The Deadliest Sins

by Rick Reed

  He’d read the case file of Max Day’s murder a thousand times since. There was nothing new, or at least nothing that would tank his chances for appointment to chief. He’d meet with Mrs. Day, be honest, forthright, confident with just the right mix of compassion, sadness, and regret. He reminded himself to take it slow. Let her ask all her questions. Listen politely. Slow and steady wins the race every time.

  Dick took a deep breath, released it slowly, and wiped his hand and iPhone on a handkerchief. He punched in the telephone number he’d already typed into his phone.

  “Hello,” a woman’s voice said.

  “Hello, Mrs. Day. May I speak with you?” Dick asked.

  “Who is this?”

  “Deputy Chief of Police, Richard Dick,” he said confidently. The title sounded impressive. “I want to...”

  “You have some nerve,” Mrs. Day scolded him.

  “Mrs. Day, I think it’s time we talked. I’m willing to tell you everything that happened that night. Everything.” He had no intention of telling her all of it. No one knew all of it except for a few trusted friends.

  He was surprised when she said, “You’ll have to come here. I don’t drive much anymore. You come here and face me. Come to Max’s home. You know where. I’ve seen you drive by from my window. We’ll see about talking.”

  “That’s agreeable,” Dick said. “I know the address. I’m five minutes away.”

  “Make it thirty,” Mrs. Day said and hung up.

  Chapter 3

  Present day

  “Can you believe she’s already talking? She’s smart, like her old man,” Liddell Blanchard said.

  Jack Murphy responded, “That’s called babbling, but she does take after you, Bigfoot. You never shut up.”

  Janie Blanchard was eleven months old. She was born a month premature but had caught up fast.

  “Hey. I’m a proud father. You should be proud too, Uncle Jack.”

  Detective Jack Murphy was just shy of six feet tall and solidly built with a shock of dark hair spiked in front. His gray eyes could turn dark when he was angry or threatened, and soft as a cloud when he was happy.

  His partner, Liddell Blanchard, was a Cajun transplant from the Iberville Parish Sheriff Department, where he’d worked River Patrol until he’d met his wife, Marcie, and settled down in her hometown, Evansville. Jack called his partner Bigfoot because Liddell stood over six and a half feet tall and had the physique of a full-grown Yeti.

  Detective Sergeant Wolf opened the door and stuck his head in. “The chief wants the two of you. Right now.”

  “Do you know what it’s about?” Jack asked the sergeant.

  Sergeant Wolf held the fingertips of one hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. “Hmm. I’m getting nothing, Murphy. Now take your pet Cajun and get your asses up there.”

  “Sarge is in a good mood today,” Liddell said. Sergeant Wolf was a fair supervisor and made coffee when he emptied a carafe, but he had a dark side you didn’t want to cross. “Maybe we’re going to get an office big enough to smile without hitting the walls.”

  “Or maybe Double Dick’s on a tear again,” Jack said. Double Dick was the nickname Jack had bestowed on Deputy Chief Richard Dick. It became popular. Dick was known department-wide as Double Dick because of his two first names and because of his propensity to punish a policeman more than once. He was like a velociraptor with rank.

  “You’re gonna get a spanking,” came one of the detective’s voice through the open door. Everyone laughed at that.

  “I’ve got dibs on their office,” a detective named Phil shouted.

  Captain Franklin had given Jack and Liddell, who were officially the Homicide Squad, what was once the lieutenant’s office in the detectives’ area. It was barely big enough for two desks, two chairs, and two men, but they could shut the door and block out some of the incessant clattering of keyboards, joking, farting on command, and cursing.

  “You guys should start a comedy club,” Jack said as they passed through to the hallway. “I hate meetings. We’ve got a bank robbery and a stabbing to work.”

  “Maybe it’s something good, pod’na. You should be positive like me.”

  Jack said, “Okay. I’m positive it’s going to be bad news.”

  “Hey. Maybe we got another case from the Feds?”

  “If it’s like the last one, I’ll resign,” Jack said. Earlier in the year he and Liddell had been recruited/conscripted by the FBI for a federal task force called USOC. Unsolved Serial and Organized Crime. There were other task forces working the same type of cases, but USOC was only called in on the ones deemed unsolvable. A US Marshall had sworn Jack and Liddell in as federal agents, and Liddell was beaming with pride when he’d finally received his FBI badge and credentials. Jack wasn’t so happy. Working with the Feds as a police detective was one thing. Working as a Fed was quite another. They had too many rules and too many bosses.

  “We caught the bad guy, saved the girl, became national heroes. Not bad for two local yokels if you ask me,” Liddell said.

