by Polly Iyer
“Commander Lightner was one of the people who publicly commented on Soulé’s getting off in the article about the protests outside the courthouse,” Beecher said.
“Lightner, huh? He was plenty interested in who I had on my suspect list.”
“A commander involved?” said Cash. “That’s hard to believe.”
Beecher grunted. “I’m open to anything. This operation needs someone at the top, don’tcha think?”
“I guess.” Cash riffled through his notebook. “Halloran found one court judgment that looks suspicious. It goes back awhile, but who knows when this started?”
“Go on,” Lucier said.
“A woman with a kid again,” Cash said. “Prosecutor claimed shaken baby syndrome, but the mother blamed her boyfriend. A friend alibied her, and the boyfriend said he was elsewhere, also alibied by a friend. The defense attorney put reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury. Neither the prosecution nor the defense could break either friend’s alibi. The trial resulted in a hung jury.
“A short time later, both the boyfriend and the baby’s mother disappeared, not to be heard from since. Relatives claimed foul play, blaming the media for making a big deal of them getting off, but others maintained the pair was in cahoots by setting up alibis and blaming each other.”
“And no one’s been able to break the alibis?”
“Nope. They’ve stuck to their stories.”
“Probably knew if they caved, they’d be charged with perjury,” Beecher said.
“And accessories to murder after the fact,” Lucier said. “What about passports? There had to be a record of them leaving the country.”
“Nothing. They just disappeared.”
Lucier reached for his water and groaned. Beecher handed the glass to him. He nodded his thanks and sipped. “Could have crossed into Canada or Mexico. You need a passport now, but not a few years ago.”
Beecher took the glass. “Does fit the profile of someone avenging a wrongful jury outcome though, doesn’t it?”
“Not without evidence of foul play. The couple could have done just what everyone thinks: left the country. But if cops are involved …” Lucier’s words trailed off. “We’ve worked with some of these guys, know others personally. Could this have been going on right under our noses? And how come no one’s found anything fishy before now?”
“Humph,” Beecher grumbled, “who’s gonna check them out? Most cops, even us, are holding back cheers for ridding the world of a few scabs.”
“Don’t let anyone outside this room hear that, Sam,” Lucier said.
“Come on, Ernie. You feel the same grudging respect.”
He remembered Diana making a similar comment. “I don’t think Keys Moran, Chenault, and Alba would agree. Those doing this set themselves up as judge and jury, got carried away, and crossed the line. Innocent people are dead because of what they’re doing.”
Beecher nodded. “You don’t think Chenault and Alba were innocent, do you?”
“No, but they’re still dead.”
“Maybe Diana could do some more psychic stuff,” Cash said. “You know, get something of theirs and see what happens.”
Diana, who’d listened without chiming in, perked up.
“I don’t want her involved anymore. Someone tried to kill her.” Lucier focused on Diana. “I meant that about going to your parents’ house. You’ll be safe there. Hell, if anyone comes to get you, your father will talk them to death.”
“That’s not funny, Ernie,” Diana said. “He almost got killed last year trying to protect me.”
Lucier shook his head. “Sorry. You’re right. That was thoughtless. But I want you out of harm’s way.”
“I’m safer here, with all of you. Anyone coming to get me at my parents’ house wouldn’t have a bit of trouble killing me. Besides, Cash is right. I can help.”
“No.”
“I can do this on my own, you know. You can’t stop me.”
Lucier’s eyes narrowed. “Must you always tempt fate?”
“Fate gave me this gift, or curse, for a reason. I’m not saying I’ll come up with anything, but all your suspicions don’t mean a thing if you can’t pin the murders on the murderers. Come on, Ernie.”
“Let’s see if we can nail the titanium ring first,” Lucier said. “That’s the most significant clue we have and might be all we need.”
“Michel is the only one who isn’t married,” Cash said. “All the others are.”
“I want the captain’s okay to question the card-playing group. Maybe one of them’s wearing a titanium ring.”
