Justice for None: Texas Justice Book #1

by Harvey, JM

  Jasper Smith lazily drew the chrome plated automatic from the waistband of his jeans and shot Val in the right kneecap.

  The copper jacketed round punched through the cartilage and plowed through the joint, splintering bone and shredding ligaments. Val would have screamed but the pain was too much, it collapsed his lungs. His leg folded under him and he went facedown again, beside his wife, his right leg bent out at a crooked angle like a twisted pipe cleaner.

  “That should hold you for a minute,” Jasper said good-naturedly. He tucked the pistol away, stepped over Val and crossed to Gruene’s corpse. He grabbed the axe handle jutting up from the woman’s chest and jerked it free with a wet sucking noise. He took a two-handed grip on the axe, turned back to Valentine, and raised the axe over his head.

  A gunshot from the top of the steps struck Jasper in the chest, rocking him backward on his heels. A second shot knocked the axe from his grasp, sending it flying into the far corner with the flashlight. Three more rounds came in rapid succession as Gary Griggs thumped slowly down the stairs, a .45 Colt automatic in his fist, the gun belching flame with every step, each round knocking Jasper further backward like a steel target on the gun range.

  Amazingly, Jasper didn’t go down despite the bullets that were splintering his ribs like Popsicle sticks. He danced backward, doing a jerky ‘cotton-eyed Joe’ on the silver-dollar heels of his boots, until his shoulders hit the wall. Gary fired one more time, shifting his aim upward. From point blank range, the .45 wad-cutter tore off half of Jasper Smith’s head like a baseball bat connecting with an overripe pumpkin. Jasper slid slowly down the wall to a seated position, his undamaged eye open but unseeing.

  Gary stopped at the bottom of the steps, lowered the pistol and sat down heavily on the second step. He stared expressionlessly at Jasper’s corpse for a long moment before speaking in a casual monotone that seemed incongruous considering the fact that Valentine was bleeding to death.

  “And that’s that,” Gary said as he glanced down at Valentine, his eyes dark spots in his fat, florid face. The faint wail of a siren filtered down from above. And then another siren joined in. Both were still a long way off. Gary dropped his eyes and hung his head, the pistol loose in his hand, dangling between his knees. “I had hoped Jasper would have finished you, Valentine,” he said. “I didn’t want it to come to this.”

  Victoria rolled over and groaned. Her eyes blinked open and found Valentine’s. One pf her pupils was dilated and blood was leaking from her forehead and her face. He tried to smile at her, but his face muscles just twitched and went slack again. He looked back at Gary in confusion. What the hell was Gary saying? Val didn’t have to wonder for long.

  Gary raised the .45 and pointed it at Val’s head.

  “I thought this was all over four years ago,” Gary said, his tone apologetic. “When I called you that afternoon and told you where the Suttons were, I knew you’d kill them both. And, if not, I was waiting outside to finish the job. But I didn’t finish it.” Gary shook his head and his tone turned bitter. “Abby…” he trailed off.

  “You shot Abby?” Val barely managed to say, the words more breath than vocal sound.

  Gary nodded down the pistol’s barrel. The sirens were getting closer, and there were more of them, but the cavalry was going to be too late.

  “Why?” Val asked. Victoria reached for his hand, took it and squeezed, but he didn’t look her way; his eyes stayed pinned on Gary.

  “She knew who I was,” Gary said simply, then continued. “But I didn’t get the job done. Not until last week, anyway. The bitch was blackmailing me. For four years. And then she got the idea that you knew where the gold was.” Gary paused and raised an eyebrow in question.

  “I didn’t,” Val said wearily, “I just worked it out today. The septic tank was the one place no one had ever looked.” Victoria’s grip on his hand became a vise. He heard her suck in air and breathe out a soft sob.

  Gary nodded. “That’s what I figured. You were always a smart cop. One of the best.”

  Val ignored the compliment. It meant nothing to him coming from Gary.

  “Why, Gary?” he asked again, but he wasn’t asking about Abby anymore, he was talking about all of it. About everything. And Gary knew that.

