning. She had also assembled all the work she needed to take to the courthouse after lunch where she was meeting Calley Barbour for her hearing. As the morning had progressed, she kept getting distracted with thoughts of her dinner with Sam and then her conversation with Alex about the whole thing this morning. She was also feeling apprehensive about Calley's hearing and how Judge Kraft would rule on their request for Calley to receive an abortion without her parent's knowledge. She was having to continue to convince herself she was doing the right thing for this girl. All the thoughts of her own abortion years earlier with Sam the previous night had not helped to build her confidence in the path they were taking.

  Her office phone rang. It was Molly telling her a Mr. Collins was out front and needed to see her. Hanna's first reaction was surprise that Sam had come back to see her so quickly. She had thought he would be busy with his work for several days, then leave town. Her second reaction was a bit of panic when she started thinking about what he could possibly want. "Send him back," she finally said.

  Hanna stood and tried to make herself presentable, pulling her hair back behind her ears and tucking her blouse back into her slacks, then realized how ridiculous she was being. Really, Hanna!

  She saw Sam walk through her door. Immediately, she knew something was wrong. His face was tired and drawn, his clothes disheveled.

  "I'm really sorry for just barging in," he said and then came over quickly and stood across the desk from her. "I've been up half the damn night. I couldn't keep focused on my work this morning. We need to talk, Hanna."

  "I have to meet my client in court at 1:30, Sam
. This isn't a good time."

  "Are you going to eat? Let's go get some lunch. We need to talk," he insisted.

  Ten minutes later they were ordering sandwiches at a deli down the street. When they had their food, they found a table in a shady courtyard outside.

  Hanna took a deep breath, then asked, "So, what's so urgent?"

  Neither touched their sandwiches as they sat across from each other. Sam said, "After last night, after dinner with you... I got back to my hotel and started thinking again about what an idiot I was, leaving you like I did, not being there for you when you had so much to deal with."

  "Sam, we talked about that and agreed, no more apologies."

  "Hanna, you need to know, there were so many times during those years after I left that I wanted to come back to be with you, not even knowing about the baby. Every time, either work would get in the way, then I heard you were seeing this guy in law school. Then you were married with a son. It just never seemed right for me to come back and get in the way of all that. You need to know it killed me I couldn't come back."

  Hanna was stunned at what she was hearing. She never had any indication Sam had regretted his decision or had ever considered coming back to her. "It's a little late for second-guessing all that."

  "Why is it too late?" he asked.

  "Sam, we're not kids anymore. We've moved on."

  "What if I told you I'm tired of moving on. I feel like I've been running from something my entire damn life."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I want us to have another chance, Hanna."

  "Another chance?"

  "I know you're seeing someone and I'm sure he's a great person or you wouldn't be with him, but..."

  "Sam, I can't just throw everything in my life out the window," Hanna said, her heart pounding in her chest and her mind blurred with all the implications. "Alex and I have something special and I can't just leave and follow you around the world while you work. I have a life and a career here, and my son is here."

  "I'm not asking you to walk away, Hanna. I'm tired of the travel, the hotels, living a life mostly alone. I want to settle somewhere, get connected, have a real relationship."

  Hanna was feeling an overwhelming sense of panic and couldn't respond.

  "I can find work here in South Carolina when I need to. Fortunately, I've spent very little of the money I've made over the years."

  "Sam, this is crazy!" Hanna said, pushing back her chair and standing. "I can't even begin to process all this."

  He stood across from her. "Can we please just give this some time for both of us to think it through."

  Hanna was feeling an anger start to build. "You and I were kids when we were together."

  "Look, I'm sorry for springing this on you so suddenly."

  "Sudden is right! You're back for twenty-four hours and you're ready to abandon your career and take back a woman you haven't seen or known for decades." She reached down for her bag. "I can't even begin to process this, Sam. I need to get down to the courthouse to meet my client."

  Sam came around the table and stood between her and the exit. "Can we please just give this some time... spend some time together to sort this all out?"

  Hanna thought about Alex. She had never felt closer to a man than she did Alex Clark at this very moment. They had been through so much together and their lives now were good... weren't they? Sam Collins isn't real. He's a distant memory. "Sam, I have to go."

  He stepped aside, a sad and strained look on his face.

  Chapter Thirty

  Phillip Holloway had been passed through the security gate at Asa Dellahousaye's beach house on Isle of Palms and had already been frisked at the door by Asa D's primary bodyguard, Etienne. He sat waiting in the man's office, windows looking out at the panorama of the beach and bright blue sky. The hulking Etienne stood nearby watching him warily. Holloway tried to keep his composure and remain calm as he waited for the gangster. This was a discussion he was not looking forward to.

  A door to the side of a massive and ornate wood desk opened and Dellahousaye walked in and sat down in the rich black leather desk chair, not acknowledging the presence of one of his lawyers. He began sorting through some papers and then pulled out a cell phone and made a call. He finally glanced at Holloway and nodded, whispering, "Just be a second."

  Holloway listened to the brief call and could make little sense of who he was speaking to or what the conversation was about. Asa D hung up and looked over at Holloway. "What's up, counselor?"

