DEDICATION
To the surgeon who repaired my broken heart, and to the nurses and technicians in the ICU and cardiac wing of St. Luke’s Hospital.
Your expertise, your devotion to duty, and most of all your empathy and kindness made my journey through the dark valley of open heart surgery as pleasant as it could possibly be.
Thank you, and may you be blessed for the long hours you spend in service to the patients placed in your care.
To all the members of the ‘zipper club,’ (referring to the six-inch scar on our chests), may your recovery be swift and complete, and may you enjoy the gift of days that have been added to your life.
To my wife, Peg, who was by my side throughout my ordeal, loving me, comforting me, encouraging me, protecting me, and most of all, making damn sure I did exactly as the doctor ordered.
LADY JUSTICE
AND THE
BROKEN HEARTS
A WALT WILLIAMS
MYSTERY/COMEDY NOVEL
ROBERT THORNHILL
Lady Justice and the Broken Hearts
Copyright April, 2015 by Robert Thornhill
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way, by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, incidents and entities included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events and entities is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America
Cover design by Peg Thornhill
Fiction, Humorous
Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General
LADY JUSTICE
AND THE
BROKEN HEARTS
CHAPTER 1
The darkness was impenetrable.
I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t swallow. I was choking and trying desperately to claw at whatever it was that had been crammed down my throat. I heard voices and felt hands restraining me as I fought to clear whatever was preventing me from taking a breath.
I had never experienced such an overwhelming sense of panic --- then it was gone and there was nothing but darkness.
Suddenly, it was all back just like before, the choking and the panic as I fought to breathe, and the utter despair as the hands held me in check. There were more voices and then again, nothing but darkness.
My next sensation was foggy confusion as I opened my eyes in unfamiliar surroundings. Then I saw my precious wife, Maggie, standing at my bedside with her hands on my arm and it all came back to me --- I had just had my chest cracked open and the mitral valve in my heart repaired.
“Is --- is it over?”
She smiled and patted my arm. “All over and you did just fine. As soon as the surgery was over, the doctor came out and told us that he was able to repair your valve and you didn’t have to have a replacement.”
“How long was I out?”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “The actual operation took about two and a half hours.”
That’s when I noticed for the first time that my hands were covered with soft mitts that looked like miniature boxing gloves. “What in the world?”
“We had a bit of a problem getting you breathing on your own,” she replied, removing the mitts. They tried twice to remove your breathing tube, but had to put you back under. You were fighting and clawing at the tube so they had to cover your hands.”
I vividly remembered the panic I had felt when I couldn’t breathe.
“They said you wouldn’t remember a thing.”
“Well they were wrong! I remember it all and it wasn’t pleasant. What time is it?”
Maggie looked at her watch. “A little past nine.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “So I’ve been out over twelve hours?”
She nodded.
“And you’ve been there beside me the whole time?”
She nodded again. “I couldn’t leave the most precious thing in my life. Would you like to see your incision?”
“Sure, why not,” I replied, wondering how that was going to happen. I figured my entire torso would be swaddled in bandages.
She gently held open my gown and I took a peek. There wasn’t so much as a band-aid in sight and got my first look at the six inch incision that would be with me the rest of my life.
I laid my head back on my pillow and breathed a sigh of relief. The first part of my ordeal was over and now it was time to begin the second part --- the months of healing and rehab that would be needed to make my seventy-one year old body 100% whole again.
CHAPTER 2
It all started about two months ago.
I had just made one of the most important decisions of my life --- after five years on the Kansas City police force, I called it quits.
I truly loved being a cop and I fully understood the risks that officers take each time they put on the uniform. During my five years, I had experienced so many close calls that my friend and tenant, Jerry, had remarked that if I was a cat, I would have gone well past my allotted nine lives.
The straw that broke the camel’s back occurred when my partner, Ox, and I were ambushed by vengeful gangbangers and I took a bullet in the tushy.
I had just turned seventy-one and Maggie was coming up on seventy. After some serious discussions and soul searching, we came to the mutual conclusion that what was left of our golden years shouldn’t be spent with Maggie wondering every day whether I would be coming back to her.
After giving up my badge, it was just a matter of days until I was bored out of my mind. I just don’t do retirement well at all.
My boredom was the fertile ground that my brother-in-law, Kevin McBride, needed to plant some fast-growing seeds.
Maggie hadn’t seen her brother for fifty years when he mysteriously showed up at our door one evening. He had been in the Witness Protection Program all those years and had a private investigation business in Phoenix for the last thirty.
Once a family connection had been reestablished, Kevin helped in a couple of our police investigations and had been doing some off-the-book P.I. stuff on his own.