  Gary shrugged. “Money,” he said almost sadly. “I busted a doper out in Sunnyvale with a hundred grand in a pillowcase. I killed him, buried the body and kept the cash. But Nolan Swisher found out. Had the shooting on a security camera video. Laundromat right across the street had a camera in the parking lot. After that I did what I was told. It wasn’t much. Passed cash from the Suttons to Herby Lubbock. Ran a little interference on a few of Lamar and Lemuel’s smaller scores. Set up a couple of jobs for them. No one died that anyone would miss. And the money was good. The money was really good, Val.”

  “Sheriff Swisher?” Val asked, confused, that was the second time Swisher had been mentioned that evening. Val squeezed his eyes closed and shook his head. “Money,” he breathed. All this talking was wearing him down. Jesus, Gary Griggs, a man as close to him as blood.

  “I’ve got three kids in college and two more to go. A hundred dead dope dealers would be a small price,” Gary went on, trying to justify his actions, but he didn’t sound defensive, just tired. Beaten down. “I had to believe that or…” He shrugged, his eyes pleading for understanding. Eyes that were still looking down a pistol barrel at Valentine.

  It was that silent plea that really pissed Val off.

  “Bullshit, Gary,” he said, his voice rising to a hoarse whisper. “The Martinson’s…” he began then ran out of air. He closed his eyes again. He was almost too weak to even give a damn anymore. Almost.

  “That wasn’t my fault,” Gary said, but his tone betrayed that even he didn’t believe it. “The Martinson’s were why I called you that night. Laroy and Lemuel were animals. They had to die for that.”

  “You too…” Val managed to squeeze out. “You too, Gary.”

  Griggs shook his head. “Not me, Valentine.” The sirens were louder now, not more than a mile away. Gary took in the trigger’s slack. “You and Victoria were dead when I got here.”

  “Why don’t you put that pistol down, Gary,” Jack Birch said from the top of the steps, his voice as cold as dry ice.

  Gary flinched, his layers of fat quivering, but he didn’t lower the pistol.

  “Hello, Jack,” he sighed without turning around.

  “I won’t ask you again, Gary,” Jack replied. “Drop that pistol or I’ll drop you.”

  Gary nodded. “I guess that’s about the size of it.” He was still aiming the pistol at Valentine. “I’d say I’m sorry, but who would give a damn?” Gary said then laughed his horsey chuckle before swiftly turning the pistol around and pressing the barrel into the sagging flesh under his jaw. “God forgive me,” he said and pulled the trigger.

  Gary toppled off the step, his bulk dragging him into a barrel roll that ended with him facedown, blocking the stairs.

  As Jack Birch came quickly down the steps, one of the sirens wailed to a stop out front. Jack stepped over Gary’s body without a glance, crossed the dirt and knelt between Valentine and Victoria. He gave Val a thin smile.

  “Seems like every time we meet these days I find you bleeding, Valentine,” he said. He shifted his eyes to Val’s ruined knee and winced. Jack stripped his belt from the loops and quickly fashioned a tourniquet around Val’s thigh, directly above what was left of his knee.

  “I’m pretty sure this is the last time, Jack,” Val said and closed his eyes. The dark water lapped at his brain stem, flooded his head and filled his lungs. Finally, it dragged him down.

  66

  Val awoke to the smell of antiseptic spray. It took him only a moment to realize where he was - this wasn’t the first time he had awakened in a hospital.

  The room had two beds, but the second bed was unmade and empty. Jack Birch was propped against the footboard, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. Seat
ed on the bed beside Valentine was Victoria, her head wrapped with bandages like a civil war veteran. Her lower lip was split and her left cheek was bandaged as well, but she had never looked more beautiful to Valentine. He grinned at her and started to sit up, but the pain knocked him right back down again, out of breath and panting.

  “You’re one big bandage under that blanket,” Victoria said, placing a gentle hand on his chest.

  “How bad?” Val croaked through a dry throat. Victoria grabbed a water jug from the rolling table beside the bed and held a straw to his lips. He sucked half of it down before pausing for breath. “How bad?” he repeated.

  Victoria shrugged. “The doctor says you might have some brain damage but you don’t use it that much, so…” She tried to laugh but it got stuck in her throat. “Your knee is a mess. They say it’ll take three surgeries to repair.”