  "Asa, thank you for seeing me..."

  "Did I have a choice?" Asa D cut in.

  "I just need a few minutes."

  "What is it?"

  "Senator Hayes sends his best. He wants you to know that we are both doing everything in our power to keep the gambling bill on track in Columbia."

  "I appreciate that, Phillip. I'm paying you both very well to do exactly that."

  "Yes, of course," Holloway said, hesitant in having his complicity in this scheme spoken out loud.

  "When can we expect this to come up for a vote?" Dellahousaye asked.

  "Certainly by the end of this session in September."

  "We need to get this through as quickly as possible, counselor."

  "Trust me, Asa, we're leaving no stone unturned.

  "Is that all?" the gangster asked, standing behind his desk as a signal for Holloway to leave.

  "One other thing," Holloway said, his voice cracking noticeably. He swallowed hard. Finally, he summoned enough composure to say, "The senator and I need some assurances..."

  "What kind of assurance?" the gangster said strongly, a look of deep anger clear in his face.

  "We certainly trust you, Asa..." Holloway said, thinking at the same time what bullshit that was. "We trust you, but we need your assurance and support that our involvement will never be linked to this transaction."

  "Transaction?"

  "The gambling bill..."

  "Holloway, tell me what in hell this is about, now!"

  "You need to understand that what I'm about to tell you is only in the spirit of protecting our own interests if for some reason our efforts are discovered, made public, whatever."

  "Whatever?" the gangster repeated.

  "The senator and I have filed documents in a secure place that provide great detail of our relationship with you and ..."

  Dellahousaye broke in, furious. "Are you threatening me?"

  Holloway stood to face the man, trying as hard as he could to remain steady and not show the fear that was coursing through him. "Of course not..."

  "What the hell is this, then?"

  "These documents and records of meetings and discussions simply characterize all of this work we've been doing for you as routine legal work for some investments you plan to make in the state."

  Asa D seemed to calm some and sat back down.

  Holloway swallowed hard and continued. "You also need to know there is another set of files that provides great detail on the true nature of our work to ensure this bill gets passed in Columbia. If for any reason, we believe our interests and involvement will be compromised, we trust you will back up our story. However, Jordan and I want you to know..."

  "Enough!" the old gangster shouted. "Get the hell out of here! If we didn't go back as far as we do, I'd have Etienne carve you up right here in my office and drop you offshore for fish food."

  Holloway blanched, feeling like he might be sick right here on the man's lush carpet. "Asa, you have our full support..."

  "Get the hell out of here now, Holloway!"

  "I'm only telling you this to make sure we're on the same page if anything goes south."

  "I'm tempted to send your puny ass south, about 100 feet below the Atlantic," Dellahousaye said slowly and emphatically.

  Holloway started backing toward the door. He sensed the bodyguard moving behind him to block his path.

  "Let him go," De
llahousaye said. Etienne moved to the side. "Counselor, I expect this bill to successfully pass before the end of the month. I will hold you personally responsible if there are any delays."

  Holloway summoned what little courage he could and replied, "It's in all of our best interests for that to happen, and as I said, the senator and I have all our resources focused on making that happen."

  "It damn well better."

  When Holloway closed the door to leave, Dellahousaye turned to his big bodyguard, shaking his head. "We need to get some new lawyers and politicians."

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Alex watched the road sign indicating ten more miles to Charleston. He rode in the cab of his father's old Chevy truck, the seats worn and dirty, the dash and floor filled with trash and papers, a pungent smell of shrimp and sweat heavy in the air. Looking over, he watched as his father drove calmly along, listening to old country music on the radio and humming with each tune. The old man seemed clueless about the deep spiral of booze and hard living that was clearly taking its toll. The man's face was hardened and creased with deep lines from the wind and weather. The paunch above his belt nearly touched the steering wheel and Alex noticed his hands trembled slightly as he drove along, occasionally cursing loudly when one of "them damn city drivers" cut him off.

  He was also more concerned than ever that his old man was sinking into deeper signs of dementia. In his brief time at home he had seen numerous occasions when his father would repeat himself or forget where something was stored in the kitchen. Just this morning, he had told Alex over coffee to go get his brother up for school. His brother, Bobbie, had been dead for nearly ten years, lost to one of the many senseless battles in the Middle East.

  "Where am I headed, son?" Skipper Frank growled over the music and wind rushing in his open window.

  "Take the next right." Alex pulled out his phone and found the address for Phillip Holloway's law offices to confirm their destination. He suddenly felt light-headed and leaned back against the rear glass of the truck cab. Closing his eyes, he tried to press down the throbbing pain spreading out from the gunshot wound across his neck. He reached down for his bag on the floor and found the bottle of pain meds. Only two left, he thought, placing one on his tongue and then washing it down with a bottle of water on the console beside him. He made a mental note to remind himself to get the prescription refilled while they were in town. He closed his eyes and waited for the welcome numbness of the drug to start kicking in again. He knew he was on a dangerous path of dependence with these damn drugs. He'd been there before, more than once, he thought, memories of his time in Afghanistan after "the attack", and then later with two earlier gunshot wounds. I need to keep my damn head down, he thought, feeling groggy already.