by John Foxjohn
David looked up at him, dropping his pen and pursing his lips. He tilted his head and scratched his chin with an index finger. “Something has me puzzled, Mr. Cartwright.”
He sneered. “What’s that?”
David grinned. “If you’ve never talked to her, or seen her, or been in her house, and you didn’t kill her, how’d you know she was an old lady and killed in the bathroom?”
Cartwright jerked his head back. His hands betrayed him and wouldn’t remain still. “Huh? I uh—what?”
David rested his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers together and rested his chin on the fingertips. “You said, ‘I didn’t go into that old woman’s bathroom and kill her.’ If you didn’t do it, how did you know she was an old woman, and killed in the bathroom?”
Confusion developed on the suspect’s face, and he looked up. “I guess I read it in the papers. Yes, I remember. I did read about it in the paper.”
David laughed, shaking his head. “You said you didn’t know a murder had taken place until I told you.”
Cartwright slammed his hand on the table. “I forgot is all. There’s no crime in forgetting.”
David shook his head as if he lectured a wayward child. “Mr. Cartwright, do you know what an omitted news release is?”
“No.”
David leaned forward, “Let me fill you in. We always give out an omitted news release to the papers in a murder investigation. What that means is there’s information we always omit from the news release. We do this for a couple of reasons. First, if someone gives us information, we can tell how valid it is. If the person giving the information knows the omitted information, it’s valid. Second, it’s a good tool in an interrogation. It helps us catch people in lies.”
“I’m not lying,” he bellowed.
Henry laughed aloud at Cartwright’s statement.
Cartwright’s head snapped around to look at Henry as if he’d forgotten the other detective was in the room.
“Yeah, you’re lying,” David said. “Mr. Cartwright, we omitted her being killed in the bathroom.”
His lips puckered and unpuckered like a fish trying to take in air. He sputtered. “You—don’t—have anything on—me.”
When the phone rang, and Henry picked it up. “Carrington.”
“Tell me. Okay…Okay. Thanks, Duncan. Call burglary and get them over there to look at that stuff,” Henry said. Henry hung up the phone hard with a huge smile.
“Tell us what you have, Henry,” David said.
“They found the gun hidden in a small compartment in the wall,” Henry said.
David rubbed his hands together. He’d thought about offering him a deal for a confession, but the old woman’s naked body flashed in his mind. He wasn’t offering this jerk anything. The DA could if he wanted to. “Mr. Cartwright, are you sure you don’t want an attorney?” David asked.
Cartwright leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. “I’m not saying anything else until I talk to a lawyer.”
David smiled at the glaring prisoner. “That’s the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
***
When David’s red Fiat pulled away from the police parking lot, a block away, a blue Chevrolet Impala pulled out and followed. The Impala stayed a block behind, and when the red car turned right on Houston and a left on Paul a mean smile rippled across the driver’s face. He’s going to the teacher’s apartment.
He pulled into a parking lot across from the apartment and waited. If they went out he’d kill him. He had waited long enough. Feeling under the blanket lying on the front seat, he stroked cold metal. His heart beat faster and his pulsed quickened.
***
David and Beth sat on the sofa in her apartment. He held her and stroked her back while she cried and he told her about Cartwright. Later, they decided to go get something to eat. He picked Rossini’s, and Beth changed for the occasion.
He hadn’t been to the restaurant in a couple of years, but if someone wanted to romance a woman, Rossini’s ambiance offered the perfect opportunity, and he definitely wanted to romance her, along with other things.
Located in an old warehouse on Front Street, the quaint Italian restaurant had excellent food. David parked his car and hustled around to open the door for Beth.
Salt air coming off the channel blended well with the perfume of pasta, shrimp, and sauces from the restaurant. Gulls called not far away. He took a deep breath, taking in the intoxicating aromas.
Beth wore a light blue, sleeveless dress with little pink roses on it. Knees together, she swung her gorgeous legs from the cramped car, and David almost swallowed his Adam’s apple when the dress rode up her closed legs to mid-thigh, allowing his imagination a tantalizing glimpse. Now he knew why men opened car doors for women. He extended his hand to assist her.
She smiled and smoothed her dress down with both palms, and punched him on the shoulder. “David Mason. You’re bad.”
His boyish grin almost covered his face. “Bad bad, or good bad?”
With a contemplative smile, she said, “We’ll see.”
As they walked up the high wooden steps to the porch, his heart dribbled like a basketball, realizing how gorgeous and sexy she was.
He glanced around as the waiter led them to their table. Light glimmered off pearls and golden pendants. Sitting close, lovers touched in some form, holding hands, feet beside each other under the tables, and some kissing. Couples not eating sat gazing into each other’s eyes, and candle light shadows flickered and danced on high rafters in the ceiling.
White linen adorned tables, and red napkins folded in flower shapes sat on the plates. Beautiful candelabras dominated each table, and gentle notes from a stringed orchestra wafted in the background.
While they waited for the waitress to take their orders, David told Beth what had happened, and why he thought Cartwright had killed her mother, and all the evidence he had.
