DEAD MAN'S JUSTICE - A Place of Evil (Stone & McLeish Thriller Series of Stories Book 2)

by Gregory Stenson

  Guy Randall swore Bloom to professional secrecy about the apartment and he was well recompensed for his discretion, extremely well.

  Chapter 14

  For the second time in as many months Stone found himself lying on a jail cell bunk staring at the ceiling. The two cells were very different though and two thousand miles apart, but his anger, resentment and suspicion of the police, was strangely the same. The food was better, he thought.

  Despite the wrongful arrest and the inconvenience, he was sure that eventually justice would prevail and that he would soon be on his way to seeing his daughter Laura. Her smile and hug would wash away his problems and the sparkle of her youth would consign all the terror of the last two months to his memory’s trashcan. He had survived one night in the cell and as Stone lay dozing on his bunk, his eyes closed, he was woken by an officer unlocking his cell door. The keys clanked around and the door squeaked open.

  ‘Mr. Stone? Come with me please,’ the officer said.

  It was Officer O’Reilly. Stone sat up, rubbed his eyes after a long uncomfortable night and stood up, stretching as he did so. Behind O’Reilly was another uniformed officer as back up and he guessed that was why he wasn’t handcuffed. They escorted Stone up a set of stairs to the ground floor of the precinct and down a dimly lit corridor. O’Reilly opened a familiar door to interview room number one and once inside he saw an even more familiar Senior Detective Ramirez crouched over a file at the interrogation table. Stone was told to sit down opposite Ramirez. The door opened again and he was glad to see Detective Finch enter the room. He sat down next to Ramirez and looked equally as uneasy as he had done the day before. Finch looked fresh and acceptably authoritative. Ramirez had on another cheap shiny suit, his face was expressionless as usual and…the matchstick was back.

  O’Reilly took up his position again guarding the door. Stone couldn’t see the door anymore but he was confident it was behind O’Reilly somewhere.

  ‘Do you know where the 113th precinct is Joseph?’

  As Mrs. Randall’s chauffeur driven Limousine cruised almost silently along Baisley Boulevard in Queens on a chilly December afternoon, her driver, Samuel Joseph, didn’t even look up from the road, he motioned his head sideways to address his boss and said ‘Yes Ma’am.’

  Even though Mrs. Randall had on a knee length fur coat and a cashmere neck scarf she asked Joseph to turn up the heating. She never left the house looking anything less than immaculate and her wealth afforded her the luxury of a full time assistant and personal hairdresser.

  Bloom sat silently next to Mrs. Randall. They had discussed only briefly Stone’s plight of wrongful arrest, he needed to know little more, he was quite aware of the police’s scare tactics of arrest first then charge. He would then open up the obvious loophole and work it into a chasm, large enough to allow Stone to walk right out.

  Venturing into Queens was a rarity for Mrs. Randall who had barely left Manhattan in years, save for an occasional weekend to the Hamptons and her annual cruise around the Caribbean. Joseph knew the area like the back of his hand and despite having worked for Mrs. Randall for twenty plus years he could never forget his childhood roots. With a thick shock of grey wiry hair obscured by his chauffeur’s hat, a sinewy, lean frame belied his fifty-five years. Mrs. Randall relied totally on Joseph’s discretion and loyalty, he, in return, never betrayed that trust.

  Joseph announced that they had arrived at the precinct, ‘We’re here Ma’am.’ He guided the car smoothly through the entrance to the main car park where both the officers and public could park. He found a large enough parking place where Mrs. Randall could see the main doors of the station.

  ‘Mrs. R, may I suggest you wait in the car, it will not take long, I’ll call you if I need your assistance,’ said Bloom.

  He picked up his leather attaché case and stepped out of the car, buttoned up his Ralph Lauren overcoat against the chaffing wind and strode across to the entrance. Looking every inch the high society lawyer that he was, Anthony Bloom struck fear into every Desk Sergeant and Detective in the New York area, his reputation for trading dirty tricks and getting his way were legion, in and out of court. He instructed the desk Sergeant to take him to see Brad Stone and the Detectives dealing with his case. The officer began to make an internal phone call but Bloom walked past him and through a set of double swing doors and looked around for himself.