“You need me to identify the ring,” Diana said.
Lucier shook his head. “How many cops do you think are wearing a titanium ring? I’ll tell you. Not many.”
“I can still do more,” she said. “Plenty more.”
“We’ll see,” Lucier said in his most authoritative voice.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Hunch
Lucier pushed away his tasteless, overcooked dinner. If the doctor didn’t release him soon, he’d die of starvation. Besides, he could lie around in bed at home or at Diana’s just as easily as in the hospital.
The door opened, and Captain Jack Craven poked his head into the room. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and gray stubble sprouted from his normally clean-shaven face. “Feel like company?” he asked.
“Captain. Yes, come in. I’m going bonkers in here. Got any pull with the hospital to get me out tomorrow?”
“Nope, not even a little tug. How’re ya feeling, Ernie?”
“Good enough to leave.”
Craven scrubbed his beard. “We had quite a scare. Glad whoever took the pot shot missed both you and Ms. Racine.” He thought a minute. “I mean missed killing you.”
“Yeah, he didn’t quite miss. Any clues whodunit?”
“I’ve had patrols canvassing the neighborhood, but no one saw a thing except one neighbor. He heard the shots, saw a flash of someone scooting out the back behind the hedges, then heard a car race away on the street behind Ms. Racine’s house. No witnesses there either. We’ll get him.”
“There’s more than one killer, and they’re cops, Jack.” Lucier told the captain what his team had found and about his plan of checking out the card-playing buddies and their rings.
“One of them is involved?”
“Two are dead. Moran’s dead, and he was involved with Chenault.”
“I can’t believe Chenault was gay, womanizer that he was. But Soulé’s photograph from Alba to Chenault forwarded to Ms. Racine from Moran’s email address proves Chenault was with Moran the night he was murdered. Interrogating their card-playing buddies will put you on a permanent shit list. You know that, don’t you?”
“If I’m right, and cops are involved, I made that list the minute the superintendent appointed me lead on the case. I’ve already felt the animosity, not to mention a bullet.”
“I can have a man cover you until you get out of here, just in case.”
“They won’t try anything in the hospital.”
“They do in the movies. Remember The Godfather?”
“I’m hardly in that league, Captain.”
“What if I ask the commanders of those card-players to check their rings? That shouldn’t set off any bells.”
Monitors blinked steadily in the silence as Lucier considered the idea. “Might be less obvious.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Gotta go. Wife’s expecting me for dinner. Get well soon, Ernie. Let me know when you’re out of prison.”
Lucier laughed, then winced from the pain. “Thanks, Captain.”
After the nurse removed his dinner tray, Lucier watched a little TV. Around eleven, he went to the bathroom, cleaned up, and got ready for the long night. If he was wrong, he’d be losing a night’s sleep.
He removed the .22 from the paper bag Beecher had brought him that morning because Lucier asked him to. He set a towel on the cold tile floor in the small bathroom and cha
nged positions until he was comfortable, which wasn’t easy, considering his wound. Cracking open the door, he waited, dozing a few minutes at a time as the hours passed. He checked his watch at three-twenty.
An unmistakable draft of air from the corridor floated into the bathroom, jolting him from a catnap. His room door opened enough for a dark-clad figure to slither inside. Lucier discerned the outline of a gun in the darkness. His instincts had been right. Someone had come to kill him.
Though stiff from sitting in one position, he eased to his feet, careful to be silent. Two shots muffled through a suppressor pumped into the pillows he’d arranged to look like a body under the covers. Silently, he opened the bathroom door.
“Stop right where you are.”
Caught off guard, the gun-toting intruder swung around and fired in Lucier’s direction, missing his mark in the dark room. Lucier, eyes long adjusted to the inky interior, took his shot. The figure groaned and thudded to the floor as the wail of a siren exploded in the quiet hospital.