She asked how they got search warrants, and he explained about affidavits.
She frowned. “Police need a search warrant before they can search anything?”
“Most, but there’s ways around it.”
“How?”
David laughed. “Are you sure you want to hear about police work?”
She smiled, leaned over, and held his hand. “I’m not interested in police work, but I do know a detective I’m interested in. I would like to learn how he works. Also, my students are interested.”
He gave her a fake menacing look. “Okay, but you better not yawn.”
She laughed and held her hand up to cover a fake yawn.
Taking a sip from his white wine, he said, “I have a friend who’s on the Angelina sheriff’s department, and in the last two years he’s made more drug busts without a warrant than all DEA agents put together. He has convicted everyone he’s arrested.”
“I don’t understand. How?”
“First, you need to understand how drug mules operate. They travel major highways at night, and don’t like driving during the daytime.”
A blonde waitress, dressed in a clean, starched white blouse and a short black skirt brought them freshly baked bread with a large mound of butter. She took their salad orders and left them to look at the menus.
“Day time seems like the best time to carry drugs,” Beth said when the waitress left.
He nodded. “It would seem so, but it isn’t. They know how police departments work. During the day police enforce traffic laws, but at night they’re too busy answering calls. Most major crimes occur at night. All the disturbances, fights, and burglaries happen at night and the police patrol business districts trying to prevent burglaries. That’s why they don’t patrol the highways.
“My friend sets up on Highway 59, right before the loop. This is a major highway running from south Texas all the way to Oklahoma, and it goes through Nacogdoches. He stops cars for any violation, missing front license plate, burned out license plate lights, anything. He runs a check on the driver and asks
permission to search the vehicle.”
Her eyes widened. “They let him?”
“Sure they do. They’re afraid not to. Ones carrying drugs are afraid it’ll look bad if they refuse, and they believe he’ll get a warrant, and if they do agree, they think he’ll let it go and not search.”
“Would he get a search warrant if they didn’t let him search?”
David chuckled. “No, he can’t get a warrant.”
She leaned forward, finger tapping on her cheek. “He can’t?”
“Nope. He doesn’t have probable cause for a warrant. Because someone has a burned out license plate light and won’t give him permission to search the vehicle isn’t cause to believe they’re carrying drugs.”
Beth listened, still tapping her finger on her cheek. “What does he do if he doesn’t find any drugs?”
Their waitress materialized and David ordered the shrimp Alfredo with cream sauce, and Beth ordered clams primavera.
He buttered his bread and took a bite before continuing. “If they don’t have any warrants or anything, he gives them a warning and lets them go. He’s found drugs worth millions.”
The subject changed from police work to teaching and they sat for a while eating and talking, enjoying each other’s company. David learned a lot about teaching he never considered. In his ignorance, he believed teachers showed up every morning and off the cuff, taught students using their vast knowledge. He’d never known the hours teachers spent planning and preparing a simple math lesson.
David told her Henry and his wife wanted to meet her.
Her eyes sparkled. “Why don’t you take me over sometime? I’d also like to meet your parents.”
He laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“When a man takes a woman to meet his parents, the relationship’s going to the next level,” he said.
“Do you want it to go to the next level?”
A mischievous smile drifted across his face. “You bet I do.”
“I’m not talking about sex, silly. I’m talking about a serious relationship.”
Before David could say anything, the waitress showed up to collected their plates. Beth ordered chocolate mousse and David strawberry shortcake.
“Where were we?” he asked.
Beth pointed her finger at him. “You were avoiding my question. Do you want our relationship to go to the next level?”
“Do you?”
“Do you realize you always answer a question with a question?”
David laughed. “Yep.”
“I asked you first,” she said, smiling.
He leaned forward. “I do want this to go to another level. I’m fond of you, and I enjoy being in your company.”
She looked at him a long moment. “I know about your reputation. Can you have a monogamous relationship?”
David crammed strawberry shortcake in his mouth, giving him an excuse not to talk while he tried to think of an answer to her question without getting himself in trouble. He didn’t want to use people any more. He wanted to be with one woman who wanted to be with him, not his badge. “I like to think I can. What reputation are you talking about?”
“I’ve told you my best friend’s dating a cop. He told me you were the police department’s Casanova.”
“Do you believe him?” David asked.
“I’m not sure.”
He tilted his head and looked at her with one eyebrow raised. He finished off his dessert and wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Let me put another light on it. You have a best friend who’s dating a married cop and this married cop who’s cheating on his wife—and your best friend too, by the way—is telling you I’m the Casanova?”
“That does take away his credibility, doesn’t it?” she said and they both laughed.
Beth put her spoon down and reached across the table to hold his hands. “David, I like you a lot, and I enjoy your company, but I don’t want to be someone’s trophy.”
“I can understand that.”
“Can you?”
He gripped her hands. “Sure I can.”
“Will you be patient with me?”
“You can take it to the bank.”
“You will?”
He caressed both her hands. Her softness sent delightful shudders coursing through him. He smiled. “I think you’re worth the wait.”
