“What?” Alisa tossed a paper wad at his face.
“Okay. Not years, but it’s been a while. I know you think I’m all about the bar and the food truck business with the Double Ds, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“The day before, easily,” I said, slightly uncomfortable about how all this was going down.
Knowing we had that one-night stand in our past—back when I was in college and she was getting over a failed marriage to a deranged pervert—Alisa and I had made a pact when we started working together. We’d keep our relationship friendly, but not cross the line. It seemed reasonable.
But life happened. The whole thing caught me off guard, and I think her as well. While we weren’t trying to hide anything, we’d yet to share the news with Justin…just because we knew he could be a pain in the ass…in a best friend kind of way.
“Okay, Justin. I’m ready. Start preaching to us about the virtues of separating professional from personal, or why we’re wrong for each other, or that it will only end up screwing up our lives, or that we’ll live to regret ever working in the PI business. I could name about ten other topics you might want to cover. What’s your number-one choice? I’ll give you five minutes. Go,” Alisa said, tapping her phone, fully prepared to take a tongue lashing from her downstairs boss.
“Shit, Alisa, are you finished yet? I thought you’d never come up for air.”
She was looking right at me, then her eyes shifted to the man with the ponytail.
“You were saying?”
Justin spread his feet about shoulder-width, splayed his arms.
“Guys, I’ve known both of you for…how long? But I’ve always seen you as friends, great friends, but not a couple. This isn’t natural for me. That’s all I’m saying.” His voice pitched higher.
I rested an elbow on the desk, flipped open my laptop.
Alisa motioned me to ensure I didn’t drop the gauze pad from the back of my head.
“Justin, we’re still the same individual people. We’re not going to act any different around you now than we did before,” I said.
“Then what was that little sexy nurse thing that Alisa was doing to you when I walked up?”
“I never used the term sexy,” I said.
“Sexy. Hmmm. Don’t think Booker was thinking sexy when I poured peroxide on his wound.” Alisa giggled, then subtly gave me a wink.
We were fortunate that Justin didn’t see it.
Justin ran his hand down his ponytail; the crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes became more pronounced.
“It’s okay, Justin. No need to get stressed out by this. Just don’t freak out if you see us bumping shoulders, okay? It’s not like we’re getting married or anything.” I turned back to my laptop.
Silence filled the room in a hurry as no one moved for a few seconds.
Biting her bottom lip, Alisa opened her laptop and began shuffling through two folders.
“Okay, is that my cue to exit stage left?” Justin asked.
I nodded, and he scooted out of the room. He looked back at me and mouthed, Sorry. I waved him off, knowing Alisa had thick skin and would be fine.
“So, I’ve spent some time reviewing the files Henry sent, looking at all the past arrests and convictions—”
“Are you okay? Did I hurt your feelings?”
“We’ve got work to do, Booker. We don’t have time for this other stuff.” She kept her head down as she spoke, flipping the pages in the folder.
I could feel a bit of heat gathering at my collar. I knew she’d given me an opening to avoid the topic. I paused for a second, thought about what we’d both been through in the last year, what she meant to me, and I pushed myself up, tossing my gauze pad in the trash as I shifted around the table.
Moving down to one knee, I put my hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eyes.
“I’m glad we’re dating and out of the closet, so to speak.”
Her hazel eyes studied my face, maybe looking for a hint of retreat. I didn’t turn away. She put her hand against the side of my face and popped it lightly.
“I’m not twenty-five anymore,” she said.
“And I’m not in college. Don’t want to be. I just want us to enjoy our lives together, with Samantha and Bolt.”
“When we have a spare moment,” she said with a smile. “No pressure.” She held up her fist, and I popped it with my fist. I couldn’t stop staring at her, though, so I leaned in closer and gave her a kiss, holding it for an extra couple of seconds.
“Booker T. Adams, you’re being naughty.”
“We’ll save that for later. Date night. Once we solve this case.”
“You guys up there smooching?” Justin yelled from the base of the stairs.
“How did he know that?” Alisa asked me.
“He’s like my mom, and he’s starting to look like her too,” I said, lifting to my feet. “Ignore him. Now, back on task. You were talking about your research across the arrest and conviction records.”
“Right. In my first pass, I can’t find a single person who crossed paths with Donley, Miller, and now Judge Fischer. Unless I missed something,” she said as papers spilled to the floor.
“I doubt that, not with your eagle eye,” I said, picking up the folder of Walt Donley.
I studied everything about the man who’d been falsely accused of killing himself. Fourteen years on the force. Earned a two-year degree in criminal justice from Stephenville Junior College. Born and raised in the same city southwest of Fort Worth.
I flipped a page and saw further into Donley’s life. Kicked off the Yellow Jackets baseball team in his junior year after being accused of breaking into a drugstore and stealing ten boxes of pseudoephedrine.
“Hmm.”
“What?” Alisa asked, leaning forward.
“A month after being charged in this drugstore break-in, all charges were dropped.” I popped the paper.
“Yeah,” she said, her eyes glued to her laptop, apparently studying another piece of information.
I dropped my hand to the table.
