I, Samantha Moon

by H. T. Night

  “Danny has never sent you flowers at work since I’ve been your partner. I would say, he either screwed up the finances or lost his job.”

  “That’s it? Money?” I asked.

  “Were you hoping for more of a General Hospital type of evaluation?”

  “Finances, I can deal with. Cheating, I cannot.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Moonie, do you think there might be cheating involved?”

  “He gets awfully jealous of the fact that you and I spend so much time together. Sometimes he refers to himself as husband number two and he calls you husband number one.”

  “Seriously?” Chad smiled. He was loving the attention. Negative or not. “So, you think he might have cheated because he thinks we are? Is he that petty?”

  “I don’t think so.” I sighed in relief and just chose to believe Danny sent the flowers because he is a good man.

  Chad, on the other hand, was one hundred percent a single man—a good-looking single man. Twenty-nine years old, fit and in shape, dating occasionally, but nothing too serious. Brownish hair, tall, and as good a partner as I could have hoped for. Of course, I would never tell him that. For some reason, he had convinced himself that he was my hero. It was in fun. But if anyone was the other one’s hero, it would be me. I was a mother of one, out here busting ass and kicking it, too.

  “Something else on your mind?” I asked.

  “Hey, Moonie, in about six weeks, I have my first fight on a Saturday night at the Staples Center. Think you guys can make it?”

  “And watch you get your head bashed in? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “The idea is, I bash the other guy’s head in. A little encouragement please, Moon Pie. I’m already starting to get nervous about the fight and it’s still six weeks away.”

  “Hey, you’re a tough guy,” I said. “At least, that’s what you tell everyone. You should be fine.” I elbowed him in the ribs. Truth was, Chad was about as tough as they came, at least in this office. I actually didn’t envy anyone opposing him in the ring. Of course, I couldn’t tell him that. There was only so much headroom in my cubicle.

  “Well, you coming or not?” Chad asked. He seemed to want me there and that warmed my heart. A tad. Just a tad.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll see if my sister can watch Tammy. Heck, Danny and I can make it a date night.”

  “Great, I’ve always wanted to be a part of your date night.”

  “Just think of yourself as the entertainment.”

  He was about to attempt a snappy comeback when Nico Fortunato, our boss, appeared at my cubicle. “Glad to see you two are keeping busy. Nice roses, Moon. Danny must have stepped into it this time.”

  “Actually, he just—”

  “Never mind. I forgot I didn’t care. Anyway, you two in my office, now.”

  I followed Chad into Fortunato’s office. Once inside, Nico Fortunato asked us to close the door and take a seat.

  “Good job on the Williams’ case,” began our boss, although he might have grunted the words than actually said them, since giving compliments was against his very nature. “They found drugs stashed throughout the entire house. Helling, you spearheaded this one, right?”

  “Yes, sir.” Chad winked at me. That irritating smirk I’d come to know and love crossed his face.

  Fortunato continued, “I am going to take you off your routine HUD assignments. I have a new case for you two. Fullerton PD has asked for two of my best agents to help them with a case that might correlate with one of their fallen officers.”

  “Shaun Sutton, sir?” I asked.

  “That’s correct.”

  I sat forward, my body tense. Shaun Sutton had been with the Fullerton Police Department for twenty-two years. An old-timer. But the kindest man anyone would want to meet. Four months ago, he was at the wrong place at the wrong time and he took a bullet to the head. The crime had made shockwaves through the community. Hell, across the nation, too.

  “How closely do you want us to work with them?” asked Chad.

  Our boss laced his fingers. “Very closely. They’re sending over two detectives to discuss what they have so far. You’ll meet with detectives Santino and Monroe. I’m pulling you off all of your other cases. I want your focus on this one. Both of you. From what I hear, these two detectives are by-the-book guys. So, no coloring outside the lines, you two.”

  “The lines always did bother me when I colored as a kid.” Chad grinned.

