“Too many—4!” Joy replied.
“What are they really talking about?” Michael asked as he stared at the screen. He continued to read through the messages. More and more of the exchanges seemed to be written with a purpose different than what they appeared on the surface.
One set of messages shared between them on January 8th stood out. “What time are we having dinner tonight?” Joy asked Rachel.
“9:00,” Rachel replied. “I’ll bring the wine,” she added.
“Good, I’ll bring the corkscrew,” Joy answered.
“January 8th,” Michael said to himself, trying to remember that night. It was only nine days before Rachel was killed. Still waiting for Rachel’s phone to turn on, he reached for his own, scrolling through the messages they had exchanged. He had spent many long hours reading and re-reading their conversations. As he read through them again, he had to tighten his jaw to keep himself from crying.
“January 8th,” he said again when he found the messages they had exchanged.
“Hey, dear,” Rachel wrote at 7:34pm. “I won’t be able to come over tonight.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not feeling well.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I think it’s just a bug.”
“Want me to bring you some soup?” he offered.
“No,” she replied. “I’m just going to put on Netflix and go to bed early.”
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything!”
“You’ll be the first person I call. Love you, sugar!”
“I love you.”
That was it. That was all she had said to him about her plans for that night. Why had she lied to him? It was obvious she was planning to do something with Joy. Why hadn’t she told him?
Finally out of the corner of his eye he saw Rachel’s phone light up. Grabbing it quickly, he unlocked it and began searching through her messages. He scrolled through the lists two, three, four times, but nothing. There was no record of her messages with Joy anywhere.
It made sense. In a weird way, it made sense that her messages were deleted. She had her phone with her at work that night. The cops were supposedly the first people on the scene, but maybe, just maybe, someone had gotten there before them and had erased whatever it was they thought would incriminate them. Something about what these two women had found or were doing was worth risking tampering with evidence and hindering a police investigation to get to.
He knew that he was really onto something. He now had concrete proof that something more was going on surrounding Rachel’s and Joy’s deaths. It may not be enough to convince the police, though—at least not all of them. He reached for his phone again and quickly dialed the only person he thought would be able to help him.
“Hello?” her voice came over the line.
“Lindsey?” he started almost out of breath from the excitement of his discovery. “Are you free? We really need to talk.”
Chapter 10: Fake Flowers, Real Progress
“Whoa,” Lindsey said when Michael greeted her at his front door. “I didn’t even recognize you!” she exclaimed pushing past him and turning around quickly to continue examining him. “I mean, really! You look like a completely different person!”
“Don’t over exaggerate,” Michael replied, rolling his eyes as he pushed the door closed.
“I think I’m actually under exaggerating,” she said stepping closer to him to get a better look. “Really, Michael. You look completely different.”
“Well, I figured it was time for a change,” he said as he made his way past her and down the hall to the kitchen.
“Good,” she said happily as she followed him. “I’m really glad to hear that.” When they reached the kitchen she stopped at the counter, even though Michael had taken a seat at the table “Actually,” she said rummaging through the large bag she had hanging from her shoulder. “I’m glad you called, too. I got you a little something. It goes along with your ‘making a change’ mentality.” She smiled at him as she pulled a bundle of flowers in a plastic pot from her bag. “I just couldn’t get over how empty the place was, and I figured it could use a little perking up,” she explained as she walked over and set them down in front of Michael.
“Flowers?” he asked chuckling a little to himself.
“Don’t worry,” she said quickly. “They’re fake. I figured it might be safer that way.”
“You’re probably right,” Michael said bursting out into a genuine laugh. “I’m not sure I’m ready for the responsibility of being a plant owner just yet.”
She laughed with him. “Baby steps,” she added as she sat down next to him. The smile disappeared from her face as quickly as it has appeared. “What’s going on, Michael? While I enjoy our little chats, I have to admit, a sinking feeling seems to form in the pit of my stomach when I see your name come up on my caller ID.”
“I’ll just get right to it then,” he replied, pushing the plant to the center of the table and turning his full attention to Lindsey. “But before I do, you have to promise not to freak out or anything.”
“You went to talk to Mickey!” she exclaimed. “I knew it! I knew I shouldn’t have given you his address. And,” she said leaning over to get a better view of the back of his head, “is that why your stitches ripped open? Michael!” she said as she stood up quickly and walked to examine the back of his head. “Your stitches ripped open! You could get an infection!” She proceeded to grab onto the side of his head and turn it around to get a better view of the injury.
“I’ll deal with that later,” he said, tilting his head and pushing her hands away from him. “I need you to listen to what I’m saying for now,” he said firmly.
She reluctantly sat back down in her chair. The look she gave him wasn’t one of concern; it was one of frustration. Michael was glad for that, though. She didn’t look at him like he was a lost child that needed to be protected and looked after. She looked at him like a grown man who had done something very stupid. “I called you because, yes, I did go see Mickey,” he started.