When he discovered I was walking the floor looking for something to occupy my time, he dropped some hints that he could use some help in one of his investigations. He promised that my involvement would be limited to surveillance only and that nobody would be trying to put a matching bullet hole in my other butt cheek.
Having had my fill of playing checkers with my friend and tenant, Willie, and Mario Cart with Jerry, I jumped at the chance.
One thing led to another and before I knew it, I had helped Kevin with three difficult cases. It wasn’t like being on patrol with my old partner, Ox, but it occupied my time and we were able to help put some bad guys away.
Kevin is shrewd, and once he was confident that I was hooked, he began to badger me about opening a legitimate P.I. business.
I hadn’t been totally forthcoming with Maggie. She’s still a very active real estate agent and when we talked each evening about how we had spent our day, I simply said that I had been hanging out with her brother and she didn’t press me for details.
Now that I was actually considering opening a P.I. business, it was time to come clean.
Needless to say, our discussion that evening was quite an eye-opener for her. I gave her every detail of the cases I had worked with Kevin and assured her that at no time was I ever in danger.
“I have to do something, Maggie. I can’t just sit around. I’ll die of boredom and that’s e
xactly the consequence we were trying to avoid when I quit the force. This would be my business, and I can pick and choose the cases I want to work. I’ll be safe, I promise.”
I held my breath as she let the whole thing sink in.
Then she looked deep into my eyes and I could see her begin to soften.
“So you’re actually thinking about getting a P.I. license and starting a real firm?”
“Only if you’re on board with it.”
“I suppose my crazy brother will fit into the picture somewhere.”
“I haven’t said a word to him. I didn’t want to get him excited until I cleared everything with you.”
“Do you think you can do this without getting shot, blown up or thrown off a roof?”
“That’s certainly my goal.”
She didn’t speak for the longest time. Finally, she said, “I remember Helen Foster’s words when I asked her why she would let her husband run for office knowing he might become a target. She said, ‘My husband is a man of passion. Life is meaningless without passion and without a purpose. Nursing homes are full of people who have lost their passion for life, and that can be worse than death.’ Walt, I don’t want that to happen to you. If you think this will give your life purpose and you promise me you won’t get killed, then go for it.”
Her blessing was all I needed.
Having been a Kansas City cop, getting my license was a snap. I hired an attorney to set up the required paperwork and we were in business.
Our very first case was referred to us by an attorney, Suzanne Romero. It ended well with us helping to clear her client of insurance fraud and the theft of a Thomas Hart Benton oil painting. He had been framed by his partner and we nailed him with a pretty nifty piece of undercover work.
I never cease to be amazed at how fate seems to intervene in our lives.
Someone at the precinct had referred Dr. Elizabeth Crane, a cardiologist at the Mid America Heart Institute, to us. Although she had no proof, she believed she was being stalked.
It turned out that she was being followed by the sons of her estranged brother. They had found a diary in their deceased father’s things that belonged to their mother, Chloe Fisher. In the diary, she told the harrowing story of being attacked by her employer and saved by Nate, a young black man. This all happened in the 1940’s, and knowing that their lives wouldn’t be worth a fart in a whirlwind after killing a white man, they held up a Wells Fargo office to get money to flee. An angry mob caught up to Nate and lynched him on the spot, but not before he told Dr. Crane’s mother where he had hidden his portion of the Wells Fargo loot.
Chloe bought an old Ford with some of her money and headed to Iowa to live with an aunt. The Ford conked out in a snow storm leaving the poor girl stranded in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately, a young, over-the-road trucker came along, rescued her, and they spent the night together.
Using clues from the diary, Kevin and I helped put the amazing story together and reunite a family that had been separated for years.
Later entries in Chloe Fisher’s diary revealed that Chloe had become pregnant from her one night with the young trucker, eventually giving birth to Dr. Crane. Chloe only knew the boy as Johnny, but she remembered the picture of a butterfly on the side of his truck. She always referred to him as ‘Johnny Butterfly.’
With this information, Dr. Crane couldn’t rest until she discovered the identity of her biological father and asked me to help find who he was.
When it was all said and done, Johnny Butterfly turned out to be my very own dad, John Williams. Dr. Elizabeth Crane was my half-sister!
As I look back on the series of events that led to that moment, I have to believe that some power had intervened in our lives to bring us together.
If I hadn’t taken a bullet in my kiester, I would probably still be a cop, but I did. If I hadn’t quit the force, I would never have helped Kevin with his P.I. jobs, but I did. If I hadn’t helped with his cases, I would never have considered opening my own firm, but I did, and because I did, Dr. Elizabeth Crane came to my door seeking help which eventually led to the discovery of our familial ties.
