Code of Deceit: A Mystery/Detective novel (David Mason series)

by John Foxjohn

  He shook his head. Why would a sniper clean away his footprints, smudges, and leave a spent casing? He had to have left the casing on purpose. He would have had to back out, wiping the prints as he went. If he’d dropped the casing, he would’ve known it. So, why leave the casing?

  David glanced over the report again. Combs recorded they’d found the casing out in the open, and it looked like it had been dropped on the place where the shooter had swept.

  Henry popped in a few minutes later, and David, without looking up from the report, handed him the message.

  “We’d better not keep the man waiting,” Henry said.

  This early in the morning, the building looked clean and smelled fresh. It wouldn’t stay that way for long with traffic running through the building.

  “There you two are. Come in and have a seat,” Patterson said.

  David breathed a relieved sigh. Patterson didn’t tell them to shut the door. They couldn’t be in too much trouble.

  “I have good news for you,” Patterson said. “You don’t have to be in court this morning. Simpkins pleaded out.”

  “That’s a relief. I hate sitting in the court room all day,” Henry said.

  David nodded in agreement, but Patterson didn’t call them to his office to tell them this.

  When Patterson rubbed his hands together, David dropped his head. Patterson did that when about to deliver news he didn’t think they’d like. Henry and David exchanged a quick glance. David had told him about this gesture.

  “As you’re aware,” Patterson said, “our new mayor assumed office last week. First, let me tell you, he’s having a news conference in front of the police department at one today. He requested the chief, you two, and me to be present.”

  Before David asked him why, Patterson raised his hand to stop him. “I have no idea why. Chief Pores told me to have you two in tow at fifteen till one.”

  “Okay, if we have to,” Henry said.

  “Then it’s settled. You have to. Now, for the next part, the new mayor ran for election with the promise he’d clean up the police department and do something about the rising homicide rate. I’m sure you’re aware, this city leads the entire country in homicides.”

  “How’s he going to do this?” Henry asked. “Is he going to patrol himself?”

  “No. He has a two-fold plan we’re about to implement.”

  David groaned at this news. Politicians and their plans couldn’t be good for them. That’s why the inspector rubbed his hands together.

  “First, we’re going to be assigned fifty more homicide detectives.”

  David couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. “Inspector, this isn’t going to stop the homicide numbers this city has. Did anyone tell the mayor we investigate after a person’s dead, not before?”

  “I think he’s aware of that little fact.”

  Henry cut in. “He can give us a thousand homicide detectives and we’ll still have the same number.”

  Patterson sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “If you two will be quiet, I’ll tell you about the second part.” He waited a moment, bringing his hands together with fingertips touching. “Second part’s simple.” He smiled. “Even you two bozos can follow it. From now on, you aren’t to title your reports as homicide. You’re to put investigation of possible homicide. Only time you can put homicide on the report is when you have the suspect in custody.”

  David and Henry both sat in disbelief.

  “What?” David asked.

  Susan, Patterson’s secretary, glided in and handed the inspector a message. Her perfume lingered when she ambled past David, reminding him of Beth.

  Patterson looked at the message for a long moment and told her he’d call him back in a few minutes. He again looked at the note, and continued when she walked out.

  “Our mayor has directed us to change our report titles.”

  David nodded, but Henry’s face turned red. “This has got to be the most asinine thing I’ve heard in a long time. How’s this going to make the homicide rate go down?”

  “It will,” David said.

  Henry looked at David as if he was crazy.

  “David’s correct,” Patterson said.

  “I must be dense this morning. I can’t see how this is going to stop people in this city from killing each other.”

  “You want to explain it to him, David?”

  “It won’t stop people from killing each other, but if we put investigation of a possible homicide, it won’t count in the books as a homicide. We have a tremendous amount of open cases recorded. This little paperwork shuffle will stop the recording until they’re cleared. Our homicide rate will go down, and our clearance rate will go up.”

  “Exactly,” Patterson said.

  Henry rubbed his face. “This is a political ploy to make the mayor look good.”

  “I think you’re getting the picture, Henry. Are there any questions on this?”

  “Nope,” Henry said, but under his breath mumbled, “Two more years to retirement.”

  Patterson smiled and looked at David, who said, “No questions.”

  “Okay, good. I had to decide what to do with fifty new detectives we’re getting in. Lieutenant Spinks and I’ve had long discussions about this. We can’t put two new ones together, and I’m going to need to split up veteran teams.”

  “Wait a minute, Inspector. You aren’t going to split Henry and me up, are you?” David blurted out.

  “No way,” Henry said.

  “We were going to, but we’ll need a veteran team who works well together. For the time being, at least, we’re going to keep you two as partners.”

  Henry and David both sighed with relief.

  “Is there anything else, sir?” David asked.

  Patterson shuffled through papers on his desk until he found what he looked for. “One other thing before I let you two get to work. We haven’t found anything—nothing—on your shooting. I have Mills and Combs working on it, and I’m going to leave them on it for awhile and hope something turns up. We’re at a dead end, though. No one witnessed the shooter enter or leave the empty building, and there are no leads. Crime scene has gone over it twice, but they haven’t come up with anything. Whoever the shooter is, he knows what he’s doing.”