  “Your poor mom must have had to put up the ugliest artwork on the refrigerator.” I laughed.

  “Are you two done?” Fortunato said in a scolding tone. He never liked it when Chad and I riffed off script.

  I nodded my apology.

  Fortunato sat up straighter in his chair. “This case, as you might have guessed, is urgent. I’d like you two to get on it right away.”

  Chad sat forward. “Do you have any information on the case that you can give us before the detectives arrive?”

  Fortunato didn’t say a word; instead, he sarcastically glared at Chad. “I suspect housing fraud. I believe they said more than one person. Give them what they need and help them figure this out.”

  “Will do, boss,” I said. Housing fraud was our area of expertise. Now, it was time to color outside the lines and see what other detective work was like.

  Fortunato sighed deeply and said, “I knew Sutton from back in the day. He accompanied me on a few inspections when I was an agent. If we have people receiving housing who were involved in his shooting, I want to know.”

  Chad said, “Last I heard, they caught the man who shot Sutton, boss.”

  “They did. But this one goes deep. Okay, that’s all I have for now,” Fortunato said, standing.

  We both nodded and stepped out of Fortunato’s office. Chad led the way down the hallway and to the main lobby, where we would meet the detectives.

  “What do you think?” I asked, facing my partner.

  “I don’t think Fortunato would have us team up with Fullerton PD to this degree unless he feels this case really does go deep.”

  I nodded and said, “I was talking about his new toupee. It’s much more believable than the last one.”

  “It did look less alive than the last one.” Chad laughed. “Come on, Moonie, what are you thinking here?”

  “Fortunato was good friends with Sutton before he was killed. Better friends than he’ll let on. They had known each other for years. So, this one is personal.”

  “It’s starting to look like it.”

  The two Fullerton PD detectives were escorted by our receptionist into the conference room. Chad and I were setting up our brand-new government-issued laptops and preparing for the meeting. Personally, I liked desk tops, but what the hell. I’d given these new laptops a try. According to our boss, they were the wave of the future.

  We all introduced ourselves. The short, pudgy one was Detective Arthur Santino and his only slightly less pudgy partner was Detective Mike Monroe.

  “Shall we begin?” I said, taking my seat.

  Detective Mike Monroe began. “As you know, we lost an officer four months ago. Shaun Sutton was answering a call in a neighborhood in East Fullerton. What we know thus far is that he arrived, handled the situation and while he was leaving, he was shot in the head from another location.”

  “What kind of situation was he handling before he was shot?” I asked.

  “He was called out on a loud music complaint. Pretty routine,” Detective Monroe said. “We believe a young man by the name of Freddy Hernandez fired the fatal shots. Mr. Hernandez was apprehended and is going to be on trial for his murder.”

  “Case solved,” Chad said, joking. He knew this case went deeper or they wouldn’t ask two HUD agents to join the team. “So, detectives, where does HUD’s assistance come in with your case?”

  “As we were doing some digging into Freddy’s past and background,” Santino said, “we discovered he was living with a woman named Lori Hines at the time
of the shooting.”

  “Girlfriend?” I asked. I knew that if we could prove that Freddy Hernandez was living in the house with Lori Hines at the time of the shooting, then his mother, Martha, could lose her HUD benefits due to a family member’s involvement in a violent crime.

  Arthur Santino spoke up. “We need to find the weapon used in the murder.”

  “That didn’t come gift-wrapped with Hernandez?” Chad asked.

  “No,” Santino answered. “And his trial starts in the couple weeks. We know he did it. All evidence points toward him, except we don’t have the murder weapon.”

  Chad shook his head. “It’s probably long gone, sitting at the bottom of a river somewhere.”

  “No, we don’t believe that the weapon was tossed,” Santino said. “Per ballistics analysis of recovered rounds, the gun used to kill Sutton was most likely an Italian Bodeo Model 1889 revolver. But we also believe there’s sentimental value behind the weapon, which is why we don’t believe that Hernandez dumped it somewhere.”