  ‘Sir, you can’t go…’ the officer called out as he put the phone down and followed Bloom into the corridor.

  ‘Sergeant just take me to Mr. Stone, I’m Anthony Bloom Mr. Stone’s lawyer and I don’t have all day.’

  The very mention of his name seemed to fluster the officer, he stuttered his instruction again but Bloom turned around and saw three doors marked Interview Rooms One, Two and Three.

  ‘Which one is he in officer? Number one?’

  Bloom didn’t wait for his answer. He walked towards the door marked INTERVIEW ROOM #1, turned the handle and pushed it wide open. He saw an unshaven man dressed in a short-sleeved flowery summer shirt and a Boston Red Sox cap and quickly deduced that it was Stone sitting opposite what was even more obvious, two plain clothes Detectives. O’Reilly was caught off guard; Bloom was in the room before he had time to stop him.

  Ramirez shuffled around in his chair mid sentence and tried to prevent Bloom from sitting down. He was wasting his breath.

  ‘I’m interrupting this interview due to a stranger entering.’ Ramirez spoke into the voice recorder and was about to switch the machine off.

  ‘Don’t stop the recording officer, this won’t take long, keep it running I want what I have to say on record,’ said Bloom.

  Bloom sat swiftly down next to Stone, held out his hand and whispered that he would have him out of here in no time. Stone sat silently, mesmerized, as were the detectives, by the speed and brashness of Anthony Bloom.

  ‘Detectives Ramirez, Finch,’ Bloom read their name badges and was now in full swing. ‘I am Anthony Bloom, Mr. Stone’s personal lawyer, this unlawful procedure will cease forthwith and you will release Mr. Stone into my charge. As I understand it, you have detained Mr. Stone without proper grounds or without a shred of evidence and furthermore you have denied him his legal right to his phone call after some,’ Bloom checked his Cartier wrist watch and deftly calculated the time that had elapsed since Stone’s arrival from Trinidad. He continued ‘eighteen hours in custody. I wish this fact to be recorded,’ Bloom lowered his head making sure that what he said was being captured on the police tape, ‘and furthermore I insist on his immediate release.’

  ‘Just a freaking second Bloom,’ Ramirez was somewhere between ‘ignite main burners,’ and ‘we have lift off.’ It was his show, he despised hotshot lawyers like Bloom, their superior knowledge, condescending tones and self-righteous attitudes lit his fuse. Ramirez knew he was treading on thin ice but he also knew he had someone breathing down his neck for a result, to get Stone off the street.

  It wasn’t his Lieutenant.

  He tried in vain to stop Bloom in his tracks, ‘You just can’t…’

  ‘Let me advise you Senior Detective Ramirez the fax that you have received from Chief Parker-Brown in Trinidad is a forgery, you know that and I know that, yet you have seen fit to place in custody a fine upstanding member of New York’s own, with a blemish free professional record, and well known to the Mayor’s office for his charitable donations to City causes.’ Ramirez opened his mouth again but closed it unable to find a chink of light in the lawyer’s rhetoric.

  The matchstick was somewhere under the table.

  Finch could only marvel at Bloom’s oratory prowess and sat with arms folded enjoying Ramirez’s obvious anger and discomfort. Bloom raised his voice another notch, ‘Within the hour an evidence pouch, which has been brought by hand from Trinidad, will be delivered to you personally. It will contain everything you need to apprehend the real perpetrator of the crime, who I believe resides here in the borough. With all the forensic and ballistic ev
idence handed to you on a plate it shouldn’t be beyond even your resources and capability to close the case out. Now, Mr. Stone, follow me. Detective, please have my client signed out and have his personal effects brought to my vehicle in the car park. Good day gentlemen.’

  Bloom took Stone’s elbow as they walked towards the door. O’Reilly who hadn’t really comprehended what had just taken place stood firm for a moment until he saw Ramirez gesturing to let them pass in an acknowledgement of defeat.

  Five minutes passed by, Bloom was sitting in Mrs. Randall’s car. Stone appeared from the precinct doors accompanied by Detective Finch. A junior uniformed officer walked behind them carrying Stone’s two cases out to the car.