“Did you see this? The owner said he misidentified Donley from his camera footage and then accidentally deleted the video. Why would the owner change his story a month later?”
I looked up at Alisa. Neither of us said a word, then I glanced back down at the file.
“It goes on to say he was reinstated to the baseball team for his senior year and led the Yellow Jackets to the state championship. Named MVP.”
“He became a hometown hero. I’m sure nothing was ever mentioned about his so-called alleged robbery. Small-town priorities. I’ve seen it. Remember, I’m from Nacogdoches,” Alisa said of her east Texas hometown. “But if you’re looking to travel to Stephenville and hunt down who would be part of a cover-up, good luck. You’ve got a better chance of figuring out who killed Jimmy Hoffa.”
“True. It’s been twenty years, and one incident doesn’t define a life,” I said, staring at the report. “Still, it’s something to keep in the back of our minds as we sift through all this data.” I moved the sheet of paper to the right side of my desk.
“What if we found more black marks on his record at a professional level?”
Alisa poked her eyes above the rim of her laptop.
“I…uh, don’t see anything in here about his time with the DPD. I just assumed it was squeaky clean. Did he work for another department?” I shuffled pages, taking a small mess and making it much more disorganized.
“It’s a late file sent over by Henry this morning,” Alisa said.
“Makes sense. Probably did it from a local Starbucks before he got back to his office. Anything juicy?”
“Well, on the positive side, he was awarded the Medal of Honor.”
“Damn. They don’t give those away very often.”
“Actually, he’s one of only twenty-three officers in the history of the department to earn the award, which is for exceptional bravery at imminent risk of serious—”
“I’m familiar with it. Huge plaque up in each division, stating the definition of the award. Everyone was pretty much in awe. I guess I should be in awe of Donley.”
“Not so fast.”
Alisa held up a finger, and I noticed how petite her hands were. They were cute.
“Booker, what are you staring at?”
“Uh, sorry, I was just mesmerized by your—”
“Don’t say it. Here I thought you were different than all the guys out there. I guess it’s good you have testosterone in your body.”
I smirked. “I was actually staring at your hands.”
Her eyes widened, and her lips turned up at the corners. “You are different.”
“You seem surprised.”
“Not really.”
“And I’m not really all that different. I’m not oblivious to all of your attractive qualities, including your feistiness.”
“Ha! If we weren’t busy trying to stop a lunatic killer, I’d come over there and—” She bit her lower lip and ran her eyes up and down me.
I took her hand in mine and rubbed my thumb across the top of it, and our eyes locked again.
“By the way, I don’t need to visit one of those quack-shack testosterone clinics that are on every other corner.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she said, biting a fingernail.
I could feel the electricity between us, but now wasn’t the time and the office wasn’t the place.
“I could go for a cold drink. How about you?” I asked, lifting from my chair, which squealed in return.
“Even on a cold, rainy day?” she asked.
“On this cold, rainy day, yes.” I shot her a wink.
“Let’s knock out this research first, okay?”
I sighed. “Taskmaster.” I moved over to the one lone window in the office, an oval, stained-glass number. Through an off-white pane I could see a bird perched on a ledge where droplets of water fell from the roof tiles just above it.
“Did you hear me?”
“Sorry, I was taking a cold shower…vicariously through the bird outside the window.” I pointed.
“Really?”
I nodded.
“Did it work?”
“If it didn’t, your look right now does.”
She scrunched her forehead together, then she touched the same area. “Dammit, I’ve got to stop myself from doing that.”
“Touching your forehead?”
She looked at me, pausing for a second. “Let’s just get back into Donley’s record.”
I knew where Alisa had been going with her comment—stop the scrunching, avoid the wrinkles—but I didn’t want to make her feel any more uncomfortable about our age difference.
I spotted a soccer ball in the corner that Bolt had left in the office. I picked it up and began spinning it on my finger. Alisa just stared at me.
“Don’t judge. It helps me concentrate. You were saying about Donley’s record…”
“Right. I count eight times that he was written up for some type of impropriety.”
“Eight?”
“Eight, including one for excessive force when he arrested a teenage boy for jaywalking.”
“Sounds odd. Not many cops will go to the trouble to ticket someone for jaywalking. I guess the kid could have been a real smartass, egging him on. I ran across a few like that. The uniform seems to be a magnet for all sorts of folks who want trouble.”
“But not everyone crosses the line,” Alisa said.
“I grazed the line a few times, but we all tried to avoid going there. It just meant we couldn’t handle the stress of our jobs.”
“Have you ever heard of anyone receiving eight write-ups?” Alisa asked.
Allowing the soccer ball to drop into my arm, I tried to recall all the rumors from my time on the force. Donley’s name still didn’t register. Usually, the cops with the brightest future and the darkest past would stand out. With a Medal of Honor, Donley’s lack of visibility was almost stunning. Colleagues spoke about those guys with reverence, as if they might mint a coin after the few who’d taken it home.
On the other hand, maybe they were a bit embarrassed, given his track record.
“What are you thinking?”
“Who says I’m thinking?”