  “What makes you think there’s sentimental value?” I asked.

  “A hunch,” Santino said, glancing up towards me.

  I nodded, jotting down a few more notes. And circled the word hunch.

  “We want to make sure we’re thorough with this case. No loose ends.” Santino was winding down.

  “Gotcha,” I said. “We’ll start doing some research on our end. As soon as we’ve put together a solid background profile with HUD, we’ll give you a call so we can build the case together.”

  Monroe nodded at both Chad and me.

  Chapter Three

  It was the next morning, and I was at my sister’s house. Tammy sat in a playpen in front of her favorite show, Barney. Mary Lou’s own small children were in their bedroom, getting dressed. Mary Lou and I were in the kitchen with our morning coffee. As best as I could tell, my sister was looking more frantic than usual.

  I said, “I have ten minutes before I have to leave for work. You talk while I pour a second cup of coffee.”

  “Talk about what?” she asked.

  “Whatever’s eating you,” I said, and topped my second cup off with a little cream.

  She stared at me with round, watery eyes, then glanced over at Tammy in the playpen. Finally, she said, “I think Rick is cheating on me.”

  Those words were so random that I spit coffee out onto the kitchen table and beyond. I saw specks of my coffee hit the microwave, the electric can opener, and my sister. I grabbed a napkin from its holder and handed it to her.

  Mary Lou wiped her face. “Really, Sam?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “You could warn a girl, you know.”

  “There’s no good way of putting it, Sam.”

  “Why do you think he’s cheating?”

  “He’s come home late two nights in a row now.”

  “How late?” I asked.

  “Two hours. Give or take.”

  As gently as I could, I said, “That’s not really that late, Mary Lou—”

  “But he’s never late, Sam!” she said, pouncing. “You know as well as I do that a change in behavior is worth looking into.”

  I sighed. The last person I pictured cheating on anyone was Ricky. He just wasn’t the type to do such a thing. Plus, if I ever found out that he did, he’d have to answer to me. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, Mary Lou. He was late two nights in a row. Did you ask him why?”

  “He says he was out getting drinks with some work buddies.”

  “Both nights?”

  She nodded.

  “And you don’t believe him?”

  “He never gets drinks with the guys at work. Either he suddenly hates me, or he’s cheating. Oh, God. What am I going to do, Sam?”

  My older sister was clearly spinning out of control. I clearly had a job to do, which was to hold her tight and tell her everything was going to be okay. That I was sure he wasn’t cheating and that there was a good chance she was jumping to conclusions.

  When I saw that my words weren’t having much effect, I stepped back and asked, “Should I stay home from work and keep Tammy with me today?”

  “No, of course not. But what do I do, Sam?”

  “Wait and see,” I said. “If he continues coming home late, then we’ll see what the bastard is doing.”

  “Like follow him?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “I need to be at work. I’m already late.”

  “Go on, Sam. I’m okay now. And thank you.”

  She and Tammy waved at me from the front door as I pulled away. Lordy, I loved them all, but as I drove off in my government-issued Chevy Impala, I couldn’t help but wonder what I would do if I Danny ever cheated on me.

  Hopefully, I would never have to cross that bridge.

  When I arrived at work, Chad and I decided to move into a small conference room so we could work on the case together.

  “More coffee, Sammy?” my partner asked, an hour into our morning.

  I didn’t bother to look up. “Never ask me that question. Just pour.”

  He chuckled and left the room as I continued to read the various scanned documents on my laptop. He returned with two steaming mugs, setting one before me.

  It didn’t take Chad and me too long to find out that Lori Hines and the shooter Frederick Hernandez were linked romantically. The two of them had been committing HUD fraud for years. Now, it was a matter of linking that to the murders.

  “So, Lori Hines is dating Freddy Hernandez,” I said, “who also has a violent criminal background and has been arrested in the murder of Detective Shaun Sutton.”