  “Okay, sir. If there’s anything I can do, let me know,” David said.

  “I don’t believe someone randomly shot you. I believe someone’s out to kill you. If you want to help, you can tell us who the sniper is.”

  “Sir, when I find out, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Patterson leaned forward. “I want you and Henry to go nowhere without your vests. Am I clear on this?”

  Henry threw his hands to the side. “Why do I have to wear one? No one’s shooting at me.”

  “They may miss David and hit you.”

  Henry’s eyes widened. “Is it too late to get a new partner?”

  “Thanks a lot, you two,” David said.

  When they strolled to the door, David stopped so fast, Henry ran into him. David caught his breath, staring five years into the past. He thought he knew who the shooter was.

  Chapter 16

  David remembered the hatred in the kid’s eyes, and the tears when he and Ronny had shot his father. He thought at the time they’d see the kid again. As the years passed, he’d forgotten about the incident. How old would he be now? He’d turned sixteen a few weeks before they killed his father. He was twenty-one, now.

  “What’s the matter?” Henry asked, frowning.

  Henry’s words jarred David back to the present. He turned to Patterson. “Sir, do you remember Kenneth Carlin? He had a son named Andrew.”

  “Name’s familiar.” Furrows formed in the inspector’s forehead. “I should know it, but can’t place it.”

  “July4th, 1976,” David said.

  “Oh crap.”

  Patterson’s language stunned Henry. Neither detective had ever heard him use cuss words.

  “David, h
ow old would the son be today?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “You need to get on this.”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  Henry put his hands on hips. “Would someone tell me what’s going on?”

  “Let’s go. I’ll tell you on the way,” David said.

  David stopped in the hallway and took a deep breath. “On July 4th, 1976, Ronny and I were forced to shoot and kill a man. I’d forgotten about it. He had a sixteen-year-old son who saw it. You’d need to see the look on the kid’s face and eyes to understand, but I think this may be him.”

  “Are you going to turn this over to Mills and Combs?”

  David cocked his head and looked at Henry with raised eyebrows.

  Henry puckered his lips. “Didn’t think so.”

  Henry told David he needed to look into some things on the sly. David didn’t say anything. Henry would be checking on McMillian and Brophy. He didn’t know what good it would do. He wished he had them in an interview room for a few minutes alone, but that wouldn’t do any good either. If they were going to talk, it wouldn’t be with David around.

  David’s phone startled him. “Detective Mason.”

  “David,” Peggy’s voice said, “Sheriff Leonard Pointer is here and would like to talk to you.”

  David closed an eye and smacked his lips for a second. “Who’s he?”

  “He’s the Montgomery County sheriff.”

  David scratched his neck, wondering why the Montgomery sheriff wanted to talk to him. He rubbed his face. “Okay, send him in.”

  He’d never met Sheriff Pointer. Houston, the Harris County seat, butted up against Montgomery County on the northwest.

  As Pointer approached, David stepped out to catch his attention. Pointer looked like the typical large, rural, southern sheriff shown on TV. In his late fifties, with a white felt hat in his hand, he wore a western shirt with no tie, jeans, and shined black boots. His badge hung from his shirt pocket and his holster and gun hung on the right side.

  David stepped forward to shake hands. Pointer’s gaze took in the office at a glance, and he sat in the chair David indicated. With his right leg crossed over his left, Pointer put a large brown folder in his lap.

  They exchanged a few pleasantries and crime rate talk, and then David sat back in his seat ready for the sheriff to get on with what brought him.

  “Let me tell you a story, and I think you’ll understand why I’m here,” he said in a good old Texas drawl. “We have a State Farm insurance agent who works and lives in town, but he has a hundred acres out in the country. He runs about fifty head of cows and considers himself a rancher. Two weeks ago, he drove out to his place. He has a barn on the property’s south side where he stores hay for his herd.”

  David half listened, wondering why he needed to hear this story about a part time rancher.

  “He was feeding the cows when he heard shots coming from the north, and he knew they were on his property. Now this made him mad. He knew someone was hunting on his property and he didn’t want his precious cows hit. He has signs posted all over the place about private property, and no hunting. Anyway, he called the game warden to put a stop to the hunting.”

  David massaged his temples. He wondered if Henry was talking to McMillian and Brophy. He also needed to find out where Carlin lived.

  “There’s not much going on now, so the game warden went out to check on it. He arrived and found a clear space with a dirt road leading to it. He decided to walk in to catch whoever was hunting. He didn’t find anyone or any vehicles, but something caught his eye. What he found looked odd, and he called us.”

  Impatience grew in David but he decided to let the long-winded sheriff finish his story. Surely, he would get to the point.

  “My deputy went out and investigated. He called me. I told him to bring it in.” He opened the folder and handed David a large picture. David glanced at it, and did a double take. It was David’s picture with bullet holes in it.