Coincidence? I think not!
My philosophy has always been, ‘things happen for a reason.’
If I had any doubts before, they were certainly erased by the bizarre series of events that were to come.
CHAPTER 3
I was sitting at my desk shuffling papers and wondering where our next case would come from when the phone rang.
It was Kevin. “Hey Bro, if you’re free I’d like to drop by with our next clients.”
“Gee, let me check my schedule --- okay, no problem.”
“Wise ass,” he replied. “We’ll be there in ten.”
When Kevin arrived, he was accompanied by a young couple in their mid-thirties. I was surprised to see Veronica was tagging along as well.
“Walt, I’d like you to meet Bart and Emily James. Bart and Emily, this is my partner, Walt.”
We shook hands and I found everyone seats in our living room. There just wasn’t enough space in our tiny office.
Kevin got the ball rolling. “Bart and Emily are the proprietors of Elite Escort Service. I’m sure you remember that when we met, Veronica was working at Elite Escorts.”
I remembered all right.
Kevin had actually showed up at our door dying of kidney failure, hoping that Maggie might be a willing donor. When it turned out that she was not a compatible donor, Kevin figured his days were numbered. At seventy, he didn’t stand a chance of getting a kidney through regular channels.
One of the items on his bucket list was to play hide-the-salami a few more times while he still had the strength. Knowing I was a cop, he came to me looking for a referral. I certainly didn’t have the street contacts to accommodate his needs, but my friend, Willie, was still connected from his days as a con man on the street.
Willie’s referral was Veronica and she was just the gal Kevin was looking for.
As fate would have it, Kevin was given a kidney from an unexpected source, delaying his demise indefinitely.
After the operation, he and Veronica became an item. It was an odd couple match up that none of us understood.
Veronica was half his age, blonde and well endowed, but she was much more than the typical bimbo with no brains and big boobs. She was smart and articulate and she had office skills that included computer programs such as Photoshop and Publisher. She actually designed the logo that we were using with our new company.
She was also a pretty good little actress and had helped in a couple of undercover sting operations while I was still on the force, but she was still a hooker, and I had a difficult time understanding how a guy could cozy up to a woman in her line of work.
Just as puzzling was what a woman like her saw in a seventy year old guy living off another guy’s kidneys.
Granted, Kevin was one of those guys who is larger than life. He could have been the swashbuckling Errol Flynn of the early cinema days or Captain Jack Sparrow, but still --- ?
Anyway, they are a couple and part of our extended family. Given all of our checkered pasts, we are not judgmental.
Kevin had told me not long ago that Veronica had changed professions and was now a hostess at the Brass Balls Bar & Grill, definitely a step in the right direction.
“Walt, are you with us?”
“Sorry, just reminiscing. Where were we?”
“One of the girls from the Elite Escort Service has gone missing.”
“All right then,” I replied, taking a pen and a note pad. “Let’s start at the beginning. What is the young lady’s name?”
“Candace Carter,” Bart replied. “She goes by ‘Candy’ on our website.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Two days ago. She had a client that evening, and as far as we knew, everything went well. She was scheduled with another client last night but didn’t show up. We’ve tried to call on her cell phone and ev
en went by her apartment, but no luck. That’s just not like Candy. She’s always been so reliable.”
“Are you thinking that her last client might have been involved?”
“I would seriously doubt it,” Bart replied. “We take every precaution to protect our girls.”
“So exactly how does your service work?”
“Everything is done on the Internet or on the phone,” Emily replied. “We have our website and run an ad in the Yellow Pages. If a client is interested in hiring one of our girls for the evening, they call our office which is in our home. We explain our service and fees. If the client is interested, we get his name and credit card number. If everything checks out, we set up an appointment.”
I was surprised. “Given the nature of your business, I would think that a guy would be reluctant to give his name and credit card number.”
“Like Bart said, we do everything to protect our girls. If the john doesn’t want to play ball, we don’t make the deal. The name that shows up on his credit card statement is Kansas City Business Services. That could be anything, just in case his spouse or employer happen to be checking on him.”
“You must have quite a little black book!”
“You have no idea,” she replied, smiling. “It reads like a ‘Who’s who in Kansas City.’ Politicians, CEO’s of big companies, even clergy.”
“So what happens after the appointment is made?”
“We have a driver that delivers our girl to wherever the client has designated. Once she goes inside and negotiates her fee ---.”
“Hang on a minute. I thought he had already paid by credit card.”
“That was just to set up the appointment. After that, every girl can negotiate whatever she wants depending on what the client wants.”
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