  “I was asking about you,” Val said, his eyes flicking to the bandage on her head then the one on her cheek and finally to the one on her neck where Jasper Smith had cut her. Anger crawled up Val’s spine, pulsing red in his head, but the moment passed quickly. Jasper Smith was dead. Gunned down by Griggs.

  “Nothing critical,” she said, though the look in her eyes belied her words. “The doctor says I’ll be good as new.” She didn’t mention the gunpowder that had stippled her check as deeply as tattoo ink when Gruene had fired directly into her face, or the nightmares of a fetid monster with one glittering eye that plagued her dreams.

  “How long have I been out? What happened after Gary shot himself?”

  Victoria shuddered, instantly transported back to the basement. She swallowed hard and replied. “You were out for five days. They had to induce a coma. You lost so much blood that your organs had started to fail.” She bit her lip and turned away. When she looked back, tears were clinging to her bottom eyelashes. She swiped at them as she stood.

  “The boys are in the waiting room with Daddy. The doctor said I could bring them in for a few minutes when you woke up. I’ll let Jack bring you up to date.” Victoria hurriedly ducked and pressed her lips to Val’s before she exited the room.

  Jack pushed off the footboard and took the cigarette from his mouth. Briefly he explained about the Citizens for Law and Order PAC, the Sutton brothers, Herby Lubbock, and Nolan Swisher. He finished with: “We found Sheriff Swisher three days ago, dead behind the wheel of his pickup in his garage. Gary paid him a visit before heading out to Hudson. Put two .45’s in his head.”

  Val nodded, indifferent to Swisher’s demise.

  “What about Gary?” Val asked, thinking about the man’s wife and five kids. About how Gary’s corruption would affect their lives.

  “Gary, Laroy Hockley and Detective Sally Gruene were killed by Jasper Smith while trying to rescue you and Victoria,” Birch said dryly. “They’re heroes,” he paused and a sardonic smile touched the corners of his mouth. “They’re thinking of putting up a statue down at the courthouse.”

  Valentine considered that pile of bullshit. One more cover up, but he didn’t care. He was just glad it was over.

  Jack continued, “We still have one more issue. How did your fingerprints end up on the gun that killed Abby? There are folks down at the Jack Evans building who are wondering.”

  Val considered that for a moment, but it didn’t take him long to make the connection. He had investigated so many murders that his mind found the devious turns easy to make.

  “Was it a Glock-17?”

  Birch nodded and Val squeezed his eyes closed.

  “Gary offered me a Glock the day that Erath tried to arrest me. I turned it down, but I did handle it.” Jesus, for some reason that betrayal, the planning that it had taken, stung Val more than all the other crimes Gary had committed. Gary had been setting him up right from the start, from the day Abby was crippled. But another thought intruded.

  “What about Slick Hernandez?” he asked as he opened his eyes.

  “He’s two doors down the hall,” Jack said. “He saved your ass, the way he tells it.” There was a question in Jack’s voice. Val nodded. Slick had saved his ass. And now the debt was on the other side of the table, a debt that Valentine hoped he would never have to repay.

  “On a more official note,” Jack continued, “I have some good news. The brass downtown has offered you your shield back. Homicide. Same grade, same pay.”

  “Same crappy pay,” Val said then looked up as Victoria shoved open the door and wheeled the twins into the room. The boys’ faces lit up when they saw their father and he felt his own heart rise, a smile cracking his face. They were all that mattered. Their arms and legs went wild as they tried to climb free of the stroller, restrained only by the safety straps clipped around their bellies.

  Val looked back at Jack, still grinning. “Thanks, but I already have a job,” he said. “For the next sixteen or seventeen years anyway.”

  From the Author:

  If you enjoyed Justice for None, please follow the link below and take a moment to review it at Amazon.com. And thanks for reading!

  Sincerely,

  JM Harvey

  http://www.amazon.com/Justice-None-Texas-Book-ebook/dp/B00QJ3KR8C/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1420744653&sr=1-1

  If you liked Justice for None, you might enjoy JM’s previous book, Dead on the Vine – Violet Vineyard Murder Mysteries #1. Turn the page for a free sample!

  Dead on the Vine

  CHAPTER 1

  Everyone liked Kevin Harlan, even the person who beat him to death with a rusty shovel.