Clutching his aching chest, Lucier moved toward the listless body and kicked away the weapon, then flicked on the light, his gun still aimed at the intruder. He crouched carefully and removed the knitted ski mask. Marty Feldman. “What the ―” Of all the suspects on his list, Feldman was the last man he expected. Lucier touched Feldman’s neck and detected a faint pulse.
Shit. “I need help in here,” he hollered.
A nurse charged halfway inside the door before the night security guard stopped her. “Gun, please,” he said to Lucier, who relinquished the weapon immediately. The guard touched Feldman’s neck.
“He’s still alive,” Lucier said.
“Code Blue, STAT,” the nurse yelled as she disappeared into the corridor. Seconds later, she returned with a pillow to place under Feldman’s feet.
The guard moved out of the way. “What happened?”
“He tried to kill me.”
Feldman muttered something, and Lucier leaned down to hear.
“They’ve … got my … son,” Feldman whispered.
“Who? Who has your son?”
Before he could answer, Feldman lost consciousness.
“Feldman,” Lucier urged. “Who?”
The guard had squatted too. “What did he say about his son?”
“I’m not sure.” Had whoever ‘they’ were kidnapped Feldman’s son to force him to kill me? That’s what Feldman’s words sounded like to Lucier. He’d considered Feldman a peripheral player in the revenge conspiracy, a card-playing buddy, a squeaky clean front for the others. A miscalculation. Lucier checked Feldman’s wedding band. Gold, not titanium. Now he wondered again how many cops were involved, and how deep the collusion went.
Within seconds, the room overflowed with medical personnel administering first aid. Someone brought a gurney, and they wheeled Feldman out of the room to surgery at breakneck speed. Lucier plopped down on the chair, his heart racing in competition with his throbbing wound. It wasn’t much of a crime scene to protect. A man entered, and he shot him.
What the hell is going on?
His suspicion that someone would try to kill him had been too strong to ignore. They’d failed once; what would stop them from taking another shot? He would have laughed at the pun if he hadn’t been so on target.
Christ, I’m thinking in puns. I need sleep.
He almost laughed when the captain mentioned the scene from the Godfather, because that was the exact scenario that had inspired him to take the precaution.
A sudden terror prickled his skin. What if whoever gave the order to kill him had given the same order to kill Diana? He punched in Cash’s number.
The detective sounded as if he’d been awakened, which seemed likely at four in the morning. “What’s the matter?”
“Marty Feldman just tried to kill me.”
Cash grunted with the sounds of movement. “What?”
After a quick rundown of what happened, Lucier said, “Get over to Diana’s and make sure she stays safe. I’ll call her as soon as we hang up. She’ll be expecting you. Someone wants us dead. We’re getting too close, Willy. They’re starting to show themselves.”
“I’m on my way.”
“Bring your notes. If I can get released today, I’ll stay at Diana’s. We have work to do. Oh, and, Willy, get in touch with Feldman’s wife to find out about their son. If he’s been kidnapped to force Feldman to kill me, we need to find the boy.”
“If Feldman dies, won’t they let the kid go?”
“Not if he’s seen his captors. Just hope Feldman survives. He’s our best chance to find out who’s behind this.”
“Sounds like their vendetta plan is coming apart, doesn’t it, Lieutenant?”
“It sure does.”
“If Feldman is a danger to them, should I arrange for an officer to watch him too?”
“Good thinking, Willy. Yes.” He should have thought of posting someone on Feldman. He looked down at his hands. Shaking. He thought of Diana and speed-dialed her number. Not surprisingly, she sounded groggy. He repeated what he’d told Cash.
Her speech sharpened when she heard what happened. “Thank God you’re all right, Ernie. How did you know?”
“I didn’t for sure, and I hoped I was wrong. Someone is trying to kill us, Diana. Now they’ve failed again, and they won’t be happy. Cash is on the way to your house. Make sure it’s him before you open the door. And don’t go outside, not even to get the mail. Cash will do whatever you want.” He sensed her hesitation. He hated to scare her, but she couldn’t do anything foolish. She had in the past. Diana was more of a threat to the killers than he was. He had to keep her safe.