She let out an exhausted sigh as she waited for him to continue. “This will really be much easier if I start at the beginning,” he concluded seeing the frustrated look on her face.
He told her about the backpack and the man in Rachel’s apartment. He showed her the slip of paper, and explained that whoever wanted to get it back was hired by Mickey and was part of a gang known as the Lords.
“The Lords?” she asked, cutting him off before he could tell her about Joy’s phone and the deleted messages.
“Yeah,” he answered. “Have you heard of them?”
“They were the ones responsible for the drug chain I was telling you about. The one my partner and I were investigating.”
“Really?”
“Trust me, I won’t ever forget that.”
“Why would they care about whatever it is that’s written on this slip of paper?” Michael asked, picking it up and holding it in the air for her to examine again.
She leaned in and peered at it closely. “I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “This is a phone number you said?” she asked.
“I’m guessing it is.”
She nodded as she looked at it. “I think you’re right. But whose is it?”
“I don’t know,” Michael shrugged. “I’ve tried to figure it out, but there are hundreds of numbers that contain those digits in that order.” He took the paper from her hand and set it down on the table between them. “But this is clearly the letterhead for Hamilton & Lewis,” he said pointing to it. “I just know that somehow this phone number links back to them in some way.”
Lindsey sat back quickly, staring at the wall in front of her, her face scrunched up in thought. “We ran Hamilton & Lewis’ phone records after your fiancée was shot,” she said quietly.
“What?” Michael asked, suddenly feeling a bolt of anticipation run through him. “Why didn’t I know about this?”
“It’s pretty
standard procedure,” she explained. “When we were still looking for the shooter they ran their records to see if anyone that had called may be a lead.”
“Do you still have access to them?”
“I’m not going to give them to you, Michael,” she said turning her focus back to him.
“What if one of those numbers matches this one?” he asked urgently.
“That doesn’t prove anything, though,” she said calmly. “It’s just…”
“Circumstantial, I know,” he finished for her. “But I don’t care about what fancy term you give to it. It could help find the real motivation behind Rachel’s murder!”
“You’re going to have to do better than that to convince me,” she said, crossing her arms at her chest and waiting for his response, which she didn’t expect him to have.
When he showed her Joy’s phone, and the missing messages on Rachel’s the expression on her face changed slightly. “You see?” he asked, sliding the phones towards her. “Something is going on. Someone is trying to cover something up.”
She took the phones in her hands, scrolling up and down on the two screens, comparing the texts. “And all of this somehow links back to the Lords and Hamilton & Lewis?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the screens.
“It has to.”
She continued to look at the phones for what felt like an eternity. “We should bring this information into the department,” she said finally, setting the phones back down on the table.
“No!” Michael replied harshly. “No cops! I’m done with them. They’re completely useless.”
“Ouch,” she replied defensively.
“You have to admit it. I’ve been doing this for what? Four days? And I’ve already found more than the cops did when they were investigating Rachel’s death.”
“They weren’t looking for this,” she said gesturing to the phones on the table.
“That’s the problem,” Michael retorted. “They didn’t know where to look, and they didn’t care enough to figure it out.”
“It was an open and shut case,” she tried to defend her colleagues. “The guy confessed!”
“I don’t want to get into that now,” Michael replied, trying to keep his temper in check. “What I want is to know if you’ll help me?”
“By giving you Hamilton & Lewis’ phone records?”
The honest truth was he hadn’t even considered that a possibility, but now that he knew it was it was on the top of his list of requests. “That,” he started. “And I need to know if you have any information on the Lords.”
“You know that I do.”
“Well, can I have it?” he asked, trying to put on his most innocent smile.
“You can’t go investigating them on your own, Michael.”
“Are you offering to come with me?” he asked.
“I wasn’t,” she replied thoughtfully. “But after the Mickey Walsh thing, I get the feeling that no matter what I say you’re going to go out looking for them.”
“I am,” he replied.
She sighed deeply. “And I can’t let you go out there and do that alone.”
“I knew you cared about me,” Michael said playfully as he pushed himself up from his seat.
“I just don’t want you to get yourself killed,” she replied dryly.
Disappearing into his bedroom, Michael reappeared with his coat on and his shoes in hand. “Tell yourself whatever you need to,” he said as he walked back to the kitchen.
“Wait, you mean now? We’re going now?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“What better time than the present?”
“Michael, I…”
“Come on, Lindsey. It’ll be fun. Like a field trip or something.”
“Right,” she said rolling her eyes as she stood up. “A field trip to the most dangerous part of town. I don’t think that’s on the top of most people’s lists.”
“Well, it’s your lucky day, then. Because it’s on the top of mine,” Michael replied as he pulled on his shoes and waited for her to get her things together. “I don’t know about you,” he said as they walked out the front door. “But I’m excited.”