  David recognized the picture as one the TV news always used, the picture they flashed on the screen when they talked about him. The media had pictures of Houston police officers. When something happened, they’d use the photo they had on file.

  David examined the picture without saying anything, tapping on his chin with his index finger. Pointer’s long-winded story had a point after all. David looked into his eyes. This old man was a lot sharper than he gave him credit.

  “What do you make of this, sheriff?”

  “Son, you can call me Leonard.” Pointer smiled. “I’ve been the Montgomery sheriff for thirty-two years. I’ve dealt with all you big city boys before and you’re the first one who asked me for my opinion. I’ve found you people seem to think you know more than us old country boys.”

  David rolled his eyes. This old sheriff was going to throw the old country boy crap at him. It may be true with some, but not him. This old bugger was sharp. “I’m not that type,” David said.

  Sheriff nodded. “I’ve heard that. Now mind you, I may be off base here, but I think someone zeroed in a rifle.”

  He wondered what Pointer meant when he said he’d heard that, but decided not to ask. He may go into another long rendition. David nodded. “Makes sense. What’s your assessment?”

  Pointer smiled. “Now you are showing out. Trying to get me to like you. If you’re asking me my opinion with that big word, I’ll tell you this, I saw the news, and I’d say the shooter is mad at you, boy. This is personal to him.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Most people who shoot at targets and zero in guns—and I’d bet you my last dollar that’s what went on—take a paper target, a can or plastic jug, but this one went to all the trouble of getting your picture and blowing it up. To me, that’s personal.”

  David nodded. He got the exact date the sheriff responded to the call and found out the deputy had seen footprints but nothing they could identify. Tire tracks had been messed up by the deputy’s vehicle. David thanked the sheriff as he left. He was thinking about this new information when Henry sauntered in about an hour later. David told him about the visit with the sheriff and showed him the picture.

  “You know what this means,” Henry said.

  “Yeah, it eliminates McMillian and Brophy as suspects. There’s no way they were out there zeroing in a rifle with my picture before the incident at MLK Park.”

  “Yep.”

  David asked Peggy to see what she could dig up on Andrew Carlin while they were gone. He told her where to find information on the old shooting, and he and Henry drove to the building near the Italian restaurant. Crime scene tape still sealed the building off, but they ducked under and maneuvered their way in and up an old, broken staircase. Dust and more dust greeted them, but nothing else.

  Henry looked over David’s shoulder while he peered out the window toward the restaurant.

  “Partner. You’re one lucky S.O.B.”

  “Yeah.”

  “If you hadn’t stepped down when you did, you’d be dead.”

  “I know.”

  Light rain fell on their quiet drive back to the station. They took the elevator to the third floor and Peggy handed David a folder. He thanked her and continued to his office with Henry following.

  David was looking through the contents on Andy Carlin when Spinks stuck his head in the door.

  “Whatcha got?”

  David answered without looking up. “I have info on a suspect in my shooting.”

  “You need to turn it over to Mills and Combs.”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Inspector’s going to hear about this.”

  Henry, interrupting David, stood and faced the lieutenant. “His office’s on the fourth floor. But you already know that. Don’t you, lieutenant?”

  Tension hung in the room when Spinks spun on his heels and stormed away.

  “My gut instinct tells me he doesn’t like us,” Henry said.

  David laughed, “Can’t put anyt
hing past you, Henry.”

  ***

  With the sun high overhead, David and Henry showed up in front of the police department at a quarter of one. Someone had set up a podium with a microphone, and several folding metal chairs stood behind the podium. The number of news reporters at this impromptu speech by the mayor surprised David. He counted four television news crews and others mingling about.

  Almost like a fog, humid air hung over the area. Inspector Patterson stood, talking to a distinguished looking older man wearing a grey suit he didn’t seem comfortable in. He had iron-grey hair cut in a flat top on a square head. His head matched his body. He looked to be six foot and two hundred solid pounds.

  David smiled at the man’s appearance thinking an airplane could land on his flat top. He would stand out in any crowd and not from appearance. He had a commanding presence. Puzzled, David had seen him somewhere before. He leaned close to Henry and whispered, “Who’s the man with Patterson?”

  Henry’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding me. You don’t know who he is?”

  David shook his head. “Nope. Seen him before but don’t know where.”

  Henry burst out laughing. “You may have seen his picture.”

  “What picture?”

  Henry laughed again. “David, that’s the police chief. You know, our boss.”

  Inspector Patterson turned and motioned them over, saving David from his embarrassment.

  “David, I don’t believe you’ve met Carl Pores.”

  David stepped forward and shook his hand.

  “Henry, I know you’ve met the chief.”

  “Yes, sir. Used to work for him.”

  David looked at his partner. Henry hadn’t told him he’d worked for the chief. He wondered what other secrets Henry had kept from him.

  “Nice to see you again, sir,” Henry said, shaking hands with the chief.

  “How’s your family, Henry?” Pores asked. When Henry told him how they were doing, Pores turned to David. “I’ve heard a lot about you, young man.”