“Okay. Will you be released this morning?”
“I believe I can make a good argument why the doc should let me go.”
“You’re coming here, right? I’ll take care of you.”
“I plan to. I’ll call you when I know. Beecher will pick me up. Meanwhile, do everything Cash says.”
“I will, promise.”
Good. He got through to her. Next, he woke Beecher and caught him up to speed. Told him he’d call for a ride to Diana’s if the doctor released him, and he, too, should bring his notes. “Have Halloran interview Feldman’s wife and his partner, whoever he is, and find out who his friends are in the district. Whoever kidnapped the kid is lower than dirt.”
While he was on the phone, an intern took his blood pressure and listened to his heart and lungs with the stethoscope. He gave Lucier a thumbs up and left. A police officer asked him a dozen questions and filled out an incident report. When the crime scene unit arrived, the nurse transferred him to another room while an orderly wheeled in the medical equipment. Lucier crawled into the freshly made bed. He could barely keep his eyes open, and his aching body felt like rubber. Within seconds he was sound asleep.
Chapter Thirty
Against Doctor’s Orders
Lucier startled awake when Captain Craven slipped into the room. He checked the time. Seven-twenty.
Sorry, Ernie,” Craven said, “but I need to talk to you about what happened this morning.”
Lucier yawned, started to stretch when he felt the tug on his back. “Kind of expected you, Captain.”
Craven sunk into the bedside chair. “First, Mrs. Feldman won’t say the kid is missing. She said he’s with his grandparents at Disney World, and they don’t have a phone. They call her.”
Lucier sat up in bed. “You know she’s lying.”
Craven shrugged. “I don’t know anything of the kind. If she’s lying, I can’t blame her when she doesn’t know who she can trust. She’s here at the hospital, but she still won’t talk to anyone. Commander Lightner tried. She knows him because Feldman is in his district.”
“Did you tell her Feldman told me about her son?”
“Yup. She didn’t believe he said that and insisted her son was with her parents. She also didn’t believe Feldman tried to kill you.”
“Then why the hell is he in
surgery? Did you ask her that?” Lucier smacked his hand down on the bed and winced from the action. “Damn.”
“Easy, Ernie.”
“Nothing makes sense, and I’m goddamned frustrated. She has to know. Just hope her husband doesn’t die. He’s our only sure lead.”
“How’d you know someone would try to kill you?”
“I didn’t, but I thought about The Godfather scenario long before you did. What better time for a hit than the middle of the night when I’d most likely be drugged out?”
“So you waited? Where?”
Lucier nodded and explained what he did and what happened. “He sneaked into the room and shot into the bed. When I surprised him from the bathroom, he shot at me, missed. I shot back and didn’t.”
“Looks like you’ve picked up some psychic ability from Ms. Racine.”
“That’d be nice, but no. It was half logic, half guesswork, and a hundred percent cop instinct.”
“Beecher didn’t mention your plan to me.”
“He didn’t know. I asked him to bring me a gun. He didn’t question why.”
“Good thing.”
“Is Feldman going to live?”
“The bullet hit close to the heart. He’s out of surgery. If he hadn’t been in a hospital, he’d be dead, but the quick medical response gave him a fighting chance. Whether the quick action was enough to save him remains to be seen.”
“I only met him once, but he seemed like a decent guy,” Lucier said. “I didn’t expect him.”
Craven stopped, focused on Lucier. “Who did you expect?”
Lucier expected either Dave Rickett or Rudy Hodge, but he wasn’t about to incriminate anyone at this point. Along with Michel, they were the only ones left alive he knew of, and he doubted either one headed a group of vigilantes. He would have put money on Chenault calling the shots, but that theory was blown to bits. No, someone higher on the food chain was pulling the strings. “Dunno, but not him. By the way, did you ask the commanders to check on the ring?”