  “Actually many people died, the girl you’re talking about is a Missouri State Highway Lieutenant, and she saved me,” Jack corrected his partner. “Sergeant Wolf isn’t accompanying us. Not good.”

  Liddell put the fingertips of both hands together and held them up in a meditation pose. “Positive thoughts, grasshopper. Positive thoughts. Positive...”

  “Just shut up,” Jack said. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  They were buzzed into the chief’s complex. Jack tried to read Judy Mangold, the chief’s longtime secretary. Her face was as expressionless as that of a poker player in a high-stakes game.

  “Morning, Judy,” Liddell said.

  She didn’t respond.

  The door to the chief’s conference room was closed, and Jack heard voices raised. Jack knocked on the door. It flew open, and Deputy Chief Richard Dick stormed out. “Watch where you’re going, Murphy,” Dick said.

  “Excuse you,” Liddell said under his breath. “He didn’t tell me to watch where I was going. How rude.”

  They entered to find the chief of police, Marlin Pope, and Captain Charles Franklin sitting at the end of the conference table with an open laptop in front of them. Marlin Pope was Jack’s height, late-fifties, with skin the color of yellow coal and the physique of a serious runner.

  Captain Franklin, Jack’s direct supervisor, was sporting the tan he’d brought back from his Miami vacation. He was slightly taller than Jack, late forties, square-jawed, and had perfectly groomed dark hair with streaks of silver at the temples. He looked like George Clooney but without the millionaire cockiness.

  A thin file folder was on the table next to the captain. It was worn at the edges and paperclipped shut.

  Captain Franklin said to the detectives, “Have a seat.”

  Jack could hear the secretary clacking the keys on her laptop down the hall. She would normally be eavesdropping, so whatever was going on in here, she didn’t want to hear it.

  “If you’re going to fire us, he can explain everything,” Liddell offered only half-jokingly.

  Captain Franklin said, “You might wish you were fired.”

  Shit!

  Jack and Liddell sat.

  Chief Pope said, “You are not to discuss anything you hear in this room outside of the four of us. Understood?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Yes, Chief,” Liddell said. “What are we not discussing?”

  Chief Pope said, “As you know, Benet Cato will be replacing Thatcher Hensley as mayor on January first.”

  The mayoral race hadn’t even been close. Benet Cato had no previous political experience and had run a “clean sweep” campaign. She said Evansville’s citizens were tired of the “good ol’ boy system” where they were treated like they were not capable of understanding the operation
of the city. She said the people’s voice should be listened to and there would be more transparency in local government. She must have read the public’s pulse correctly, because she had beat Hensley hands down. She would be sworn in January first, and there would be many changes in government.

  Chief Pope said, “I have it on good authority that I’m to be replaced.”

  Cato would be the first female Mayor of Evansville, but this wasn’t the first time Marlin Pope’s position as Chief of Police was on the chopping block. Each new mayor had the option of appointing the Chief of Police. Politics was loads of laughs.

  “There’s a rumor going around that Deputy Chief Dick is being considered,” Liddell said.

  The outgoing mayor, Thatcher Hensley, had tried to replace Chief Pope with Dick, but because Pope was the first black policeman to ever attain the position of Chief of Police, replacing him with Richard Dick, a blond-haired blue-eyed Aryan Brotherhood poster child, was unthinkable. Dick had gotten in hot water over taking evidence away from a murder scene on a high-profile case. Dick skated on the Obstruction of Justice charge, the mayor’s job was safe, and Chief Pope was retained. Everything was hunky-dory in E-ville, until now.

  Chief Pope took a thumb drive from his pocket and slipped it in the computer’s USB port. “You need to hear this.” Pope tapped the keyboard. The sound of knocking, a door opening, and Double Dick’s unmistakable, condescending voice came through the computer speakers.

  “Mrs. Day?”

  “What do you want to see me for?” A woman’s voice. Presumably Mrs. Day.

  “You know who I am. What I do now.” The arrogant voice of Richard Dick.

  “I know who you’re hoping to be. You want to be chief of police,” Mrs. Day said.

  “That’s right. That’s why I’m here. I want to answer your questions. See if we can make this right. I know I haven’t been forth—”

  “You haven’t spoken to me, to my family, for thirty-seven years. You were there, and you wouldn’t tell us what happened. If your father hadn’t been who he was, you would be in prison right now for what you did.”

  “Now, Mrs. Day. You know that’s not true. I was never charged with anything. I wasn’t a suspect. None of my friends were. We had alibis for that night, Mrs. Day. You know all of that.”

  “My husband died four years after Max’s murder. He never heard a word of explanation from you or your friends about that night. You refused to talk to us, and heaven knows we tried to meet with you. The police refused to let us see the reports. And now here you are. How convenient.”