When they strolled from the restaurant, a nippy wind blew. They stopped, and Beth put her coat on.
Hairs stood on his neck and a tingling crawled down his spine. He stood motionless, scanning the area.
David took a step down. Something exploded through him.
As he fell, the sound of a gunshot cracked against the thick night air.
Chapter 12
A shot exploded in the calm night air. Searing pain fired through David. As he lay on the restaurant’s steps, the smell of blood overrode the aromas of the food. The realization that the blood odor belonged to him shot panic through him. Then he remembered Beth. God, please don’t let her get hurt. “Get down!” he shouted.
He had to move. Snatching his gun from the shoulder holster, he turned to look for Beth. She lay on the steps, wide-eyed and frightened. “Are you Okay?” he yelled.
“Y—ye—yes.”
He had to get her away. “Run in and tell them to call the police and report an officer’s down.”
“O—Okay.” She leaped up and darted into the restaurant.
Coppery odors invaded his nose. He tried to spot the shooter but didn’t know where the shot came from. He needed to move.
Gritting his teeth, he rolled down the steps. Each bump sent pains flashing through him. He stayed on his stomach at the bottom, gun out, shivering, not from cold, but freezing in fright.
Sirens echoed off dense night air. Cavalry’s on the way. Sounds expanded from everywhere, flooding him with relief. One thing for sure, if someone wanted to get the police to respond, the magic words “officer down” did the job.
More police and law enforcement officials showed up than at a police convention. Never in his life had he seen that many officers.
Ambulance attendants loaded him and rushed to Ben Taub hospital. Frenzied activity in the emergency room greeted his entrance.
Several officers took his statement while someone examined his shoulder, ordering him sent to X-ray. When he returned, the doctor strolled in and told him his wound wasn’t as bad as they’d first thought. Bullet hadn’t hit any bones. It punched clean through, hitting the large muscle on the top of his shoulder, missing his collarbone. Henry and Inspector Patterson, with frowns, arrived right before the doctor gave him the good news.
“What happened, David?” Patterson asked.
He wasn’t sure, himself. But what worried him the most, someone had tried to kill him. As far as he knew only two people had a reason to kill him, and both were cops. Through clenched teeth, David told them what he knew.
“You didn’t see who shot you?” Henry asked.
“No. I didn’t even see where the shot came from. He had me dead to rights. I’m lucky he’s a bad shot.”
“David,” Inspector Patterson said, “the shooter’s a darn good shot.”
“Why do you say that?” David asked.
“David,” Henry said, “we went to the restaurant, first. You said you stepped down, right?”
David nodded.
“Those steps are about 6 or 8 inches down. That’s how far the bullet missed your heart,” Patterson said.
If David hadn’t already been lying down, he’d have needed to after hearing that.
Curtains surrounded David’s bed in the emergency room. As he talked to Henry and Patterson, a commotion erupted in the waiting room. He wondered if it had anything to do with him. “What’s going on out there?” he asked.
Henry laughed. “Beth’s about to hurt someone.”
His eyes blinked and widened. “Beth?”
“She’s as perturbed as I’ve seen a woman in a long time,” Patterson said.
“Why?” David asked, confused.
Before they could answer, a nurse yanked the curtain back, jammed a thermometer in David’s mouth, took his pulse, and strapped the blood pressure cuff around his right arm. Pressure increased as she pumped the cuff. She recorded the information on his chart, removed the object jammed under his tongue, looked at it, grunted, recorded the information and strode out.
Henry laughed when the nurse left. “They won’t let Beth in, and if we don’t let her in soon, we’re going to have a homicide right here in the hospital.”
“You two met Beth?”
“I’m going to give you a piece of advice, David,” Patterson said. “You treat her right, or I’m going to shoot you myself.”
Henry smiled. “I hope he misses you, because I’ll shoot your little shrimp butt, myself.”
David pointed his finger pistol at Henry. “We’re supposed to be partners.”
Beth stormed in, stood close to the bed with her hands on her hips. “Buster, I have three little rules when I date a man. First,” she flipped up one finger, “I never kiss on the first date. Second,” she flipped up another finger, “I never go to bed with a man on the first date. Third,” she flipped up the third finger, “My dates don’t get shot when they’re out with me. If you get shot and die, I’m going to kill you.”
David joined the others in laughter.
Everyone except Beth. She stamped her foot. “What’s so funny?”
Henry held his stomach, laughing. “If he gets shot and dies, you’re going to kill him,” Henry said.
She laughed. “Did I say that?”
David tried sitting up. “Does anyone know where my clothes are?”
Patterson frowned. “You don’t need your clothes right now. You aren’t going any place.”
“I hope my suit isn’t too messed up.”
Henry’s “humph” expressed the others’ opinions.
Inspector Patterson shook his head. “I’m afraid your suit’s ruined.”
David frowned. “My pants should be OK.”
“Araid not,” Henry said. “They cut them off.”
“My pants? What for? Bullet hit me in the shoulder. Why’d they have to cut them? This hospital owes me for a pair of pants.”