  Until the morning Kevin’s battered body was found in my vineyard, I had known him only as a good neighbor, but before his killer was finally stopped the secrets of his unhappy life and brutal murder would almost destroy everything and everyone I loved.

  My name is Claire de Montagne but don’t let that put you off. My name may be pretentiously French, but my ancestry is actually loud-mouth Italian mixed with a splash of drunken Irish and I am as earthy as the grapes I grow. I am fifty years old, the mother of one grown daughter and the owner of and slave to twenty acres of cabernet grapes perched on a rocky ridge that overlooks Napa Valley and the town of St. Helena.

  My vineyard was originally planted by a banker who bankrupted himself trying to ‘return to the soil.’ He had named the vineyard Stony Farm, a name I changed to Violet Vineyards, not because grapes are purple, but because I love all things purple. One look into my kaleidoscope-purple kitchen would give that away. Purple tea-towels, purple curtains, lavender trivets, violet pot holders and framed prints and paintings of grapes overwhelm the walls, shelves and counters. Only the huge bay window that looks out on the rows of manicured vines and the valley beyond is unadorned. I love purple, but I love the view of the vines and the hills even more.

  I am married…in a way. My husband, Roger, and I have an arrangement: he keeps his distance and I don’t kill him. I’ve seen him only a half-dozen times since our daughter, Jessica, graduated from high school, and every time he was shorter, fatter and balder. And the woman on his arm was younger. I can’t honestly say why I don’t divorce him, except that I am by nature a loner. An absentee husband whom I despise suits me better than one sitting across the breakfast table slurping coffee. His reasons are much the same. As long as Roger has a wife, none of his mistresses will expect an engagement ring, his family fortune remains intact, and he remains free to chase the next young thing in spandex.

  Roger comes from money and I come from a lack of it. Perhaps that’s why our marriage lasted, in the truest sense, only five years. I was frugal and he was flamboyant. I wanted a home and a hearth, and he wanted to party until he dropped. My purchase of Violet Vineyards was the knockout punch to our already reeling relationship. More specifically, it was my refusal to use his money or have his name on the deed. For a down payment I used the small estate my parents left me in their passing. For that reason my parent’s wedding photo hangs over the fieldstone fireplace in my small tasting room and no picture of Roger has eve
r blemished my walls…

  My daughter and my wines are the joys of my life, and the biggest source of tension. In all fairness, Jessica is bright, beautiful and healthy, and for that I am thankful. She teaches at the Bishop Lynch daycare center in Napa where she is the favorite of the children and the staff. But her emotional relationships and the chaos they wreak on our lives have been a battleground for Jessica and me since she was fifteen and sneaking out to see the captain of the junior high swim team. I was relieved when she moved out to attend college but, unfortunately, she didn’t stay out. Every time I turn around she’s back on my doorstep with a suitcase in her hand. It was during her latest two month ‘visit’ that Kevin Harlan was found dead in my vineyard.

  CHAPTER 2

  I was up at 5:30 that Monday morning, planning my day. I intended to supervise the cutting back of lateral canes before checking the rootstock planted earlier that spring. Then I was going to sample the 2008 Vintner’s Reserve Cabernet that we’d be issuing the following week. After that I had a dozen smaller chores to take care of and several calls to make to restaurants and distributors.

  I was sipping a cup of coffee and smoking my first cigarette of the day when Victor Gonzalez, my vineyard foreman, charged in the back door and skidded to a stop.

  I was a mess. The previous evening, Stanley Kostyol, my daughter’s ex-boyfriend, had stopped by at 2:00 A.M. after an overdose of beer at one of the local taverns. Jessica pleaded with him to leave while I hovered in the background gripping an empty wine bottle by the neck, waiting for an excuse to crack Stanley in the forehead. Stanley was maudlin and angry in turns, pacing across the driveway in the glare of his truck’s headlights, doing a cut-rate Brando impersonation. When I had had enough, I called the sheriff. That got his attention. He squealed off in his pickup, screaming ‘I love you!’ at the top of his lungs. I guess that loving feeling wore off, because he was back an hour later to throw a brick through my living room window. By then Jessica was in hysterics and I was ready to grab a shotgun and hunt the little bastard down.