  Chad replied, “Apparently, Freddy initially admitted to the murder but has since hired an attorney who is claiming that his client was nowhere near the crime scene on the night in question—and he has an alibi, to boot.”

  “You think Lori played a part in either the murder or the alibi?” I asked. “Or both?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not ruling out anything at this point. But what would Freddy be doing with an Italian Model 1889 Bodeo revolver? Have we considered that it could be stolen?”

  “Let me check with the ATF.” I went on the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives website and used my clearance password. “If the weapon was registered to a gun dealer and was stolen, then we might be onto something, Chaddy Boy.”

  Chad smiled warmly at me and I grinned. I had to admit, I loved it when we bounced ideas off each other. I also loved when some of the ideas stuck. We were good partners.

  “Ready for this?” I said to Chad.

  “The gun was stolen?”

  “Technically, no. There hasn’t been an Italian Model 1889 Bodeo revolver reported stolen in the past year. However, there’s a gun dealer in Los Angeles who sells strictly antiques. Seven months ago, he sold a Bodeo revolver to a woman. The next day, his shop was robbed. I want to talk to this gun shop owner and see what he can tell us.”

  “Check with Monroe and Santino to see if they have already paid the owner a visit.”

  I nodded at Chad and pulled out Detective Mike Monroe’s card and dialed the number.

  I gave him the rundown of what we had so far.

  Monroe said, “We already followed through on that lead. The woman’s name is Veronica Delany. She lives in Placentia with her husband and two grown kids. The weapon was being serviced at the time of the shooting.”

  “You visited her?” I asked him.

  “Didn’t have to,” Monroe responded. “Mr. Owusu, the shop owner, gave us all the information and he’s the one who sent the weapon out to be serviced before she picked it up a couple weeks later.”

  “What about the other guns stolen the next day?” I asked the detective.

  “We don’t know of any guns stolen from that shop.”

  “You said two hundred weapons were stolen?”

  “I’m guessing he is working with the Los Angeles Police Department with their heavy load of stolen guns’ cases.”

  “I bet. Thank you
, detective,” I said.

  I clicked off.

  Chad said, “Unless we have reason to believe that the stolen guns have played a direct part in this case, I don’t think we should waste our time paying Frank a visit.”

  I wasn’t so sure. There was something here. I said, “I’d like to rule out this lead myself. Let’s take a drive to Los Angeles.”

  Like a good partner, he sighed and nodded. “You’re the boss.”

  “Am I?”

  “I think we both know you are.”

  Chapter Four

  Frank Owusu walked out of the back room with a paper in his hand. According to the report I read, he was a seventy-year-old man who had immigrated here from Northern Africa twenty years prior. He sported gray hair, a fair complexion, and a slightly humped back. Most important, he sported a sharp mind.

  He laid the paper on the glass countertop and pointed to the list. “These are the ones stolen in the robbery. I also gave the list to the LAPD.”

  “And what exactly happened on that day, Mr. Owusu?” I asked.

  He told us. The shop had been closed. Owusu was counting out his register in the back room and had forgotten to lock the front door. He took responsibility for that. While in his back room, four armed young men didn’t so much break in as walk right in, since the door hadn’t been locked. Once he’d realized his shop had been compromised, a firefight had ensued. Apparently, old Owusu wasn’t afraid to mix it up. Amazingly, no one had gotten shot, although the thieves had busted up his place pretty good, along with swiping over two hundred guns. Early on in the firefight, Owuso had the wherewithal to press an emergency alarm that contacted the police.

  When he paused, Chad said, “Did you know the woman who was in your store the day before—the woman who purchased the Italian Model 1889 Bodeo revolver?”

  “Oh, she didn’t purchase one, Mr. Agent Helling. She brought hers in to be serviced. I sent it out and had it serviced and she returned two weeks later to pick it up. It was a family heirloom of sorts.”

  “But the ATF had a report that she bought one,” I said.