Chapter 11: A Laundromat and a Car Chase
The drive to the outskirts of town wasn’t very long. It was only fifteen minutes, more or less. The air in the car seemed to be filled with an electric sort of tension. Michael knew that Lindsey wasn’t happy about taking him; she didn’t have to say it out loud. Although she did, four times in the short period of time it took them to arrive.
“This isn’t safe,” she said more to herself than to Michael.
“We’re just going to scope the place out a little. It’s not like we’re going to go up and talk to them.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said not taking her eyes off the road. “Not only are these people dangerous, the part of town we are about to enter is dangerous.”
“I thought they were a lower-level gang,” Michael pointed out.
“They are,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t mean they’re just a bunch of teenagers running around with cans of spray paint and baggy pants. They’re organized. And there have been rumors that they’re joining forces with one of the biggest gangs in the area, the East Side Kings.”
“Why?” Michael asked, looking out the window as they made their way deeper into the side of town he had never seen before. Around him were buildings covered in graffiti with broken windows and doors hanging off their hinges. Every other streetlight didn’t work, and he had a haunting feeling that there were countless faces watching them from under the cover of darkness.
“We don’t know,” she answered. “We’re guessing it has something to do with a gang war or something that’s starting. They want more territory, more product, more clients, more money.”
When they reached the end of the only main street that ran through the area, Lindsey turned off her head lights and turned down a side street. The street was lined with houses, most appeared to be very run-down, although here and there Michael saw one or two that were well-kept and even looked inviting if you didn’t remember where they were.
They turned down another street, then another, until they reached a small section of shops and bars, all locally owned, and all still open for business. “Isn’t it a little late for ‘momma’s home-made chicken noodle soup’?” Michael asked reading a sign hanging above one of the restaurants.
Lindsey didn’t answer. She pulled the car into an abandoned parking lot positioning it behind an old dumpster and turning it off. “That’s it,” she said quietly, pointing to a laundromat across the street. “That’s where the Lords have their headquarters.”
“An old laundromat?” Michael asked, leaning forward to get a better view.
“It used to be in one of their houses,” Lindsey explained, “but after my partner and I took down one of their leaders, they moved it here.”
“Why here?”
“It’s an easy front for laundering money,” she explained.
“No pun intended?” Michael asked, laughing a little at his own joke.
She chuckled slightly, nodding her head. “No pun intended.”
“But surely they can’t launder all the money they make off of drugs through a coin-operated laundromat?”
“No, this isn’t their only business,” she continued. “But due to the office space in the back, it’s where they base their operation.”
“How do you know all of this?”
“Even though I was pulled out of the gang unit after my partner’s death, I’ve kept myself informed along the way.”
“Guess I’m not the only one breaking a few rules here and there,” he said, nudging her elbow with his.
“Get down!” she ordered him quickly as three men exited the building they were observing.
Michael ducked his head down, but not too far that he couldn’t keep an eye on what was happening. The three men were all large, wearing all black, and looked like they were in their mid-thirties. None of
them were the man that had attacked him.
“That’s Ronny,” Lindsey said, motioning with her head to the group, “the one with the baseball cap. He’s the ringleader.”
As they sat quietly watching the men walk to their car, another two men exited the laundromat. They weren’t as rough looking at the first three, dressed in pantsuits with ties and brief cases. “Who are they?” Michael asked in a whisper.
“I don’t know,” Lindsey admitted. “But I don’t think they’re part of the gang.”
Michael watched, as the two men got closer to their car. When he saw them get in, a shiver ran down his spine. It was the black Impala, the same one he saw when he left Susan Reynolds’ house the other day. He sat up a little to get a better look, when he saw one of the men in the car turn around and point directly at them. The others turned, and they all leaned in, talking to each other.
“Shit,” Lindsay said under her breath. “They saw us,” she quickly reached for the keys, still hanging in the transmission and turned the car on.
The driver of the black Impala did the same, throwing his car into reverse and backing out quickly.
“Are they coming for us, or trying to run?” Michael asked as Lindsey pulled the car out from behind the dumpster and pulled onto the road. “I’m not sticking around to find out,” she said, turning out and speeding down the road quickly.
Michael turned his body around in the seat just in time to see the Impala speed off in the opposite direction. “It’s okay, they’re not coming after us,” he said turning around just in time to see another car—a large SUV—pull out in front of them and stop quickly, blocking their exit.
“It’s not them I’m worried about,” Lindsey said, quickly putting on the breaks and throwing the car into reverse at the same time. The gears crunched together, and the car let out a grating whine as it stopped suddenly and began speeding down the street in the opposite direction of the SUV that had cut them off.
The SUV turned quickly and began pursuing them. “You’re going to want to go faster!” Michael yelled as he saw the headlights gaining on them.
When they reached the end of the street, Lindsey craned the wheel around, once again putting the car into drive. With another loud grinding whine, the car took off down the road.
Unforgiven: A Conspiracy Thriller Page 7