  “I’m here, Mrs. Day, because I want to explain myself. I can’t speak for the others, but I’ll answer all your questions to the best of my knowledge. I know now that it was wrong not to do this a long time ago. And it was long ago. I just want to ask you not to oppose my appointment as chief of police.”

  Chief Pope stopped the audio.

  Captain Franklin said, “You probably won’t know who Mrs. Day is. You heard Deputy Chief Dick’s voice on the recording?”

  “Was he recording the conversation?” Jack asked.

  “No, not Richard. Mrs. Day’s daughter recorded it,” Pope said. “Mrs. Day received a call from Richard two days ago. He asked to meet with her, and she told him to come to her home. She didn’t trust him, and we’ll explain why, but the point is that their conversation was recorded when he came to her house.”

  Jack said, “I take it this involves the incoming mayor’s selection of a chief of police?”

  It was ironic that the last time Double Dick was a candidate for appointment to the highest position on the Evansville Police Department his hopes had come crashing down because of a recording. The man was his own worst enemy.

  Chief Pope explained, “The woman on the recording is Mrs. Amelia Day. Her son, Max, was sixteen when he was murdered in 1980. Thirty-seven years ago this month in fact. The deputy chief was seventeen years old at the time and an acquaintance of the victim. They played football together for Rex Mundi High School.”

  Jack couldn’t imagine Dick in a football uniform unless it had a chest full of medals and rank insignia. “Was he involved in some way with Max’s death?”

  Captain Franklin said, “He was a suspect. Still is. The case is unsolved.”

  “Holy shit, Batman!” Liddell said. Then, “Sorry, Chief. Sorry, Captain.”

  Jack asked, “You want us to investigate the deputy chief for a thirty-seven-year-old murder?”

  “There’s more,” Chief Pope said.

  Jack waited.

  Pope pushed the thin file folder across to Jack. “This audio file was played for Benet Cato. She called me at home last night. She is aware of the deputy chief’s predicament and wants this case solved before she takes office. I assume she needs the case to be put to rest before she selects a new chief. She wants total transparency as to our findings. I explained to her that we couldn’t release details of an ongoing investigation, but she will have her way.”

  “How in the hell did she hear the recording before we did, Chief?” Jack asked.

  Chief Pope said, “Mrs. Day’s daughter—Max’s younger sister—Reina, emailed it to her.”

  “So, the Days think the deputy chief was a murderer thirty-seven years ago. Why go after him now? Why didn’t they raise a stink back in, what? 1980?”

  Captain Franklin answered, “They did. Or at least Mr. and Mrs. Day raised hell. You can see by the very thin file that the case wasn’t worked very hard. Mrs. Day said they requested meetings with Richard Dick and the other boys that were involved in whatever capacity. The parents refused. Mrs. Day claims the police department was covering for them. She said they weren’t allowed to see the case file and the detective wouldn’t talk to them.”

  Jack asked, “I wasn’t here thirty-seven years ago, but is that even possible? I mean, wouldn’t the news media be all over this? I have a hard time believing the assigned detective wouldn’t talk to the family.”

  “You may be right, Jack, but we’d have to address her concerns even if the mayor-elect wasn’t insisting.”

  Jack didn’t like it. The whole thing stunk of political maneuvering. Maybe Cato was going to put Double Dick in charge and needed to get this taken care of. But why him?

  “Why are you giving it to us?” Jack asked.

  “Think about it,” Captain Franklin said. “Benet Cato is clever. She apparently knows that you and Richard are not on...the best of terms. She also knows that you will do the right thing, even if you arrest Richard. She looks good to the voters and has an excuse to either appoint or not appoint Richard.”

  “She as much as said that to me when she came to my home last night,” Chief Pope said.

  Came to your home?

  “Holy sh...” Liddell said and put a hand over his mouth.

  “Yeah. Holy shit!” Chief Pope said.

  Meet the Author

  Photo by George Routt

  Sergeant Rick Reed (Ret.), author of the Jack Murphy thriller series, is a twenty-plus-year veteran police detective. During his career, he successfully investigated numerous high-profile criminal cases, including a serial killer who claimed thirteen victims before strangling and dismembering his fourteenth and last victim. He recounted that story in his acclaimed true-crime book, Blood Trail.

  Rick spent his last three years on the force as the commander of the police department’s Internal Affairs Section. He has two master’s degrees, and upon retiring from the police force, took a full-time teaching position with a community college. He currently teaches criminal justice at Volunteer State Community College in Tennessee and writes thrillers. He lives near Nashville with his wife and two furry friends, Lexie and Luthor.

  Please visit him on Facebook, Goodreads, or at his website, www.rickreedbooks.com. If you’d like him to speak online for your event, contact him through his website or by goin
g to bookclubreading.com.