“Your silence, your eyes narrowing, and it appears you’re chewing the inside of your cheek. You know that isn’t healthy, right?”
I chuckled.
“What?”
“Not sure you would have pointed that out a few months ago.”
“You mean when you were chasing that psycho all over the Dominican jungle?”
A dig at Britney, maybe at me too—for being sucked in by the poster child for dual personalities.
“But I came back. And she’s in jail.”
“And here we are,” she said, resting an elbow on the desk. “So spill it. Your questions, or theory, or whatever is bouncing around in that head of yours.”
“This Donley character is hard to put in a certain category.”
“The world isn’t black and white,” Alisa said with wink. “Except for me and you, that is.”
We both released a quick laugh.
“By the way, what did he do to earn the medal?” I asked.
“Umm….apparently he rescued a neighbor’s kid from his home that was burning. Firemen said it was too dangerous to go back in, but Donley didn’t listen and went in after him.”
“Hmm.” I began to spin the ball on my finger.
“What about the other officer, Derrick Miller? Complicated past, like Donley’s?”
“Squeaky clean. No write-ups, a couple of commendations. Only been on the force for four years.”
“He was engaged, right?”
“Do we know the fiancée’s name? Want to make sure she’s not related to Britney.”
“Good one.”
“It’s only a half-joke. As much as we want to link these homicides, there could be three different killers, and for different reasons. Jealously usually ranks pretty high.”
“But Miller was jumped from behind and then had his neck broken. Takes a very strong person to do that. Maybe his fiancée was a bodybuilder.”
“That’s what we need to check out. But she could have hired someone.”
“Don’t believe in true love?”
“Not in this case.”
“And the judge. From what you’ve had a chance to look at, anything stand out in his past?”
“No obvious black marks on his record as a judge, but I’ve just skimmed the surface. Not a lot of detail in the file Henry sent over.”
“The position in itself can create a lot of attention.”
“He’s not only a judge, but he’s an appellate judge. Every ruling he’s ever given is controversial and included heated debate from both sides. Whoever lost might have resentment toward him.”
“He’d been in this role for decades?”
“He served as an appellate judge for thirty-three years. Forty-one years overall as a judge.”
“Married the whole time?”
“To Bernice.”
“Yeah, Henry told me the name. Told the ME she was my client.”
“What? Why would he do that? Is he trying to get your license revoked?”
“Just trying to get me in to see the judge’s body without blowing my undercover role working for the chief.”
“I’ll do some more digging on the judge, check in with his office. Maybe he’s been threatened recently.”
I blew out an audible breath. “We might need to go see Bernice. Don’t want to be pushy, but Judge Fischer might have confided in her about any real threat.”
“Good point. I’ll set something up,” she said, sprint-typing on her computer.
“So, we know Donley has a mixed past. Miller, at least on the surface, appears to be clean, and the judge…we think he’s clean, but don’t know a lot about him other than we know he was likely embroiled in some contentious debates with lawyers.”
“Who represents clients who might go to jail for a long time,” Alisa added.
“And what do felons do once they get out of prison?” I asked, flipping the soccer ball between each hand.
Alisa twisted her head. “Eat a good meal. Maybe find a woman,” she said, covering a snicker.
“Some plot revenge.”
“So, what are you trying to say?”
“I’m not really, just bouncing shit off the wall right now. It would be a hell of a lot easier if these three were carbon copies of each other, but they’re not.”
Alisa raised an eyebrow. “Not yet.”
“True. Two levels lower, we might find they were all members of a secret biker gang that sacrificed cats.”
“I’m not going that low.”
I bounced the ball off the wall and palmed it in my right hand. “So, none of the three vics crossed paths. But maybe it was a degree of separation, or two or three?”
“Kevin Bacon style?”
“That would be six degrees of separation. But maybe bad guys met in prison, made a pact to get revenge against those who put them there.”
“So, you’re thinking this is a group of killers?”
I spread my arms. “Vigilante justice. Can’t rule it out.”
The ball squeezed out of my hand and fell to the floor. Leaning over, I picked it up, banging the back of my wounded head on the metal desk.
“Fu—” I gritted my teeth.
Alisa jumped toward me. “You poor thing, are you okay?”
“Uggh,” I said reaching back, feeling the knot rise another notch.
“Nice save,” Alisa said.
I gave her a confused look.
“You avoided the ‘F’ word. I know you’ve been trying to get out of the habit of cussing with Bolt around.”
I nodded. “Trying. No promises going forward though.”
“So, we just discussed everything about Donley, Miller, and Judge Fischer. And then your theory about the guys making a pact in prison. How would any of that connect to what Metrick did, running you over? That little shit.” Now Alisa gritted her teeth.
“The only thing I can go on is what he told me. Donley put him in prison, then confronted him again after he got out a few weeks ago.”
“If you can believe a word he said. He tried to frickin’ kill you.”
I tapped the top of the apex of the knot on my head. “I know. But when we were talking at the car wash, the dude came across as completely legit. Screwed up, lots of dumb decisions, but he sounded like he was speaking the truth. Now, I gotta question everything.”
BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6 Page 56