  In a corner under a maple tree, where the driver had a good view of the main doors and the whole of the car park, a dark four by four with the driver’s window cracked down around four inches, sat an anonymous observer. The guy could not be seen; neither could the telephoto lens of his camera which jutted out above the window. The motor drive was whirring away snapping paparazzi style the sudden appearance first of Anthony Bloom, then Detective Finch alongside Stone just a few minutes after. Each time the guy would reel off numerous shots making sure he had them covered from all angles.

  As Stone approached the limousine Mrs. Randall buzzed her electric window down. It made no discernable noise. Finch had arranged to take Stone to his hotel. He stood a few yards back hovering by his police issue saloon.

  ‘Mr. Stone, I do apologize for the deplorable welcome upon your arrival back home, you must have had a ghastly night last night. I need to speak to you, I’m sure you are aware. You’re coming to the funeral this afternoon aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes Mrs. Randall. I’ll be…’

  ‘Call me Sandra please. Where are you staying?’

  ‘I’ll be at Hotel Williamsburg in Brooklyn until tomorrow when I go upstate to see my daughter.’

  ‘Can you come to see me at my apartment in the morning before you head off?’

  ‘Of course, yes. I have some messages for you and some effects from your husband. What time exactly?’

  ‘Good. You have a vehicle Mr. Stone?’

  ‘Brad, call me Brad. No I’ll get a rental…’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs. Randall, she turned to Joseph her driver. ‘Joseph arrange for Guy’s car to be delivered to Hotel Williamsburg later this afternoon.’ She turned back to look at Stone and made an ironic smile as she said, ‘It’s doing nothing now, just sitting in the garage; you take it for as long as you need Brad. So, I’ll see you at say 10 a.m.?’

  ‘Sure thing Sandra, and thanks for all your help, you too Mr. Bloom,’ Stone lowered his head slightly so he could see Bloom sitting on the other side of Mrs. Randall, ‘That was quite a show back there, I don’t even know who the Mayor is I’ve been away so long. Thank you.’

  Bloom merely nodded his head in acknowledgement, for him he had just been having a little fun.

  ‘We’ll see you later this afternoon Brad. Drive on Joseph,’ said Mrs. Randall with a kind smile. She pressed a button and her window rose quietly closing out the bitter wind.

  Joseph said ‘Yes Ma’am’ and slowly eased the limousine around and out to the exit.

  Stone made his way over and climbed into Finch’s vehicle and they sped off towards 12th Street near McCarren Park.

  Chapter 15

  The smoke grey driver’s window of the four by four under the maple tree also closed and the car crept out of the car park. It turned north, in the same direction as Detective Finch’s car. The driver kept a steady speed and a safe fifty yards behind. The thickset driver with his three-day beard growth, shades and a deep scar creasing his left cheek took out his cell phone and punched a speed dial number, keeping his eyes peeled on Finch’s car up ahead. The call connected.

  ‘Boss the target has just left the precinct. He walked free.’

  Abdul Habib, also known as ‘Scarface’ to his enemies, had reported in to his boss Maloof as instructed.

  ‘What? Are you sure? Tail him, I want to know where he goes, report back to me later.’ Maloof stood up and thumbed the call end button. He scrolled down his phone’s contact list to find the number he wanted. He was fuming at the news; he was convinced that Stone was as good as dead, locked away for a very long time. He needed answers.

  The number rang out, the recipient saw straight away who the caller was and slammed his fist into his desk. He stood up, he couldn’t take the call in the precinct, he stepped towards the rear fire door, pushed the panic bar, and the door sprang open. He waited ‘til he was clear of the building before he answered. He placed the phone to his ear and looked up at the precinct windows on the ground and the first floor to make sure he wasn’t being noticed.

  ‘Mr. Maloof. How you doing?’

  ‘Don’t Mr. Maloof me Ramirez, what the hell just happened? You’ve lost our man.’

  Maloof was at Rachel’s Central Park apartment, he hadn’t spotted that Rachel was passing through the hall behind him. When she heard Ramirez’s name mentioned she stopped and listened in to the call.

  ‘I was blindsided by this fancy lawyer, Bloom something or other, he tore us apart for lack of evidence, there was nothing I could do. We’ll get him Mr. Maloof, I assure you, you…you just leave it to me, this is just a temporary setback.’

  ‘Ramirez, I’m paying you to make sure Stone is put away, you said you had it under control and I get a report that he’s walked free. What was the lawyer’s name again?’ Maloof listened to Ramirez and Rachel was listening to him. ‘Anthony Bloom you say.’ Rachel said the name over and over to herself. She’d heard the name before she was sure. ‘I want results Ramirez, there are other options, I’m quite sure you understand me.’

  ‘That…that won’t be necessary Mr. Maloof, give me twenty-four hours, I’ll fix Stone. They’ll be no need to …’

  ‘I was talking about you Mr. Ramirez.’

  The line went dead. Maloof threw his cell phone on to the desk in disgust. Ramirez started to sweat. It was thirty-five degrees, a cloudy, wind-biting afternoon but Ramirez was sweating. He fumbled around in his pockets for a matchstick.

  He called Finch.

  ‘Sir, this is Detective Finch.’ In the split second between answering his phone and speaking Finch realized that he hadn’t told Ramirez what he was doing and who he was with.

  ‘Where are you Detective?’

  ‘Well I’m close to Ridgewood on my way to McCarren Park.’

  Finch looked sideways and wondered whether Stone could hear the conversation, he had to be smart.

  ‘Finch, I want you all over Stone like a rash. On his back twenty four seven, you hear me? If he so much blows his nose I want forensics on it, you got it?’

  ‘Yeah, yes Sir. Got it.’

  With that answer Ramirez snapped his cell phone shut and fumbled again for a matchstick. He gave up and went back inside the precinct.

  Finch put his phone back inside his breast pocket and made small talk with Stone.

  ‘Mr. Stone? I’m sure it will all figure itself out, sorry for any inconvenience, we’re nearly at your hotel Sir.’

  ‘If it wasn’t for Bloom, Ramirez would have railroaded me. I’d still be sitting in one of your cells. I would have missed the funeral.’

  ‘Yes Sir, though I’m sure he would have seen sense, given the lack of evidence and all. Say where is the funeral taking place?’ Finch was fishing, he had orders to stay on Stones tail.

  ‘What? Oh it’s over in Cypress Hills, we just passed it. Starts at 4 p.m. Hope Mac makes it in time.’

  ‘Mac?’

  ‘My partner, he should have arrived from Trinidad today, in fact he should have taken the evidence that will put the real killer of Guy Randall behind bars to the precinct. He won’t even know I’ve been released, I’d better call him.’

  Stone realized that he had his carryon bag now and fished inside for his cell phone. He found it and switched it on. There wasn’t much battery left on it,
just enough he thought to call Mac to see where he was.

  The number rang and Mac picked up.

  ‘Hey buddy, where the hell are you?’

  ‘Just left precinct 113, where are you? You’re out obviously.’

  ‘Yeah, long story, I’ll fill you in when you get to the hotel. How’d you get on?’

  ‘I had to leave the pouch with the desk sergeant; he said the detective working the case was out of the office.’

  ‘Who, Ramirez? We’ve just left there, he must’ve been in.’ Stone looked at Finch for a sympathetic nod and Finch looked puzzled, he’d just spoken to him himself. ‘Suppose he’ll be there soon. Come over to the hotel we’ll talk then okay?’

  ‘Okay mate, I’ll grab a taxi and be right with you.’

  Ramirez had just arrived back at his desk; he wiped his brow with a handkerchief and noticed that a drawer was slightly open. He pulled it open and saw that someone had put an American Airline document pouch addressed to senior detective Eduardo Ramirez, Precinct #113 inside. He had an understanding with the desk sergeant that any deliveries that arrived for him would be put in his drawer, safely out of sight, as other officers would regularly sit at his desk when he was out on duty. He took it out and looked around to see who might notice. He scored it open under the table furtively and checked its contents. Just flicking through the papers he knew right away who it was from and what it contained. He caught sight of a ballistics report and a case number at the top of the page and just underneath it in the title block it read, DECEASED: Guy Randall (US Citizen) – Homicide.